Spotlight - 14.2019

30 Spotlight 14/2019 TRAVEL

Fotos: David John Weber

Day 1

5 p.m.

We’re in a wild part of southeast Nevada,

just me and my husband, driving our RV

on US Route 93 to Kershaw-Ryan State

Park. We arrive as it’s getting dark, pay

the $15 park fee, and roll the camper into

space number eight. It’s windy, but we de-

cide to eat dinner outside anyway.

In the camper, I put butter in a pan, as

well as wheat bread, cheddar, tomatoes

— and voilà: toasted cheese sandwiches,

a camping classic. We take our plates to a

picnic table and watch bats flying around

the cliffs that rise in front of us. One cold

beer later, it’s time for bed.

As we settle in, I hear the distant roar

of a freight train. It gets louder and loud-

er, until the noise swallows the RV. To me,

the rhythmic rattle of its wheels is a very

American sound, as is the train’s power-

ful horn. The canyon magnifies the train’s

progress. I look out the window, and just

past the park gate, boxcars flit by. After-

wards, all is quiet. Stars dance above, and

campfire smoke is carried on the wind.

Day 2

8:40 a.m.

Kershaw is full of surprises. If you didn’t

know this was a state park, you might

think you were in a private garden owned

by a wealthy lover of the landscape arts. A

koi pond, perfect lawns — these are sights

seldom seen in the high desert. Samuel

and Hannah Kershaw established a ranch

nearby in 1873, and the fruit trees and gar-

den they planted here live on in this park.

In 1934, Kershaw Gardens was given to

Nevada for public use, and the state has

taken care of it ever since.

As we enter the green oasis, a few min-

utes’ drive from the campground, we

meet teenagers in Caliente Youth Center

T-shirts carrying garden tools. Their

work makes a difference: Flowers glow

red and orange, while willows and white

oaks present a solid picture of arboreal

health. A placard among the plants tells

how Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC)

workers landscaped the garden during the

Depression. Today, you’d never know that

floods destroyed it all in 1984, though the

high walls of Rainbow Canyon do hint at

how gravity and water could conspire to

create flash floods.

arboreal [A:r(bO:riEl]

, Baum-

arcaded [A:r(keIdId]

, mit Bogengang

bat [bÄt]

, Fledermaus

boxcar [(bA:kskA:r]

N. Am.

, Güterwagen

church service

[(tS§:tS )s§:vEs]

, Gottesdienst

coat of arms

[)koUt Ev (A:rmz]

, Wappen

conspire [kEn(spaI&r]

, zusammenwirken

creosote [(kri:EsoUt]

, Kreosot, Teeröl

flash flood [)flÄS (flVd]

, Blitzflut, Sturzflut

flit [flIt]

, flitzen, huschen

freight [freIt]

, Fracht-, Güter-

gable [(geIb&l]

, Giebel

glow [gloU]

, leuchten

gravity [(grÄvEti]

, Schwerkraft

hardware store

[(hA:rdwer stO:r] N. Am.

, Eisenhandlung,

Baumarkt

hint [hInt]

, hinweisen

horn [hO:rn]

, Hupe; hier: Zughorn

magnify [(mÄgnIfaI]

, verstärken

outpost [(aUtpoUst]

, Außenposten

placard [(plÄkA:rd]

, Plakat, Anschlag

pond [pA:nd]

, Teich, Weiher

rail hub [(reI&l hVb]

, Bahnknotenpunkt

rattle [(rÄt&l]

, Rattern

recall sth. [ri(kO:l]

, an etw. erinnern

RV (recreational vehicle)

[)A:r (vi:] N. Am.

, Wohnmobil

spring [sprIN]

, Quelle

stacked [stÄkt]

, aufgestapelt

stagecoach

[(steIdZkoUtS]

, Postkutschen-

swallow [(swA:loU]

, verschlucken, ver-

schlingen

tiled [taI&ld]

, gefliest; hier: ziegel-

gedeckt

white oak [(waIt oUk]

, Amerikanische

Weißeiche

willow [(wIloU]

, Weide

worshipper [(w§:SEp&r]

, Gottesdienst-

besucher(in)

9:30 a.m.

We drive two miles to Caliente, estab-

lished in 1901 and named for nearby hot

springs (caliente is Spanish for “hot”). Like

many small places in the rural West, it

has seen better days. On Clover Street,

we drive past the Shamrock Pub and a

True Value hardware store, then park at

a majestic train station, the old Caliente

Railroad Depot. Its twin gables display

a coat of arms with the words “Union

Pacific, The Overland Route” — once

the name of a stagecoach line, and later a

West-to-Midwest rail connection. In the

20th century, Caliente, halfway between

Los Angeles and Salt Lake City, was an im-

portant rail hub. These days, freight trains

still pass through on their way east.

The smell of creosote hangs in the air.

A signal on the platform lights up red,

then green: A freight train is coming. Two

minutes later, it’s racing past, containers

stacked two high. The end of the miles-

long train is nowhere in sight. People

come out of the station to watch, like

witnesses to a miracle. “It’s the ‘Glory

Train,’” says one, naming a popular gospel

song. In the depot, they’ve been holding

a church service. The woman running it

explains that the old station is a rare 1920s

treasure. Its architecture, called the Mis-

sion Style, recalls the colonial religious

outposts of old California, beautiful,

red-tiled, and arcaded — the Spanish mis-

sions. She says the station once housed

a 50-room hotel. Before long, the service

starts up again and worshippers return to

it, gray-haired veterans among them.

I look through the station’s dusty win-

dows: There’s a library inside with a com-

puter terminal labeled “Lincoln County

Nuclear Oversight Public Information

Center,” a reminder of this state’s history

of atom-bomb testing. Through another

window, I see a painted map of Nevada

covering one of the station’s walls. The

“Creative Artists of Lincoln County”

meet here and show their work. There’s

an office housing the city hall, as well as a

cafe, and in a separate building, the small

Boxcar Museum.

10:20 a.m.

Back on US 93, a road sign tells me to ex-

pect wild horses, so I do. All I see, though,

are tall cactuses. The next sign says: “Las

Vegas, 149 miles.” The big city is only two

hours away. Instead of going to Vegas, we

The historic train station

in Caliente, Nevada