Last summer Nancy and I had planned on backpacking into the high country of the Sierras in California, but the deep snowpack killed those plans. So instead we improvised a long itinerary that started and ended in Arizona. We picked up our hiking companion Bill Rowe in Phoenix and drove to the Spring Mountains northwest of Las Vegas, Nevada, a high, isolated and little collected range. Collecting was slow due to the late start of the season, but we managed to take series of Ammophila azteca and one strenua.

Bill had never been to Death Valley so we headed there next. Enroute we took in Ash Meadows, Nevada, an area of interesting hot springs, endemic fish and water bugs. Crystal Pool was as beautiful as ever. Mid July is extremely hot in Death Valley with temperatures commonly 110° F and above. In the old days, the park was essentially closed in summer because of the heat, but nowadays there are as many people in the valley in the summer as in winter, in fact probably more. The reason is the tremendous increase in foreign visitors to the US. Just about everyone we met was speaking German, French, Japanese or some other language. After taking in Bad Water, which is 280 feet below sea level, we headed west out of the valley and camped in the Panamint Mountains at Mahogany Flat, a favorite place of Nancy's and mine. The site is misnamed. It is not flat. You are on the ridge of the Panamints with tremendous views of Death Valley below to the east, and the Sierras to the west. The next day the three of us hiked to the top of Telescope Peak (11049'), a 14 mile roundtrip. It was a grueling day hike, but the views from the peak were terrific which made it all worthwhile. There were even small patches of snow near the summit.

Our next target was the lunar landscape of the White Mountains along the California-Nevada border. Here I hoped to collect Ammophila and other wasps at altitudes of 10-11,000'. We camped at Grandview as usual. Snow was much in evidence unlike previous visits, an indication of the heavy snowfall the previous winter. Best collecting proved to be at Crooked Creek at an elevation of 10,000'. With both Nancy and Bill using nets, we managed to capture nearly 100 Ammophila, as well as a lot of Podalonia and other wasps. The Ammophila were nearly all males, an indication that even in late July, the season was still early. The Ammophila were mostly the ubiquitous azteca, but a few specimens of what may prove to be sylvestris Kirkbride were taken, as well as stangei and mediata. We visited the high altitude field station that the Univ. of California operates at Crooked Creek. It is a brand new facility (by that I mean it's an old station with a new building) that offers accomodations to scientists with valid reasons to stay. They charge a nominal daily fee which includes room and board. It is a very nice set up. I can provide particulars should anyone want to do some high altitude work in the White Mtns. White Mt. itself is only a few feet lower than Mt. Whitney in the nearby Sierra's (Whitney is nearly 14,500'). The Whites are in the rain shadow of the Sierra's and offer quite a different type of habitat, one that is home to the famous Bristle Cone pines, the oldest living things on earth.

Over the next few days we drove via a very circuitous route to Davis, California, to attend the 3rd Conference of the International Society of Hymenopterists. We visited Mono Lake, the ghost town of Bodie, traversed Yosemite Nat. Park, visited the town of Angels Camp, then drove back across the Sierra via Ebbitts Pass, ending up in Reno, Nevada. From there we headed north to Lassen National Park. Snow pack there was still 20 feet deep in places and lakes were still frozen! From there we headed west to the Pacific Coast where we drove south through the coastal redwoods. Just before we reached Davis, Bill flew to Atlanta because of an illness in his family.

The 5-day Hymenoptera bash at Davis was the best meeting I have ever attended, probably because everyone was a hymenopterist and there was much in common to talk about. There were some very fine presentations, and I met several young sphecid workers for the first time. Some of the waspers I remember talking to during the conference were Eduardas Budrys, Gabe Melo, Marius Wasbauer, Denis Brothers, Mike Prentice, Terry Griswold, Al Hook, Alex Rasnitsyn, Woj Pulawski, Paul Hanson, Don Manley, Rogério Martins, Michael Ohl, Volker Mauss, Jim Carpenter, Justin Schmidt, and Byron Alexander.

After the conference was over, Nancy and I headed back to Arizona for several days of collecting along the Mexican border. In general collecting was very poor in southern Arizona because of draught. Rains had been few and far between – unusual for August. Collecting along the Ajo-Tucson road was frustratingly poor. We visited Kitt Peak Observatory at the north end of the Baboquivari Mts., a range that is little collected. This area is on Indian land and they have established a beautiful picnic ground at 7,000 feet with modern flush toilets, water, etc., but no overnight is camping allowed unfortunately. There was plenty of Eriogonum in bloom but no Ammophila.

Nancy and I drove from Tucson southwest to Arivaca, and then eastward over the dirt road leading to Sycamore Canyon and eventually Nogales. Here I must relate the most traumatic part of the entire trip. We reached Sycamore Canyon, parked, collected a while and then started walking down canyon, collecting along the way. This canyon is broad, has a stream, lots of flowers, and if you go 5 miles or so, you reach the Mexican border. We went about a mile before deciding to turn back. Collecting was disappointing. No Ammophila to be seen. On the way back we stopped at a narrow side canyon, the only one that had any water. While Nancy tried collecting on some flowers, I wandered up this little canyon a short distance and found no wasps. I turned around and went back to the main canyon, and continued on upstream toward the car. At this point I must tell you that Nancy is an intense, patient collector and consequently, she is slow moving. I usually end up ahead of her and wait for her to catch up. I got to the car about 2:15 PM, drank some water, ate some food and waited. No Nancy. So at about 2:40 I grabbed a liter of water and headed down stream again, expecting to run into her, no doubt dehydrated. Well, I ended up going all the way to where we had stopped and found no trace of Nancy! I returned to the car expecting to see her there, but no Nancy. I was worried. I made two more round trips down canyon, yelling out her name, looking in all the willow thickets, but still no Nancy. I searched the little side canyon where I had left her, but found a fence across it a short distance up and figured that she would not have climbed over it, especially since we had not had to climb any fences going down Sycamore Canyon. Back at the car at 4 o'clock I was frantic. I decided that I had to get help. So I left our remaining water, a sleeping bag, a tent, and a note telling her that I had gone to get help. It was about 10 miles over a winding dirt mountain road to the nearest settlement, Peña Blanca Lake. After going about a half mile I came to a side road to a ranch. I went down it thinking someone there might have a telephone. The rancher had no phone (too isolated) or radio. He suggested that I go on to Peña Blanca Lake while he took his dog and went to Sycamore to look for Nancy. I sped off for PB Lake, arriving about 5 PM. The manager of the resort called the sheriff for me, I talked with him, and he told me to stay put until he got there. He arrived around 6. Sargeant Rodriguez followed me back to Sycamore Canyon over the 10 miles of winding road. We got there about 6:30, with not much daylight left. As I drove up, Rich, the rancher, yelled to me that he had found Nancy!! I rushed through the brush and saw her about 100 yards away, very tired, very dehydrated, and very glad to see me (and vice versa!). We managed to get a liter and a half of water down her and she soon revived. Nancy's ordeal was over and luckily she was OK. The sheriff was able to call off his search party before they arrived, but he did have an ambulance with medics come to check out Nancy's vital signs. She was OK, fortunately. The Santa Cruz Co. Sheriff's department and rescue squad are first rate, and we can't thank them enough for all their help. That night we stayed at the Peña Blanca Lake resort, and dinner was on the manager.

Whew! Nancy had spent about 5 hours wandering around, covering several miles of rugged, trailless terrain. When an event like this happens you really realize how much you love someone, and reflect upon how important they are in your life! In spite of her ordeal Nancy managed to collect one Ammophila procera, the only member of the genus taken that day!

What had happened, you may ask at this point. Let's let Nancy describe her adventure.

While collecting, I usually wear a large brimmed hat and since most wasps are on flowers and shrubs, I am usually looking down. Arn is often ahead of me since he's better at recognizing good collecting sites. As we followed the canyon down stream I failed to note the various side canyons that sharply angled off to our right. As luck would have it, just about where we turned around to return to the car there was a delightful grassy bank and I thought I spied an Ammophila. I told Arn I was going to stop for a few minutes to check it out. He investigated briefly before proceeding on up the main canyon. After I did indeed bag the Ammophila, I crossed the area, reentered (I thought) the original canyon and followed Arn upstream. After a few minutes I hadn't caught up with him so I called out. No answer. I walked a bit faster to catch up. Called again. No answer. Darn him, he walks too fast! Up ahead I saw a fairly high barbed wire fence across the creek. Whoa, where did that come from? I knew we didn't cross one on the way down. But Arn always says I never look up while collecting so I just figured I'd gone under it without noticing. To gain a better height advantage and, I thought, easier walking, I climbed out of the canyon. Once on the side of the hill, I again called to Arn and still received no response. Things were not right! I managed to reach the ridge and thought I'd see the area where the car was parked, but to my dismay, found the slope went down to another creek. OK, so that's where the main canyon was. I climbed down and followed it upstream for several hundred yards. I called out to Arn. No answer. Only then did I realize it was not the canyon we'd descended. I crossed the creek, climbed out again and went up to that ridge and again descended into yet another creek. By then I was really tired and very thirsty. We hadn't intended a long hike so didn't carry water – a dumb mistake on my part, especially with the August temperature in the 90's. I knew it wasn't wise to drink the creek water so I just dunked my head under and then wet my shirt to keep cooler. I had a knife and could cut some of the cactus for moisture if things really got bad. So far, I was OK. I just had to keep going.

That day I realized it makes no difference if you know the compass directions, if you don't know where you started. I knew south of me was the Border and the car was not that way. Towards the setting sun I could see Baboquivari Peak, and farther away to the north, the sun reflecting off an observatories' disk antenna. Foolishly, I waved my arms. Hey, if they can see the stars and moon, they should have been able to see me!

I learned a lot about myself during those hours. Prayers helped, but knew I had to do something else to help myself. At that point I was more concerned about Arn. I knew he would be worried. All the books say to stay where you are and let help come to you, but that way I knew I'd be out there all night, waiting. Plus, Arn would be so worried. I also thought rescue searches wouldn't start that late in the day. It still seemed important to stay near a ridge during the daylight so I could be spotted by air, should someone happen to fly by.

No panic yet, but when the shadows really began to lengthen, I resigned myself to the fact I'd be spending the night there and had to make some plans. I'd already seen two snakes in the rocks and knew I wanted to avoid that problem, if possible. In one of the streams I had seen a rather large, flat rock. That seemed my best bet for a haven for the night. I kept that place in mind and knew how to find it again. Pesky gnats were swarming around me by that time, but my net made a decent netting for my head. Up until now I'd kept up a steady pace, but realized I needed to rest. Things were getting pretty confused in my mind. I found a safe place to calm myself and thought about my predicament. At that time the seriousness of the situation hit me. I thought, "You know, sometimes people don't get found in time". I got scared to the point of almost getting sick. That's when I first noticed some movement up on the side of the hill. Three deer were walking as smoothly as you can imagine. I'd been up that way and knew the terrain was rugged. What did those deer know that I didn't? I set out again, with some dumb idea of following the deer. I climbed up the slope and saw they had been on a faint road. Obviously, it had not been traveled in a long time, but I knew it had to eventually connect to a main road. My problem was, which way to go. Right and left were equally unused. Arn and I had entered the area from the direction of the ghost town of Ruby, which was west of where I thought I was. I turned left, which was west, and set out at a near run on my "super highway". I decided to only call out to Arn every 15 minutes or so, because I was getting hoarse. Each time was met with silence. After several hundred yards the road turned south and dropped into yet another canyon. I followed, fording the stream, and proceeded up another slope. I stayed with the trail for about 20 minutes, but it didn't seem any more traveled than before. Something didn't feel right. I turned around and went back to where I first found the trail. It was very important to me NOT to stray from that faint double line. There I was no longer totally out of human touch. Those two ribbons meant another person had been there. I stopped for a minute, but was getting quite anxious as I saw the sun disappear behind the distant mountains. This road HAD to go somewhere. If I could just find a paved road I would wait there until a car came along. As I rounded a turn, 100 yards ahead I saw an old water tank sitting in the middle of a fenced area – the first signs of civilization.

My trail had become a grassy road, but still no sign of inhabitants. Thinking of a helicopter rescue the next day, I wrote a large "HELP" on the tank and drew an arrow pointing the direction I was headed. The road started showing some use and dropped sharply in to a heavily wooded area. Suddenly, off in the distance I thought I heard a car door slam. I yelled out "Arnold!" and started running towards the sound. A car engine started and my heart stopped. I frantically cried, "Oh please, don't leave me! I'm lost"! To my relief, someone yelled, "I know you are!" It was a stranger's voice. How the heck did he know I was lost! At that moment I heard the sweetest sound you can imagine – Arn's voice. I fairly flew down the hill, yelling to him all the time. "Oh, Honey, I was so lost!" Finally, through the dusk, I saw him crossing a dry creek bed. We were both running to each other. As he grabbed me, I just collapsed. We were both crying. A few seconds later I saw some figures coming out of the bush. I asked Arn who they were. He said, "Honey, we've made a lot of new friends here today". It was Officer Rodriguez of the Santa Cruz County Sheriff's Department. Following him was a young in-training paramedic and his girlfriend. On his truck radio he'd heard the sheriff's report about my being lost. Thinking he might be needed, they too headed for Sycamore Canyon. Finally, there was Rich, the fellow and his dog, that Arn had met at the ranch. His was the voice I'd heard. Things moved quickly then. I was given a brief examination of vital signs and pronounced OK except for a rapid pulse and some dehydration. A bottle of cool Evian water was produced from the sheriff's cooler – best tasting water I've ever had!

It had been quite an ordeal for all of us. I can assure you, I will continue collecting, but from now on, will occasionally peek out from under my hat to pay closer attention to my surroundings. Now we return to Arn's trip report.

Operating out of Bisbee, we collected for several days at a number of areas that have been productive in past years. I was especially trying to collect the unknown female of imitator Menke, males of which have been collected at several places along the border. We tried collecting at the known imitator sites but found only Ammophila pruinosa, cleopatra and breviceps, all common species. We went as far as Guadalupe Canyon in the extreme southeastern corner of Arizona. In a wet year this should be a terrific collecting area. We took Ammophila breviceps and some crabronines. Collecting at Slaughter Ranch, east of Douglas on the Geronimo Trail, was equally disappointing. The most diversified collecting was at a sand pit about 2 and a half miles east of Douglas, where we captured a variety of Hymenoptera. We eventually tried our luck in Carr Canyon in the Huachuca Mts. The road in Carr Canyon takes you to the crest of the range at about 7,000', but collecting was poor at all elevations.

We returned to Washington, leaving our car at our Bisbee home. Then in early October we flew back to Arizona, picked up our car, and headed for Reno, Nevada to attend the annual meeting of the Southern Pacific Historical Society, a railroad group. Enroute, we collected at various places. Near Pahrump, Nevada we managed to take quite a few Ammophila, most specimens belonging to an as yet undescribed species in the pruinosa complex. We continued on, visiting Ash Meadows again. There we visited Point-of-Rocks Spring. Collecting in Ash Meadows was poor. That evening we stayed at the Amaragosa Hotel in Death Valley Junction. What a wonderful experience that was. Death Valley Junction is nearly a ghost town now, although it flourished early in this century when it was a railroad town. Death Valley Junction consists of a restored opera house and hotel. Marta Becket is responsible for the restoration efforts, and she performs in the opera house during the winter. In the summer the hotel is the only thing going in town. Staying in it is a real treat. The only noise is an occasional car that passes by. Wild horses and asses are occasional visitors. Marta is quite a talented lady, and has decorated each room differently. We were in the "Jezebel" room, complete with red satin sheets and red light bulbs.

From DVJ we drove west into Death Valley and took the north road up the valley past Ubehebe Crater. At that point it becomes a dirt road. If you follow it, you eventually come out at the town of Big Pine in Owens Valley. The scenery along this isolated drive is at times outstanding. You pass Little and Big Sand Springs, cross the Last Chance Range, Eureka Valley, and Joshua Flats (a valley with thousands of Joshua trees), before dropping down out of the Inyo Mountains to Big Pine. We explored old mines and collected a few Ammophila here and there. Recently Death Valley National Monument became a National Park. The Park includes a lot more land than the old monument did.

We spent a night in the town of Lee Vining, our room overlooking Mono Lake – quite a vista. The next day we got into Nevada, and collected west of Fort Churchill along the Carson River. This was a wonderful collecting area and 5 or 6 species of Ammophila were taken, along with other wasps. That was essentially our last collecting of the trip. We visited the famous mining town of Virginia City and ended up in Reno for the railroad meeting. To begin our trip back to Maryland, we drove east on highway 50 (the "loneliest highway in North America"), across Nevada to Ely, where we were lucky to see Nevada Northern 40 (a steam locomotive) actually running. From there we zipped up to Logan, Utah and enjoyed a visit with Frank Parker. Then began the long drive back to Maryland. In Wyoming we chanced upon another steam engine in operation, the Union Pacific Challenger, currently the largest locomotive in operation anywhere.

All in all, two great trips in the west. In retirement we look forward to spending a lot of time revisiting these old haunts and catching more Ammophila.