Nearly thirty years ago, after having taught four or five years of travel study and photography in the Death Valley area, my Spring itineraries took a decided turn for the better. We'd been moving from one campground to another over the week of instruction with my wife, Wanda, whose role was well defined by her CB handle, Chuckwagon, fixing meals for the group from our portable kitchen-pantry that moved along with the class because it was fastened to a tow vehicle.
On the particular day that I claim that my desert life changed so dramatically, my fellow teacher's family and we were enjoying the fact that everyone else had headed home and after descending some canyon or another, we noticed a sign on the Indian Ranch Road that offered ice and cold drinks for sale. Pulling in under giant Tamarisk trees we saw a building built from concrete test cores, with a "Store" sign affixed to the front. We went in and I saw nothing of the interior because I was dazzled by the beauty of the young woman tending the "bar"(to use the word loosely). I guess I must have finally quit staring, or else she was used to being stared at, and she introduced herself as Carol Barker, daughter of the ranch lessee, the legendary Kirk Barker, who is worthy of an autobiographical sketch of her own. Carol told us that her family had vacationed for years in a place her father had built in Goler Wash, had gotten the opportunity to lease Indian Ranch, and invited us to camp there on the green grass, in the wonderful shade, and with water running everywhere. Anyway, as some of you readers will know, the Barker Ranch up in Goler Wash was being enshrined in infamy, and probably fortunately for us in every respect except for not having another story to tell, we had not taken Roger Mitchell's advice in the first edition of Death Valley Jeep Trails to stop and ask to take a swim with the hippies who were hanging out there. These hippies of Rogers were Charles Manson and his family. We camped out at and enjoyed Indian Ranch for more than twenty years until the Barker's lease ran out, at which time we were told that we wouldn't want to be part of the scene with the impending return of the owners. Stupidly, we heeded that advice for a year of two.
Upon our return to the ranch, we began a second era of great friendships and oasis living, and most importantly we met and got to know Dugan. Dugan Hanson, owner of Indian Ranch, is the grandson of Indian George Hansen or Hanson, who as some readers will know, watched the first wagons of the white pioneers come into Death Valley in that December of 1849, and because of his fear of these strange looking people, became according to Anglo histories, Bah-vanda-savany-kee, "The Boy Who Ran Away". While on the subject of names, let me point that Dugan says that the family name from his grandfather on down has always been spelled Hanson, regardless of how often it has been spelled Hansen in biographical or historical articles.
I came here from "About Ol' Saline" and I need to finish reading that
International Vehicles | Death Valley Trails | Jenny Lind School | Macintosh | Home