AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

Bummer indeed.

I recall it being mounted in concrete with extra cables for support, not sure how it would've disappeared. Hopefully it wasn't some flatlander in a SxS.

 

wow. I don't even remember any evidence that would suggest it was there. Seems like a pretty hefty setup. Will have to look at my photos some more to see if if it just fell down the side.

 

Hope you enjoy it. It's fun to put together!

 

Mt. Antero 2, Us 0 - Colorado #7

We were up bright and early...

Ha! No we weren't, this was not a trip where early mornings were "a thing," with one exception that I'll get to eventually. In fact, I think I as the first one out of bed - a bit after 8:00am - and only because the sun was streaming in through the door of my tent, blinding, rather than warming me, as it had on previous mornings.

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Familiar. Have I been here before?​

Our plan for the day was one that I'd been looking forward to for the entire trip - and I know Mike @Digiratus and Monte @Blackdawg had been as well. This was, after-all, the spot we'd camped the night before that fateful day last year - the day the Redhead punched a coilover through the front passenger shock tower on the climb up Mt. Antero. This time, we hoped that by the end of the day, we'd have reached - and this time we'd have summited - Mt. Antero.

First though, we had to get there. Rather than take the route we'd travelled the last time - up and over Cumberland and Hancock Passes, the route we'd take today was new to us all - we'd approach Antero via Slaughterhouse Gulch and Tincup Pass.

We started by following a route that had been a "wrong turn" the previous year, climbing into the hills south of Taylor Park, and then down again into the adjacent valley - the smoke that'd been present the last several days, hazy in the late morning sun.

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Through the meadow and making good time, we climbed again as we entered the woods, until we came upon the ruins of an old log cabin. We have no idea - really - what the cabin was for, but Dan @drr commented that if this was the slaughterhouse for which the gulch was named, there was a conspicuous lack of corrals.

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The craftsmanship in construction was clear; there's a reason this place has stood for likely over 100 years.​

We continued on, cresting another set of hills before dropping down into another, much smaller valley just a few miles from the town of Tincup. Here too, the ruins of what were once inhabited buildings of the old west were present, their locations clearly picked for the commanding - and beautiful - views of their surroundings.

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Unlike the previous structure however, those we found here were, in fact, adjacent to old corrals. Could this have been the abattoir for which the area was named? Interestingly, as we explored the area on foot, it appeared that a tack shed next to the corral - and so perhaps the corral itself - was still in use!

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From these ruins, it was fewer than two miles to Tincup, which we entered from the south - via the road we'd exited the previous year. A tiny town, this place was originally named Virginia City, located in Tin Cup Gulch - named for the tin cup that prospector Jim Taylor used to carry gold that he'd panned from Willow Creek, back to camp in 1859. It wasn't until 1878 that larger lode deposits were discovered in the area, and by the 1880 census, the town had a population of 1,495. Confusion with Virginia City, Nevada, and Virginia City, Montana, caused the residents to change the name just two years later - the same year that town marshal Harry Rivers died in a gunfight. Tincup it turns out was a violent place - one year later in 1883, marshal Andy Jameson was shot to death in 1883 as well. (Gunnison County)

Today, the town retains many of the old structures, and a good number of residents have moved back in at least during the summer months. The town hall sparkled - even from a distance - as we drove into town, its white paint and turret easily mistaken for a church building.

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There are no paved roads in Tincup even today, the many dirt roads leading to various passes in the area. For us, this year, the road we were looking for exited to the east, and within minutes of entering town, we were leaving again as we began our ascent up Tincup pass.

Not far out of town, human traffic dropped precipitously until we reached mirror lake, where several groups were out fishing and having an otherwise great time. Even at nearly noon, the night's cold temperatures were apparent - ice still lining the creek crossings that fed the lake.

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As with a couple of the other passes we'd already run on this trip, the climb up Tincup pass was reasonably easy. Sure - there were rocks and bumps in the road, and both 4wd and high-clearance were a plus, but there was nothing of note from a technical perspective, which allowed us to soak in the views as we climbed above the tree line, and ultimately crested yet another ridge along the continental divide.

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We reach 12,154 feet above sea level, along the continental divide.​

While nice, Tincup wasn't as dramatic as some of the other passes we'd seen, so after a few minutes we headed down the east side, eager to achieve our ultimate destination for the day.

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The descent was much as the ascent had been, though perhaps with a bit more traffic than we'd seen out of Tincup.

The road caused the traffic to move slowly, and we leapfrogged our way down the mountain, our suspension setups clearly head-and-shoulders above what most were experiencing on this beautiful day. Mike especially was enjoying this section of trail - the Redhead's new suspension soaking up the whoops and potholes in ways he'd never experienced before; his exclamations of joy over the CB radio bringing a smile to my face.

At some point - earlier in the day than normal - we decided to stop for lunch. And, as we pulled out our chairs and sustenance, talk of truck swaps began. This is somewhat of a tradition on trips like this - though one that I have yet to participate in, much to the chagrin and teasing of my fellow adventurers. Still, it gives each of them the chance to drive each others trucks, pushing them to their limits, at speeds higher than they might drive their own vehicles on the same terrain.

It was during this swap that Monte stepped out of the Redhead - after all the work that had gone into it over the last year, and said

Let me tell you, there wasn't a prouder parent than Mike at that moment, at least as far as the look on his face.

Back in our caravan of four, we quickly wrapped up the bottom of Tincup pass and made our way through the historical town of St. Elmo. Technically classified as a ghost town, it was anything but on the day we rolled through - the streets packed with UTVs and their haulers. We wasted no time getting away from it all and to the turn-off to the highlight of our day: the ascent of Mt. Antero.

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This is the spot I nearly hit Mike and Monte last year when my brakes didn't engage. I know Monte still wonders how I kept my truck from flipping over, as I careened past them, my passenger tires high up this hillside on the upper log.​

The route up to Mt. Antero can really be thought about in two segments. The first, a climb from 9,400- to 10,800-feet delivers the adventurous explorer to a creek crossing and fork in the road. Straight continues on to several camp sites and the Baldwin Lakes; left heads up the mountain toward the peak.

As we ascended this portion of the trail, CB chatter was high, each of us peppering Mike with questions about exactly when and where the Redhead crapped the bed the last time we were here.

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As we reached the end of the first segment, we passed a couple Jeeps on their way down from "the top." According to them, the actual top was unachievable today - the shelf road impassable due to snow at much higher elevations. "You'll have to back up onto the scree field to turn around," they warned - something that made us all wonder if we were just a little crazy.

It was sketchy enough that Mike decided he'd call this spot good for the day, offering to find us a good camp while Dan, Monte, and I continued toward the summit. It was - after all - the thing we'd been talking about for the last week.

In case there was any snow bashing to be done, Dan - with his 35" tires and love of snow - headed up first.

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Up we go!​

The climb from the transition point is long and steep. From 10,800 feet, the road climbs to 13,774 feet in approximately 4.5 miles, all of it along a shelf road carved into the side of the mountain.

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The views - obviously, given that the entire road is above the tree line - are some of the best we'd had on the entire trip, and Monte and I made several stops along the way to take them in. Dan however pushed forward and was the first to reach the snow. Warning us over the CB that it was - in fact - impassable, he advised us to find a spot to park, and then come help him get his truck turned around on the narrow road.

We obliged, finding the perfect spot to leave our Tacomas.

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A few folks out having a good time?​

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Or Toyota commercial?​

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The view back to Baldwin Lakes from our parking spot was impressive.​

A quarter mile up the road, we found Dan and helped him get flipped around - a few perfectly placed turns, and good brake control making quick work of the job. We were - at this point - 2.5 miles from the top, and we had a decision to make: should we hike it?

You're DAMN RIGHT we should hike it, and we set off up the steep road - Devin @MissBlackdawg and her dog Ollie, leading the way.

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All of us in better-than-average shape, I was pretty sure that we'd cover those 2.5 miles more slowly than at sea level, but quickly enough that it wouldn't be much of an issue - perhaps taking us a bit more than an hour, rather than 35 minutes. But travel at 13,000 feet is a little different than any of us could have imagined, and our speed averaged only a little more than 1 mph for the entirety of the climb.

Perhaps part of the reason was that we couldn't stop taking pictures. In fact, yeah, that's the reason!

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As we made the final push to the end of the road, we were all breathing heavily.​

The taste of victory in our legs as we completed the last switchback, we rounded a corner to see that we'd simply reached the end of the road. The path to the summit was another half mile and 500 vertical feet of elevation gain. Not only that, but from here, it was a narrow path through a scree field, not a nicely graded gravel road.

It was 4:30pm and we had a decision to make.

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The summit, just ahead. Note: background compression of a zoom lens is in full effect here.​

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The summit (left), still half a mile away.​

Ultimately, after much back and forth, more sane voices than mine won out - it was late(r) in the afternoon and none of us had brought any water, much less warm clothing or food. If we got caught out on that trail once the sun went down, we could find ourselves in significant trouble - or worse - a truly dangerous situation.

Dan climbed to the top of a local apex, and we took a few final shots of the 14-er that had now eluded us two years running.

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Bighorn sheep in the bowl below Mt. Antero.​

A little deflated, we retraced our steps back down the road to our vehicles. The going down was much easier - as would be expected - and we made good time, covering the distance in just over 45 minutes. Back at the trucks, we radioed down to Mike that we were on our way, and he relayed that he'd found a great camp site just a little way up the road from where we'd left him.

And sure enough, we found him exactly where we thought we would, our story of defeat relayed immediately upon arriving in camp. Mike too had a story of woe, having attempted to find camp further up the Baldwin Lakes road, only to be turned around by a particularly difficult section of trail that he felt uncomfortable tackling as a single truck.

And where we found him was perfect - the view of the mountains a perfect backdrop to settle down for the evening.

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In no time, we'd deployed camp.

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At nearly 11,000 feet, this was the highest elevation we'd called home on the trip so far, and even at 6:15pm, it was getting a little chilly. We all huddled around the propane fire ring, eating our dinners over the next couple of hours, talk of the day's events, a beautiful sunset, and the plan for tomorrow keeping us occupied until we called it a night.

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And a cold night it was - as I climbed into bed, I broke open a pack of Little Hotties hand and foot warmers as well as my wool socks and knit cap. All bundled up, I hunkered down in under two down comforters and on top of my ultra-insulated Exped MegaMat 10.

Hoping it was enough to keep me warm, and the adrenaline of the day finally wearing off, I soon fell asleep. That is, until a noise outside the tent awoke me during the pitch black of night...

 

Certainly a great photo, but the sheep were on the other side of the ridge, no?



You and Monte contemplating the trek across the scree field to get up to the top of Antero:

 

LOL, just got the wrong photo in there, hahaha. Nice catch.

 

Tomichi is Open! - Colorado #8
We literally woke up in the shadow of Mt. Antero, to temperatures in the mid-20°F's. Despite the cold, I'd slept well - as did the rest of the crew - except for a bit of rustling during the night - little critters having discovered the open bag of chips that we'd left next to the camp fire by accident.

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Out of the tent around the same time as Mike @Digiratus, I wandered off - moving to stay warm - while he prepped a hot cup of coffee to achieve the same result. Wandering up the road from camp toward Baldwin Lakes, a granite tailings pile gleamed bright against the weathered rock of the surrounding mountain. I decided to explore.

It doesn't seem like much in a photo, but if you look closely, you can see where rocks have been stacked to create walls - this the entrance to what was once a reasonably large mine shaft.

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My position part way up the mountain also afforded me some earlier sun, and I took full advantage to warm up a bit - while the rest of camp was still in the shadow - before continuing up the road that Mike had attempted the previous evening. The road was - as he'd mentioned - rough, and I soon discovered the tracks indicating his multi-point turn. I pushed on, wondering what I would see over the top of the ridge - the answer, unfortunately, was "more trees."

Heading back down, the views - even just peaking out through the trees - made for a nice stroll, one that I thoroughly enjoyed now that my creaky old joints were a bit warmer.

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In camp, Dan @drr was up - breakfast made; Monte @Blackdawg and Devin @MissBlackdawg were rustling around in their tent, now willing to venture out that the sun was warming the surroundings.

Breakfast for me was a cold bowl of cereal, so cold that when I rinsed it with water to clean it, the water turned to slush immediately - a pure joy to wipe around with my bare hands, let me tell you! This was a situation I was used to by now - no big deal since I knew that it'd soon be a balmy 70°F under clear blue skies.

By 10:30am we were back on the trail, making our way down the hill, onto pavement, and toward Buena Vista - our destination for the morning. We had several things to take care of in town - each of us needing fuel for our trucks, propane, a few supplies, and a dose of LTE connectivity.

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When we'd rolled through Buena Vista for the first time - a little more than a year before - the frosty stand we'd hoped to eat at was closed. Disappointed, we ended up eating across the street at what turned out to be a delicious pub and pizzeria - but hoped that one day we'd be able to return for some burgers, fries, and ice cream. Today was that day!

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Turns out, we should have eaten at the Eddyline Brewery again - the burgers and fries only OK, the shakes meh (large at 2 lbs, but with mix-ins that were stale), and the onion rings terrible (reportedly sticking with their owners for a couple days)! Oh well, it was an experience we were after, and not everything can always be splendid - just eating lunch in the park with a bunch of friends was enough that none of us had any regret.

From Buena Vista, we set off again - out of town the way we'd come in - towards the first of two passes we planned to summit on the afternoon.

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Everywhere we went for the first week and a half was under fire restriction.​

Once again on dirt, the first pass on our list was Hancock Pass. This was one we'd run on the final day and in the opposite direction on our 2019 Colorado trip, and we knew that running it the opposite direction would be a more challenging task. Undeterred, we pressed on, passing the building we'd seen sliding down the hill the year before, still a bit worse for wear.

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One really nice thing about running trails in a different direction is that the views you get can make it an entirely different experience. The things that may have been in mirrors - or missed entirely - are suddenly front and center. That was definitely the case here, the mountains above Hancock Lake rising up majestically out of the earth.

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A little further on, as we turned off toward the pass, Mike and the Redhead framed it perfectly again.

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And with that, we were headed up - lots of up - through loose rocks that grew as we climbed. The going was slow, as we knew it would be, but it wasn't nearly as difficult as any of us thought it might be.

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A few locations might have even looked more difficult than they were - two foot ledges, no trouble for our trucks, but a great place to capture an unusual angle, as Monte did when Mike crawled up this section.

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Here you see the Redhead in its natural habitat, Monte capturing the move with his patented pivot to gain the ideal angle.​

As we reached the pass at 12,140 feet, the views behind were as expansive, if perhaps a bit ho-hum as Colorado passes go.

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Now, while I wouldn't necessarily recommend Hancock Pass as a must-do-bucket-list item from a views perspective, there are a couple good reasons to keep this trail somewhere on your list. Obviously, it's a great way to get to Mt. Antero - where we'd spent the previous afternoon - and that is definitely a must do. Additionally - if you ascend from the south, as we'd done the previous year, you can investigate an old railway grade and tunnel with a lot of history behind them. And lastly - no matter which way you access Hancock Pass, it can be used to access Tomichi Pass. And Tomichi Pass was dramatic, but now I'm getting a little ahead of myself.

We started down the south side of Hancock, the shelf-road-through-a-scree-field to Tomichi visible in the distance.

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Looks exciting!​

Soon, we were at the turn - the road to Tomichi Pass closed at this location when we'd been by the previous year.

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As with many of the roads we'd travel this year, the Tomichi Pass road was clearly used for mining at one point in time. Still in the valley and lower than the shelf road, a large tailings pile was visible from quite a distance, and as I was bringing up the rear, I hoped Monte would stop to take a look.

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Naturally he did, and by the time I pulled up, he and Dan were already out of their trucks and headed up to investigate a large mine shaft - the remote location enough to keep it from being locked up by the the mine safety folks who would otherwise place bars and grates over any dangerous hole.

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I poked around a bit outside, an old boiler - no longer on its stand - catching my attention first. Then of course, the mining claim - for this, the Brittle Silver Mine, was an interesting find. Reasonably new, I wonder if the owner has plans to continue mining the area - or at least to do some prospecting... my guess is that the old timers probably left plenty of the yellow shiny stuff to keep a small, more modern operation, running for a little while in today's day and age.

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I couldn't resist a short foray into the shaft itself. Sure, there's some danger in this, but the views from inside are always so dramatic, and while they're hard to capture, the colors in some of these shafts are amazing.

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Hancock Pass from the Brittle Silver Mine. (A gold mine, mind you!)​

With our exploration of the area around the mine complete, it was time to leave the warm light of the valley for the cool granite grays of the scree shelf road leading to the summit. Unsure what we'd find as far as trail conditions were concerned, Dan led the way as we made our way through this section of trail.

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There was only one "where-does-the-trail-go" moment as we climbed, a blind rise falling off to the right - difficult to see as the truck is pointed skyward and you're sitting on the left hand side. We all made it through unscathed - of course - and before long we were at the top. We'd reached Tomichi Pass!

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What lay ahead, to our south.​

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Behind us, the road winding up to Hancock Pass.​

Having gotten a late start to our travels, after lunch in Buena Vista, it was shortly after 5:00pm when we crested Tomichi Pass. That meant we were at a high - and therefore cold - elevation, with only a couple hours to find a more suitable camp. We pushed our trucks down the hill, hoping to drop elevation quickly in order to find camp.

Even Ollie was ready to be done for the day.

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Can we be done for the day? I would like to play with my squeaky toy, and it's nearly time for dinner.​

We found camp about halfway down the trail - at a large opening between towering ridgelines. It wasn't going to be warmer - not now or early in the morning - since those same ridgelines would keep us in the shade, but sometimes a little chill is worth it when the views can't be beat.

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We'd found camp in less than an hour, and unbeknownst to us, it was likely the lowest elevation site before civilization. And that meant we had plenty of time to enjoy ourselves before the tasks of the night. Camp setup was quickly taken care of, as was bundling up for the cool breeze making its way down the canyon.

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We were at 12,000' - what would be our highest camp site of the trip, and as we clustered around the camp fire, several tasty topics were discussed. First and foremost, tomorrow would be a big breakfast day. Group breakfasts have become something of a tradition in this crowd, and always consist of the same three components - bacon, eggs, and potatoes. Well, plus a side of salsa for anyone who so desires. Second, Mike announced that he wanted to make us all dinner - and not just any dinner, but a dinner of tacos that he'd been working to perfect over the previous months. All he needed was to get to camp a bit early so he had time to prep before it got dark.

So yeah, yum.

The propane camp fire kept us warm until we all hit the sack just before 11:00pm - our dreams tasty as we nodded off to sleep. We had no idea that the next day would bring not only good eats, but also some of the coolest old mines we'd ever encountered!

 

It's Mines! All Mines! - Colorado #9

It was cold when we woke up the next morning, but who the hell cares when a breakfast like this is in the works?

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Let's take a minute to appreciate exactly what we're looking at here. That's a ½ lb of some of the best - only available in Montana - bacon, two Yukon Gold potatoes all diced up and cooked with onions, and a few eggs scrambled up in bacon grease. All on a plate in the shining sun with a mountainous backdrop to die for.

Yep, none of us cared about a little cold when we got up in the morning! It also meant that we cared little about lunch, given that we didn't roll out of camp until nearly 11:30am!

We did eventually get out of camp, continuing down the last bit of Tomichi Pass, dust the only indication that we'd been along the trail.

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We passed the old Tomichi Cemetery on our way down, only two headstones still standing - though several other grave sites marked by simple crosses, the lives of the people buried here tough. Miners, likely, given death by explosion in the late 1800s.

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From this point, we were quickly back in civilization - or at least the outskirts of it. Sparsely spaced cabins lined the road, their construction much more harmonious with nature than you'd find in a city or even town. The most striking was built around the trees that shaded it, their trunks stretching up - through its roof - to provide their shelter.

And through this section of woods, it was nice to see that the residents hadn't lost their sense of humor.

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A good laugh was had all around.​

Transitioning from Tomichi Pass to Tomichi Creek, we continued following our route south, until we came upon the old site of the Akron Mine and Mill.

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When placer gold was discovered in Tomichi Creek in 1878, and rich silver deposits subsequently discovered in 1881, miners from all over the country flooded to the area, establishing the towns of Whitepine and North Star. By 1884, the population reached more than 1,000, with several stores, saloons, and hotels setup to serve the locals. As was commonly the case, everything came to a screeching halt in 1893 when silver crashed with the camps deserted by the following year.

The Akron Mine was reactivated twice since its initial closing, the second time in 1938 to mine lead, zinc and copper for the war effort. It was during this period that a tunnel more than 1 mile long was dug to extract material, extending all the way to Lake Hill, Colorado.

Today, the area has been reclaimed by the Forest Service, many of the contaminated tailings sequestered in retention areas, covered with clean soil, and revegetated, and only portions of the mill foundation remain visible. (local information sign)

It was our first mine of the day - and quite honestly one of the least interesting, though we didn't know that as we picked up speed on the dusty roads - a Uranium mine our next destination.

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We may be headed to a Uranium mine, but that doesn't mean I won't stop for fall colors!​

Near Sargents - where I was surprised to see fuel - we headed east towards the Pitch Uranium Mine. Fun fact: Colorado has the third largest uranium reserves of any US state, behind Wyoming and New Mexico.

On the way to the mine, Mike suddenly came over the CB to let us know that he thought he'd hit something and he was pulling over to check things out. Turns out he didn't hit anything, but this was the second time he'd heard an extremely loud thunk while driving along. We all circled the wagons to check it out.

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Our theory - based loosely on the transfer case issues I had over a year ago - is that Mike was experiencing something similar, and he was assigned homework to check it out on our return. For now, we continued on towards a mine that we could see was clearly active in the distance.

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In fact, not much further up, the road was blocked off - the previously closed mine now abuzz with heavy equipment - whether they were mining or cleaning up, we could only speculate. To us, all that mattered was that we couldn't continue - and so back down the mountain we raced!

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From the Uranium Mine - which, in hindsight may have been a good one to skip - our plan was to continue east to an area rife with old mines. We were headed to Bonanza.

On the map, this looked like a reasonably short trek - something easily done in an hour - and so, as we started up the next canyon, we didn't hesitate to stop for more colorful photos. Because - you know - the yellows here are obviously different than the last 50 stops! (to be fair to everyone else on the trip, if I'd been leading, we'd have stopped even more!)

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Winding our way along Poncha Creek, we eventually popped out into the open and stopped to fill Ollie's water jug in the stream. A nice grassy area, we soon found ourselves comparing trucks - a common past time - this time, competing for "who has the least lift." An unpredictable or even surprising competition perhaps, given the crowd, but even in my short time I've found that the added down-travel of a lower lift is much more functional than pumping the coilovers all the way up, "for looks."

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From our stop along Poncha Creek, we headed over the water and onto an old section of the Otto Mears Toll Road, which would take us up and over the final pass that stood between us and a mining mecca.

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Following in footsteps of history.​

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History.​

Much of the Otto Mears Toll Road would later become the Million Dollar Highway (US Route 550), but this section to Bonanza remains a Jeep trail through rough terrain - and with beautiful views. We enjoyed it thoroughly, our narrow 1st gen Tacomas, the perfect vehicles for the job.

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The road - it turned out - took us much longer to traverse than I think any of us thought, and it was nearly 4:00pm when we found ourselves sitting above what can only be described as a mud pit, a tall enough ledge dropping down into the muck that we thought twice before proceeding.

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Mike - perhaps only slightly over-confident in the Redheads ability - went first. He chose a line that appeared not-quite-so-tall as the main line, and proceeded to drop down, completely burying his front bumper in the sticky goo, before removing a bit of paint from the rear bumper as it scraped down the ledge.

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Monte and I followed - taking a bypass - Monte because he had no rear armor; me because - according to my buddies - I'm a total wuss. And then it was Dan's turn. With 35" tires, he opted for the main - most difficult - line. He had no idea how deep that puddle was in front of his truck, but hey, what's the worst that could happen, amiright?

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Like Mike, much of his bumper was ultimately submerged, and if Mike had scraped a bit of paint off his rear bumper, Dan used his to support the entire weight of the truck. But hey, !

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Judging by the trail, it was just a "short" drag of the rear.​

And with that, we'd essentially arrived at the mining district that we'd been driving all day to see - and at the site of the old Rawley 12 mine, the largest mine in the Bonanza Mining District. Now reclaimed, there wasn't much of this mine left to see, but we wandered around a bit, checking out some old parts and ruins before continuing on.

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At this point, we couldn't help but to get a little inefficient with our use of the maze-like road system that wound around hillsides from mine to mine. We crossed our own path several times as we made our way through this maze, eager to discover what was left at each site - and even between sites, the area so covered with mining ruins.

The Bonanza Mill turned out to be one of the largest structures we'd see, and we spent a good amount of time exploring it and the surrounding area, its headframe rising up into the sky above the mill.

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So much timber; could make so many cool projects!​

Like many of the mines in the area, silver ore was the "Bonanza" for which this mine was named. The name turned out to be overly optimistic - as was often the case, but the name stuck and 40,000 people passed through the area between 1880-81, including former president and Civil War general Ulysses S. Grant. (Colorado tourism)

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Looking up from the mill.​

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The source of the silver bonanza.​

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Colorado Mined Land Reclamation Marker.​

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Looking down from the headframe.​

From the Bonanza Mill, we worked our way east - to the Alder Mill and mine. Situated high on a hillside, this would have been the mine I wanted to work at - the view over the valley, a tremendous benefit to what must have been hard labor. Here, old assayer buildings, what appeared to be locker rooms, and perhaps a lunch hall still stood behind the mill - still reasonably preserved after all these years.

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Across the valley we could see our next stop - the Superior Mine - and we headed that way, excited by the name. Names however can be deceiving, and there wasn't much left of the Superior to explore - a tailings pile (parking area) and lone log building ruin, all that remained.

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And here, we had a decision to make. The most direct route to our exit from this mining territory was down a set of steep switchbacks. On the map, they looked tight enough that we were unsure if they were even suitable for our trucks, or if they were only for ATVs and motorcycles. But, with the alternate routes adding several miles to our journey, we decided to give them a try - because the worst that could happen would be several trucks plunging to their deaths.

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Our worry was for naught - the road and switchbacks easy to navigate - and to our surprise we discovered another mine about halfway down the mountain - perhaps the reason for the switchbacks in the first place!

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A loading ramp - material sent down the chute to be hauled away and processed.​

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Shops and garages always draw our attention; we're always looking for a good place to work on our trucks.​

And with that, our exploration of the area was complete. It was already 6:00pm, and not only did we have no idea where we were going to camp, but we'd planned on being another 30 miles or so along our route by the time we stopped for the night. As such, as we rolled slowly through the historic town of Bonanza, we were reevaluating our position on the map, and looking for some public land that we could call home.

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Bonanza might be a historic ghost town, but it doesn't look half bad to me!​

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It's dinner time guys, you should be in camp.​

Not too much further, we started up Ute Pass road - the trail we'd be taking the following morning - and found a spur road that appeared to lead through a valley and to a promising area for camp.

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Sure enough, we found a reasonably flat spot, and the 8,500 foot elevation was a welcome change to the 11,000+ foot locations we'd found ourselves at previously. Having skipped lunch, we were all quick to get dinners made as we circled up around the fire and enjoyed the colors playing across the sky, the pink highlighting the odd-aspen in an otherwise evergreen forest.

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We hadn't made it quite as far as we'd planned, but that's all part of the adventure. To get back on track - we wanted to spend the next several days on the Alpine Loop - we decided that we'd our earliest start of the trip: each of us waking at whatever time necessary to be driving out of camp by 8:00am!

It would be early, but in hindsight, the term "worth it," would be underrated...

 

Man, I need to move this up my list especially with Tomichi open again.

Did you all take Marshal Pass (road) or FR 203 (east of pass) from Sargents to Bonzana?

 

It's a great area, and we only scratched the surface, since we were all pushing for our next destination (esp. me ) on the itinerary. After Sargents, we took Marshall Pass to 203 to Poncha Creek.

 

I read each of these and at the end, think it cannot get much better. Then it does.

Thank you.

 

Why Haven't I Been to the Alpine Loop? - Colorado #10

We were up bright an early the next morning - all of us having gotten a good sleep at our "low" elevation of 8500 feet - so we could get out of camp by 8:00am. Mike @Digiratus was even up early enough to make himself a cup of coffee before packing up - quite the feat, when Dan @drr, Monte @Blackdawg, Devin @MissBlackdawg and I were up as late as we could possibly be in order to still be ready to roll!

The reason for our early departure was that we had an actual plan for the day. Actually, we'd discussed a plan for the rest of the week, and in order to make it work, we needed to be in Ouray for an early-ish lunch. That meant we wouldn't be able to take dirt roads from our current position just east of Ute Pass - rather, we'd hop on the highway for nearly 200 miles - but we all agreed that it was the best course of action if we were to really enjoy some of the highlights that the Alpine Loop had to offer.

And so, the sun rose above the horizon, we found ourselves cresting Ute Pass and heading towards Saguache, Colorado - and ultimately to CO-114, US-50, and US-550 to get us to our destination.

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Dropping down off of Ute Pass, the smoke that had lingered the last few days was still with us, unfortunately.​

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All aired up with somewhere to go!​

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Dillon Pinnacles - a geologic phenomenon of southern Colorado. Volcanic eruptions formed the breccia rock into towering spires above the Blue Mesa Reservoir.​

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The dramatic entrance to Ouray, on US-550.​

In Ouray, the plan was to fill up on gas and water and then hit up a local park where we could make lunch before getting on the trail. Fortunately, a lack of parking, and Devin's desire for a not-prepared-by-her meal found us parked outside of a local eatery where we spoiled ourselves on bacon-avocado-cheeseburgers (among other things) that were significantly better than those we'd had in Buena Vista.

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And then, we were off. The Alpine Loop is a trail system that I've wanted to run for some time, but even as we were airing down at the Mineral Creek trailhead, I had no idea how moving the next few days were going to be. The trails really are some of the more beautiful I've run and they epitomize what I think of when I think "Colorado."

I apologize in advance for all the photos. I really couldn't help myself - not when taking them, nor culling for edit.

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Not far up the trail we ran into our first mining ruin. Part of the Michael Breen Mine, established in the 1870s. It was during this period - after the Civil War - that an influx of miners rapidly settled southwest Colorado, resulting in conflict with the local Ute Indians. Even after the Treaty of 1868 resulted in the establishment of the Ute Reservation in western Colorado (including the San Juan Mountains), miners continued to trespass - fueling hostilities. Finally, in 1873, the Utes were pressed into surrender under the Brunot Agreement - signed by Chief Ouray in 1874.

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We continued on, the trail interesting but not difficult as it climbed into the San Juans, views jaw-dropping in every direction.

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Before I knew it, we were turning off of the Mineral Creek trail and onto Poughkeepsie Gulch. This trail - Monte told us - was the only really difficult trail in the loop, a 20 foot tall, steep, rocky ledge near the end - responsible for that description. Of course, such a description only pushed us forward, as we crawled through rocky areas where the creek shared space with the trail; past mine shafts and tailings piles now relegated to history.

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Poughkeepsie Gulch isn't a long trail - the entirety of its length is only four miles - and soon enough we were at a steep, narrow section composed of loose dirt on granite. As most of us climbed through, our rear lockers keeping the wheels spinning in the low-traction environment, Igor (lockerless) struggled. With time, I'm sure Monte would have made it - I've seen him navigate much worse - but we reasonably quickly decided that a tug was in order - just to keep things moving along, and so Dan pulled out a tow strap as I positioned the truck to be of assistance.

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And with that, we'd reached the obstacle. It didn't look that bad, really. I mean sure, it was steep. And yes, there was a big hole that had to be straddled. Perhaps it was a bit off-camber as well in places, and there was no doubt that the wrong line could cause a rollover.

But really, it wasn't all that bad. Heck, while we were all looking at it, Mike decided to just get it over with, and pointed the Redhead "up."

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After Mike, it was my turn. With Monte spotting and Dan taking photos, the truck performed exactly as it was designed, making quick work of the rocky ledge - the mental difficulty far exceeding the situation on the ground.

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Monte was next. This was going to be the challenge, and was part of the reason Mike and I had climbed the wall first: with no lockers, none of us thought Igor was going to make it unassisted. I turned my truck around to get the winch ready as Monte started up.

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Before we knew it, he was through the entire obstacle, no assistance needed. I think he surprised even himself, the look on his face, one of pure joy at the feat.

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All captured by Devin, as she and Ollie watched from a safe distance.​

Last to scale the wall was Dan. With his larger 35" tires, he chose a different route than the rest of us - the even steeper, buggy route - for his first attempt. Once again, Monte was spotting.

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After a few attempts, it was clear that even with extra rubber, the traction on this part of the obstacle wasn't enough for a heavy Tacoma, and Dan reverted to the line the rest of us had taken. Attempted and achieved locker-less, just to keep Monte's ego in check!

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The hardest part behind us, there was less than a three-quarters of a mile left of the trail, and we wrapped that up reasonably quickly - a downclimb of a second rocky ledge, the only element of note over that distance.

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Poughkeepsie Gulch had been a great trail, and the fact that it led right in to our first pass of the loop made it all the better. From its end, the road split - to the right, Hurricane Pass - a location we'd find ourselves at in a couple of days. To the left, California Pass via a shelf road to the sky - the direction we were headed now!

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Part way up, at the apex of a switchback, a D6 dozer. Parked now, but clearly grading the pass before the snow hit for the winter. Quite a view from the office, if you ask me!

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Lake Como, along the last leg of Poughkeepsie Gulch, and below Hurricane and California Passes.​

At the top - as always - a sign. And the views - well, they were great too, the ridge leading to Hanson peak gleaming bright in the afternoon sun.

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Unlike the trail up to California Pass - at least the way we'd come - the trip down was smooth sailing. Smooth enough, in fact, that we passed a full-sized Dodge dually headed (slowly) up the trail. As we made our way down, the mining history of this road became patently obvious, ruins and piles of tailings lining both sides of the valley.

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One of these mines was the Frisco Mine, a few outbuildings and its mill in an apparent state of semi-restoration - or at least suspended deterioration. Hidden behind a large pile of tailings, I didn't even see the mill until I came barreling around the corner trying to catch up with the rest of the crew - having stopped for this photo of two cabins.

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There - already parked and out of his truck - was Monte, doing the same thing I would have done regardless of his having stopped before me - exploring! I called ahead on the CB to let Mike and Dan know that we were out of the trucks, and joined him in another woodworkers heaven.

I mean seriously, just one of these 16"x16" old growth fir posts would be enough to keep me happy for many projects to come!

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Knowing that Mike and Dan were waiting, and that we still had an entire pass to go before finding camp for the night, we didn't spend too long at the Frisco Mill, climbing back into our trucks just as Mike asked us which way he should turn at a fork he'd come to in the road.

Mike was - it turns out - at the ghost town of Animas Forks.

Established in 1873 and named in 1875, Animas Forks was positioned at the intersection of the three forks of the Animas River. A road to Silverton was constructed the same year, extending the Cinnamon Pass road from Lake City by nearly double. By 1885, 450 people called Animas Forks home during the summer, though few braved the harsh winters when most mining stopped. The town weathered boom and bust cycles until the 1920's when metal prices fell and the with them, the population. (informational sign)

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Animas Forks was also our departure point for our second - and final - pass of the day: Engineer Pass. We'd tackle this pass from south-to-north, hoping to find camp somewhere after the pass and before we reached Lake City, some 20 miles to the east.

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Heading up.​

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Many of the creeks and streams in Colorado have an eerie color to them, heavy metals and the chemicals used by mine operators having leached into the groundwater, poisoning the streams for centuries.​

Moving as quickly as I could - which I must admit was not quickly at all - I found myself stopping constantly to capture the world around me - both in my brain as well as in photos. It's places like this that I've realized I could come back to - time and again - and always find something new to admire.

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Dan driving into the sky.​

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The path of our ascent to Engineer Pass, now below us.​

Hoping I wasn't holding everyone up too much, I stopped one more time.

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And then again.

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The aptly named, "Oh!, Point."​

Intuition would suggest that Engineer Pass would be on a ridgeline - at the highest point of the saddle - between two valleys. It is on a ridgeline, but it is not at the highest point. This threw me off as we started our descent, and I wondered out loud - though to myself - if we'd just driven by the pass. Mike and Monte had been there before, and perhaps it wasn't anything new to them.

Then, to my delight, I realized what was going on. We hadn't skipped the pass - it just wasn't where I expected it to be! We lined up for the requisite proof of our visit.

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Beyond, the route forked. To the north, a winding road up Darley Mountain. This was the road I think we all wanted to try - across a scree field and up switchbacks to what must have been a dramatic overlook. It was, unfortunately, closed - rock and snow slides taking their tool - years earlier from the look of things.

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It was a good thing really - for two reasons: first, upon investigating the road on satelite imagery upon my return, I discovered that the road didn't actually go all the way to the top. It simply stopped in the middle of a switchback, which would have been so much fun™ to turn four trucks around on. Second - and more important at the time - it was getting late, and we still needed to find camp. As such, we headed east from Engineer Pass, towards some motorcycles we could see in the distance.

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They were completely stopped it turns out - one of their group having trouble with the clutch. It'd given up the ghost during the long climb, with less than half a mile to go to the summit! A conversation with the riders revealed that they were considering a push to the top, since once there, the necessity of the clutch would be reduced and they could likely make it to Ouray with little need for gear shifts - the route mostly downhill.

We wished them luck and continued on - the road improving the lower in elevation we dropped. Now on high alert for a camp site, we careened down the hill, passing the ruins of old cabins and mines without much more than a second glance.

Except at the Rose Lime Kiln. The kiln was built in 1881 by local mason Samuel Tarkington for George S. Lee, a Capitol City, Colorado capitalist and mine developer. It was named after the owner's daughter - Rose Lee - and processed limestone mined from the Rose Lime Lode, an adjoining mining claim.

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We ended up finding camp just a bit further east - a nice open space at just under 10,000 feet. One of our later nights to camp - and most definitely one of our longest days in the trucks - Monte thought it a good idea to check the state of his lower ball joints (LBJs) and their connection to the lower control arms he'd replaced just before the trip.

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Everything was fine - to his relief - and we set about our usual evening activities. These included the creation and consumption of vast quantities of chips, salsa, and guacamole; campfire conversation, and of course a good amount of ribbing. We also returned to a conversation we'd had several times earlier in the trip - when, if ever, were we going to have a real wood campfire?

Little did we know that the time would come sooner than we envisioned - but that's a story for another day!

 

No mention of my favorite cabin in the San Juans- on East side of Engineer pass?

https://www.airbnb.com/rooms/113912...1607104382_OkMrap7cZ7O/xkOq&guests=1&adults=1

 

the realtors office? haha

 

That was a pretty cool suspension bridge leading to the office! But yeah, no mention of it, given that it's not really historic or part of the landscape - at least in the way that we were looking for.

I wonder if it serves as RE office *and* airBnB!

 

Great post, it always amazes me to see those 100+ yr old hand hewn cabins with dovetail joints hold up as well as they do, you see lots of derelict cabins with Swedish cope joints that slowly collapse once the ends of the logs rot off.

I can definitely relate to the slow going at altitude, even with decent acclimation, hiked the Annapurna circuit back in 2000 and the CCW route gave you almost 12 days of slow climbing and included an extra night spent up at 10000’ in Manang, enroute to the high point of the Thorong La pass somewhere in the neighborhood of 17,769’ and it was about 4 hours of the ‘rest step’ just getting the summit around five miles from Thorong Phedi , then a beastly downhill to Muktinath- 6 miles down to 12040’ sore knees for sure. Elevation rules the day, even affecting the Tacoma’s somewhat.
Thanks again for the write up, definitely looking forward to some ghost town wheeling in Colorado as a driver instead of a 9yr old passenger...

 

Every time I see those cabins, I think to myself two things:

1. Dam, these guys were good. Dovetails aren't easy joints even when the wood is all nicely squared up with power tools. Imagine doing it on a log that is natural. And with the tools of the day.

2. Look at all that great, old growth wood. I could make so much cool stuff with that. (OK, this mostly happens at old mine mills and whatnot, since the cabins are usually rotting, but still; the timber framing there is like looking at the dovetails for me...)

 

These are things that always go through my mind given I've made my own attempts at dovetail joints and with fine saws and modern tools, it is not easy though I'm sure practice would make it much easier. Still, mostly wet lumber recently milled; a challenge at best.

Given most mining took place in fairly isolated places, all that material first had to be hauled to the site. Then you have equipment for the larger mines. Some stamp mills were made a couple of miles from my home in Sunnyvale at the Hendy Iron Works (the website sucks and is pretty much unusable at the moment). Hendy was bought by Westinghouse and then Westinghouse was purchased by Northrup Grumman. Hendy made Stamp Mills and lumber mills back in the day. Today, Northrup Grumman manufactures military equipment. The point was that these mills were often transported hundreds of miles to their locations-nothing about mining seems to have been easy.

 

Yes indeed, the folks that built the mills and ore processing plants out in the boonies had serious mad skills, and great timber to work with.

 

Wow I am really enjoying the CO trip reports. I had a week-long trip planned there this September, back when the aspens were barely starting to turn, and we got totally snowed out of the high country!



I was planning many of the destinations you're reporting now. But after getting turned back by snow drift after snow drift, and with night temps in the 30s, we had to re-think our back country camping adventure. Here's where we roughed it in BV:



Not that I can complain, I wound up getting a fishing license and enjoying the hell out of the lower elevations. But it wasn't the trip I had so carefully planned, and I can't help but feel some envy as I read of your adventures here.



Glad you finally made the alpine loop--the San Juans are my favorite mountains on earth. Awesome photography as always, keep up the good work!