AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

Plunging into Darkness - Owens Valley #2

Morning didn't bring completely clear skies, but dang if it wasn't nice to wake up to more blue than gray, the sun streaming in beneath the clouds that still filled the eastern horizon.

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Temps were chilly - in the low 30s °F - but I was a happy camper since the weather forecast had suggested a good chance of rain, but the tent was dry. I set about eating breakfast and packing up as soon as I was down the ladder, since I knew this would be my most busy day of the trip. Not only did I plan to make the couple hour trek north to the Volcanic Tablelands, but I knew that there were at least a couple stops along the way.

I rolled out of camp a few minutes after 8:00am, the clouds already starting to cover more of the sky. I'd expected this, really - the same had happened the previous day - and I could see that there were fewer clouds to the north, which was a good sign for me!

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I'd already aired up in camp the night before - figuring that it would be a more pleasant task to do dry, in case it was raining in the morning - so when I hit the pavement of Movie Flat Road, I was able to just keep rolling. And, though it meant more pavement, I'd decided to head out through Lone Pine as opposed to heading north on dirt, just since I hadn't been that way before. Boy, was I glad I did - because on the way out of Alabama Hills, I ran across this monstrosity.

LOL.​

I'm sure there's some great story behind Face Rock, but I can't imagine what it would be. I carried on, feeling like it was actually a reasonably fitting way to exit an area that was beautiful, but clearly overrun due to its proximity to civilization. Ironically, it's hard to tell that it's overrun as you drive by on the highway - in fact, it looks pristine - since everyone hangs out on the west side of the first set of hills.

One final look - boy, those Sierras get me every time!​

Half an hour later, I reached my first stop on my trip north - the Manzanar Japanese Internment Camp. @mrs.turbodb and I have driven by Manzanar on a few occasions, but never with enough time to stop in and take a look. Today that would change for me - and as I pulled off the highway, the sole remaining watch tower was a stark reminder of the shroud of darkness that originally surrounded this place.

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There are two entrances to Manzanar - one to the visitor center and parking area, and the historical entrance. I opted for the later, following in the footsteps of those who'd had no choice in the matter.

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For anyone unfamiliar, in 1942, the United States government ordered more than 110,000 men, women, and children to leave their homes and detained them in remote, military-style camps. Manzanar War Relocation Center was one of ten camps where Japanese American citizens and resident Japanese aliens were incarcerated during World War II. And, while much of the camp fell into disrepair after the war, some who'd experienced the oppression first hand began annual pilgrimages to the site in order to raise awareness of this tragic chapter in American history.

Due to COVID-19, only the self-guided auto tour was open as I arrived, and I was early enough in the day that I had the place to myself. I entered the loop near "Block 14," one of 36 residential blocks, each consisting of 14 barracks as well as a laundry, latrine, mess hall, and several outdoor spaces to recreate - swimming pools and basketball courts seemingly the most common as I made my way around.

Building 1 of Block 14. Nearly 300 people at a time would call this one building home.​

Markers for the remaining buildings in Block 14 that were demolished.​

Manzanar was designated as California Historical Landmark #850 in 1972, and was eventually added to the National Register of Historic Places. In February 1985, Manzanar was designated a National Historic Landmark, and on March 3, 1992, President George H. W. Bush signed House Resolution 543 designating it a National Historic Site, "to provide for the protection and interpretation of the historical, cultural, and natural resources associated with the relocation of Japanese Americans during World War II." Manzanar was the first of the ten camps to be achieve this designation.

My next stop on the loop was at one of several parks that existed throughout the camp. Originally named Rose Park, and then Pleasure Park, this 1.5 acre space contained meandering paths, waterways, flower gardens and bridges. One resident described it as, "...a lovely land you could not escape from yet almost didn't want to leave." After the camp was abandoned, the high winds of the Owens Valley buried the park under several feet of sand. In 2008, the children and grandchildren of Kuichiro Nishi (an interned resident, and the designer of the park) returned to assist the NPS in uncovering the park that had been a glimmer of hope for those imprisoned here.

Pleasure Park, 1943.​

Blown sand is once again reclaiming portions of the park, the waterways beginning to fill in.​

My final stop was at the Manzanar Cemetery. Located outside of the security fence - a simple barbed wire fence surrounding the 540 acre developed space of the camp - it's unclear to me if residents were allowed to visit this cemetery. Today, only a few headstones of the approximately 150 people who died in the camp, remain.

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For anyone visiting this place, I think the most important thing to take away from it is well captured on the memorial sign now located near the flagpole. We as a people - our country - our world - is better than this. We must be better than this.

"May the injustices and humiliation suffered here as a result of hysteria, racism, and economic exploitation never emerge again."​

From Manzanar, my next stop was - conveniently - right across US-395. In fact, the Manzanar-Reward Road was a good indicator that my two destinations of darkness were forever linked by a thin line snaking across the valley.

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Unlike Manzanar, the Reward Mine - or more properly - the Eclipse, and later Brown Monster Mine, operated by the Reward Mining Company - had a more uplifting history. A gold and silver mine snaking into the Inyo Mountains, the complex was a major producer while it was active between the 1860s and 1970s, producing nearly 50,000oz of the shiny yellow material!

While the road across the valley - now grazing land, full of cattle - was nothing to write home about, I started to get excited as I approached the Inyo Range. There, high on the hillside, I could see an enormous wooden structure - even from a distance, obviously an ore chute. I headed that way first, to check it out.

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Still fully aired up, the loose, base-ball sized rocks on the steep road made for a slippery trip up the 25° incline, and as the road narrowed and it was clear I'd be backing down, I eventually stopped to hike the final quarter mile or so up the ravine to the remains.

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Unlike any ore chute I'd seen before, this one had two levels, connected by a long metal pipe. I found myself wondering how the miners kept material from clogging up in the pipe as it made its way between the two bins - a good set of grizzly bars must have been used at the top level!

As cool as this old contraption was, it was not what I was here to see! Nor was the view that I got as I made my way back down the canyon to the Tacoma - though, like the mining equipment, it was nothing to complain about! Boy, the Owens Valley really is a beautiful place!

I'd apparently gained significant elevation over a short distance!​

No, what I was here to see was something else entirely - something that even thinking about it, makes my skin crawl just a little. I was here to drive into the Inyos! To do that, I had to make my way around a fold in the mountain, the road here getting a bit rougher and serving as a bit of a gatekeeper for those who may be a little less sure of their vehicles capabilities.

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And there is was - the mouth of the main shaft. Miles of tunnel exist deep into the mountain as miners followed an enormous vein of gold bearing material, and this main shaft allows for nearly a mile of driving - if I could keep from freaking out!

I was too excited as I went in, so the only photo of the entrance is me coming out!​

Not totally sure of the situation, I walked the first hundred feet or so of tunnel. It looked like I'd be OK - the truck just short enough to fit through some of the low-hanging boulders on the ceiling - and so I headed to the entrance and drove myself in.

Am I crazy?​

After the first 150 feet, which are reasonably flat, the shaft begins a descent. This, in conjunction with the curvy nature - to follow the gold - mean that you can't ever see where you're going for more than a hundred feet or so. There are - for anyone who gets nervous - several turn around points along the way, where vertical shafts lead away from the main tunnel.

Looking up.​

My guess is that these vertical shafts were built slightly off to the side of the main tunnel so that as material dropped down, it wouldn't block passage through the primary thoroughfare, allowing work to proceed in parallel at several areas in the mine.

Eventually, I found myself at a larger "room" and figured that it was time for me to boogie back to the entrance. I wasn't all that worried - this tunnel hadn't collapsed in over 150 years - but why push my luck, really. I turned around, and for a moment, turned off my lights. Wow, that was dark! Lights back on.

Not a place for anyone who doesn't like tight spaces.​

Going out wasn't really any more or less stressful than going in. The logical part of my brain continued - in its calming fashion - to remind me that the likelihood of anything bad happening was miniscule at best. The rest of my brain was like "MOVE IT!" Personally, I'm a fan of the photos, but in case you're wondering a bit more about the experience, here's a short clip of the final bit of mine shaft.

https://www.youtube.com/embed/HVhs3WJMNJw​

Well - while a whole different kind of darkness than Manzanar, the Reward Mine had proven itself to be quite the experience! I'd eagerly do it again, ideally with someone a little more squeamish in the passenger seat. Because boy, it would be fun to glance over every now and then. Maybe stop a time or two.

As I reached the mouth of the shaft, there were already a few other folks waiting for me to come out. They'd walked up - rather than driving - but still wanted to wait until there weren't any vehicles before entering. We chatted for a few minutes and I relayed how cool the mine was before heading back down the rocky road towards US-395. Clearing the rough section, I picked up speed - once again glad I'd been relatively early in the day, as a caravan of explorers hurdled towards me!

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I'd crossed over it coming into the Reward Mine as well, but just before I got to the highway, I paused for a final moment as I crossed over the eroding runways of Manzanar Airfield. Used by the United States Military to resupply the Internment Camp, it was abandoned like the rest in the 1950s. Today, it sits idle in the desert, another reminder of those less pleasant times.

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And with that, I headed north - the sky there, sunnier - clouds seemingly following me as I sped along. A quick stop to top off the fuel tank, and soon I was driving through Bishop. Schat's Bakery - a favorite of @mrs.turbodb's, which has had extremely long lines our last couple times through - was lineless, but I refrained from stopping, wanting to limit my interactions with the community during these crazy times, as much as possible. Soon, I found myself at the north side of town, and at the southeast corner of the Volcanic Tablelands, where US-6 begins it's long meander across the country.

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I wasn't far from where I'd run over my camera less than a week earlier, and as I aired down the Tacoma to start a new exploration of the Volcanic Tablelands, I wondered to myself - would the third time be the charm?

 

This is the only Ashram that matters

 

I've been to Manzanar on several occasions. The most recent, I met a man who was in the camp with his family. His name was Richard. He'd married after the war to a white lady. Richard's memories were of baseball and work on the camp's contribution to the war effort. They had victory gardens and manufactured camouflage netting for the troops. When you see the conditions inside the barracks building (which have been reconstructed only recently), it's easy to understand if people were angry. Someone asked Richard if he was angry-at first, his wife answered. She was undeniably upset and angry at the US Government for the indecency. Without cutting her off so obviously, he said "We were given lemons, we made lemonade". That 100% caught me off guard as he'd explained it wasn't the best situation (you also need to understand that when Japanese were rounded up, they often lost their property and belongings as well), they made the best of it and moved on when the war was over.

Something about the cemetery I didn't know was that it's located outside the fence so that those buried there would be free (I'm probably not explaining it well enough but you get the idea) and not buried as prisoners. Upon his passing, the man who served as priest for the camp was cremated and his remains scattered among the hills behind the camp. Definitely visit the monument.

Ansel Adams produced a book featuring photographs and words and although cameras were not allowed for internees, Toyo Miyatake was able to document much of life at Manzanar using his camera. Along with the self guided tour, baseball fields, and barracks buildings, there are displays inside the Visitor's Center that shouldn't be missed.

If you call yourself a fan of the Eastern Sierra and 395, you really should visit Manzanar.

 

when i visited several years back, i picked up a book by Gerald H. Robinson, 'Elusive Truth', photos by Toyo Miyatake and three other outside photographers.
also of interest is 'Children of Manzanar'

 

Farewell to Manzanar, by Jeanne Wakatsuki Houston is a book about a Wakatsuki-Houston's experiences. I've read it but it's been a while.
Some accounts are understandably quite harsh.

 

Thanks for showing the photos of Manzanar, I need to make it out there sometime. Both of my grandparents were interned there

 

..yes, you should visit, go sooner, rather than later

 

I agree with this.

 

I can answer that with a yes.

 

with the history of barker ranch, feeling bad energy there could be understandable.
at Manzanar, I've read, one internee stated 'we were given lemons..we made lemonade'
empathy..not bad energy

 

Wife and I always stop at Schats on our way to/from San Diego to Tahoe as well. Great place.

 

LOL, this is going to sound terrible and probably date me, but I have no idea what that is.

That's a very cool experience you got, and meshes nicely with what I took in at Manzanar. Quite clearly, it is a place that should have never existed. Japanese who lived here, and were rounded up, were Americans - equals of those who imprisoned them. Humans who deserved more. Their resilience and ability to make the best of a very bad situation were apparent (to me) in the compound. The gardens they built were *still* beautiful; the organizational attention that they clearly paid to layout, harmony with the surroundings, etc. was palpable. Some of the stories on the informational boards also portrayed life there as a balance - with understandable uprisings and hardship, as well as feelings of community and hope.

As with other regrettable imprisonments and mistreatments of fellow humans in our past, we should have acted differently from the get go and done more to acknowledge our mistakes after the fact. Perhaps one day we'll learn and stop making the same mistakes again and again; we can always hope.

Thanks both for these, I'll check them out.

Take your family. If your parents are still alive, have them come along. I'm sure it would be an extremely valuable experience. I spent only 90 minutes or so there - it was much larger and with with more to see than I expected; if I were to go again, I'd plan on spending at least 4 hours. I would want to walk through more of the blocks and gardens in silent retrospection.

You're welcome.

The energy there is interesting. Clearly, as I noted in my response above to @ian408, these internment camps - there were 10 of them as I understand - were misguided at best. The energy from that is clearly not good energy. I'd call it sad, ominous, appalling, and embarrassing. But that all has to do with the compound itself. There is also an energy there - to Ian's story - of resilience. For me, that resilience energy was both strong and hopeful. I was surprised by it.

Empathy is important. So is learning from our mistakes, and working to ensure that the injustices and humiliation suffered here as a result of hysteria, racism, and economic exploitation never emerge again. (this is the quote at Manzanar) We haven't been doing so well at that as a society since WWII, I'd say, even as I've been a benefactor of the bias' of that society. Something for us all to keep in mind.

 

Ace Ventura Pet Detective 2

Only the most influential comedy of the 90s you plebian

 

I was looking through Amazon for some other things and decided to pick up a copy of Ansel Adam's book on Manzanar. I've rarely seen it in paperback. I think it'd be a great resource for the return journey.

 

LOL, didn't recognize it.

 

Not to commandeer Turbo's thread. But here are a few photos from the visitor's center.

This is a model of the barracks layout.


A tea kettle originally destined for Tea Kettle Junction but left at Manzanar.


One of the signs left on businesses.


And of the racism expressed.

 

So We Meet Again, Tablelands - Owens Valley #3

It was almost exactly noon when I rolled into the southeast corner of the Volcanic Tablelands from US-6. It was the same location that exactly a week earlier, I'd run over my Canon 80D and favorite lens, that I'd been using to shoot for the last three years.

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Needless to say, I hoped that my third time to this beautiful place would be the charm, as I made my way north along Fish Slough. I'd already decided that I'd take things a bit more slowly this time - I had two days set aside to wander - and before long, I found myself out of the truck admiring some porous volcanic formations - tafoni - along the side of the road.

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Having eaten only a small breakfast, I was getting hungry, and decided that the perfect spot to eat lunch would be Kitchen Rock. Doing so would give me the ability to look around a bit as I munched on my PB&J, and of course, I was looking forward to seeing the Volcanic Wave that had brought me here in the first place.

Well hello, wave!​

Kitchen Rock.​

Below Kitchen Rock, evidence of kitchen activities - a line of morteros ground into the stone.​

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A sandwich, apple, and chocolate bar later, and I was ready to continue on. As had been the case all day, I seemed to be chasing blue skies above, while the entire area around me was covered with clouds. It was a nice feeling, even if there was a brisk wind to accompany the weather.

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My next stop was at the Chidago Canyon Petroglyphs. There are significantly more - and more detailed - glyphs here than at most of the other locations I've found in the Tablelands, and I spent a good amount of time climbing around the boulder field to discover art not visible from the road.

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Imagine the time that went into a site like this.​

Early volleyball instructions; hit the ball with an open palm.​

The desert varnish was thick on some of these rocks, making the glyphs really pop.​

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My favorite glyph, a deer with a splendid rack!​

Energized from the hunt, I decided to change up my route a bit - a road leading into Chidago Canyon too much for me to resist. Mostly sand, it wound its way between the canyon walls as it stretched east towards the White Mountains.

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Through the entirety of the canyon, I kept my eyes peeled - rock lined walls seemingly perfect for more petroglyphs. I didn't find any, but one section of wall caught my attention as I passed by - tall volcanic pillars reaching for the sky. Prior to eroding, many of the walls likely looked like this one.

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Chidago Canyon spit me out a little south of my next destination - a short hike to another set of petroglyphs. The only problem - as I settled in at the end of the road - was that I didn't know where to go from there. I'd remembered it being clear on the satellite when I'd been researching this spot, but now on the ground, I was at a loss - all I'd noted was "Sundial and Petroglyphs," so I started looking around on the ground in the general vicinity for some sort of contraption that could have been used to tell time. Seeing nothing after a bit of wandering, I set out down the the only path I found in my hunting around.

A mile later, I knew I'd gone the wrong way. Or, perhaps, I just didn't know what I was looking for. So, I made my way back and started off in the opposite direction. There was nothing major this way either - though a few faint glyphs lined the cliff wall.

And then, wow. High up on the wall, an enormous circle. More than a circle, really - a sundial!

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I kept going, and soon enough I was rewarded with the real treasure of this site - a series of sundials, all etched high in the stone wall of the plateau. And not just sundials - other figures as well. I'm sure an audible gasp escaped my lips, and I know a smile crossed my face. I glanced around to see if anyone else was seeing what I was.

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Generally I find myself most intrigued by humanoid figures, followed closely by recognizable wildlife - but for some reason, I really enjoy these sundials as well. Perhaps it's their intricate design - clearly more than simple geometric shapes or patters, or the idea that those who created them had some deeper use than just art. Whatever the reason, I decided to just sit down and stare up at them for five minutes or so, and it was pleasant.

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From the sundials, I entered the Tablelands again a bit further north, where I almost immediately found myself at another cluster of petroglyphs. The Red Canyon Petroglyphs, these are scattered over the largest area of any that I've found so far, and a mile-or-so hike is required in order to see them all. We'd not done that on our previous trip, so I grabbed the camera and set out in search of art.

Almost immediately, I found something completely unexpected.

Placed in reverence? Left by mistake? Whatever the reason, it was pretty and seemed appropriate, so I left it.​

Just around the corner from the painted rock, I found a cluster of glyphs that caught my attention.

Hand and Foot Rock.​

Trying to cover the area as methodically as possible so as to not miss anything, I worked my way around - essentially in concentric circles, weaving between rocky outcroppings as I searched for more treasure.

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At one point, I found myself atop one of the piles, the Tacoma waiting patiently where I'd start - and would finish - my exploration.

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Most of the glyphs at this site - like others in the vicinity - were geometric shapes and patterns, the hands and feet I'd found at the beginning, outliers. And then, as I neared the end of my hike, I spotted several sheep - perched high on a rock, leaping over the images below.

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A brisk breeze was blowing at this point, so I was happy to climb back into the truck and get the heat turned on - still a couple hours of daylight during which I could continue my wandering through the Tablelands, getting out as I approached various rocky outcroppings to search for etched treasure.

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Not all rocky clusters contained evidence of those before us - of course. Most were simply piles of volcanic material, encrusted with desert varnish, as if waiting for someone of yesteryear to use them as a canvas. But not all. At one site, an extremely interesting shaped rock grabbed my attention, and as I walked over to look at it more closely, I was rewarded with a plethora of petroglyphs to boot!

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In fact, many of the rocks in this area were decorated, and I made my way from surface to surface, once again wondering what had been the point of all this? Boredom? Communication? Education? Whatever it was, I wonder if the artists had any idea that so many hundreds of years later, someone would be out here looking at what they'd done.

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And then, something I hadn't seen before - the last remains of stacked rock walls. Several of these stubby structures lined the larger wall that obviously served as the primary support for the buildings. Likely, a small settlement once called this place home.

Rock walls, the last remnants of what must have been a home.​

A final set of glyphs, the moon rising overhead.​

I'd meandered for a few hours at this point, and I knew I'd only scratched the surface - I'd never be able to complete my exploration of the Tablelands in the one day I had remaining on the trip - not that I'd ever really thought two days would be enough. But for now, I set my mind on finding somewhere to camp, as I headed out across the vast plateau - a few cholla cactus shining bright as the sun caught their spikes.

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I travelled now on roads unnamed and unmarked on the maps I'd prepared. The feeling was liberating, though it'd be impossible to get lost in an area like this - its borders well defined by civilization. I followed the road to the left here, to the right there, looking for just the right place to call home for the night. The sun caught the fumaroles that once vented hot gasses - mostly steam - from the interior of the Tablelands for years after the eruption.

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Eventually, I found the perfect spot to call home. Sheltered from the worst of the westerly winds, I setup the tent and put on nearly every piece of clothing I'd brought along - the already chilly weather having taken a turn for the colder. It'd been a long day - one that had begun in the crowded confines of Alabama Hills, and now found me all alone in the middle of a vast plateau.

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As I climbed into the tent, the weather was definitely top-of-mind. The forecast called for snow - and lots of it - over the coming week, the first of it set to arrive as I slept through the night. I knew the right amount could be magical - a few inches on top of the Tablelands would render the entire place a winter wonderland, but not impede travel too much. More than that, and I'd have to consider bailing - again! - or risk getting stranded on impassable roads as more storm fronts blew through.

Of course, as often seems to be the case, the weather forecast was not going to be the issue...

 

But you've got traction boards now. You'd be fine!

 

@turbodb we’re on our last night (well, it’s still afternoon but after a 21 mile mountain bike ride in the MidHills, feels like bedtime for me) of a week in Mojave NP. Thanks for your past trip reports encouraging me to visit. We did not bring our Tacoma but between the bikes and our AWD van we got quite a bit off the beaten path ... and so much more to see. I did find the Nat Geo and NPS maps, plus Digonnet’s book and a few USGS topo’s, to be maddeningly vague about some routes. Not to mention complete lack of signage by the NPS. But after a day or two, I realized that was just fine. Use your head, keep your eyes open and explore. Thanks for the inspiration, but I’m selfishly hoping it doesn’t get too popular. Suddenly Saline and Panamint Valleys and Alabama Hills seem way too crowded.

 

True statement, sometimes it seems that Outside magazine and guide books have become the bane of the true experience of exploring and discovery.....

Great posts Turbo, thanks again for sharing just enough...