AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

Maybe just don't go off road?

 

I think there's a reason race teams haven't come up with something of the sort, because any of the mentioned options will be great until it HOLDS the grime inside and makes it worse. They allow for movement, and therefor, make it harder to protect. They're just a wear item in a spot that's subject to lots of grime, and not conducive to being protected. You might be able to find a more durable liner, or something with a tighter tolerance, but it's not something I see making a large change.

 

I use dry wax lubes on my MTB chain, and it does a great job of shedding grime. Boeshield is one of those types of lubes, it dries to more of a wax. It doesn't last real long, but does protect well.

 

I seem to have misplaced the dislike button... must be around here somewhere...

 

Owyhee Uplands Backcountry Byway - Owyhee #1

In all of our trips to the Owyhee area, we've only ever really explored the western half - the Owyhee Canyonlands. Of course, there's some really cool stuff there - Three Forks, Coffepot Crater, the Honeycombs, Snively Hot Springs, and Juniper Gulch - but the Owyhee area is quite a lot larger than its Oregon acreage. With this trip, we were going to change all that - and then some!

Our plan - at least at the beginning - was to hit up the Owyhee Uplands Backcountry Byway, a ~100 mile journey from Grand View, Idaho to Jordan Valley, Oregon, exploring several areas along the way. From there, we'd find our way to places we'd been before - finally (hopefully) getting to soak in Three Forks Hot Springs and see the south side of Jordan Craters. And then we'd head even further west and south - out of Owyhee - to the Alvord Desert and Pueblo Mountains, in search of a B-24 Liberator crash site from 1945.

We departed on a Wednesday, planning to return on Sunday - and within an hour of hitting the freeway, @mrs.turbodb had found a what looked to be a cool addition to the trip as she perused Backcountry Roads-Idaho in the passenger seat. Just a few miles south of where we'd planned to start, we called an audible and set our sights on Zeno Canyon, home to what looked to be an amazing waterfall that we could hike to in the morning before setting out west along the byway.

At that point, it was just a matter of ticking away the paved miles to get to our adventure. Traffic was light, and the whole thing was reasonably uneventful as we made our way through Washington, Oregon, and Idaho. The day still had a few highlights of course - we saw the parts of an ginormous windmill being trucked to its final destination, we enjoyed some Wendy's on the tailgate, and sunset was nothing to scoff at.

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A little larger than windmills of the old west.​

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No eating in the truck.​

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Purty.​

It was 10:00pm by the time we made it to the Zeno Canyon trailhead. Unable to tell much about our surroundings, we leveled out the Tacoma as best we could and climbed up into the tent - happy for a bit of shut-eye before what would be an early morning hike into canyon.

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The wind picked up through the night, and was quite gusty by morning.​

Surrounded by rolling hills, we didn't get much of a sunrise, but the view down into the canyon was exciting to see. Apparently there are a few ways to access Zeno Canyon, but the two most popular restrict access to the falls. Luckily for us, this less popular access route - which was cross country and trail less - made access possible, as long as we were willing to scramble down a 60° scree field into the canyon.

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Enticing view from camp.​

The access route into the canyon took us through a couple mucky springs and across a few feeder creeks, making me glad I was wearing my Arctic Sport Muck Boots. After less than a mile, we found ourselves at a gap in the canyon wall, and scrambled our way down through mini scree-slides.

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And with that, Zeno Canyon opened up before us.

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Could spend all day exploring here, I bet!​

The small creek we'd been following down into the canyon turned out to be the one feeding the falls, and a quick jog to our north revealed the water cascading over the 70-foot drop. Unfortunately for us, despite the rain the previous day, it'd been a dry spring, resulting in a volume of water that was a little underwhelming. Still, we could see how this would be quite the experience on a hot summer day - the mist billowing at the bottom, the vegetation a brilliant green under the sun.

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Zeno (mini-) Falls.​

A twenty minute climb got us back to the Tacoma, and after a quick breakfast we stowed camp and headed north - all by 8:30am or 7:30am by our Pacific time body-clocks. We'd definitely gotten an early start to the day! The road into Zeno Canyon had been some 30 miles or so - all travelled in the dark - which meant everything on the way back out was new-again to us; a nice side-effect of our late arrival.

As the sun and clouds jostled for superiority of the skies, the green of spring was clearly making its way to this part of usually-golden-brown-Idaho.

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As we arrived at the eastern end of the Owyhee Uplands Backcountry Byway, it was immediately clear that the various books and research we'd done prior to setting out were - to put it mildly - dated. While they'd mentioned that the road was graded, they'd also suggested that travelling the byway could be treacherous after any amount of rain. And, having rained nearly the entire previous day, we were initially concerned that we might find ourselves in a muddy situation.

Clearly, that wasn't going to be the case here.

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Into the mist.​

Sure that we'd have plenty of ungraded dirt roads in our future, and with expansive high desert views to keep us entertained, we made excellent time as we headed west. And that of course meant that whenever we saw something interesting along the side of the road, we had no trouble stopping to take a closer look.

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Being relatively early in the year, and right around 5000', we could also see snow higher up on the plateau. We hoped there was little of that in our future - various legs of the trip touching on 6000-7000' levels.

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Speeding along at a cool 30-to-40 mph, we used a combination of the Backcountry Roads-Idaho book and a BLM guide to the byway to educate ourselves along the way. A cool sounding side-trip up Antelope Springs Road to see some old mining ruins was enough to make us forego forward progress for a while.

Even higher on the plateau than we'd been, the views of Quicksilver Mountain and Hayden Peak to the north were quite the treat, and spring was obviously in the air, even as the clouds threatened from above. While we never found the mining ruins - likely off one of the plentiful side roads along the way - it was still a nice change of pace from the byway.

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Nestled in the distant mountains is Silver City, Idaho - a place we'd never been...​

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Spring struggle. Keep at it little buddy.​

Our stomachs still not sure whether we should be on Pacific time or Mountain time (technically at this point, we were on mountain time), as we returned to the Owyhee Uplands Byway, we figured it didn't really matter - if we were hungry, we should eat. That worked out well because within the next half hour or so, we crossed Deep Creek and the mouth of Deep Creek Canyon. While @mrs.turbodb whipped up sandwiches, I took a few minutes to pop up the side of the canyon for some photos of the situation.

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Not a bad place to put in a canoe or eat a little lunch.​

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Deep Creek Canyon.​

It always amazes me how - out here where everything looks flat for miles and miles - the interesting features of the terrain dive thousands of feet down rather than the more typical up that I'm used to with mountain and ridge tops.

Lunch was a quick-ish affair which we completed well before noon, the warm rays of the sun now really starting to kick the clouds where it counted, giving us more and more blue sky as the day wore on.

From Deep Creek, the next bit of route I'd planned was a side trip off of the byway. Actually, it was one of two possible side trips, since we weren't sure we'd have enough fuel to do both. Our decision was between turning southeast toward a point on the map labeled "Dickshooter," or turning south and climbing up to the top of Juniper Mountain. After less discussion than I think either of us expected, we decided that with a name like Dickshooter, we had to give that a looksee.

Or not.

Earlier, I mentioned the rain that passed through the area the previous day - its effect nearly imperceptible on the well-graded Uplands Byway. Well, we'd been having sprinkles - mostly of hail - through the day as well, and as we turned southeast, another flurry came through. That, along with the previous day's rain turned the road into a slippery mess and before long we were in 4WD, mucking our way around turns and through low-lying spots. We'd made it all of 5 miles when we decided to call it quits - after our last muddy foray to the Eastern Mojave, we didn't really want to deal with the same situation again on this trip.

So yeah, we still need to get to Dickshooter sometime in the future.

The sun started to shine as we pulled back onto the main road, and it wasn't but a mile or two before we reached the southern turn towards Juniper Mountain. Up we went, our fingers crossed that we wouldn't encounter the same mucky roads as we set our sights on the summit.

It turned out that the roads here were in much better shape - perhaps the result of better drainage off of the mountain, rather than pooling on the road in a valley - and as our speed picked up again, we rounded a corner to see a very well maintained cabin nestled into a grove of Junipers.

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Clearly, this is a place that's still commonly used, though no one was home on this early spring day. That fact allowed us all the time we wanted to explore, but in a less in-depth manner than if the resident had been there to show us around. Mostly because the cabin was tightly locked up!

A turn or two later up the mountain we plowed into our first snow drift. It wouldn't be our last - and luckily for us, it was easily passable... not something that would be true of future drifts in the coming days!

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The Juniper Mountain Road is a 70-mile long, lollipop-shaped, road - one where you drive out the stick, then around a loop, and finally back down the stick again. In planning the route, I'd assumed that the loop portion would take us around the mountain - never achieving the summit - but as we reached the junction in the road we were pleasantly surprised to find ourselves already at the highest point, and the top of the mountain!

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A few quick photos and a bathroom break and we decided that there was little reason to continue on - the views from the top were largely blocked by the Junipers that gave this mountain its name, and the snow drifts were beginning to get deeper and more frequent as well.

Instead, we found ourselves a nice series of puddles, and clicked away for a few minutes as the truck washed off some of the mud we'd picked up on our failed attempt to reach Dickshooter. Not that we'd have skipped it even if the truck was clean...

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Entering wash zone.​

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"Lower jet spray" beginning.​

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Technically, this was cleaning the Tacoma.​

The Tacoma cleaner than it'd been in the last 2 hours, we pointed ourselves north and headed back toward the final 30 miles or so of the Owyhee Uplands Backcountry Byway. As was the case with much of the road, these miles went quickly and before we knew it we were crossing into Oregon. Not long after - at perhaps only 2:45pm in the afternoon - we found ourselves pulling into the little town of Jordan Valley with plenty of fuel to spare - none of our side-trips off of the Byway as long as we'd envisioned, and the condition of the Byway itself good enough that we'd never even aired down.

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All the time left in the afternoon meant only one thing - we needed to do more exploring! So, we filled up at the local Sinclair station - for what I think was the cheapest price we've ever paid there @ $2.21/gallon - and cleaned all the windows of the remaining mud. The truck wasn't clean by a long shot, but at least now we could use the windows without scratching the glass and sending fingernails-on-a-chalkboard shivers up our spine every time we rolled them up and down.

Fueled up and with visibility high, we set out - our next destination a landscape altogether different than the one we'd just left - we were headed for the remains of one of North America's youngest volcanoes - the southern border of Jordan Craters...

 

Camping at a Lake in a Lava Flow - Owyhee #2

Refueled and windows cleaned, we left Jordan Valley, Oregon - heading west on on Highway 95. Our destination was Jordan Craters - a 3,200 year young lava flow - one of the youngest on the continent. We'd visited Coffeepot Crater - a large, breached cinder cone that is the source of the most recent flows - nearly four years earlier on our very first trip to the Owyhee Canyonlands, and this time we were headed for the opposite side of the 29 square mile flow.

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There were a couple places along the south side of the flow that I'd spotted on Google Earth as being interesting to investigate. The first was the Cow Lakes area. Home to a BLM campground, I knew we wouldn't be staying near the Cow Lakes, but satellite imagery showed that there was water interspersed with the lava flow in this area. Knowing how little organic material has made its way into the flow, I hoped that we'd see some amazingly clear, deep pools - a stark contrast to the lava flow itself.

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I knew even before we arrived at the lakes, that finding a drivable route that got us close to the flooded section of the lava flow was going to be the trick. The Cow Lakes are used as an irrigation source by nearby ranchers, and they've created several large canals that both join the lakes and draw water from them into their fields. As we pulled up to the crossing, I was happy to see that it looked passable.

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The deepest canal - clearly carved into the lava - was covered with a cattle grate, and the second flow was only about 18" deep - totally reasonable for the Tacoma. After a short time exploring the edge of the lakes, we jumped back in the truck and made our way to the other side - taking it as a positive sign that a great blue heron was headed the same direction.

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In search of water.​

Unfortunately, as we continued along the road, it became clear that it wasn't taking us the right direction. Where we wanted to be was heading west and slightly south, but the road clearly veered more towards the north. In the end, it brought us to an overlook of the flow, but one with no spectacular pools of crystal clear water.

Still, the demarcation line between the lava rock and high desert was striking.

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What a difference a few feet makes.​

Even without the water, we were eager to experience the flow itself - the terrain so unlike most other that we encounter, so we headed out onto its surface to explore the nooks and crannies.

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A river of rock, frozen in time.​

As we jumped around from lava tube to lava dome, there was plentiful evidence that nature is trying to reclaim this desolate area. Lichens - some of the brightest I've seen, and mollusk shells dotted the surface. Here and there, enough dust had blown in from the surrounding area to sustain a plant or grass.

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Further into the flow, the formations flourished - bubbles, ripples, and cracks all coming together to create an artwork of black.

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Eventually of course, we had the urge to move on - I'd scoped out a little place a little further west along the southern edge of the flow that I hoped we could camp for the night. With no roads on the flow, getting there meant backtracking a dozen miles or so, and then taking another road that would eventually wind its way back to the black. So out we went - through the water, past the campground, and away from the Cow Lakes until we found our turn and headed west.

Almost immediately we ran into a wee issue: we appeared to be in some ranchers driveway, and the rancher was outside tending to his recycle bin. Unsure if we were in the right place - though confident that we were on the route I'd planned - I drove up as slowly and respectfully as I could and inquired whether he minded our heading out the road that went through is property.

"Lots of gates to open," was his response.

A bit more inquiry and he let it slip that it was a county road, so we were free to continue on. "We'll be sure to close any gates we open behind us," I mentioned as I thanked him - something he seemed to appreciate - and we headed through our first gate.

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Even before entering the pen, we'd noticed the horses inside. All of them were beautiful, and this one was particularly friendly - trotting over to the Tacoma on both our trip out and back - just to see how we were and whether we might have something for him to munch on.

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Hey there.​

In all, I think we had something like four gates to open on our way through the ranchers property/lease, and a few more that were already open as he flooded his fields with water from the Cow Lakes. Much of the grass was still brown while we were there, but our guess was that within a few weeks, the entire area is going to green up nicely - it'll be a pretty sight when it does.

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Thirty minutes later, we approached the spot I'd marked to camp. On the satellite imagery, it'd looked like a finger of land that reached into the lava flow - my hope being that the lava had left a "room" in which we could camp, sheltered from the wind. In reality, there was a finger of land that rose up onto the lava flow - a fantastical camp site... for a calm night.

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Tonight - or at least this evening - was not a calm night. Winds were in the 12-15mph range, and we knew we needed to find something a bit more sheltered if we were going to get any sleep. Back off of the flow, we jogged west. I'd noted a structure not far away, and had assumed it to be a ranchers property - another mis-assumption as we pulled up to its gate. Whoever had lived here was long gone, the cabin now posted as "U.S. Government Property," likely part of a BLM land acquisition some decades before.

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Whoever had built this cabin clearly had run into the same issue we were - and had nestled the cabin as close in to the 10' walls of lava as they could in order to block a bit of the westerly wind. We considered camping on the leeward side of the cabin, but with the high grasses and limited space, ultimately decided against it. Instead, we worked our way along a "frontage" road that skirted the lava flow, and found our own little wind shield that we could call home for the night.

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Both reasonably hungry given that we'd eaten lunch before 11:00am, the first order of business after getting the tent setup was making dinner. Tacos with guacamole was on the menu, and as always, hit the spot.

Then, with plenty of daylight left, we set about exploring again. The terrain was similar-but-different than what we'd seen a little further east. There was however one feature that was strikingly different - a lake in the middle of the flow!

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Called Batch Lake, it wasn't the stark contrast of waters-edge-to-lava that we'd been looking for earlier in the day, but the long rays of evening on last years reeds gave the place a very special feel. Migrating birds clustered in and around the lake, frogs starting to croak as the sun set on the horizon.

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I forget exactly what time we went to bed that night, but it couldn't have been later than 9:00pm, a bit of light still visible in the sky. The wind kicked around - and we were mostly sheltered from it - until midnight or so, at which point things calmed down dramatically. Made me wish - a little bit - that we'd camped out on the lava flow itself, though our spot was great just the same.

The next day...

Early to bed meant that we could be early to rise, and I was up at 5:35am the next morning - the morning light starting to play across the underside of the clouds out the window of the tent.

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I stayed out for twenty minutes or so, enjoying the sunrise and watching the world around us wake up. A coyote in the distance, waterfowl on Batch Lake, and even the old cabin seemed happy to greet the new day.

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And, as often happens on trips like this, I decided that a few more minutes of cozy under the covers might not be the worst thing in the world - so I put away the camera and climbed back in to snuggle up next to @mrs.turbodb. A few more minutes turned into two hours, and it was after 8:00am when we finally decided that we should get a move-on to our day.

Not because we had a lot planned - at least as of yet - but because we weren't sure if what we had planned would even work. See - just as we'd been to Jordan Craters some four years prior, so had we been to Three Forks - the confluence of the North Fork Owyhee, Middle Fork Owyhee, and Owyhee Rivers. We'd gone there hoping to soak in some spectacular hot springs, only to realize that we couldn't cross the river to access them - so today, we were going to attempt a route from the other side. A route that appeared much more primative, and even more remote, than the one we'd tried years before.

As it turns out, that wouldn't even be the hardest route of the day!

 

Pretty cool area on the south end of the flow. You can also get to it from the west...or rather, loop down from the north, along the west side - though I don't know the conditions of the roads, etc. I'd love to go back sometime and then spend an entire day hiking out onto the flow. I can only imagine how barren it is once you get a mile or two into the lava - and what amazing things must be there, where nobody visits, and where the organic material is even scarcer.

Thanks man, glad you're enjoying! Always nice to share the experience .

 

Snowy Ghost Towns to Steaming Hot Springs - Owyhee #3

It was nearing 9:00am when we pulled out of our sheltered camp spot on the southern edge of the Jordan Craters lava flow. As we started back on the windy road to the south, @mrs.turbodb suggested an addition to the day's itinerary - a visit to a small ghost town in the Idaho uplands: Silver City. It'd mean adding a few hours to our day, but with our only plan being the southernly drive to Three Forks Hot Springs, I figured it was totally achievable.

So, instead of south, we headed east - back into the Owyhee Uplands, though along a different route than we'd traversed the day before.

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The road - in the beginning - was amazing. Much like the Owyhee Uplands Backcountry Byway, it was wide and well graded. We easily maintained speeds of 40mph - except as deer crossed our path - and had yet to air down on the trip.

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As we drove, @mrs.turbodb read a bit out of Roadside History of Idaho - as we find that, when possible, it's always nice to know a little bit of the story behind the places we visit.

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Now, the beautiful road didn't last forever. In fact, it became clear at one of the forks, that the "beauty" was for the Delamar Mine - one of the last active mines (now an open pit mine) in the area - a bit south of our destination. Our road - the one that continued on to Silver City - was signed as "Closed for season. Recovery from this point at owners expense."

Other recent tracks and the knowledge that the closure was a seasonal one, we continued on - our hope that we could make it through buoyed with each mile we put behind us. Winding our way up Jordan Creek, the scenery was pleasant and it was nice to be in a proper woods - at least as compared to the desert we'd traversed for the previous couple of days.

Then, as we rounded a bend - an old cabin perched on the hillside - in what seemed to be amazingly good shape. We pulled over to take a closer look.

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Not much further up the road, some old mining equipment (some sort of shaker), more cabins (though most of them completely dilapidated), and a collapsed headframe dotted the hillsides. We'd discovered - or rather, stumbled upon - the ghost town of Delamar.

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A shaker, used to wash and separate ore.​

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Water sprays from the horizontal pipes, washing gold and silver rich material down through the grate and into the sluices.​

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An old workshop near the collapsed headframe.​

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A headframe and storage tanks of the (old) Delamar mine.​

More curvy road led up and through the valleys leading to Silver City. Traffic was clearly lighter this high up - we were now nearing 6500 feet of elevation, but we could still see that a tracked vehicle had travelled the road before us, giving us hope that the last couple miles were going to be passable.

The first couple of drifts on the road turned out to be just that - passable - until we hit the third drift. This one - being in the northern shadow of the mountain it ascended - was much longer, and over a foot deep. We could see where the tracked vehicle had continued - actually riding on top of the compacted snow - up and around what were some reasonably off-camber sections of trail.

As a single vehicle - and without tracks - we would not be attempting the same. Did make me think about getting some chains though - I think we could have made it with chains.

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A little bummed, but having half-expected to get stopped by snow even earlier than we had, we got turned around and headed back down. Along the way we decided to cross Jordan Creek to investigate a concrete structure we'd noticed on the way up.

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It's unclear exactly what this structure was - perhaps a mining buff can leave something in the comments below. A rectangular building, the only thing noticeable about it was that there were channels in the floor - some 18" deep and 24" wide - that must have had some sort of material moving through them - though I don't really know. The building had recently been vandalized - something I feel like we're seeing more and more on our adventures these days. I guess that really just comes with time. How unfortunate.

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Exploration complete, we headed back across the river, taking the opportunity to rinse off all the mud that had collected on the interior of the wheels and undercarriage of the truck - hopefully meaning we wouldn't have any wonky balance issues when we were back on the highway, and making for overall less cleaning work work once we got home.

Well, except for all the mud we still had to get back down the road. One can hope though!

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The way back down was uneventful, save for what seemed like quite a few people on their way up. We did make one stop at a hole in the canyon wall, clearly a location that water had bust through sometime in the distant past.

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And then, we were back into Jordan Valley, where we fueled up and washed our windows - as was becoming a tradition - before heading west, towards Rome, Oregon where we'd turn south - the way we'd originally planned.

As often happens, we were once again distracted on our way to Rome, when we noticed a sign on the side of the freeway for a "Historical Marker - ½ mile." Curious, we slowed half a mile further, where a second sign read "Charbonneau Memorial - 3 miles." On the one hand, that felt a bit misleading - I mean, to say that there is a historical marker in half a mile, only to find a sign there that sends you six times further seems a bit...wonky. I suppose I could erect a sign on our street - "historical marker, 100 feet" and then a bit further down, place something like "Charbonneau Memorial - southeast, 632 miles." On the other hand, we were intrigued. Mike @Digiratus had actually asked me about this memorial just a week or two earlier, and having never been myself, I'd had nothing to tell him.

As it was 11:30am, we decided it would be the perfect place for lunch and a bit of history.

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Our bellies full, we finally made it to Rome a little after 1:00pm - what would turn out to be perfect timing for our leisurely ~3 hour drive out to Three Forks. We turned south on Skull Creek Road and crossed our fingers that we wouldn't run into flooded desert as we had in the Alvord the previous year.

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Finally aired down, 70% of the way through our trip.​

In no real rush, and enjoying the cushiness of the softer tires, we ended up making several detours along our route - primarily to overlook the Owyhee Canyon. The first of these was reasonably near the mouth of the canyon as it approaches Rome and provided a spectacular perch from which campers like ourselves might just decide to setup camp and enjoy the solitude - especially in the spring as the canyon walls green up with the little bit of rain they receive each year.

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As we made our way back to Skull Creek Road after this first little adventure, we came upon what I'm sure is actually a cow pond/reservoir, but which was once clearly some sort of homestead. Complete with a picnic table, flat spot to camp, and several old buildings (including a dugout in reasonably good shape), it was a fun place to get out and look around - wondering what its original resident was thinking when they setup out here in the middle of nowhere.

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We pressed onwards, through a few rolling hills, and then onto the high desert plateau where we found a second spur that turned towards the canyon.

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A grand canyon is there... if you know where to look.​

Further from town, this spur was significantly less travelled, and by the time we got to the canyon edge, there was little but two faint tracks in the grass. An old fire ring at the end suggested that this too was a camp site for desert explorers - little other reason for it to exist, really.

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Someone found it.​

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Continuing to follow Skull Creek Road south as the canyon migrated southeast, we soon found ourselves a couple miles from its eastern edge, the tundra unfolding before us - its vastness a reminder of just how far we were from civilization.

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Every now and then though, we'd get a reminder - even here, in one of the most remote areas of Oregon, ranchers rule the roost - fences and cattle guards delineating property lines and pastures.

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We'd never seen a hydraulic cattle guard before - it collapses as it's driven over, and then rebounds slowly once we've passed.​

At a little after 4:00pm in the afternoon we reached the terminus of our trip on Skull Creek Road. Counting ourselves lucky for not having run into a muddy mess by this point, we crossed our fingers as we turned towards the descent down into the canyon. Our hope now was that the descent was passable - something we'd come out here knowing might turn us around.

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As we made our way down - through several rock ledges and gardens, I causually mentioned to @mrs.turbodb that it was good that it hadn't rained in the last 24 hours, and that if it did start raining, we should probably head back right away so we weren't stuck down here for a prolonged period of time!

The views though - as we made our way down what turned out to be a side canyon that joined the Owyhee at the hot springs - was fabtastic.

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Both anxious to get to the springs, we neglected to take many photos of the journey down. Not to worry of course - we'd be retracing our steps the following day, plenty of opportunities to document a bit of the surroundings.

As we pulled up to the final fork, we had a decision to make - we could head right, down to the river - or we could head left, over to the hot springs. It wasn't much of a choice, really. We went left.

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Hot springs > Cold river.​

As we drove along the ridge, we were completely exposed to road and camp sites along the east side of the river - the same location we'd visited four years earlier - now packed with campers who we could tell were wondering, "How'd they get over there?" And, "How can we get over there?" Of the several groups looking our way, one had clearly visited before. They'd brought an inflatable kayak, and used it to paddle over to the hot springs as we found a perfect little place to setup camp a few hundred feet above the springs.

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As we watched the dad and his two kids paddle back after having had their fill of the springs, we knew it was our turn - and that our turn would last for as long as we wanted - no one else equipped to make the journey across the raging North Fork Owyhee River.

And with views like this, we were glad to have it to ourselves for the evening!

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We hung out in the warm water - probably in the 102°F range - for half an hour or so, the pool large enough and deep enough for us to swim around and find the warmest pockets... while never really getting cold in the coolest. It'd been three days since our last shower, a nice way to clean up on a trip, if you can get it!

The sun was setting as we headed back up to camp - its long rays streaming below a cloud cover that was blowing in from the west. The buttes - their rocky outcroppings poking above the soon-to-be-green spring grass - glowed in appreciation.

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Dinner on this splendid evening - overlooking the river, hot springs, and activity on the east side - was hot dogs. Not just any hot dogs - genuine Costco hot dogs, long enough to fill two normal-sized hot dog buns. Perhaps not the healthiest of meals, but delicioso nonetheless!

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The light show continued as we were eating, the buttes on the east bank of the river lighting up even brighter than those on the west.

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Hoping to catch a colorful sunset given all the clouds, we held off climbing into the tent for another hour or so. Unfortunately, the clouds must have extended to the horizon - something we couldn't tell from our position - because no color ever crossed the sky. Even with the delay, it wasn't late when we climbed into the tent - and that was just fine with us. It'd been another full day and we were ready for some shut eye.

As we pulled out our Kindle Paperwhites and snuggled down in the comforters, I looked at @mrs.turbodb and mentioned to her that if the cloud cover brought rain during the night, we should probably get ourselves out of bed and make a run for the plateau - so we weren't stuck here should the road become impassable.

We dozed off around 8:30pm and slept soundly until 12:04am - when the pitter-patter of rain on the tent awoke me from my sleep...

 

New favorite shot

 

Searching for a WWII B-24 at Propeller Meadows - Owyhee #4

Where did we leave off? Oh yes, ...as we pulled out our Kindle Paperwhites and snuggled down in the comforters, I looked at @mrs.turbodb and mentioned to her that if the cloud cover brought rain during the night, we should probably get ourselves out of bed and make a run for the plateau - so we weren't stuck here should the road become impassable.

We dozed off around 8:30pm and slept soundly until 12:04am - when the pitter-patter of rain on the tent awoke me from my sleep...

Not the least bit thrilled with the situation, I shook @mrs.turbodb awake. "It's raining," I said, as I hunted around for my headlamp and sweatshirt. "What?" she said, still mostly asleep. She got the picture pretty quickly the next time I said it though, and soon both of us were hunting around for our clothes, neither of us really wanting to believe that we were going to drive out in the middle of the night.

"Should we just stay here? Worst case is that we can't make it out tomorrow, and we just need to wait an extra day or so here for things to dry out." I said as I pulled on my pants. "Let's do that." was the reply I got - and I think it was a relief to both of us, the thought of more sleep a strong lure. So, it was off again with the clothes, and back under the covers - perhaps five minutes having passed since the rain had started. A few minutes later, as I was dozing off again - light rain is such great white noise - the pitter-patter stopped, never to resume for the remainder of our trip.

Thank goodness we hadn't decided to leave!

And, we couldn't really complain about the view out of the tent in the morning, either.

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Having gone to bed reasonably early, both of us needed to go to the bathroom, and there's no better time to do - in my opinion - that at sunrise. You know, because the best view from the worlds awesomest outhouse is at sunrise or sunset. Next, we took the opportunity to head on down to the hot spring and enjoy them with steam rising up into the cool morning air - and just a little bit of color bursting from the horizon.

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The sun was a little higher (obviously) as we headed back to the Tacoma, the high clouds now softly illuminated with a purple glow. These are the moments that make me glad to be a morning person.

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However, as great as the early morning may be, 5:30am is too early to start the day on a trip like this, so we climbed back into the tent - under what were now essentially clear skies - and promptly fell asleep for another 90 minutes. When we awoke again a bit before 8:00am, more clouds high clouds had rolled in - a pattern that mirrored the days before - a bit of a bummer after such a peaceful sunrise.

Knowing that we'd have no trouble getting out, there was less urgency as we packed up camp and ate heaping bowls of Cheerios for breakfast. The good folks on the east side of the river were just beginning to stir as we got the Tacoma turned around and started back the way we'd come, up and out of the canyon and onto the high plateau.

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With flat-and-cloudy skies and the sun to our back as we continued to climb were a good reminder to me that it's always better to stop and take a photo whenever one presents itself - never wait for "later," because you can always take one "later too." In our case, we should have spent the time the previous day to photograph our trip down into the canyon, when the (afternoon) light and poofy-clouds-in-the-sky were significantly more cooperative.

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Halfway up or so, a group of deer bound up onto the road. Content to watch us from there as the truck moved forward, they quickly scampered to higher ground as I brought it to a stop for a photo. C'mon deer! We continued on.

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By 9:30am we'd passed through the gate at the top of the climb and pointed the truck west. We'd planned to use the better part of the day heading that direction - all the way to Highway 95 and then on through the Alvord Desert to the small town of Denio, Nevada, where another adventure awaited us. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.

You see, here in the present - where we sat on top of the plateau, we actually had four directions we could go:

1. Back down the way we'd come - to the hot springs.
2. North towards Rome - the way we'd driven in the day before.
3. West towards the Alvord - our planned route.

And south. A road that we hadn't planned to take. A road that was - as far as I was concerned, unknown. We headed south.

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Now, I'd be remiss if I didn't also add that we could see the road to the south was a reasonably short one according to our offline maps in Backcountry Navigator XE. And, it seemed to terminate at a meander in the North Fork of the Owyhee River - a place where the river essentially loops back on itself as the result of running into some harder-than-everything-else-around rock in its path.

In less than a mile we arrived at the overlook. It was in fact a meander, and if we'd had an extra 90 minutes - yes, those same 90 minutes that we went back to sleep - we could have hiked down to the lower plateau to bask fully in its glory. As it was, we admired the view as best we could from our high location.

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As we walked back to the truck, we also noted - as is often the case in places like this - dilapidated fire rings and evidence of previous campers. It was a nice place for sure, but we both remarked that there'd be no reason to ever camp here - the nearby springs offering so much more with relatively little effort! And with that, we pointed the truck west, continuing to follow Skull Creek Road to its western terminus, halfway to Highway 95.

The land here was monotonous. Rolling hills and flat plateaus; sagebrush and grass; rocks and mud. We pushed forward, distracted only now and then by cows chewing their cud, the calves skittery as the Tacoma drove by. Gradually - over the course of a couple hours - the road started to improve, and our speeds started to pick up. Still, the landscape around us was the same.

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Glorious monotony.​

And then, to our left, we caught sight of four pronghorn just as they too caught sight of us. Hemmed in by the road on one side, and hills on the other, they paralleled the road, covering ground at a cool 40mph for more than three miles as we chased along side. It was a beautiful sight to see - one where we just happened to be in the right place at the right time!

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Not too long after our race with the pronghorns, we found ourselves at the old ranch - one that we were unable to determine the name of.

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Perhaps it was Beber Ranch - matching the road we were travelling of the same name, or Eiguren Ranch - matching a small plaque nailed to its wall. Whatever its name, one thing was clear - it had gone unoccupied for decades, and yet it was clearly loved by many. Its condition - especially the interior - was better than 95% of cabins we've encountered on our journeys; the notes scrawled lovingly on the front wall by repeat visitors were a testament to the effort and good times they'd had there.

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We spent a good amount of time looking around the ranch - inside an out. With two outbuildings, there was plenty to see, and we enjoyed it all - the sun just now starting to win its daily battle against the clouds in the sky. We also encountered two of the ranches current residents - one of the blackest lizards I've seen, and a small squirrel-like creature, burrowed into the wood bin on the front porch - hoping that we weren't going to eat him for lunch!

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Leave me, I am mini-dragon, king of the ranch chimney.​

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Maybe they won't see me if I just sit very still.​

Of course we weren't going to eat him for lunch - but that didn't mean it wasn't getting on toward lunch time - and we decided that we'd look for a good place to eat in the next hour or so as we continued west, the familiar Steens Mountain rising up in the distance.

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It was right around 12:30pm when we finally popped out on Highway 95 and made our way a few miles north to Whitehorse Ranch Road - a gravel superhighway that we've travelled several times on previous excursions in the Alvord Desert. This route would deliver us most of the 55 miles southwest that we had to travel to the teeny tiny town of Denio, Nevada - but not before we stopped to eat lunch on a bluff overlooking Steens Mountain and we-know-it's-there-but-can't-see-it Alvord Playa.

We pulled into Denio just before 2:00pm - the furthest south we'd ever been on the Fields-Denio Road and snapped this picture of what was essentially the entire town.

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The entirety of interesting things in Denio, Nevada.​

Now, the entire reason that we were in Denio in the first place was that it was the jumping off point to a destination to our north - in Oregon - that was only accessible from here in Nevada: Propeller Meadows, the site of a B-24bomer crash in 1945. At an elevation of 7000+ feet, we had no idea if we'd make it to the crash site, but I knew we needed to try.

Almost immediately we were distracted. An old, abandoned, copper mine a few hundred feet off the side of the road caught our attention and we pulled in to take a look.

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The "decoy" shaft that we spotted from the road, and that drew us in.​

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The main shaft. 50 feet deep, with a 15 foot diameter.​

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Kazow!​

Continuing on, the road to Propeller Meadows was better than I think either of us expected. Part of that, surely, was due to the fact that much of it is currently used for ranching. Some of it, also, is likely due to the fact that nearly the entirely of the road is on the southern exposure of the Pueblo Mountains, enabling it to stay warmer and drier than a similar road on the shadowy north might fair.

Here and there we would cross springs as we made our way up, the view behind us getting better all the time.

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With less than a mile to go, we ran into our first snow drift. Luckily for us, it was easily bypassed - otherwise its slushy depth of 18" would have meant we were walking the rest of the way.

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And with that, we'd arrived. High along the ridge of the Pueblo Mountains, the 75-year old remains of a WWII plane, that crashed on February 2, 1945 - a clear night - scattered across the landscape. Eleven crew members lost their lives. A few years ago, a group of adventure motorcycle riders placed a plaque at the site to remember the brave men who gave their lives for our country (full trip report).

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I forget exactly how I'd learned about this accident site, but however it was, I wasn't able to fine a great deal of information available about it online. Luckily - and completely coincidentally - Craig over at AviationArchaeology.com happened to contact me on another - non-plane related - topic a few days after we returned from the trip and I asked him if he'd been there. He hadn't, but he did have some spectacular information to share, including the full 60-page accident report taken by the military at the time.

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Army Air Force incident description.​

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Eyewitness account from Harvey A. Wise of Denio, NV.​

We spent some time walking around the site, contemplating the various bits we saw strewn across the hillside, wondering what could have caused the situation to occur.

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One of three radial engines still on the site.​

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A landing gear. Note the discolored piston in the center of the image.​

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Engine internals.​

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Another engine.​

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A supercharger.​

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Melted aluminum; the fire was intense.​

After exploring the crash site, which was just below the ridgeline, we wondered what would have happened if the pilots could have gained that last 150 feet of altitude they'd have needed to clear the ridge, so we made our way up to a rocky outcropping to look east. Smooth sailing all the way to the Alvord Playa, where perhaps they could have set down in a more controlled fashion.

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Looking northwest from the top of the ridge.​

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The view back down to Propeller Meadows.​

Our exploration complete, we made our way back down to the truck and returned to Denio via the same winding route that had delivered us high into the Pueblo Mountains. The terrain familiar now, we made excellent time and it was 4:00pm when we put the last of the bumps behind us and aired up on the side of Highway 140 before turning north towards Fields and our designated camp spot for the night - the Alvord Playa. An hour later - and with the fuel light on - we swept around the broad turn that marks the southern end of the playa. As always, it was a beautiful sight.

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While I took a few photos, @mrs.turbodb pulled out her binoculars to count the number of campers already spread across the flat surface. There were the most we've ever seen - even on a weekend - with 24 groups claiming their own little slice of the lakebed. We made it an even 25 as we found one of our favorite spots right under Steens Mountain. Or odd 25, I guess.

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While the location was familiar - the Alvord Desert being one of our favorite spots in the Pacific Northwest - the lakebed surface was different than we've ever seen it. Usually the surface is flat and nearly white - nearly devoid of any moisture whatsoever. This time however, it was clear that it had only recently become drivable - the crackled edges of the surface pulling up and away like so pieces of confetti.

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The skies overcast and the winds in the 15mph range once again, we had a quick dinner of hot soup and read our books for a few hours (in a noisy tent) before brushing our teeth and putting in our ear plugs. We hoped that the forecast - winds stopping around midnight - was correct as we were rocked to-and-from sleep atop the back of the truck.

The following morning...

The winds did eventually die down a bit, but it was definitely our windiest night of the trip - understandable I suppose with such an exposed location. As morning light came, I kept looking out the door of the tent for that orange glow on the horizon, surprised as the time got later and later and there was no such light. Turns out I'd estimated the location of that light by about 90° on the horizon, and by the time I realized my mistake, I'd missed my opportunity. Even still, the location leaves little to be desired even in that case, I'd say.

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Always a great place to wake up.​

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First light on Steens.​

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I waited a final few minutes for the sun to finally hit the playa before climbing back up into the tent.​

Our last morning out, we'd spend most of the day driving home, but there was no need to rush - surely we could enjoy a couple more hours here in paradise, the sun warming us in the tent.

The End.

 

nicely done, Turbo.

 

Love the pictures and the narrative. Glad you share.

 

Dan, I have a question about radio signal reception. I am curious about broadcast and reception ranges.

When Zane and I were heading towards you guys on Hwy 95, you later indicated you had heard me call to you. I am wondering if you recall if you heard a single call or perhaps more than one call out? I ask because I called you on 3 different occasions during a 30-40 mile stretch, with the calls being about 10-15 minutes apart.

When you heard me early on (not later when we were getting close), was it only me you heard? Or could you hear Zane as well?

When you heard me early on, did you reply about the same time?

Do you know if your radio was set to broadcast at 50w?

 

Easy things first - I never heard Zane. This is IMO expected, since he was on a hand held device, broadcasting at something <5W, with a <12" antenna. I think he'd be lucky to have a range of ~5 miles in the conditions/terrain we were in.

For hearing you, I'm going to bring APRS into this as well (slightly), since I know we both mentioned seeing each other there long before we could communicate via simplex.

I first noticed you on APRS, and you were (as I recall) something like 110km away. Could have been 160km. If you called out to me, I never heard you at that point. I also called out to you at that point - at 50W, but I assumed you'd not hear me because 60-100 miles is just farther than our simplex transmissions (even at 50W) are going to travel with terrain such as we were in.

Then, at 10:29pm, I heard you call me on the Ham. This was the first time I'd heard you on the Ham. At that point, you guys were through Fruitland and just east of Arcadia. So, you were ~25 miles away at that point. I called out to you at 50W, but got no response.

At 10:30pm, I realized I had LTE service so I texted you (which you got), and then I called you.

I think the first we talked on the Ham was when you were in Homedale, crossing over the Snake (I remember hearing you talking about that to Zane), and when I called you at that point, you heard me. We were ~10 miles apart then.

So, I could hear you at 35 miles, and you heard me at 10 miles. Both of us were at 50W (I was, and I recall you saying you were when you called as well).

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Semi-related (and now not what you were asking), I just looked up the iGate (not sure that's exactly the right term) you were hitting with APRS, and it looks like it was SNOBNK (relaying to MERIDN and SHAFER), which is how we were seeing each other well before we could communicate via simplex.

 

Not surprised about not hearing Zane on the handheld but was just curious.

Yeah, I realized that calling you at 110 km (when I first saw you pop up on the APRSdroid hub) was an unreasonable expectation. But it was an interesting experiment none the less. ~70 miles is just a bit much to expect out of simplex even under ideal conditions.

I will say, I was a bit disappointed to to reach you on the third call at 40 miles (APRS said it was 65km). It seemed like that would be doable even if it was only a static burst.

I did not hear you at 35 miles.

 

Keep in mind, the sign of a great antenna tune is not how far you broadcast always but how far you can receive.

Also 40miles on simplex is great. I don't know what you're expecting exactly, but thats over 10x a CB radio typically haha

 

Thats the point. No one got 40.

I think Dan is saying he received at 35 but I didn't.

If my calcs are correct, I did not receive him until ~25 miles out. But that does not necessarily mean he was trying continuously between 35 and 25.

 

as i was not there, what was the terrain like?

 

Ha, I was just looking (verifying) at that in google maps. The elevation at he point we have been discussing, Dan was in camp at ~2800' and I was at 22-2400'. There were no big ridges between us.

The 2nd 'early' call at the 50 mile mark, I was higher, coming out of the mountains at +4000'. So definitely line of site but ~45-50 miles out.

 

If it was definitely clear line if sight then your guy's tunes suck. Or one does. I hit repeaters all the time from 30-60 miles out. Granted that's not quite the same thing since the antenna elements of repeaters are FAR superior to our mobile ones. They receive much better and transmit better. Why most only run at 5-15w