Ep 2 -- Speed Trap (Closed)
Jul 17, 2015 23:12:58 GMT -5
Post by Feldspar on Jul 17, 2015 23:12:58 GMT -5
Set- Week 2, Day 5.
At ten in the morning, the Nevada sun was bright in the perfectly blue sky above the Sheldon National Wildlife Refuge.
It blazed down a forbidding landscape. Five hundred thousand acres of sage steppe and high, dry rangeland, interspersed with steep slopes, deep ruts, and dangerous slippery sections of crumbling ridges. Narrow canyons turned into deep valleys, which lifted into broad, sweeping tables that would come to a sharp stop at the base of vertical cliffs.
Desolate terrain, with a criss-cross of maintenance roads. It had been preserved for the animals back in the nineteen thirties, a huge area of land set aside for the antelope and other creatures; mule deer, sage-grouse and migratory birds.
Humans hiked and went to the hot springs. Some camped out in the back country... but those were the intrepid ones. Most tourists and travelers simply stuck to the paved safety of Highway 140. In the summer, abrupt thunderstorms rolled in and turned the back-country thick with clotting mud that could mire even a well prepared Jeep, stranding you until things dried out.
In winter, the same trails were downright dangerous - cell phone service was notoriously spotty, and so were other vehicles and visitors. It was recommended in bold letters on their pamphlets to bring at least one extra spare tire, chains, food, water, and detail where you'd gone and when you'd arrive... and leave it with someone staying behind. There were always people who didn't listen, and simply disappeared, to be found years later by a fly-over when the BLM was counting mustangs.
Long stretches of land and valley were gold and dull with brittle swaths of grass. Smatterings of sage and small shrubby trees prickled up from the edges of seasonal riverbeds. The same plants grew thick along the edges of the shallow, slow moving creeks that remained. Algae had built up along the edges. From the high vantage points, the streams gleamed a brilliant emerald in places.
Heat ripples shimmered off great crags of dark black stone. They rose jagged and rough from the earth and formed high hills and deep crevasses. A long time ago in Earth's history, this place had been high in seismic and volcanic activity. Now it had rumbled down to background whispers, but there were still indicators that the Earth's power remained; smattering of geothermal hot springs, the pools dotting here and there.
Steam rose from them at night and in the winter. The animals were cautious when drinking from them; the ever present pronghorns and horses pulling back their lips as they swallowed the mineral-laden water. In this terrain, it meant survival and the animals did not spurn that precious resource. No matter if it smelled (and tasted) of rotten eggs and copper.
Yet, this was the sort of terrain that proved an amazing resource to the wildlife that had filled an inhospitable niche.
It also provided resources to other life that had never evolved here, who were not part of the ebb and flow of nature on this world.
The volcanic strata here was often an indicator of energon crystals; they were scattered among the crags. Some nestled in old lava tubes. Others were buried at the bottom of canyons cut deep by rivers and time. They were hard to find; scanning for deposits at long ranges was thwarted by distance. It had to be scouted in close sweeps, or on foot for the best results.
Sometimes it practically took landing head first on one before you knew it was there.
Which probably wasn't the most appropriate course of action if you were one of the two mechs out scouting today....
At ten in the morning, the Nevada sun was bright in the perfectly blue sky above the Sheldon National Wildlife Refuge.
It blazed down a forbidding landscape. Five hundred thousand acres of sage steppe and high, dry rangeland, interspersed with steep slopes, deep ruts, and dangerous slippery sections of crumbling ridges. Narrow canyons turned into deep valleys, which lifted into broad, sweeping tables that would come to a sharp stop at the base of vertical cliffs.
Desolate terrain, with a criss-cross of maintenance roads. It had been preserved for the animals back in the nineteen thirties, a huge area of land set aside for the antelope and other creatures; mule deer, sage-grouse and migratory birds.
Humans hiked and went to the hot springs. Some camped out in the back country... but those were the intrepid ones. Most tourists and travelers simply stuck to the paved safety of Highway 140. In the summer, abrupt thunderstorms rolled in and turned the back-country thick with clotting mud that could mire even a well prepared Jeep, stranding you until things dried out.
In winter, the same trails were downright dangerous - cell phone service was notoriously spotty, and so were other vehicles and visitors. It was recommended in bold letters on their pamphlets to bring at least one extra spare tire, chains, food, water, and detail where you'd gone and when you'd arrive... and leave it with someone staying behind. There were always people who didn't listen, and simply disappeared, to be found years later by a fly-over when the BLM was counting mustangs.
Long stretches of land and valley were gold and dull with brittle swaths of grass. Smatterings of sage and small shrubby trees prickled up from the edges of seasonal riverbeds. The same plants grew thick along the edges of the shallow, slow moving creeks that remained. Algae had built up along the edges. From the high vantage points, the streams gleamed a brilliant emerald in places.
Heat ripples shimmered off great crags of dark black stone. They rose jagged and rough from the earth and formed high hills and deep crevasses. A long time ago in Earth's history, this place had been high in seismic and volcanic activity. Now it had rumbled down to background whispers, but there were still indicators that the Earth's power remained; smattering of geothermal hot springs, the pools dotting here and there.
Steam rose from them at night and in the winter. The animals were cautious when drinking from them; the ever present pronghorns and horses pulling back their lips as they swallowed the mineral-laden water. In this terrain, it meant survival and the animals did not spurn that precious resource. No matter if it smelled (and tasted) of rotten eggs and copper.
Yet, this was the sort of terrain that proved an amazing resource to the wildlife that had filled an inhospitable niche.
It also provided resources to other life that had never evolved here, who were not part of the ebb and flow of nature on this world.
The volcanic strata here was often an indicator of energon crystals; they were scattered among the crags. Some nestled in old lava tubes. Others were buried at the bottom of canyons cut deep by rivers and time. They were hard to find; scanning for deposits at long ranges was thwarted by distance. It had to be scouted in close sweeps, or on foot for the best results.
Sometimes it practically took landing head first on one before you knew it was there.
Which probably wasn't the most appropriate course of action if you were one of the two mechs out scouting today....
