Providence Cone (Rattlesnake Peak) revisited - Organ Mountains-Desert Peaks National Monument

I've been wanting to get back out to Providence Cone for more than 7 years now.  It's just been hard  to get myself over the mental hump of the long drive to a place I've  already been. I had done trip close to it back in November  to a nearby mountain and then just recently had been near to it again on my trip to Chappel Peak ( see previous blog).
 It was on my mind and then an opportunity came. After inviting myself along, I went out on Wednesday with two friends who were going to be scouting a nighttime photo shoot.  I don't know why, since I'm not really a social hiker, but going with other people motivated me just enough, to actually do it. Who knows how long it would have been otherwise.
 I  had wanted to see at least some, and one panel in particular, of the petroglyphs, that had eluded me on previous trip(s?).
 The drive was long, but since I had been making a lot of long drives lately, it didn't seem too bad. The last  few miles past where I had parked for Chappel Peak, I even thought the roads were actually pretty good.
 After parking near the cone's southeast side and getting out of our respective vehicles (social distancing in effect). I saw one friend putting on his high boots and snake gaiters while regaling us with stories of his most recent rattlesnake encounters. I then opted for a pair of old mid hikers I had in the truck, rather than low ones I had on.
Almost immediately after, we were on our way up the bare rock of the cone directly toward the most well known panel( and the one I had most wanted to see) located somewhat treacherously in a recessed  flat face of one of several large boulders that seem poised to slide off the mountain.

While the photographer worked out his plan, I wandered alone toward the east.  Out of earshot of the others (of course) I heard a loud rattle, and then saw under a boulder, one of the namesake denizens of this Rattlesnake Peak (Providence Cone's alternate name). I gave wide berth, and then proceeded to do the same for the other boulders I passed as well. Shortly thereafter, I saw a blue truck parked by the playa on east side of the cone, and thought it strange, as is the case whenever I encounter anyone else in the remote places I go. Then, I saw a man with a blue bucket and long metal grabber and I knew exactly what he was doing.
 I told him where I had just seen a snake, and then a little while later guided him to it. He thanked me and I walked on to the base of the mountain. I heard a lot of rattling and when I looked up, he held a fat two and half foot western diamondback aloft by the tail and then lowered it head first into the bucket.
 I found the panels of  easily accessible glyphs lower down and then went in search of more higher up again when my two friends re-joined me.





 We found a few more and then went out to the rock outcroppings west of the cone, where there was one more to be seen.

The whole trip, while pleasant with beautiful weather (blowing dust had been predicted), seemed a little mercenary (for I knew I could be led to exactly what I wanted to see) and social and had me longing for more of my usual  fare of solitary discovery. The photographer friend, at one point, was talking about the wonderful rock art sites at Alamo Mountain and seemed surprised that I had never been. This was almost identical to  a conversation I had with another photographer friend a couple of years ago who told me " you've got to go (to Alamo Mountain)" and I replied without a whole a lot thought, but perhaps a personal truth, " it's just not as much fun if I know it's there."  I know I'm not usually the only discoverer of the places I find, but if it feels like it to me, that's all that matters. Like the lines from the  Robert Service poem The Spell of the Yukon: "Yet it isn't the gold that I'm wanting So much as just finding the gold." I'm  an old prospector at heart.