AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

I’ll wait to see what you do in the next few weeks.

I have a couple of 9in diameter LED on my bumper already that are great off road. Just looking for something for the highways.

 

*Fixing* My First Mod - Really Disabling the Daytime Running Lights

19 years, 1 month, 28 days.

That's how long it's been since my first mod to the truck - when I disabled my daytime running lights (DRLs) - so that I wouldn't have to replace my headlights so often . OK, that, among other reasons.

Anyway, I thought the DRL disable mod had been working just fine for the last 18 years - that is, until I went and made my Hella 700FF offroad lights turn on-and-off with my hi-beams. That mostly worked, except that - for some reason I didn't understand at the time - when the Hellas were set to turn on with the hi-beams, they would also turn on when only the parking lights were - or had been - on.

I ignored this for the most part, since I don't generally run just my parking lights, and it was easy enough to switch off the Hellas entirely with the three-way switch. But, being that I'm a little bit of a stickler for detail, it did always bother me a little bit.

Noah @nzbrock was the one with the brilliant idea as to what was going on:

Of course, I knew what he said was true - that is how DRLs work. But, I also knew (thought) that I'd disabled the DRL circuit by switching it just before the DRL resistor as shown in the original wiring diagram I'd included. In fact, when I'd removed the DRL switch to make space in the dash for the Hella switch, I'd left the DRL circuit permanently open.

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But, the more I looked at the wiring diagram, the more the suggestion nagged at me. While the DRL resistor had been removed from the equation, the DRL circuit was a complex beast, and I certainly hadn't removed the DRL relay in its entirety. As such, it was certainly possible that some voltage was present on the hi-beam circuit when the parking lights were on, and that - even if it wasn't enough to trigger the DRL relay - it might be enough to trigger the relay for the Hellas.

A final realization set me over the top. From the factory, the DRLs use the hi-beam filament of the headlight bulb, and turn ON as soon as the engine is started and the emergency brake is released. Then, they are:

• OFF when the low-beams are on - because the low-beam filament is on
• OFF when the hi-beams are on - because the hi-beam filament is on for the hi-beams
• ON when the parking lights are on
• ON when parking, low- and hi-beams are off

And so, I knew I needed to correctly disable the DRLs - or rather the voltage on the entirety of the DRL circuit - in order to solve my issue with the Hellas staying on when I expected them to be off. Luckily, Noah had also remembered seeing a Technical Service Bulletin (TSB) about disabling the DRLs, and sent me a copy - Toyota TSB EL011–00 Daytime Running Light Disabling Procedure.

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With this information in hand, I set about disabling the DRLs the right way - or at least, the way Toyota recommended.

First, I located the DRL Main Relay by removing the interior panel below the steering wheel. The relay is a gray box just below the e-brake lever, and is secured on a bracket with a single 10mm bolt, which I removed.

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Unplugging the connector from the relay, I located pin 2 - as noted in the Toyota TSB. Referencing the Toyota Factory Service Manual Wiring Diagram for the Headlight with DRL circuit (the original wiring diagram shown above) was helpful in this identification, as it showed that pin 2 was a B-O wire (black-orange), and there was only a single B-O wire in the connector - off all by its lonesome self on one side of the connector.

And, it was in a location that - while not labeled - could be pin 2!

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With the wire identified, I followed the steps of the TSB - removing the pin from the connector and taping it to the wiring harness in case it ever needed reconnecting later.

I then tested the operation of the Hellas with all combinations of the headlights and parking lights on, as well as with each of the positions of the Hella switch - and everything worked as I'd originally envisioned. I had, finally, disabled the DRLs - and their residual circuit voltage - entirely!

But, I wasn't quite done. I still wanted to remove the wire I'd added in my very first mod of the Tacoma to turn the DRLs on and off - both because I never use that functionality, and because it's always nice to clean things up and remove wires rather than add new ones! So, I found where I'd spliced in for my switch and removed the additional wire that led into the cab. A bit of solder, and I had the B-W (black-white) wire that I'd originally cut, all soldered back together.

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Some electrical tape "wrapped up" (ba-dum-dum) the project, and now I feel confident that things are better than they have been for the last 19 years!

 

Any of you guys running HF rigs? Just remove Kenwood 7100 with Stealth 7300 auto tune antenna and Yaesu DR400 with fusion digital capability from old Tahoe. Also I am heavy into using Winlink express with Vara. I don’t think I am going to have the room, but may try the dual band DR400, BTW it does APRS also.
Thanks

 

We're all VHF for the most part. Only @woodnick is an HF guy, and he's quite the operator. Activated a peak on one of our last trips (Redhead Down #2: WTF, There’s a Bat in My Tent!)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m1RpBWk9LnQ

 

We Arrive to the Sound of the Desert - Retracing Panamint Valley's Nadeau Trail #1

You might expect that we were out of the house early for the ~18 hour drive from the Seattle area to Death Valley, but you'd be wrong. It was 8:00am when we pulled out of the driveway, and pointed the truck south towards our destination. Before long, the city gave way to open space, the golden glow in stark contrast to the cloudy skies we were leaving behind.

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That wasn't all we were leaving behind - not by a long shot. It was Wednesday, November 4, 2020 - one day after a rather interesting election for our country. We'd purposefully scheduled the trip for this time - figuring there was no better way to deal with the situation than to disconnect ourselves from it for a few days. Obviously, we had no idea who would win - the map looked like this at the time:

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For a while, we listened to the radio. When it was clear that this wasn't going to be the day for answers, we switched to podcasts. We drove. And drove. Through Washington, Oregon, a little bit of Idaho, and a lot of Nevada. Into the dark, and eventually into the next day. Excitement was not the name of the game, though there were a few minutes of adrenaline as I was pulled over just outside of Winnemucca for 63mph in a 35mph! For the first time ever, I was let off with a warning - a good omen perhaps, for the rest of the trip?

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An honest mistake. And a lucky outcome.​

Ultimately - at 2:45am - we reached Beatty, NV and found a spot above town to setup the tent. Sleep came quickly, a warm breeze welcoming us to the desert.

Onto the Trail

You might expect that after arriving at 2:45am, that we'd sleep in a bit before heading into Death Valley National Park, but you'd be wrong. I set my alarm for 5:30am - hoping to catch a colorful sunrise. With clear skies, I had no such luck - but we pulled ourselves out of bed anyway just after the sun came up, so we could spend most of the day exploring.

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Camp less than a mile outside of Beatty, NV. A nice spot.​

We made a quick pit stop to fill up on fuel and to grab a hat - @mrs.turbodb had forgotten hers - and then headed towards Death Valley and Sunlight Pass.

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Continuing east on CA-190, we spent only enough time in Death Valley proper to snap a photo of Mesquite Dunes - a place I haven't visited, but can't wait to hike - before climbing over Towne Pass and into Panamint Valley.

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We were getting close now, though even as we turned south onto Panamint Valley Road, there was asphalt under the tires.

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Making our way south for 25 miles - to the northern tip of the Slate Mountains - we got our first taste of two very different sounds I associate with the desert. Jets. And burros.

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The first of many. Exciting every time.​

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Local riff-raff.​

By 10:00am, we'd reached our destination: the southern end - at least for our purposes - of the Nadeau Trail. Perched at the top of the Slate Mountains looking north into Panamint Valley, it was the perfect time and place for breakfast, as well as a bit of history about the road we were about to travel!

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And with that, we were off, along the only twisty section of the trail as we descended Slate Pass - the rock retaining walls of Nadeau's Chinese laborers supporting us; the trail as straight as an arrow across the valley floor.

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Soon, we reached the valley floor, entering the Water Canyon wash, the height of its walls adding a little perspective as to the amount of water that once flowed through these parts.

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Here too, we crossed the Trona-Wildrose Road, where we were greeted not only with the Nadeau National Recreation Trail marker above, but also by a moniker that would be much more familiar over the coming days, given that the vast majority of this trail is technically outside of Death Valley National Park - the BLM's road designation: P105.

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Only a few hundred yards north, the sight of old tailings on the lower slopes of the Argus Range caught our eye. I hadn't mapped a side trip at this point, but there's no better way to enjoy yourself than to play a trip like this by ear, so we turned west and soon found ourselves at the old Diatom Plus site - apparently a relatively recent mine from the mid-1980's.

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The day - no, the trip - would continue this way. Short spurts along the Nadeau Trail - it is only 27 miles long, after all - broken up by journeys into the canyons and onto the ridges of the Argus Mountains.

The Reilly Townsite was the next detour to catch our eye - a rare sign along the Nadeau marking the path. Established in 1882, it once housed a 10-stamp mill, boarding house, general store, blacksmith shop, and post office. In all, over 32 buildings existed at the site, with more than 60 residents. Like many mines in the area, Reilly was ultimately a failure - over $200,000 was invested, and only $21,500 was recovered as silver bullion.

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The water pump on the 10-stamp mill failed the first time it was run.​

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Only 45 minutes had elapsed, and we were already enjoying ourselves immensely - so much to see in such a concentrated area. Continuing north now, the straight shot was broken by numerous washes that made their way down the alluvial fans, none raising any sort of concern at this early stage.

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Soon we found ourselves at the road leading to Shepherd Canyon. This was our first planned side trip, with two mines and a cabin marked on our route. The Onyx Mine was the first of these, a large concrete platform supporting three enormous concrete cutting tables, of its small gem-cutting factory.

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Nestled within a couple bluffs just outside the canyon, this mine was worked on and off between 1925 and the 1950s, producing a few hundred tons of gemstone - drill holes and old mining equipment still littering the surrounding area.

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The bearings on the cooling fan of this tractor were still so smooth that the light breeze was spinning the fan as we arrived.​

We didn't spend long at the Onyx mine, as something deeper in the canyon was the real reason we'd turned west here - the Kopper King Mine. Because seriously, if you're ballsy enough to misspell what you're mining, it must be good - amiright? And so, into the canyon we plunged.

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Looking back, Shepherd Canyon and the Kopper King were a nice intro to the trip. They were - at the time - quite interesting, but in comparison to the rest of the trip, I'd have to say now that they were definitely not the most interesting from either a canyon or mine perspective.

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@mrs.turbodb: What's in there?​

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Me: Let's find out.​

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Well then, hello azurite.​

Starting back toward Panamint, and about halfway between the Kopper King and Onyx mines, a small side road leads down into Shepherd Canyon proper. While the road is washed out, a short hike meanders over the landscape - over dry falls, through springs, and past the dilapidated trailer of an old desert hermit - a lone palm tree providing invaluable shade in this arid climate.

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A once-loved refuge.​

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Back toward the Nadeau Trail.​

As we turned north to navigate the Nadeau, it was 2:30pm - only 2-3 more hours of daylight before we'd need to find somewhere to camp. It was an interesting predicament, given that I'd planned a 7.5 mile hike for the afternoon. But, as usual, I'm getting ahead of myself - this section of the trail was actually one of the more interesting, and despite our (my) desire to move quickly, we slowed down to take it all in.

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Handiwork of the Chinese road builders, still standing strong in smaller washes that haven't seen water in decades.​

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Needle in the haystack that is Panamint Valley.​

All day, we'd been treated to the road of F-18s flying through the valley. Each time we'd seen them, they'd been along the east side or several thousand feet above us, the roar of their engines still enough to get our blood flowing. And then, as we climbed an undulation in the alluvial fan, we finally got to see one a little closer.

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F-18, nose number 218. Two seats. I'll take the front one, please.​

A few minutes later, we ran into the most rutted wash we'd encounter on the Nadeau Trail. A 30" drop into the wash - and a similar climb out - a little interesting in the loose material, and right at the edge of what a 1st gen wheelbase could maneuver.

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Soon after, we turned west one final time - today - and started up Knight Canyon. The longest and deepest canyon in the Argus Range Wilderness, and "one of the most exciting," according to Digonnet, it boasts three springs, a couple of old mine camps, and a dry fall! But as we pulled up at the gate that marked the end of the road and beginning of the hike, those were not what we were discussing.

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Rather, we were discussing the time - it was 3:30pm. With sunset at 4:45pm, there was no way that we'd complete the entire trek under daylight, but ultimately I convinced @mrs.turbodb that coming back in the twilight wouldn't really be that bad - after all, we were just following the canyon, and it was all going to be downhill.

She grabbed her head lamp - a good thing, given that I didn't think I'd need mine - and we set out at a good clip, ready to be wowed.

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It was - to be fair - a dramatic start to the hike, and I'm glad we spent a few minutes at the strata, taking it all in, before continuing on up the canyon. The existence of an old road for much of the way made for reasonably easy hiking, though several sections - near now-dry springs - were overgrown with rabbit brush. Bushwacking through was a bloody experience for the one of us that had worn shorts.

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The springs being dry also meant - naturally - that they were not as dramatic as they'd obviously been when our guide had been written, so we skirted by as quickly as we could, on the lookout for a mining camp nestled along the wash. Finding it was easy - a yellow tractor standing guard in the middle of the wash - and though there's little left of the rest of the camp, we marveled in the discovery of the tractor.

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It was here that the road - now primarily a burro trail - began to fade, along with the light of the day. Still, we pressed on - a mere mile to go until we reached the terminus of our hike at the upper springs.

We never made it.

Three quarters of a mile later - with the sun below the horizon and a stunning display of color overhead - we decided to head back the way we'd come. We'd hiked for one hour and forty-eight minutes, covering just under 3.5 miles. We were clearly headed back in the full-on-dark.

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It took us ninety minutes to make the trek down the canyon, a single, low-power headlamp held by whoever happened to be the lead hiker for any given section. With no moon and an already-faint trail, we took solace in the fact that while it may not have been ideal - or dare I say "my brightest idea" - there was little chance that we'd get lost. And so we continued on to the truck.

By 6:30pm we'd arrived - my twice-scraped shins the only casualty of the ordeal - and headed back down the road to find camp. We'd passed through a quarry of white crushed gravel on our way up, and its platforms seemed like as good a spot as any to setup for the night - my hope that the easternly views would present a stunning sunrise the following morning.

Temperatures were still in the mid-70s, and having prepped cold dinners prior to embarking on the journey, all we had to do was pull our pasta salad and quiche out of the fridge, in order to enjoy it in our camp chairs with a view of the starry sky and the occasional headlight making its way slowly across the Panamint Valley floor below.

It had been a wonderful first day. But it wouldn't be our best.

 

Craters, Canyons and Cabins - Nadeau #2

Having gone to bed early - partly because sunset was at quarter-to-five, but mostly because we're old-and-boring - I'd mentioned to @mrs.turbodb that we should also get up early because while the Nadeau Trail might only be 27 miles long, all of our side trips would mean a couple more packed days of adventure.

I'm not sure she ever agreed, but I set my alarm for 5:00am regardless.

There was no color in the sky when I awoke, but the breeze was warm and inviting, so I climbed out of the tent and waited. Slowly, color. And a little more - or at least a touch more brightness - as I climbed to the top of an outcropping behind camp.

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Even with no dramatic sunrise, I spent an hour just enjoying the peacefulness of the desert as the sun crested the horizon and started its trek through the cloudy sky. Plus, that gave @mrs.turbodb an extra bit of rest, a fact I'm sure that she too, appreciated.

Eventually I whistled as I made my way down and received a whistle back as she got dressed and out of the tent. Breakfast, packing up - all the usual stuff that we do in the morning followed - and we were out of camp nice and early, doing our best to take advantage of the short days that accompany bearable temperatures in the region.

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Our first stop was the Panamint Valley Crater. Located in the alluvial fan of the Argus Range, this circular depression is unusual enough that the United States Navy dug a 130 foot shaft - the apparatus which still sits at its bottom - to ascertain its origin.

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Unlike other craters, it shows no evidence of an impact or eruption - disturbed soil or a raised rim. Most likely then, this crater is an enormous sink hole - created when water eroded a large underground cave in the limestone that underlies the alluvial fan. Eventually, this came became too large to support the weight of the material above it and collapsed. With each passing year, the desert slowly continues to reclaim this hole, these Cotton Top Cactus doing their part to fill in just a bit of the void.

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Pointing ourselves north once again on the Nadeau trail, we found this middle section of the Argus Range to be extremely stunning in the morning light. The striations of rock - both at the micro and macro levels - were glorious, and we must have stopped a handful of times to simply stare.

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Well, before long we found ourselves at the intersection of the Nadeau Trail and the more modern Nadeau Road, which crosses in a northwesterly direction towards Revenue Canyon and the Panamint Valley Limestone. I'd not planned to explore this area, but when @mrs.turbodb read the description in Hiking Western Death Valley, we both decided that it was probably worth our time:

And with that, we headed west, our truck pointed squarely at the Panamint Valley Limestone mill.

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It turns out that the activity at this quarry is a relatively recent re-activation of the site, the Diversified Minerals, Inc. company spending $45M in 2018 to begin a process that will produce four grades of Quick Lime and Hydrated Lime products to be used in cement, soil conditioning, water treatment and other industrial processes.

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The site is private, so we observed from our side of the fence as we drove around and toward the lure of Revenue Canyon - a five mile hike into the varied pallette beckoning us forward.

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I don't know if it was simply the brighter light of morning, or whether this portion of Revenue Canyon really was just a little more dramatic than Knight Canyon the previous evening, but even as we left the truck and set off on foot, I was already glad we'd opted to stop.

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A little less than a half-a-mile up the wash, we came to the Big Four Mill where a large ore bin and four cyanide vats - along with a bunch of trash - are the easiest-to-enjoy points of attraction.

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Across the wash - and up an extremely steep and narrow trail - are some of the the workings processed by this mill. A headframe and cableway tower are still visible, but we opted to skip them this time, given that this entire canyon hadn't been on our radar just 30 minutes earlier!

Instead, we headed up the wash, the trail meandering past a spring - this one with water still gurgling out of the ground.

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We found the remnants of an old cabin at a fork in the canyon - its platform all that remained of what was surely a beautiful - if hard - place to call home.

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Early 1960's style.​

From the cabin, it wasn't far to the Copper King Mine, its tailings pile and mine shafts hard to miss along the side of the canyon. This area turned out to be quite interesting - and we spent some time exploring the shafts, picking through tailings, and climbing about on foundation of the old mill.

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The elusive mint rock, crushed for mint chip ice cream.

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The canyon split once again - both sides heading up small marble dry falls - and we chose the fork to the right. Here, a juvenile Cotton Top cactus grew - seemingly - colorfully out of the rock.

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This little guy was the size of a softball. Look closely at the strikingly green flesh protected by the threatening spikes.​

Our desire to continue petered out a quarter mile or so further as we reached a dry fall that we'd envisioned as being grander than it ended up being. Overgrown with Rabbit Brush - something I'd had my fill of the evening before - we opted to retrace our steps to the truck and continue on our way.

The scenery in the canyon was equally dramatic on the way down as it had been on the way up!

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Back on the Nadeau Trail, the battle between the sun and clouds was raging - the sun seeming to pull ahead as the morning wore on. But the lenticular clouds in the sky told us something altogether different - rain was on the way in the next day or two.

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Our early start to the morning meant that we were both getting a bit peckish as we reached the road leading into Snow Canyon, and we decided it'd be the perfect place to stop for a lunch of tuna sandwiches - something we'd both been looking forward to since prepping the tuna a few days earlier. Unlike other roads into the Argus Range, this one was signed - sort of - and because the main road ended before the wilderness boundary, we were able to drive the entirety of its 7-miles to the three-level Snow Canyon Mill in right around half an hour.

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As @mrs.turbodb assembled sandwiches, I took a few minutes to climb around the mill - always a favorite activity when we come upon one of these beauties. While the Snow Canyon Mill has clearly seen better days, it was still quite remarkable to see the process that was used, each chute to a lower level, smaller than the last.

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The crushing - which appeared to be grinding in this case - of the stone happened in relatively small bowls before dropping into the next chute, the large wheels powered by belts that would provide the necessary leverage to pulverize the gold-rich material with one of the best views around!

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We enjoyed lunch with a similar view, though we sought shelter behind the truck as the wind started to whip up the canyon. Still, with the temperatures hovering between 75- and 80°F, the day was a splendid one to be sure.

As we ate, we discussed our next steps. You see, Snow Canyon is an explorer's paradise - while the mill at which we enjoyed lunch was cool, about a quarter mile back down the road, we had a decision to make. From there - the location of an amazing set of stone ruins from the Golden Lady Mine Camp - there were a plethora of choices. We could - of course - spend some time looking around the ruins. Or, should we so decide, we could tackle the roads to the St. George or Golden Lady mines. Both of these roads were described as "difficult," with rewards that were well worth it, even if it meant hiking instead of driving:

That was enticing enough for us, and we took the fork to the Golden Lady Mine - the less difficult of the two roads. Except that less difficult was from 2009, and I'd now classify the road as impassable to all but foot traffic. Instead, the secrets of the two mines remained just that, and we spent a few minutes poking around the stone ruins of the mining camp before marking this spot as one to return to in the future - to hike!

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What is this slightly hooked spike I found at ruins of the Golden Lady Mining Camp? The hole appeared threaded.​

Heading back down the canyon, the views into Panamint Valley were awesome, even with smoke from the Creek Fire in California's Sierras. I can only imagine how my breath would be taken away on a clear day from this same location.

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A little further down the road, we passed the only other vehicle we'd see for the duration of our journey along the Nadeau Trail. A 2-door Jeep Wrangler, its occupants were a couple of old desert rats, looking for a spot to call home for the evening. Having grown up in the area, they seemed to know the road reasonably well and asked if there was anyone else camped along its length. With confirmation that there was not, we bid each other a fun time and continued on our way - back out to, and along the Nadeau Trail!

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We had two more canyons to explore as part of our journey, both of them the ones I'd been looking most forward to as I'd planned the route. The first - Thompson Canyon - is home to the Minnietta Mine.

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The Minnietta complex climbs high up the mountainside. We could have spent a day exploring just this area.​

The silver and lead deposits of the Minnietta Belle Mine, as it was once known, were discovered in 1876. As much as 20 feet thick, the Minnietta's ore bodies turned out to be exceptionally rich with assays running as high as 200 ounces of silver per ton and 50% lead - with a little gold to boot. However, as was common in the area, the ore bodies seemingly ran dry and a few months later - in 1877 - production was so low that the mine was foreclosed.

Jack Gunn acquired the mine in 1883 and was the man who ultimately turned it around, working it for the next 32 years - continuously until 1905, then intermittently until 1915 - harvesting half a million dollars in silver and gold! The mine was worked on-and-off between 1916 and as late as 1991, with another 42,000 ounces of silver extracted by two miners from Trona alone. By the time the mine shut down 115 years after its discovery, over $1M dollars of material had been pulled from the ground.

Behind the mine, a steep 4wd trail winds up the mountain to a series of structures, relics, and even the lower terminal of its aerial tramway. The tramway's twin cables remained taught until as late as 1998, when the BLM finally cut them in order to relieve pressure on the aging structure.

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The upper tramway terminal.​

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A gasoline hoist at the highest workings - where Jack Gunn worked this claim.​

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When a mine is worked into the 1990's, globalization plays a roll.​

From the Minnietta, we continued up Thompson Canyon, stopping first at the Hughes claim - part of the Minnietta complex - where lead was produced in vast quantities between 1926 and 1940. In rough shape, only the mine shafts remain here - and even they are showing their age, wooden beams and support structures falling, graffiti disrespectfully sprayed along the walls.

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Beyond the Hughes claim, the road continued for another mile or so, terminating at what is now a single, well-constructed, stone cabin. We found it a bit anti-climactic after all we'd just seen, though its location in the wash serves as a gateway to a hike that we'll need to return to on a future trip!

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The wooden roof was still largely intact, though the inside of the cabin was a mess.​

Having gotten an early start to the day, it was still a little before 2:00pm when we started back down the canyon towards the last segment of the Nadeau Trail - the segment that would lead us to the Modoc Mine.

It was at this point that I prematurely counted my chickens. You see, I'd hoped to camp not near the Modoc Mine, but at another location that a fellow explorer had discovered nearly a year earlier. With several hours still left in the day, I figured that we'd have no problem making a quick run up Stone Canyon, and then applying a good amount of skinny pedal to reach our camp site for the night.

Boy, I couldn't have been more wrong...

 

good to see some monochrome! enjoying your posts as always. i do question your perspective on that pepsi bottle tho...

 

I often find myself wanting more grayscale but then the colors are often so striking that I have a hard time leaving them out. You'll note that I even included a color version of the B&W photo as well .

Not sure I follow the bit about the Pepsi bottle...

 

A Most Scenic Destination and Unexpected Residents - Nadeau #3

It was still a little before 2:00pm when we started back down the canyon towards the last segment of the Nadeau Trail - the segment that would lead us to the Modoc Mine. This mine was the reason that Remi Nadeau had built this trail - the ore from this area valuable enough to warrant the construction of a road that shaved precious miles off of the previous routes.

But before we visited the Modoc Mine and ghost town of Lookout, we first had to get there - and so we started up the final leg of the Nadeau Trail, passing the remains of ore chutes and mine shafts as we made our way into Stone Canyon.

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After about a mile, the road intersected with the Defense Mine Road - named for a mine located in a side canyon to the north of Stone Canyon proper. We would follow this road for a few miles - both to visit the Defense Mine, and also to access the winding road up Lookout Mountain to the Modoc.

The Defense Mine Road was bumpy; rocky, really. As with many roads, it largely followed the canyon wash, but one that has clearly seen more water than others. Still, @mrs.turbodb was sleepy enough that she napped as we jounced our way up through a small but narrow dry fall - one that reminded me of sections of Dedeckera Canyon on the north side of Steel Pass.

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It was here too that we had a good indication that we were on the right track - that is, assuming the road went through.

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Continuing up the canyon, we eventually reached a four-way intersection, (is it just me, or are others as sometimes as perplexed as I am when you come to a large intersection in the middle of nowhere?), where we could see the sketchy-looking shelf road leading up to Lookout cutting across the mountain in front of us. For now though, we turned toward the Defense Mine.

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If the Defense Mine Road in Stone Canyon had been rocky, the segment of road in the side canyon could only be described as bouldery. With loose rocks between 18- and 24-inches in diameter more common, we slowly navigated our way to the Argus Range Wilderness boundary where we planned to park the truck - to hike final segment of wash to the Defense Mine ruins.

It was just before the boundary where things got a bit...flexy.

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The arrangement of rocks and holes here were such that a specific (twisty) line - with tires strategically placed so as to avoid high-centering - was required in order to make it through. I had @mrs.turbodb hop out of the truck to direct me - a task she does just fine at, but does not love doing in case something goes wrong - but even so, one of the hole-to-rock situations was deep enough that we were going to drag the rear diff.

A little rock stacking, and judicious use of the lockers, allowed us to navigate the tractionless material, though situations like this are always a little unsettling - for me - when travelling as a single vehicle.

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We'd clearly reached the wilderness boundary at this point, the road becoming more of a hiking suggestion rather than vehicle-passable route, so we got the Tacoma turned around and abandoned it in the side of the wash before continuing up on foot.

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It was not far - half a mile or so - from this point, to the impressive ore chute of the Defense Mine. Built in the 1940s to facilitate the movement of the mine's lead-rich ore to a truck loading platform at the end of the road, over $1.3M of lead and silver ore moved through this apparatus during the WWII era.

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The hike back to the truck was perhaps even more breathtaking than the hike up the canyon. Even with smoke from California's Creek Fire filling Panamint Valley, and the increasing winds from the west - the late fall light cast a warm glow on our surroundings, their rugged remoteness a critical component to the beauty.

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Finally, it was time for us to attempt the location that was the impetus for this entire trip - Lookout and the Modoc Mine. I wasn't sure we could get there, as the roads I'd found when researching the route - both on Google Earth and in written texts - were faint. Were they passable?

The glimpse we'd gotten as we'd driven by on our way to the Defense Mine had not been reassuring. But hey, if you're going to die, it might as well be doing something fun, amiright?

It turns out that this was one of those times when the road gods were smiling down on us - despite what I'd seen via satellite, and the view from the wash, the shelf road and switchbacks up to Lookout and the Modoc Mine couldn't have been in better shape!

And the views. Oh, my.

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Of course, this is still an old, lightly travelled, unmaintained road, so it's to be expected that time will take its toll. Eventually it will be impassable, but for now, the truck-sized rocks that rolled down the cliff to the road bed still allowed enough room for us to wiggle our way through.

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And soon enough, we reached the old Lookout townsite. Perched on the eastern face of Lookout Mountain, at least the folks who lived here had a nice view for all their hard work!

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A sign laminated and posted at the sight provided tons of color for this special spot.

We continued to poke around the general store, and made our way down the hillside to investigate several of the other stone foundations - each of them some 4-5' tall, and still in amazingly good condition, the dry-laid rockwork withstanding the harsh environment much better than the wood that once capped these buildings.

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Our slow-going in Snow Canyon and to the Defense Mine had eaten up a bunch of time, and as we drove out to an overlook of Panamint Valley, toward the Modoc Mine shafts, we both knew that we'd be camping here for the night - there was just no way we'd be able to explore the rest of the area - and get to our next destination - while there was still light in the sky.

Also, given my propensity for camping on the edge of a cliff overlooking a view, I wasn't about to pass this up.

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And it only got better as the sun got lower.

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The only problem was the wind. The calm breeze of the previous nights was no longer. Instead, a reasonably constant 10mph was blowing through camp, with gusts up to 25mph every few minutes. To stay warm, we huddled in the truck as we ate dinner, the ham radio tuned to the NOAA weather station to give us an idea of what was coming - as though the tent rocking the truck wasn't an indicator enough.

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What was coming - it turns out - was more of the same. Though NOAA seemed to suggest that it would largely be limited to the mountain ranges to our east, the forecast was for a winter weather advisory bring 1-6 inches of snow and gusts up to 50mph!

Still, I was hesitant to leave this location, as I knew the experience in the morning would be splendiferous. So, I suggested that we read our Kindles for a while to see if the wind would die down as sunset passed.

Alas, I'm old, and by 7:00pm I'd already nodded off in the driver's seat - an hour of moonless darkness more than I could handle. Begrudgingly, I admitted to @mrs.turbodb that we should probably find somewhere a little more sheltered. So, we folded up the tent and made our way back along the ridge, its walls shielding us from the worst of the wind, but sleep still fitful as the tent was buffeted to-and-fro.

Our Last Day

I once again set my alarm for "too early," hoping to catch first light and sunrise from up here in the clouds. Or, as it turned out - from up here in the clear sky!

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The strong winds had blown the clouds to our east, and the orange glow over the horizon contrasted nicely with the deep blue of the night sky, stars still present in the eastern sky. It was chilly though - a good 25°F cooler than it'd been the day before, and I quickly scurried back under the covers for another hour of coziness, until the sun made it impossible to resist the outdoors.

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Our first order of business - after putting the tent away - was to get ourselves into a sunnier position for a little warmth and breakfast. Of course, we knew just the place!

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Cereal in hand, we marvelled over Lake Hill - a chunk of the Cottonwood Mountains 3.5 miles to the east. Probably in the late Pliocene or early Pleistocene eras, as a result of repeated earthquakes along a low-angle gravity fault, it slipped down into Panamint Valley - now a stark chunk of Dolomite, seemingly out of place.

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And, a little further north, the Panamint Dunes. Hiking these is not easy, but they are on my list of reasons to return.

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It wasn't long before we were ready to start our exploration of the Modoc Mine. This was an investigation that we initially undertook in the truck - making our way down the only-possible-because-of-a-rock-retaining-wall road leading along the edge of Lookout Mountain. As we passed one, and then a second uncovered mine shaft plunging dozens of feet down, and immediately next to the road (on the uphill side), I realized that this might be a good section of trail to walk before proceeding.

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And it's a good thing, too! A little further on, a sink hole - some 20-feet across - plunged 30 feet before bottoming out, the rock retaining wall still standing despite what must have been a dramatic ordeal. With no idea how it happened - perhaps a mine shaft below collapsing? - we knew one thing was certain - we weren't going to be able to drive far enough down the road to get to the turnaround at the end.

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We set aside our predicament for the moment and immersed ourselves in the splendor of the Modoc. There were shafts everywhere. Below the road, above the road, immediately next to the road.

We investigated a few, though the obviously unstable ground gave us more pause than at some other mines we've visited, that's for sure!

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I think I'm good here.​

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Cavernous collapse.​

Along with the shafts, much of the hillside was peppered with 3" drill holes - likely used, I believe, for road building, core sampling, and shaft creating.

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Eventually, it was time to head back to the truck and get ourselves back down the hill. This turned out to be a bit of a sticky situation - as we had quite a distance to back up, and I hoped that a relatively wide mine shaft opening on the side of the road would allow enough room to back in far enough to turn around.

With @mrs.turbodb ensuring that I didn't run into the mountain, I pulled forward and then backed into the wide spot as far as I could without bashing the truck. Alas, I wasn't even perpendicular with the road, and the angles made it such that there was no way to maneuver farther. With some spotting of the passenger side from @mrs.turbodb, I was going to have to back up the road.

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This didn't turn out to be all that terrible - even with a few off-camber sections that always seem worse in reverse - and soon we were back on the ridge and pointed the right direction, the sun brilliantly showing off the colors of the Argus Range.

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Down into the wash, we marveled at the power of the earth, layers of sediment turned to rock and then twisted - as we passed through the entrance to Stone Canyon, and back onto the alluvial fan that would carry us north on the Defense Mine road.

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And with that, we reached CA-190, completing the Nadeau Trail, plus a little. We hadn't traveled far from a mileage perspective, but we'd seen more than we'd imagined. We'd also used nearly a full tank of gas, so a quick stop at Panamint Springs Resort was in order to fill up.

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The truck's thirst for dino-goop sated, we weren't quite done with our Death Valley adventure - there was still that spot I'd hoped to camp the night before. And, given that it was only 10:30am in the morning, we had plenty of time to take the backroads to Darwin, right?

Famous. Last. Words.

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We made good time as we turned off CA-190 just west of Panamint Springs Resort - the road was graded, and though it was steep and rough in spots, even a standard clearance vehicle could make it with some careful line choice.

But then, the first of several distractions - mining structures perched high on a mountain to our south caught our eye, and a road leading towards them seemed too good to pass up. This, it turned out was Zinc Mountain, and before long, we were high above the well graded road, the road completely washed out, and the mine still several hundred feet up.

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An adventure for another time.​

A little pressed for time - we had somewhere to be by sunset - we'd have to leave the Zinc Mountain mine for a future trip - perhaps the same future trip where we'd explore some of the mines we couldn't reach in the Argus Range the previous day. And so, it was back down to the Old Toll Road to Darwin to press on.

Not 5 minutes later, another too-good-to-pass-by detour caught our attention. A short loop road to some mining ruins above the trail. Sure, the road was steep, but nothing a little 4Lo couldn't handle - right?

Well, it turns out that even with lockers, the 40% grade at the top of the trail was torn up and loose enough to make the going unsafe, and after slipping precariously sideways on the trail, we decided the smart, single truck move, would be to back down the way we'd come and let our adrenaline levels fall a bit as we continued on our way.

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@mrs.turbodb did her best to capture the incline.​

Our third distraction was more tame - and the only one of the three that we actually achieved! A couple miles off the main road, ************ Spring. Once the site of a mine, the spring now is an improbable cluster of Cottonwoods in the middle of an arid desert.

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We were sure there'd be no water at this time of year, but apparently the spring is still active, some colorful and unexpected residents, eager to see us and any delicious tidbits we might bring along.

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Unexpected residents.​

An old tin shed below a dilapidated loading dock and what was once the height of luxury automobiles were the only other remains at this site, a place that obviously sees quite a few visitors due to its proximity to well-graded roads. Remember - places like this in the desert are special. Treat them with respect so that others can enjoy them too!

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The spring turned out to be our last distraction - at least of the detour-invoking kind - and as the road surface got even smoother, our speeds picked up as we neared Darwin - a few Joshua Trees beginning to dot the landscape at our higher elevation.

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Now on the back side of the Argus Range, we could see that the snow we'd heard about the previous evening had in fact made it further inland than predicted, the tops of the mountains dusted with the white powder of winter - a striking view in the middle of the desert.

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And then, finally, we arrived at a point I'd placed on my map a little more than a year earlier when Ken @DVexile had posted a photo of the picturesque headframe. Looking back now, it's clear that his composition skills are head and shoulders above mine, it was thrilling nonetheless to travel in his footsteps and capture the dusting of snow in the same frame.

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By now it was lunch time, and while we were both hungry, @mrs.turbodb had the brilliant idea to merge the tasks of airing up and lunch, so as to not waste valuable time on our way north to one final treasure hunt that we hoped would yield a highlight of the entire trip. So, we held off on food until we passed through Darwin - the town's artists clearly also comedians - and found ourselves on a pass overlooking an adjacent valley. A storm blowing over the Inyos, we ate tuna and chips and reflected on the fun we'd had!

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Darwin is a bit... depressing. Still, if you're into these types of places, check out the documentary.
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We initially thought this was an ancient stone alignment. Then we realized where we were, the legs a giveaway.
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From here we were headed north - our anticipation high. We knew what we were looking for - it's just that we didn't know exactly where they were - or, if we'd find them!

 

I’ve camped a few times at ********** Spring, and even took a dip to wash off the trail dust in the pool with those “unexpected residents”. A great report on a few places I’ve seen but many that I have yet to visit. But I will. Thanks for sharing.

 

OK, question for anyone who happens in here...

I've noticed a bit of spongy/weak pedal return on the clutch over the last couple trips. Sort of as though the spring isn't strong enough to pull the clutch all the way back up... I've been able to get it to fully return by pumping it a few times. Does this sound like I need a master/slave cylinder replacement?

Note: I did have to replace the master/slave back in 2013 (What’s wrong with the clutch? – The first tow) when the clutch stuck to the floor completely. That was... ~75K miles ago.

 

Have you bled the circuit? Or more properly, flushed it since 2013?

You should try that first.

 

That was my first thought.

 

Have not. Haven't really ever even messed with it or looked into how it worked. Back in 2013, it was a "got towed into the shop" situation, as I had no idea how to work on the truck. I'll give the flush a try.

Thanks. I was wondering if there's any vacuum anything in that system as well...and if I had a small leak, perhaps.

 

By the way, I don't know that you need to replace them. The slave cylinder should last a long, long time. idk what Toyota uses for fluid but if you’re in and around water more than usual, some fluids are hydroscopic and will become less effective over time. The new fluid will tell you almost immediately.

 

It's funny, for some reason, wherever you wrote Modoc, my mind read Mordor. The only thing missing was the fire and brimstone. Maybe the aftermath.

 

I found Darwin much more interesting than depressing. The odd residents, "Artwork", houses and shacks.

Then the mine itself. Being gated and fenced off was disappointing.

I also stopped at the Post Office and chatted with the Postmaster.

 

If there is a rubber line some where between the master and slave it could be breaking down inside and causing the fluid/pressure to not circulate correctly. I'd do a fluid flush and bleed the system first. if the problem persists then the master and/or slave may be on its last legs. With the miles on your truck it may be best to just shotgun troubleshoot by swapping out everything that isn't a hard line. No point in leaving a potential trail repair lingering for what is less than $50 in parts and an afternoon.

 

Yep check the fluid. Flush it and re bleed it. Replace the clutch pedal spring. Rebuild(don't replace) the slave. Master replacement.

That would be the order of operations.

When's the last time you did the clutch? If the fluid is low the I'd check the clutch through the inspection plate. Like brakes, if it wears enough then it'll "suck" up more fluid so if there is no obvious leak than your clutch is just getting worn down.

 

Yeah, sounds good. The fluid change seems so easy as to be the obvious first step. I don't know that I'll know immediately, since the clutch still seems fine "most of the time," but it should be a good indicator over the course of a trip. Thanks.

LOL. I'd say the aftermath in Mordor was probably a little worse than Modoc. Modoc was awesome. I really wish the sinkhole in the road had been something that could be repaired - getting to the final mining platform in the truck would have been (a) a lot easier to turn around and (b) a great place to camp!

Interesting. When were you there? I've heard that folks have gotten less friendly in the last few years as visitation has increased...but of course I don't know for sure.

I'll look for a rubber line, though I thought it was all (or at least vast majority) hard line - at least from what I've seen online. Part of the reason I asked about just swapping stuff out was that the price doesn't seem all that bad to do it - with AISIN replacements in this case; OE are $$$.

Interesting, thanks.

The clutch is still the original clutch, so "never," hahahaha. I'll check the fluid level, but I usually look at all the levels and don't feel like I've seen anything "low," so either everything's normal there or I'm just an airhead. (Hold your laughing please.)

Is this the right AISIN replacement for the master? AISIN CMT-030 Clutch Master Cylinder

When you say "rebuild the slave," do you know the rebuild kit? Need to go Toyota on that or...?