AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

I don’t view Apple as a rescue service. EPIRB, Garmin, and others are rescue products. If I have to push the button, I want it to work.

 

Yeah, that's what I was trying to say. In fairness to @CA-Taco, I was the one who brought up Apple. He mentioned T-mobile (and by inference, Starlink).

 

Apple has its place for sure and I don't want to say "no" out of hand, just that it might not be something to rely on yet.
Like early examples of these products (SPOT) had poor outcomes when the signal was not received for whatever reason.

 

100%

 

I'll chime in for SPOT -- finally picked one up over the holidays last winter. It is cheap and pretty easy to use, although the UI and sadly the qwerty keyboard leave a bit to be desired. No need for Bluetooth or cellphone apps though, just look at the screen and press the buttons; a proper stand-alone device. (Except to update firmware or preprogrammed messages--for that you connect USB to a PC and reflash it.)

You get a 10 digit phone number for it. Anyone can send sms to that number, so I assume you gotta be careful sharing it. I've received msgs from phones and from inreach users, no prob.

There is one noteworthy shortcoming: its RX frequencies overlap with 5G. So in urban areas, it can't receive messages. Sending still works, but it eats battery because it never gets confirmation that it sent. This isn't a deal breaker; obviously wherever there is 5G interference, there is plenty of cell coverage. You just gotta keep this in mind. I tell my wife to message both the spot and my phone -- one or the other will work wherever I am, typically both.

We tried it the other weekend up in the inyos. It was easy peasy sending texts between her iPhone and my spot. I'm curious how far the signals actually travelled... we were 6 feet apart at the time lol.

I wish there were an android satellite message platform. Qualcomm tried, but nobody made a phone to utilize it, so last I heard they gave up. Someday it will materialize, and then I'll probably shelve the spot.

 

I agree that garmin is the go to device for sos comms. They have a proven track record. From the discussion above, it sounds like you need an InReach PhD to communicate with friends/family in non emergency situations. Or did I skim through too quickly? My eyes were rolling back in my head.

I do find the t-mobile service has a nice user interface for us non techies with non techie families who want to reach us while we are away in remote areas. It allows text communication both incoming and outgoing (no pictures, just text) just like when cell service or WiFi are available. No special addresses or software needed. And the price is nominal ($5/mo for those who participated in the beta program; $10/mo otherwise). It is a tool with a different purpose, but another tool none-the-less.

 

Considering that I can’t get reliable cellular (LTE) at my house in a mid-sized California city, so I have to rely on WiFi calling which doesn’t work in a power outage, maybe I should upgrade my phone to a newer one with satellite capability to use at home. Backup for the Garmin when off grid would be a bonus.

 

There was a time when sending an email to a friend who worked across the street meant first sending it to the midwest. Or you had to remember your recipient was at the end of a satellite link and that image of a manual page was not gonna make it

 

Sending from the Garmin Device to anyone else (via email or phone number) is easy, and anyone who recieves an email or SMS from the Garmin can very easily reply in order to communicate back. It's only the "I want to initiate a conversation with an inReach that hasn't ever contacted me that is more difficult. I suppose that's mildly understandable, since the inReach user (generally) has to pay $0.50 for every message and they are trying to protect folks from running up a big bill, but it would be nice if they had some sort of whitelist or something that the inReach user could setup to make it easier for people at hom.

Maybe it's time for a new cell provider? Someone must have reasonable service if you're in SVC.

 

Pup in the Truck | Owyhee #1
Part of the Owyhee Downlands (May 2025) trip.

We've been going to the Owyhee for ages. Or at least, "ages" when taken in context of the time that we've been adventuring around the western United States (and Canada). In fact, our very first trip was to Owyhee, a trip that @mrs.turbodb planned on the same weekend in May, nine years ago.

In that time - as we've traversed many thousands of miles of road - we've learned much about this wonderland in southeast Oregon, including the fact that it's not limited to Oregon! The Owyhee extend into southwest Idaho and even into northern Nevada.

For the first time, we're headed into the high desert of the Nevada Owyhee. There seems to be a lot less known about this portion of the region, and even fewer visitors than found in the sparsely populated area to the north. As such, we have little idea of what to expect, but for the fact that we'll be in the middle of nowhere, and likely all alone.

We arrived just outside of Paradise Valley well after dark, so we didn't get our first look at the surroundings until we woke up the next morning.​

Part of the reason we like to travel to Owyhee in the late spring is for the green grass. This is a bit of a dance - too early and the roads are impassably muddy; too late and temps climb, becoming unpleasantly hot and drying everything out - but when timed perfectly, the tall green grass undulates in the wind, and is magical. So, as we gazed around our camp site, we were a little concerned to see that everything was already golden. Hopefully, we commented to each other, we hadn't missed the green!

Our general direction of travel would be to the northeast, working our way from Paradise Valley along US-95 through the town of Owyhee, NV on NV-225, and then eventually to Jarbidge, where we'd turn north towards home. That meant a lot of ground to cover, so putting off breakfast for a couple hours, we got under way!

Only a few minutes into the morning, @mrs.turbodb's eyes lit up, "there's a hot spring up ahead on the road," she exclaimed. Unfortunately, when we arrived, it couldn't have been more obvious that we wouldn't be enjoying it.

Looks like the cows have enjoyed shitting in the spring. "Paradise Valley Hot Spring" is no longer a very descriptive name.​

I just missed running over this gopher snake who was sunning in the gravel road. After a few glamour shots, I moved him along to safety.​

With well-graded ranch roads, we made great time for the first few dozen miles. Gaining elevation slowly, we worked our way past Chimney Reservoir, the first hints of spring creeping across the terrain.

Just a bit of snow peaking out to the west as we had the reservoir all to ourselves.​

I thought it was cool how the water changed color depending on the angle of the lens.​

This willet was watching us closely as it worked its way along the shoreline.​

Actually, it seemed that everyone was watching us. Guess we looked a little shady.​

We'd see a lot of wildflowers on this trip, and they'd get better and brighter as time went on. Here, we got into a bit of lupine (left), Yellow Desert Evening Primrose (top right), and a white primrose (bottom right).
​

We soon found ourselves crossing the headwaters of the Little Humbolt River. Full, but still reasonably small, we might have been able to ford this body of water at a wider crossing, but most that we'd cross along this route - namely, the Owyhee, Bruneau, and Jarbidge Rivers - were swollen and deep this time of year. Bridges were a necessity.

The meandering waterway really greened up the valley, and we got our first "that's the Owyhee we were expecting," contrast between the green grass and volcanic outcroppings.​

Even with a relatively low flow, we were glad for the bridge.​

After crossing the creek, we climbed almost immediately. Up here, spring was in full swing, only a few hundred feet making a huge difference in the greenness of the grass. Our roads - now narrower two-tracks - worked their way across a deceivingly flat terrain, the enormous gashes - through which water slowly carved away the plateau - hidden from view until the flying camera gained a bit of elevation.

Even the clouds were starting to play nice up here.​

A nice view of Milligan Creek from the air.​

Despite getting greener as we gained elevation, one thing was for sure: the "soil" here - if you could even call it that - was a whole lot dustier than the Oregon and Idaho parts of the Owyhee. I don't know if this was due to lack of recent rains or just because the groundcover is different in this part of the region, but it was almost as though every road we drove was covered in a couple inches of silt. The fine material was easily lifted into the air even before the Tacoma fully passed the location of the front tires, resulting in a dusty white fade before we'd even made it an hour into our journey.

https://www.youtube.com/embed/4JDFwVOSFi0

Thank goodness it wasn't wet, this stuff would have been slippery and impassable.​

Hombre coating.​

This dust would be present through the entirety of our trip, the wind seeming to change from one direction to another - but always blowing the same direction we were travelling - dusting us every time we got out of the truck! On the flip side, it made the ride much softer than the rocky roads in Oregon, so that was a plus.

Having climbed out of the tent significantly later than usual - due to our late arrival after a day of driving - we weren't hungry as we spotted a cowboy camp on the horizon right around noon. Consisting of two teepees, pitched near a small reservoir, we were greeted - timidly - by a small dog as we approached. Assuming that meant we'd find the cowboys in camp, we kept a bit of distance, and I called out a hello, as I hopped out of the truck to ask if it was alright to take a photo or two.

The irony of cowboys using teepees was not lost on us.​

To my surprise, there was no answer. As I walked over to the tents - making plenty of noise and hoping to hear a return greeting - the cute little pup followed me in that "I want to be close, but not too close" fashion that might be associated with a combination of curiosity, subservience, and fear of the unknown. Things got even stranger as I looked into the teepees, sleeping bags and clothing scattered haphazardly on the ground, all of it very dusty. It seemed too dusty; what had happened to the cowboys?

As I walked back from the camp, the pups attention changed almost immediately. No longer was it interested in me, rather, it ran to the bed of the truck, looking for a place to hop up into the bed. I didn't think much of it at first - of course a pup would be accustomed to the "mount up" command as the cowboys drove off in similar vehicles, but after a couple "heys," and "nos," it was clear that this little guy was not going to be dissuaded so easily. Turning my back to put the camera away, I heard the scrap of toenails as it finally decided that it could bound up the quarter panel, secreting away under the tent. A stowaway as it were!

C'mon guys, I wanna go!​

Coaxing him out of the bed - even with food - was impossible. Suddenly, we were asking ourselves if he'd been forgotten, or worse, abandoned. Taking him with us seemed like an impossibility; leaving him behind, possibly cruel. In the end though, we had to believe - with the teepees and belongings still in camp - that the cowboys would be back, or new ones along, who were in a better position to solve the situation than we were. And eventually, we were able to extract the pup from the truck and continue on our way.

It was 1:00pm as we pulled away, and to this point, we hadn't seen much except for the grassy plains of the Owyhee desert. That would remain the case for another 90 minutes as our route took us due north, only to turn 180° and head due south after skirting the finger of another canyon. Still, the clouds were beginning to play nice, and it combined with the greenery around us, we did our best to convince ourselves we'd made the right decision about the pup.

As far as the eye can see.​

Blowing in from the west.​

Turning south, more of the same but for the Tuscarora Mountains in the distance.​

Pulling up to the ruins of Winters Ranch, it seemed like a small town had sprung up around the old rock ruins. My reaction to the half dozen pickups, several trailers, and a dozen more of the teepee tents we'd seen earlier - scattered here and there - was one of disappointment. I always like to photograph these places without modern trappings getting in the way, but in the end, this would turn out to be a bit of a blessing - at least mentally.

These folks were out here for a wild horse - of which they'd found a few - roundup.​

As we exited the truck, we were greeted - only semi-cordially - by several families of cowboys and a few yapping dogs. Wary of us city slickers, only a few got up from around their fire - burning hot under the midday sun - to say hello and corral their furry friends, but most of them seemed to warm up a bit after our respectful greeting and asking for permission to go take a photo or two of the ruins.

Old and new, both close to the land.​

We also related the story of the pup - and seemingly abandoned camp - we'd encountered near Elevenmile Hill. No one seemed overly bothered or concerned as they chatted amongst themselves as to whose ranch was out that way and theorized that the cowboys must just be out working the ranch, surely to return if the camp was still there.

Hoping they were right, we chatted for a few more minutes before wishing each other enjoyment and good times in the wonderful spring surroundings, at which point we climbed back into the Tacoma to continue on our way.

Now midafternoon, we had one final place to investigate before we'd turned our sights north again - the Good Hope Silver Mine.

The waste rock piles of the Good Hope.​

The Good Hope Mine has historical significance as it shares its name with the mining district. While the extent of the mineralization remains uncertain and no significant production has been recorded, miners created 2 shafts (now collapsed), an adit, several winzes, drifts, and crosscuts. In the process, antimony, gold, and silver were discovered at the site.

Nestled into the hillside, an old boiler and foundations of the old mill - perhaps shared by all mines in the district - were the only other sign of activity we found.​

More plentiful than any mineral, a field of iris cascaded down the valley below the mine.​

With little left to see and a herd of cows mooing incessantly at our unwelcome presence, we headed toward our final destination of the day - the Owyhee Canyon Wilderness Study Area (WSA) - where we hoped to find a nice spot on the edge of the canyon to call home for the evening. Of course, getting there is the easy part; for us, getting there in a timely fashion is a much more difficult prospect.

"Better get a shot under this outcropping of volcanic activity."​

"Wow, that's green. Better get a shot."​

This is what happened to the last guy who couldn't stop taking photos.​

Given the speeds we were able to achieve on the seldom-traveled-yet-surprisingly-smooth roads, we should have been able to cover the 55 miles to camp in something under two - or perhaps two-and-a-half - hours. Unsurprisingly, @mrs.turbodb knew this would not be the case, and soon she was snoozing in the passenger seat, my inability to keep the truck moving, a blessing in disguise for a peaceful rest.

Except when I needed someone to open a gate.

The Desert Ranch Reservoir.​

Not far up the road, the historic Desert Ranch.​

Thinking that the volcanic hillside seemed perfect for a few petroglyphs, I pulled out the binoculars and began my scan. This ranch brand was so large, it caught me completely off guard.​

Putting a little muscle into a stubborn gate that kept cattle out of the Owyhee Canyon WSA.​

First view of the canyon.​

Even the slowest of us eventually make it to our destination but as we pulled up to the spot that we planned to call camp, we still weren't done for the day. Following a familiar pattern, I hopped out of the truck for a few photos, hoping that daylight would hold out long enough for us to complete the rest of our route.

Here, at a little more than 5,000 feet, the pink phlox (left) and purple aster (center) were both wrapping up their spring display. The white phlox (right) was a little further behind.


Light and dark and light again.​

Having approached from the south, I'd mapped a road that looped around the northern tip of the WSA, knowing that there was little chance we'd be able to follow it completely around the wilderness. The only way to do so would be to navigate a narrow trail down the steep canyon wall before fording the Owyhee River as it exited the northern end of the WSA. Of course, even if there was no chance of success, we had to give it a try!

Down to the river.​

End of the road looks passable, but that water is deep and fast this time of year.​

If it hadn't been so buggy, we might have considered camping below the rim, but as it was, we spent little time outside the confines of the cab, sending the mosquito-proof camera into the sky to capture the gloriousness of a place seldom enjoyed by two-legged creatures.

Nearly an hour later - after retracing our path along the southern cliffs - we finally found ourselves at the most dramatic of the overlooks we'd discovered along the way. It was time to call it a day; time to setup camp.

Still a bit of sunlight left as @mrs.turbodb unpacked the kitchen and I worked on getting the tent deployed.​

Dinner was our usual - tacorittoes with plenty of guacamole - with a twist. A few days before our departure, Mike @Digiratus had come over to refill a few of his 1-pound propane cylinders, and out of the kindness of his heart, he'd brought along some of his famous homemade salsa. The entire 24oz jar had come along with us on the trip, a nice treat to spice things up a bit!

The sun raced toward the horizon as we greedily stuffed our faces with tasty goodness and as a stiff breeze worked to keep the bugs at bay, pastel pinks and purples spread across the sky. It was one of the most beautiful sunsets we've seen in a long time, and one that the wind allowed us to enjoy in relative calm.

Fire in the sky.​

Fading away.​

Last of the light.​

Even after getting a late start, we'd covered more than 160 miles in the course of the day, a tremendous feat despite the fact that it'd taken us longer than I'd hoped. That also meant that we were exhausted, and after a quick cleanup of the dinner dishes, and brushing of teeth, we were on our way up the ladder to enjoy a bit of time in a horizontal position. To our delight, the stiff breeze - that'd kept the bugs away during dinner - dwindled as we lay there, allowing us an earplug free night as we to nodded off to sleep.



.

 

Thanks for sharing Dan. I am assuming this is more of a place that is best experienced by being driven through, or are there hikes available along this route?

Also, what binoculars are you two using?

 

I love this photo.

 

8,600 Feet Above Owyhee | Owyhee #2
Part of the Owyhee Downlands (May 2025) trip.

With a late sunset, it'd been 11:00pm by the time the last of the light faded from the sky and we finally fell asleep, but not before I'd set my alarm for 4:45am so I could catch what I hoped would be a dramatic sunrise on the edge of the serpentine canyon carved by the Owyhee River.

Wishing that the darkness had lasted just a little longer, I pulled on my clothes and climbed out of the tent, grabbing every bit of camera gear I could muster. My hope was that that I'd timed the light perfectly - allowing me to snap a few shots of camp and the canyon - so that I could climb back into bed for another couple hours of sleep!

Good morning, gorge!​

I always love the contrast between the fluid form of the canyon and the angular volcanic walls.​

A private showing.​

As far as the eye can see.​

So easy to navigate, from above.​

In the end, I'm not sure if I'd gotten up at the perfect time, but I was wrapping up just as the sun started to rise and shadows began to creep across the land. With only the pinkest of rays on the eastern side of the tent, I snapped my last shot and snuggled down under the comforter; it was 5:15am.

Good night, sun.​

I figured we'd be up an hour later, but it wasn't until 7:30am that I woke from what can only be described as a pre-breakfast nap. The sun - having raced high into the sky by now - warmed the tent, a sure indication that we were in for another hot day. It was time to get a move on!

After a quick breakfast - cereal and strawberries - and with the tent packed up, we were just about to climb into the cab when @mrs.turbodb mentioned that the swingout didn't seem to be closing correctly. There's really only one thing that can go wrong with the swingout, and having run into the issue several years earlier when we were exploring the Mojave Preserve, I knew immediately that the u-bolt on the latch had broken.

The last time this happened, I'd contacted Destaco - the latch manufacturer - after CBI had been no help at all, and they'd been awesome, sending me two replacement u-bolts on their own dime. I'd installed the first one immediately, stowing the second in my kit should the issue ever pop up again.

An easy fix.​

Ten minutes later we were on the trail, headed across the green, and toward the southern end of the Owyhee Canyon Wilderness Study Area (WSA). We made good time for about five minutes before spotting a car that we'd seen the previous afternoon, still parked in the same place on the side of the road. We hadn't done much investigating at the time, but noticing that the driver's window was down and the seats were packed with suitcases, we thought it'd be a good idea to pull over and have a closer look.

Definitely not normal.​

Update: after emailing the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) on our return, they've sent someone out to evaluate the situation. Hopefully we're looking at an abandoned car, and not a missing person(s) situation.
​

The rest of our trip - to the southern end of the WSA - was uneventful, the roads fading in and out depending frequency of travel; the wildlife in these parts outnumbering humans by a wide margin. Eventually, after following the river for a mile or so, we came to a gravel bar and crossing that would shuttle us to the opposite bank.

A lesser-traveled segment.​

A baby pronghorn - cruising along at a swift 28mph - doing his part to keep the roads nicely defined.​

South Fork Owyhee River crossing.​

Well, we could have shuttled across the river, but I'd mapped out a route that kept us on the south west side of the water - for now - so we retraced a couple miles of trail before racing south toward NV-266 - a nicely graded road that would usher us through much of the Duck Valley Indian Reservation and to the town of Owyhee, NV where we could fuel up the Tacoma for the second half of our journey.

​

I couldn't help but to stop and take a photo of this sign. So important in this day when our public lands are under threat of being sold off and privatized. (1) (2) (3)​

After driving through rolling grasslands all morning, the protruding basalt of Wilson Peak was a nice change as we neared Owyhee Road.​

Named in honor of Jimmie Wilson, one of the early settlers of the area, Wilson Peak is the 2nd highest peak in the Bull Run mountain range, surpassed only by Porter Peak a few miles to the north. Covered by sagebrush and steppe grasslands typical of the area, it rises 2,400' above the Owyhee River, to a height of 8,415 feet.

Around the base of Wilson Peak, the Arrowleaf Balsomroot (top left), pink phlox (bottom left), and Foothill Death Camas (Toxicoscordion paniculatum) (right) were in full spring regale.​

By now it was almost noon, and though our stomachs were growling, we couldn't help ourselves but to continually pull to the side of the road as we headed north toward Owyhee. First, it was for wildlife, next for a spectacular view of Devil's Gap, and finally for a fleeting field of yellow - with a a delicate purple border - flowers. We really had come at the right time of year!

The gopher snakes were out and about in force this time!​

Devil's Gap.​

Purple and gold; feels like home.
​

Eventually we rolled into Owyhee - the temperature creeping into the mid-80s °F - and found a nice shady picnic table at Our Grocery Store (which also the gas station) where we could enjoy our PB&J sandwiches, chips, and in my case, a nice big bowl of cold milk and Wheat Chex! Munching our way through lunch, people watching was the name of the game, this little oasis the only place for nearly 100 miles in any direction to restock on supplies or fuel up a vehicle for adventure.

Still, knowing that we still had a lot of ground to cover - and as our core temperatures heated up even in the shade - we repacked the fridge and climbed into the cab for an afternoon that would take us into the higher - and thus pleasantly cooler - elevations of the Independence Mountains.

Prior to a short stint on NV-225, we hadn't seen any Mormon Crickets, but from that point east, they seemed to be almost everywhere!
​

I'd mapped several routes through the Independence Mountains, my hope being that we could criss-cross them a few times - mostly on north-south corridors - in order to get a good sense of what they had to offer, ultimately finding camp on Big Table or Timber Gulch, overlooking the Bruneau River, below. This plan was entirely too ambitious for a single afternoon, but then, that's not unusual and we somehow make it work.

Heading up the first trail that would take us into the mountains, it wasn't long before we encountered some steep, sloppy conditions.​

Wetter areas were thick with White Mules Ears (Wyethia helianthoides), which we'd previously thought was just white Arrowleaf Balsomroot!​

We aborted our first attempt at heading north towards McDonalds Mine when the road got too washed out and sloppy to be a sure thing. That's not to say we couldn't have made it - and I answered in the affirmative when @mrs.turbodb asked if I'd have continued on if I'd been alone - but over the years I've found that it's much more enjoyable when we're both comfortable with the terrain, so choosing one of three alternative routes north seemed like an easy decision at the time.

To get there, we'd need to sweep our way around the southern flanks of the range, a road I'd wanted to run anyway later in the afternoon. This too was far from a sure thing, neither Gaia GPS nor the BLM signboard we found at Rocky Point indicating that the loop I'd created from Sunflower Flat was actually a through route!

Back into more familiar terrain at Rocky Point.​

Any help on an ID for this white wildflower we saw along the way?
(Perhaps Yampa, Perideridia sp.)​

To our delight, not only did the road I'd mapped - primarily to see a ruin I'd spotted on satellite imagery - go through, but along the way we crossed a small tributary to Warm Creek. With just enough water to make the crossing fun - and a gravelly enough bottom to alleviate any concern of road or stream damage - I got @mrs.turbodb setup with the camera and instructions to "hold the button down" once I hit the water.

Wheeeeee!​

A few runs through the creek worked wonders to clean a bit of the dust off the Tacoma - if only for a few minutes - at which point we pulled into the old Jenkins Place, ready to poke around.

The main ranch house was still structurally in good shape. Inside was an entirely different story.​

The barn was showing its age; it won't be standing much longer!​

Thrilled that we'd made it through a questionable section of trail, the next order of business was a second attempt at the McDonald Mine. An hour north - and nearly 1,000 feet higher in elevation - this gave @mrs.turbodb the perfect opportunity for her afternoon nap, and me the ability to stop as frequently as I pleased, to capture the distant snow-capped peaks as we climbed toward the sky.

​

Our My first peek at the Jarbidge Mountains.​

Scouting the McDonald Mine in satellite imagery before we'd left, I had a good idea that there wouldn't be much to see when we finally arrived, and while I hoped there might be some machinery or cabins buried in the surrounding forest, my online analysis was correct; there were only a few decaying waste rock piles to indicate the past existence of gold and silver prospect.

Rather than continuing along the McDonald Mine loop - one that wrapped around Enright Hill and turned out to be designated for 50-inch wide (or narrower) ATVs, motorcycles, and such - we popped back out to the main road and decided to work our way up to higher elevations below Merritt Mountain. This was the northern terminus of the road that'd turned us around on the south end, and we thought it'd be fun to see how high it climbed, hoping we might run into a patch of snow to play in before continuing on our way.

Gaining a ridge at just over 7,360 feet, we were blown away by the views.​

"Maybe we should just camp here,"​

I said to @mrs.turbodb as I opened up the door to snap off a few photos. "Whatever you want," she replied, happy to sneak in a few more minutes of shut-eye as we continued to whatever the highpoint of the road turned out to be.

"Get out of the truck, but we're not camping here," I notified her a few minutes later. "Walk into the grass and listen."

It was one of the creepiest sounds ever. The knoll we were parked on was covered in a river of Mormon Crickets, the little buggers scurrying through the grass in a circle that moved around us. While it was reassuring that they were getting away from us - at least initially - it was still enough to make our skin crawl as we smiled one of those uncomfortable smiles before climbing back into the Tacoma.

Pro tip: Mormon Crickets are climbers, and they'll climb anything, natural or not. Camp in their midst only if you'd like to wake up to them nestled next to you in the tent.
​

Still hopeful that we could find something at this higher elevation to call home for the night, we continued on, eventually reaching the high point of the road - and a patch of snow perfect for a snowball fight - at just over 7,900 feet. The views here were even better, but there were still crickets on the ground, so it too was rejected from a long-term perspective.

We'd looped around Porter Peak - snow covered in the distance - just before lunch; another long day.​

Also at the top of the ridge - in a pull out next to the snow, and just past a burned-out patch of shrubbery - sat a burned out UTV. As far as we could determine, they'd pulled off the road and into the shrubs - even though there were plenty of wide, rocky areas where they would do less damage - to let someone pass. Their hot exhaust lit the dry vegetation on fire, causing them to race away from their "watch my UTV go anywhere pull-out" to get away from the flames. Only as they stopped to wonder how they were going to extinguish the ground fire they'd started did they realize that it'd caught some bit of their UTV - perhaps some rubber or plastic bits on fire. And by then, all they could do was watch as the whole thing burned to the ground.

The best kind of UTV: one that's been destroyed by its owner's stupidity.​

After making several snide remarks about how I hoped the UTV would burn in hell for eternity, and wondering how the occupants got off the hill, it was time to figure out our plan for the evening.

A Rant About UTVs (since I'm sure my statements on the topic may seem crude to some)

I've seen a lot of destruction from UTVs, some of it "after it's done" and some of it "as I was watching." In my experience, a much higher percentage of UTVs exhibit this behavior than 4x4s. In my experience, the percentage isn't "a few," but is "most." But again, I recognize that what I've seen could vary from what others have seen.

I think the problem that UTVs exacerbate is manyfold, but three of the biggest issues are ease of access to places that are sensitive, lack of education about how to treat those special places, and a sense of entitlement that's seemed to pervade our society these days.

Ease of access - Before UTVs, building up a vehicle that could go deep into the wild without falling apart was a laborious affair. Usually starting with a Jeep or similar, the owner would work for hours to upgrade suspension, tires, fabricated steel armor, and drivelines. Recovery tools would be acquired, their usage learned, and then packed into the rig along with fuel and other supplies for the inevitable breakdown that would happen at some point. All of this would be done under the watchful eye of older and more experienced off-roaders.

But UTVs changed all that. With a good bit of money, anyone could purchase a purpose-built machine that far exceeds the capabilities of all but the most extreme 4x4 builds. The rig is acquired in a matter of minutes, sold with the promise that "it will get you anywhere you want to go," and the keys are delivered with no education whatsoever. It's no wonder then that the drivers make liberal use of the skinny pedal, ignore signage to stay on trails, and lack all context of how to respectfully behave when driving their new "life-sized remote-control car."

How to treat the outdoors - In the days before smartphones and social media, families got away from the toils of every day life by going on vacations with each other, and - though it's hard to fathom - sometimes even with other families! On these excursions, parents would teach their kids how to play in the dirt, build forts, and fish. Junior Ranger programs would award stickers and patches for picking up litter or identifying a handful of plants and animals throughout the campground. Years of exposure to the magic of nature would instill a sense of ownership and understanding of how it was important to treat the outdoors respectfully so it could be enjoyed by others and into the future.

As screens have assumed the role of entertainer and babysitter, and as parents have focused their own devices and social media accounts, many kids have missed out on the experiences of previous generations. Their exposure to the outdoors is - initially - through the unrealistically perfect feed they see on Instagram, a series of places that should be ticked off a list in order to garner as many "likes" as possible. And what quicker way to do that with a UTV, sold to them as the quickest way to "get there." No education required.

Entitlement - There is no question that in today's society, a sense of entitlement has taken hold like never before. This sense that, "I'm special, so I can/should do whatever I want," when combined with UTV ownership exacerbates the issues I've mentioned above. "I paid for this UTV, I should be able to use it to its limits," and "I'm driving this UTV on my public lands," are just two of the things I've heard from drivers.

Sigh.

And again - this is not to say that all UTV drivers are a problem. In fact, I consider myself lucky to have become friends with two seasoned explorers of the Owyhee - Kenny and John - who do so responsibly in a UTV. I'd argue that - like them - those who have previously been exploring the outdoors for decades in self-built 4x4 vehicles - or even ATVs - and who have migrated to a UTV as they've gotten older, are likely to continue to treat the outdoors with respect and use their machines responsibly. But those folks are far from the majority of UTV pilots these days.

I love these signs, but I'm open to other solutions.
​

It's Easy to Complain

It's easy to complain about without ever working toward a solution. It's rewarded by social media, where keyboard commandos who yell the loudest have their posts and comments blown up in order to maximize the number of minutes people are stuck death scrolling. To actually be useful, we need to move past those complaints to solutions.

What I do think would be OK/good - is to recognize that there is a problem, and try to address it. I'd actually be OK with addressing it across all offroad vehicles (4x4s included) because I think that in the last few years, the percentage of uneducated 4x4s has increased dramatically as well - as folks have gone Instalander crazy, just out to get a cool photo in an amazing place; not really understanding that in doing so irresponsibly, they are doing lots of damage.

I'm also not saying that UTVs should necessarily be banned. But working out a way to educated their drivers before allowing them to drive away from the trailhead? That sounds OK. Needing a license to go out, and having acquisition of that license entail some education (like a driver's license, or Ham operator license)... seems like a good idea. Maybe there are more good ideas. Better ideas even.

And again, this education could be for everyone. It might seem unnecessary for the old hats, but hey, in that case, it'd be easy to pass. I'd happily trade that easy license, for the hope that it would help get others to be a little more educated.

​

Looking at the map, @mrs.turbodb noticed that - rather than heading back down the hill to the spot I'd planned to camp - we could continue a little further to a fork that climbed nearly to the summit of Merritt Mountain. Sure to offer fantastic views and cooler temperatures - but unsure if we'd be stopped by snow - I was game to give it a try, and a few minutes later we were on our way up!

We didn't hit snow until 8,600 feet. But when we did, there was no question that we were done.

So close to the top!​

Curious as to the summit, we set the emergency brake and left the Tacoma in gear as we picked our way through the snow drifts to the summit of Mini Merritt Mountain, a few hundred feet below - and a quarter mile south - of the named peak. There, an old radio shack sat perched at the top, a commanding 360° view of the Owyhee below.

8,600 feet above Owyhee.​

By the time we were done identifying peaks, glassing a distant fire, and pointing out the route we'd taken through the lands that unfolded below us, it was 6:00pm. Technically we could have worked our way back down the mountain, but with pleasant temperatures and no Mormon Crickets (!) - we realized we'd never get a better view then the one we had up here. Or at least, almost up here.

In a high meadow of not-yet-blooming Arrowleaf Balsomroot, we found the perfect place to call home.​

https://www.youtube.com/embed/F_qKwLaS658

Merritt Mountain flower garden.
Fleabane (left) | Low Cryptantha (center left) | Bluebells (center right) | Larkspur (right)​

Snowy sunstar.​

All manner of bugs were kept at bay as a warm breeze swept across the mountain meadow as we prepped dinner. Fresh corn was a nice addition to our usual guacamole-heavy taco-rittoes and mere minutes after everything was warmed on the tailgate, our bellies reaped the rewards.

We still had hours before the sun would set, but for us, it was time to head upstairs to bed.

A Porter Peak view from the front porch.​

Though we hadn't gotten as far as we'd hoped, we'd had an amazing day. We had one more before heading home, one that would reveal secrets of the Owyhee and test our nerves along the way!

 

The UTV question is a tough call. I just watched the recovery of one off of a trail in UT. Driver was apparently driving in almost fog like dust when he drove off the road. The UTV rolled a couple of thousand feet. 1 fatality. 1 serious injury. When I'm riding at the local OHV, we often see them on trails they should not be on or going the wrong way.

I don't think licensing is the right way but then again, when you see such behavior, it's difficult to know what to do. I do know when asked, many people do not want OHV money spent on training.

 

Sabotage costs nothing...

 

My experience with riding UTVs in the dunes: Fun!

My experience with other people driving UTVs in National Forest and BLM : Drunk driving, going stupid fast on well-traveled roads, causing accidents, trailblazing way off the path, usually no trail manners or use/comprehension of hand signals, blocking trails with damaged vehicles, etc, etc.

 

I think Dan hit it on the head with cost of acquisition. Anyone can buy one and it's "just like driving a car".

 

When it comes to land use threats from profiteers, UTV users are our friends. But when we have to compete for trail space they are not.

It is definitely a love/hate relationship.

 

Not really. A lot of times, UTV's are the reason that discussion came to the forefront.

Kinda funny. While you do occasionally see dirt bikes riding like *holes, there are fewer of them as the cost of failure is still pretty high.

 

I have no problem with this as longs they have a place to go where we (4WD trucks) are not allowed. From experience, that requires some sort of gatekeeper because some truck and jeep users are just as bad.