Anyway, after the Border Patrol guy disappeared in a cloud of dust, I noticed an old pickup heading toward me. The battered Chevy pulled up next to me and stopped. A woman glared at me from behind the wheel and demanded "What are you doing out here?" Again I explained my intention to take some photographs. After I talked some more about my work, she softened up a bit and began talking about this stretch of desert, which she called home.

I would guess she was nearing 60 years old, and she had the lined face and deep tan of a desert dweller, but with an incongruous slash of bright red lipstick. She said: "This desert has more high-tech surveillance than Area 51." Then she went on to explain that the Border Patrol had listening devices scattered all across the desert plain, and cameras on the nearby mountains from which they could examine any intruders through movable telephoto lenses. She said she had been listening on her police scanner to cops talking about me and my suspicious van, so she decided to come out and see what it was all about.

It turned out that she lived about five miles back along this gravel road. She said she used to have a job milking rattlesnakes for their venom, and another job working with snakes for the circus. Now she lived by herself without water in this remote nook of southern California. Understandably, she was concerned about smugglers of Mexicans, drugs, and Hells Angels, so she followed the radio traffic on her police scanner.

She also pointedly told me that she had released a bunch of rattlesnakes around her house and put up signs warning intruders to "Beware of Rattlesnakes". She also said she had 19 dogs that barked up a fuss when someone came by and that of course she carried guns. Her place didn't have water, so on this day she was on a water run to a spring about ten miles distant. She also mentioned that during the summer she slept on top of her trailer under the open sky, I guess to try and stay cool.

We chatted for about a half an hour, then she trucked off with a crunch of gravel. Meeting this lady desert rat was an unexpected experience on this hot morning.

Later the same day, I decided to explore and photograph the old ghost town of Tumco near the California/Mexico border. In its heyday, Tumco was a gold mining town with banks, bordellos, and prospectors' camps. Not much remains: just scattered rusty cans, crumbling adobe walls, and a few wailing ghosts when the wind kicks up. Oh, and there was a graveyard with mounds of piled rocks to mark the passing of unknown miners. The fanciest and most recent graves were those of two dogs that had died a few years back.

After my initial look at the site, I set out with my camera gear, hoping to get a few good shots to capture the essence of what remains of this once-thriving town. As I was hiking, it occurred to me that I should probably be more alert for rattlesnakes. Within seconds of that thought, I very nearly stepped on a four foot speckled rattlesnake! I jumped back, heart racing with pumped adrenalin. The snake buzzed in warning and coiled up in typical fashion.

After I calmed down, I photographed the snake, occasionally prodding it with a tripod leg to try and move it into a better position for a portrait. Eventually it tired of performing for me and slithered off to hide in the brush under a mesquite tree. Something about encountering this ghost town guardian reminded me of a Stephen King horror novel I once read in which evil spirits were liberated from a mine near a Nevada ghost town.

As evening approached, I drove toward a campsite in a vast area of sand dunes. Just before sunset I walked out onto the dunes to see if I could take some photographs. Trudging through the deep sand, calves aching with the effort, I suddenly heard a buzz. What a surprise--another rattlesnake, this time a sidewinder. Its warning put me on notice that more rattlers could be around, and I knew that sidewinders like to coil up just below the sand surface so that only a really sharp-eyed wanderer can detect them. It might not be nice to step on one.

That was the end of my long and exciting day. After my adventures, I must admit I was a bit uneasy going to bed in this lonely desert campsite where there was nobody living or camping within miles. You never know, evil spirits could be prowling the desert night. Fortunately the night was quiet and without incident.

Lee Rentz