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Desmond had made a far rock toss across the Mojave, going from one outpost to the next. He moved from the outpost he had assisted in the maintenance of one of their technicals, then to the next outpost where he heard they needed a technician to repair the electrical in their med bay. A constant string of work and leads, taking jobs that would give him food, supplies, fuel, and information. This was the life of a wanderer, wandering from place to place, doing work to live. Yet being skilled like Desmond was one thing that made him special. It allowed him to work among many groups, interact with many people, and learn many things most would never even know about. 

Like the fact that something had gone down at Ranger Camp Foxtrot. Legion had attacked and was repelled, leaving Desmond to believe that whatever there was minorly important. Yet, still important enough for the legion to attack it, even in its weakened state. Which in its own right could give some leads and information. So, as his nature dictates, Desmond let the wind take him to the camp and into the unknown, as no matter how one wanders, the wind will blow them as it pleases.