AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

Unexpected Success - Last Minute 3
Part of the Last Minute Rush (Oct 2021) trip.

Having not gotten much sleep the night before, I thought I'd conk out and sleep through the night here on my ridge in the Pine Grove Hills. No such luck, however - instead I wandered in and out of sleep, a little worried that the wind and rain would pick up during the night.

Neither of those things happened, and a few minutes before my alarm went off, I decided I'd read a bit as I waited for color to spill across the sky. With views to both the east and west, I knew that this could be a primo location for taking in the full range of color.

What a way to wake up, Mt. Patterson - a new dusting of snow - rising up to the west.​

And in the far distance - beyond the Sweetwater Mountains - the morning was clear enough to see the Sierras!​

I putzed around for a while, snapping photos, arranging the cab of the truck, and eating breakfast - I wasn't going to make the same mistake I'd made the day before and find myself starving at 11:00am! Soon, the sun rose high enough over the horizon to start illuminating the landscape, with the mountain and tent being some of the first objects to bask in the warm glow.

After going to bed under the clouds, this was a splendid way to wake up.​

The question - given the forecast I'd heard from weather guessers the evening before - was how long this weather was going to last? I hoped for two full days, but knew that it might only be a few hours before things changed dramatically. And so, I decided I'd better take advantage while I could, and get a move on.

It was 8:01am when I pulled out of camp, and already the sky to the north was looking a little darker.​

Down off the ridge and into the juniper, you'd never know there was weather in the works if you just looked at the blue sky to the east.​

My route wound up and down through the hills as it generally made its way south. There, at the southern end of Pine Grove Hills was a mountain with a familiar name - Bald Mountain. Not to be confused with the summit of the same name in the Wassuk Range that I'd climbed the day before, this was the second of three mountains with the same name in this area. The drive was pleasant as climbed in and out of valleys - each crest affording a nearer and nearer view of Mt. Patterson.

Every time I saw Mt. Patterson in the distance, I wondered if I'd make it to the top, or if snow would stop me before I got there.​

A perfect road for an oil change and undercarriage inspection - almost like having a pit under the truck.​

Layers of color, looking out over the valley - some hillsides in sun, others in shade.​

It was as I was winding my way through these foothills that a new clanking reached my ears. At first, I thought it was probably just the shovel bouncing around in the bed of the truck, or perhaps the Hi-Lift rattling against the bed rack. However, since I've had several experiences with the skid plate bolts coming loose, I decided it'd be prudent to give them a quick check - since it's always better to tighten a bolt, than to have to find a new one!

My inspection of the skids revealed them to be nice-and-tight, so I moved the shovel and zip-tied the Hi-Lift, and figured the rattle would be gone as I continued on.

A bumpy section gave me a good opportunity to see if my zip ties and repositioned shovel made for a quiet ride.​

Almost immediately, it was clear that the problem was not solved. Even little bumps in the road caused outrageously loud clanking in the rear, and as much as I wanted to just ignore it, I knew that I at least needed to find out what was wrong. After-all, I'd had a good chunk of the rear end apart over the course of the last week as I patched the axle housing and rebuilt the shocks, and it would certainly suck to have a shock eye bouncing around if I'd forgotten to torque down a bolt!

After a bit of looking, I found the problem.

That certainly isn't right - the front of the leaf eye cracked off, and the entire thing is shifted to the rear a few inches.​

Yep, a single leaf, broken in two places!​

Having found the problem, I initially tried to remove the broken leaf, but it was held in place by an alignment bracket, so instead I zip tied it in a couple places and hoped for the best. The best, it would turn out, was about 5 minutes, until the rear suspension flexed just a little too far for the zip tie to handle. And so, the clanking returned. I continued on.

Nearing the tree line of Bald Mountain.​

Out of the trees.​

Reached the windy summit, with 360-degree views.​

Looking west from Bald Mountain toward the snow, just over the California State line.​

There wasn't much at the end of the road here - no mines or old cabins to speak of - and so before long, having devised a loop route when I was planning the trip (see route planning), I was headed back down the mountain on NF-31, enjoying entirely new scenery than when I'd come up.

Wow. Talk about a burst of color.​

These aspens were giving the cottonwoods in the valley a run for their money.​

Even as I neared the bottom, I still got little views here and there of Mt. Patterson - now much nearer than it'd been even just a few hours prior - and as I stopped for a photo, I just happened to glance to my right and noticed a person-sized hole in the side of a hill. Certainly worth a look!

Yellow, green, white, and blue - a desert rainbow on this beautiful morning.​

This shaft extended about 100 feet into the mountain, and looks like it's reasonably heavily trafficked by folks who come this way.​

A quarter mile further on, I hit pavement at NV-338, the perfect place to put an end to the incessant clanking coming from the back of the truck. Some quick work with a couple 14mm wrenches and I'd removed the clamp that keeps all the leaf springs in alignment, and with that, the broken leaf was relieved of duty.

You've served me well, but I'm still a little disappointed in you.​

And then, it was time. Heading south, I had to decide if I'd make a run at Mt. Patterson, or just leave it for another time. Part of me wanted to just skip it - I'd sort of wanted to head up to the top with Mike @mk5, who'd been stymied on every attempt he's made so far - but in the end I figured that I'd probably get stopped by snow before I reached the summit anyway, so I might as well see how far I could get. Then, I could come back with Mike - next summer - for the final ascent.

Doesn't look too snowy from this vantage point.​

And those colors - with the clouds behind them - splendidly vibrant!​

The road up Mt. Patterson varies - some sections in reasonable shape, others covered in loose, volleyball-sized rocks - and so did my speed. One thing was for sure though, as I made my way higher and higher up the mountain, the wind speed picked up dramatically.

Up we go.​

Riding along an exposed ridge, the wind must have been 35mph at this point.​

Even with the significant wind chill outside, it was still quite warm in the truck - I may have even had the A/C on - the sun fighting its way through the clouds that were speeding across the sky. With each turn, I found myself holding my breath - wondering if this would be the place that a snow drift blocked the road. And then, I reached the old mining town of Belfort - or really, Boulder Flats.

Snow at Belfort/Bolder Flats, but not much!​

A cool log cabin, nestled into the trees.​

Belfort and Boulder Flats are a bit of a mystery when it comes to historical information. Most sources refer to the remaining structures as Belfort, which is sited on Boulder Flats; other sources say Boulder Flat is a distinct town. Whatever the case, the structures have hand hewn logs and round head nails, placing construction - or the latest remodel - in the early 1900s, well after the towns had been abandoned. Situated at an elevation of 10,200', they were originally part of the Patterson Mining District, and were originally established in the 1880s. Like many other gold towns, ore was quickly exhausted and both Belfort and Boulder Flats were abandoned by 1890.

The view from within.​

Chinking still hanging on after all these years.​

A dugout has seen better days.​

Having already reached altitudes I'd thought impassable, I saw no reason to stop now. There were a little more than 1500' between me and the summit, and I was surely going to give it a shot. I continued on, cognizant that almost immediately after passing through Boulder Flats, small patches of snow started to creep onto the roadway.

Getting closer.​

Still climbing toward the summit.​

Bit of weather blowing in from the west, over the Sierras.​

I couldn't believe it when, 15 minutes later, I reached the ridge that would take me to the summit of Mt. Patterson. Still, looking at the road, I knew I wasn't home-free yet. I'd already had to bash my way through several hundred feet of ~8" deep snow along some relatively flat bits of ground. Now, in front of me, the road continued its ascent, and the snow only got deeper.

While deciding if I'd continue on, I absentmindedly read this "Mars with Flowers" sign. It is a wordy sign that really just says, "Stay the Trail."​

Ultimately, I decided that while I might slip and slide a bit in the snow, there were no steep drops that would mean sudden death, and so I continued on. I couldn't believe it - all the way to the top!

What a colorful finale!​

As I reached the apex of my journey, the sun illuminated the rocky ridgeline in front of me, and a huge smile broke out across my face. For anyone who's been to the Alpine Loop in Colorado, the view here reminded me of one of my favorite places - Corkscrew Gulch.

Boy, was it worth it - almost. You see, I was so excited that I positioned the Tacoma facing out over the expanse, without realizing that I'd turned such that the wind was now blowing from directly behind. As soon as I opened the door, it was ripped forward by winds that I'd later find clocked in at over 65mph. I grabbed the handle and somewhat lightened the impact on the hinges - eventually pulling it closed again with both hands - but not before the damage had been done. My door no longer shuts quite right.

After repositioning the truck in a better orientation, I finally exited for some more photos, nearly being blown over in the process. In fact, so strong were the winds that I couldn't ever actually get onto the tippy-top of the mountain, my body tilted at 45° to keep from being blown backwards.

I "settled" for a panorama about 3 feet below the summit.​

I didn't linger long - I'd had enough of the wind as soon as I opened the door that first time - and soon I was slipping and sliding my way back down the snowy roads, in search of lower elevations.

Mine were the only tracks, and after several inches of snow a few hours later, they'd be the last of the season.​

​

Back over the state line to Nevada, I wandered into a field with a cool barn while I transferred fuel from my Scepter jerry cans into the tank.​

At this point, it was nearing 4:30pm - 90 minutes until sunset, and maybe two hours of light. As I'd ascended - and with no planned camp site for the night - I'd sort of wondered if I'd find camp at the top of Mt. Patterson, but there was no way that was going to work with the wind. Instead - like the evening before - I decided I might as well continue along my route and find something that suit my fancy.

Back into the rolling valleys south of the Sweetwater Mountains. The wind speeds here were a much more enjoyable 3-5mph.​

The valley soon gave way to hills, and soon I found myself on Masonic Road (NF-046) in the northern reaches of the Bodie Mountains. Not nearly as tall as their neighbors, I rounded a bend and was surprised to see the remains of an enormous mill. The Pittsburg-Liberty Mill of Lower Masonic, I'd later find out.

Two of the three levels of the Pittsburg-Libery Mill.​

The Pittsburg-Libery in its heyday.​

Nearby, a stone structure of Lower Town, Masonic.​

Having explored what I could see from the road, this is certainly an area that I think I'd like to return and explore some more. The history of Masonic - which I only discovered as I write this story - is a colorful one, and there are many old buildings and mine ruins worth exploring the next time I roll through. Plus, I was nearing the next waypoint I'd marked on my map, and with only a few minutes until sunset and a few miles to go, I knew I had to push onwards if I wanted to do any looking around before it got dark.

A mine shaft I could see from the road before I reached my next waypoint; too tempting to pass by.​

Claim marker (?) PP 18.​

The only four-legged wildlife I'd see all trip.​

At 5:52pm - just eight minutes before sunset - I pulled into the maze of roads that covered the land belonging to the Chemung Mine. This mine - along with photos of ****** Hot Spring that I'd visited on the first leg of my trip - were what led me to this area. The opportunity to camp near the mine - exploring it both at dusk and at dawn - seemed perfect.

The old crushing Mill at the Chemung Mine.​

The cyanide plant, where gold ore was mixed with cyanide solution in a large tank. The gold would dissolve into solution, be extracted, and then the next batch of material would be brought in.​

Metal-clad shop.​

Time has taken a toll on the roof of the cyanide plant.​

The blue boiler, one of the few pieces of machinery still in place.​

Sunset over the Chemung Mine.​

As the sun dipped below the horizon, I was surprised by how quickly the temperature dropped. I was lower than I'd been along the ridge the previous night, but it must have been at least 15°F cooler. I donned my puffy coat and set about deploying the tent and whipping up my lazy-man dinner of two hot dogs and an apple. Though simple, these certainly hit the spot, and I was glad for the warmth that the meat sticks offered, even if my blood vessels were sure to revolt.

It'd been another great day on the trail, with many highlights as well as a couple notable incidents. And, as I looked out to the west, I knew that I could be in for an even bigger surprise tomorrow. There were some angry clouds over the Sierras, and a wind watch had been issued for much of the region.

Well, that looks a little ominous.​

Hah! I thought, I've already survived 65mph winds, how bad could it be?

How bad could it be, indeed.

 

Easily my favorite thread on TW.

 

As I was reading the write-up for the east side ascent to Patterson, I was curious to see what the west side would look like -- steeper than the east, easily collects snow drifts, and has much more exposure. But problem solved, reverse rudder.

Fun photos and story.

 

Just to clarify, that broken leaf is not from a pack that you recently picked up from Alcan on your NMBDR trip, right?

 

If you continue a little NE of the mine site, you’ll find the home site. A few foundations remain but more importantly, it’s protected by Aspens and offers a nice, if not cold, spot for camp.

 

that is from his Alcan pack

 

This is from an Alcan pack, but one that I got in 2018 (Updating the Alcan Leaf Pack) so it's been in reasonably heavy operation for quite some time. The new pack is sitting - patiently - in pile of parts that grows and shrinks as weather permits for installation. I'm not actually sure how quickly I'll install the new leafs - the old ones are still not really sagging, and I picked up the new ones mostly because I wasn't sure if Alcan was going to be in business when I actually needed new leafs. (Note: I'm now convinced that they'll be around for a long time - the new owner is as good or better than the old.)

Anyway, because of the hoopla I went through with the original pack, I actually have an extra couple military wraps (albeit with the center hole in the wrong spot), so I'll be drilling out one of those and installing it on this pack... when I get my new rear axle housing. No need to take everything apart twice.

Is that up the main road, and then off another spur? If so, I found it the next morning when I was on my way to Bodie... up behind the Taco in this photo.

​

 

I’d say it’s almost right behind the shed as the crow flies.

 

The Town of Bodie - Last Minute 4
Part of the Last Minute Rush (Oct 2021) trip.

After two nights of restless sleep, I slept well at the Chemung Mine. Legend has it that a ghost haunts the property, but luckily for me it was a Friday night - one of the six nights each week that the poltergeist is a peacefully content. Apparently if I'd been there on a Saturday evening, things could have gotten interesting.

I awoke only once during the night - right around 2:00am - when a flurry of snow was passing overhead, the tick, tick, tick of ice on the rain fly, rousing me from my sleep. I'm never happy about the prospect of a wet tent in the morning, but there was nothing I could do at that point, so I burrowed down into my warm bedding and was asleep again within minutes.

When I awoke again, it was because my phone alarm was vibrating somewhere in the tent. With a ridge to my east, I'd known that there was no chance of catching sunrise, so I'd given myself an extra half-hour of shut eye, hoping the weather would be clear enough for me to catch the sun as it lit the Sierras to my west.

I awoke to my third day of stormy weather - over the Sierras.​

I counted myself lucky - the little snow that'd fallen the night before had already sublimated and both the tent and ground were dry as a bone. Having wandered the site in the fading light the night before, I figured that a more thorough investigation was warranted as the day brightened around me.

Looking to the north, Mt. Patterson was sporting a new coat of white powder. I'd made it up on the last accessible day of the season!​

There has been much disrespect shown to the buildings around the Chemung Mine.​

At first, my wanderings took me to many of the same structures and views I'd experienced the night before. These are the main buildings of the mine, and surely where exploration ends for most who visit here.

The Mill.​

The cyanide leaching plant, most likely mistaken for the mill by most visitors.​

An old car, missing a few key bits.​

As the sun crept across the valley, the Sierras poked out of the coulds now and then.​

Soon though, I wandered off in various directions to see if I could find things I'd missed as I rushed to take everything in some 14 hours earlier. Everywhere, new discoveries popped up - several mine shafts, a second vehicle, numerous tailings piles, and even a rusty old pile of cans made for fun discoveries - each one consuming a few minutes of wonder at the beginning of my day.

Mine shaft 1.​

Mine shaft 2.​

Mine shaft 3.​

A view of the mine site from the largest tailings pile.​

The storm may be coming, but there was still sun between me and it!​

Have a good view of Mt. Patterson you say? Don't worry, humans - old and new - can wreck it.​

My exploration meant that I didn't pull out of camp until somewhere around 9:30am - a couple hours later than I usually get on the road. It was no matter - I had less ground to cover in the truck today, though I had no idea at the time that I'd end up spending quite a bit of time on foot. As such, I lazily explored a few of the spur roads off of Masonic Road, the rock formations and colorful aspen keeping me entertained as patchy clouds passed overhead.

Caught in the sun.​

Fall brilliance! The time of year when Mother Nature reminds us through leaves - how easy, how healthy, and how beautiful, letting go can be.​

Before long, I'd left Masonic Road behind, now following the equally-well-travelled Masonic-Bodie Road.

I'm not sure I'd have come this way if it hadn't been for Mike @mk5 recommending Bodie as a place to check out in one of his trip reports - and also mentioning a "rough" road to the south where he'd punctured a tire on one of his attempts to summit Mt. Patterson. Unfortunately, he'd been through after hours - the town of Bodie now a California State Park - so in addition to missing out on Mt. Patterson, he'd also been unable to explore the town.

Even so, as I tootled along at a good clip, I had no idea what I was in for. In fact, I was mostly enjoying the views to my west, and I rose and fell along a ridge to the east.

A beautiful day in the high desert.​

In front and behind me, mountains.​

Out of the clouds.​

Everywhere I looked.​

Before I knew it, I'd covered the 15 miles between my camp site and the northern edge of town. As a matter of fact, rounding the bend and seeing Bodie for the first time, I think I even wondered alound, "What the heck is that?" And, initially, I just thought it was a cluster of homes - part of a remote homestead or ranch.

Bodie State Historic Park as I approached from the north.​

It was only after I turned on the tablet and pulled up my maps that I realized I was already to my main stop for the day. And, I have to admit that I was a little worried that I was way too far ahead of schedule - if I'd already reached Bodie, what the heck was I going to do for the remaining seven hours of daylight?

Fate is a wonderful thing, and it turns out that arriving at Bodie early was exactly the right time to arrive. In no rush at all, it gave me plenty of time to explore this amazingly well-preserved ghost town at a leisurely pace, from both the north and south access points - though, as usual, I'm getting well ahead of myself.

Red Cloud winch and headframe, which greet visitors at the parking lot.​

I pulled into the parking lot - there's no driving through the town for anyone but the park rangers - and dutifully wrote a check (thank goodness I had one in my wallet, as I've taken to carrying exactly no cash over the last few years) for $8 to cover the day use fee for a single adult.

As I did, a park ranger walked by - I'd see only two other people for the next three hours, and they were both rangers, wandering town the same way I was - and asked to see proof of payment. I showed her that I was in the process of filling out the little envelope, and she continued on her way with a smile.

Turns out, a big part of the reason that I was the only one in town, was that the park was "closed" for the season. I think this really just means that there are no guided tours, and that fewer people are around - so that makes it the perfect time to visit!

I started my wandering on Green St. at the old Methodist Church.​

Ready for service - well, in the summer anyway, the stove seems like it's a little bit lacking.​

Continuing down Green St., the J.S. Cain residence had an amazing sun room. I'm sure this much glass wasn't easy to come by in those days, and certainly cost a lot to heat.​

Quite the bottle collection.​

The Miller house was one of the few structures that had an open door that allowed me to wander inside. Here, a bedroom - complete with wallpaper - seemed frozen in time.​

The Miller House kitchen.​

Wandering further down the street, I had no rhyme or reason to the path I took - I just walked from one interesting looking building to the next as my attention was pulled in different directions. It was liberating - travelling several streets twice, others not at all. Surely, I missed interesting tidbits, but that's just a reason to return!

What a cart! Notice the heavy duty wheel construction.​

The Swazey Hotel. Rather small, and seems to be "swazying" in the wind a little much over time.​

DeChambeau Hotel (left, brick) and Independant Order of Odd Fellows Lodge (right, wood). Later, the IOOF became the Bodie Athletic Club, and much of the equipment - punching bags, dumbells, etc. - is still visible inside, today.​

Mine-sized tools. A sharpening stone, and one of the largest wrenches I've seen.​

Another rustic cart with more traditional wheels.​

Today, only about five percent of the buildings remain from the town's 1877-1881 heyday, most having fallen victim to time, fire, and the elements. Designated a California State Park in 1962, Bodie is now preserved in a state of "arrested decay." This means that buildings' roofs, windows, and foundations are repaired and stabilized, not restored.

Following the 1849 Gold Rush, mining declined along the western slope of the Sierra Nevada. Prospectors, ever hungry for the next big strike, crossed to prospect the eastern slopes.

W.S. Body, from Poughkeepsie, New York, discovered gold here in 1859. He died months later in a blizzard, never seeing the town that honors him. Mining in the district continued at a slow pace until 1875, when a mine collapse revealed a rich body of gold ore. Word spread fast and Bodie's boom days began - the population quickly jumping to between 8,000 and 10,000 souls.

More than 30 different mines and nine stamp mills called this place home, along with the miners and merchants needed to keep the operations going. But Bodie attracted a rougher element as well, who gave the town a reputation for bad men and wild times. There were more than 60 saloons, prostitute cribs, and opium dens scattered throughout town. Mining continued until 1942, but the boom years were over quickly, ending just six years after the 1875 discovery. (Bodie State Historic Park Self-Guided Tour Pamphlet - $3)

The schoolhouse, in use until 1942.​

Education, naturally, included realistic models of the mining equipment.​

The Standard Mill.​

The family of Bodie's last major landowner - J.S. Cain, resident of the house above with the sun room and bottles - hired caretakers to watch over the town and protect it from looters and vandals. In 1962, California State Parks purchased the town to preserve the historic buildings and artifacts. (Self-Guided Tour Pamphlet)

Bodie Bank - only the brick vault remains after a fire in 1932 burned the wooden building.​

Vault interior.​

The Sawdust Corner Saloon.​

​

The Firehouse. Bodie had two major fires, one in 1892 and one in 1932. The 1892 fire burned more than 60 buildings when a valve was closed inadvertently, leading to a lack of water.

A later addition to the town, Bodie's own fuel station.​

​

The interior of the Boone Store and Warehouse. Built in 18679, it was one of several general stores in town and was owned by Harvey Boone - a distant cousin of Daniel Boon. In addtion to running the store, Harvey was the county supervisor, school trustee, and Bodie Water Company president.

Exterior of the Boone Store along Green St.​

Having wandered town for the better part of two hours, I realized that I could spend several full days looking in the various windows and walking through history. That wasn't happening on this trip, so I decided to climb up the hill to the cemetery before heading back to the Tacoma to continue on.

Bodie from the cemetery on the hillside.​

Standard Mill, from the cemetery.​

On my way back to the truck, my position up on the hill afforded me a different perspective than walking around on the streets of town. From this vantage point, it was neat to see some of the work done to preserve Bodie, several of the wooden roofs obviously having been replaced - with period appropriate wooden shingles - in the last year or two.

You can put new shingles on a roof, but we all get a little saggy over time.​

And then, I was off. East around Bodie Bluff, then south along an unnamed road, I wound my way further around town than I expected, but could eventually see the back side - mostly outbuildings of mine sites - as I continued what I'd decided to call South Bodie Road. Still eager to explore, I'd hoped that these access roads would take me to the top of the ridge - without walking, as I'd have had to do from the north - but even after passing through a gate, there was another locked gate a few hundred feet further on.

It was time for more exploration on foot!

This outer perimeter of the state park was drivable. A buffer zone of sorts, it seems.​

As parking spots go, at least this one had some cool views.​

In the end, it probably would have been quicker to just continue on past the schoolhouse in town - which was at the base of the hill on the north side - rather than climb up the windy, mile-long southern access road - but no matter, by coming this way, there were more structures to explore!

An old pump house, the siding custom fit to shelter the pump from the cold of winter.​

A cyanide leaching pond, where humans of old poisoned the land. Err, I mean, hunted for gold. ​

An old water tower at the top of the ridge. The shape of this tower is what caught my eye when I was wondering around town below.​

Property corner. Of what property, I'm not sure - this marker didn't seem to be at the corner of any notable landmarks.​

Above the town, an old trestle - likely to remove ore and overburden - looked down from the south.​

The winch room and workings for a large shaft that dropped hundreds of feet below.​

I probably spent 90 minutes wandering around above Bodie - a place not many people go - it seems - since it's not in the main part of town. As I headed back to the truck I realized just how glad I was to have stopped here - it was so much more interesting than I'd envisioned before my arrival. So many of these ghost towns are really just tourist traps these days, all gussied up for the few residents who still live there to make a few bucks. Bodie is nice in that - as a park - it's really just about the preservation, and there isn't a lot of commercialization. Sure, it's not 100% freely explorable, but it's certainly a step back in time.

Leaving Bodie.​

The road out of Bodie - the one that Mike had referred to as "very rough" and that had claimed a one of his tires - was a bit bumpy, and definitely narrow for trucks wider than my first gen - but it was through nice country and I enjoyed cruising down through the hills toward Mono Lake.

Dropping down out of Bodie Hills, Mono Lake glistening in the distance.​

Out of the mountains and into the Mono Basin.​

And with that, I'd reached the end of the (dirt) road. Just in time, too, since - to my west - the storm that'd been hovering over the Sierras, was finally making its way east towards my location.

It'd been three days and several hundred miles on dirt. Always nice to run a trip with only one air-up!​

With the tires at full pressure, I turned west on CA-167. Long and straight, there were 15 miles between me and the storm speeding over the mountains. I stopped a few times along the way as the mountains grew larger and larger in my windshield.

Driving into the storm.​

There aren't many approaches to a mountain range like the approach to the Sierras from the east.​

Oh look, there *are* mountains in those clouds.​

Upon reaching US-395 at Mono Lake, I turned the truck north as large rain drops began pelting the roof. The rain wouldn't let up until I reached Portland, OR the following day - a river of rain that dropped as much as 12" in some parts of drought-stricken California, we were told by the weather guessers.

Blue sky elbowed out by storm clouds over Mono Lake.​

Dumping snow over the Sierras as the storm passes through.​

In Portland, I made a quick stop before the final push home. But hey, that's another story!

A little present for the Tacoma.​

 

This gives you an idea of where the the spot is.

 

I like you often take pics with your Taco in the middle of the highway. Really makes a comment about the isolation. I, on the other hand, have noted and celebrated this isolation by peeing in the middle of the highway. I can appreciate your comment is a nice way to share with others. Mine is more of a personal amusement.

 

It's amazing to think not far away from the Chemung exists a place where buildings are in a state of arrested decay. But people can visit the Chemung and pretty much do what they want.

If you look closely, this is a shotgun shell. The curious will wonder why people shoot at buildings they think are abandoned (they may not be). But they do. But before you arrive at the mine, you'll pass a gun range. In fact, the road parallels it for about a quarter mile or so.

 

I can't tell you how many casings I've picked up out on public land. Of all the trash we find, it is what bothers me the most. So many people feel so strongly about the ability to have firearms, and yet - seemingly - it is one of the most common litters on our public lands. I'm sure it's a minority of owners - since most firearm owners probably don't make it out to public lands, in the same way that most 4x4 owners never make it onto dirt - but it still makes me wish that people who feel strongly about a "cause" would at least be good examples with that cause.

From The Thrill of the Hunt – Mojave #5



From Climbing Kelly Butte – Roaming Around Rainier #4



From a recent (not yet posted) trip to Death Valley. I must admit, this one is a bit different, as these casings came from planes!

 

Dan, that was away better then any Thanksgiving Day parade or football game!

I’ve seen pictures of Bodie before but you knocked it out of the park with this update. When you were asking about Chemung in the other thread you sparked my interest and got my Google-fu going. I added a new pin to my “want to want to go” folder, now after seeming your pics I know I need to go now.

 

Wandering Rocks and Lost Lake - Owlsheads #1
Part of the Lowest Peak in the Park - aka Into the Owlsheads (Nov 2021) trip.

I have no better way to describe the impetus for this trip than Michel Digonnet has so expertly done in Hiking Death Valley. One read of this, and I was sold - it was time to visit the Owlshead Mountains.

@mrs.turbodb was along for this trip - a nice bonus for me, as I always enjoy the experiences more when I can share them with her, and we made the long, 17-hour drive down to Beatty in a single day. We listened to quite a few podcasts before climbing into the tent just before 3:00am on some BLM land outside of town.

Our home for four hours.​

Up just after sunrise, we filled the tank - goodness, gas is getting pricey, even in Beatty - and headed toward the park. We didn't make it far - not even to the park entrance - before our first detour. Not so long ago, I'd seen a couple photos that Mike @mk5 had posted of the artwork at the Goldwell Open Air Museum outside of Rhyolite, and there were a couple new installations that I figured we would enjoy checking out.

I don't think that the ghost on a bike is new, but I do like it.​

Pretty sure the crane is new. @mini.turbodb loves making these, and we would come full-circle with origami cranes at the end of the trip.​

These weird - sort of squares - were most definitely new, and were what piqued my interest. What in the world are they about?​

Now we're getting the idea.​

Bingo! A "picture frame" for the naked Minecraft lady.​

We didn't spend too long at the museum - and we skipped Rhyolite altogether - before getting back in the Tacoma for more driving. Even as we'd finished the first 17 hours, we still had a long way to go in the park - hours of driving - to get ourselves down to the Owlshead Mountains.

A familiar sign that I enjoy each time I pass.​

Descending Daylight pass. We're really here - for the first time this fall!​

It's not too often that the elevation on the GPS goes bonkers.​

Having gotten out of camp at 8:00am, it was nearly 11:00am when we finally reached the region of the park we'd set out to explore. Only four roads approach these mountains, and not in a way that allows access from four different directions - that would be too convenient. Rather, one must follow the Harry Wade Road from its intersection with CA-190, as it runs south through southern Death Valley a few miles east of the Owlsheads. Then, the Owl Hole Springs Road follows the south side of the mountains to Owl Hole Springs at the regions' southeast corner. From there, Owlshead Mountain Road heads west - to a remote radio facility in the southwest corner. Graded up to the springs - and primitive beyond - it is a long drive. This is not the kind of place one drives to for the day.

We, would be here for three!

Onto dirt at Harry Wade Road.​

The Owlshead Mountains, where we'd be spending our entire trip!​

Fabulous folds to explore.​

The last human we'd see, getting Owl Hole Springs Road ready for winter.​

I hadn't expected Owl Hole Springs to offer much in the way of "interesting" stuff to look at - even with its remote location, it's reasonably accessible and I suspect that most people make it their final destination in this area of the park. Still, after a lot of seat-time, we weren't going to pass up an opportunity to look around, and we exited the truck just in front of the spring.

Not much to look at.​

The spring itself was surprising - to me - for two reasons: first, there was water in it. There are many springs in Death Valley, but I don't think I've stumbled on more than one or two that actually still had water in them - especially late in the fall. Second, it was surprising to see that what appeared to be an old loading or storage platform of some sort was built right on top of the spring. A lone palm tree - now dead - once provided shade to the burros that still - obviously, judging by the smell - use the spring regularly.

Wandering around, there were a few other run-down mining artifacts that we were able to check out as well. The two most interesting were a dilapidated old ore chute, and a pile of enormous stockpile of iron (?) ore.

There were some smaller pieces of these rocks laying on the ground, and they seemed to be about twice as heavy as we expected.​

Ore chute.​

Ready to move on, our first exploration was into a group of mines along Manganese Ridge. These mines are accessible on foot, or by a barely-there-high-clearance-4wd-road, and we choose both methods of travel to avail ourselves of their remains. The first two - the New Deal Mine and Owl Hole Mine - were a half-mile up the wash, and then a two-mile (round-trip) hike up adjacent side canyons.

A wash, or a road? Why can't it be both?​

We knew we'd reached the right place when I spotted the carcass of an old teal car nestled into the side canyon. A bit rusty - but still more structurally sound than most 1st gen Tacoma frames - @mrs.turbodb led the way as we set out toward the New Deal Mine.

A desert treasure.​

Just a little surface rust.​

Calcite crystals that were all over the ground in this area.​

<blockquote>The New Deal Mine was the area's best manganese producer. Its original workings are still there - a collared two-compartment shaft, and a cavernous tunnel framed with blood-red minerals. Between 1914-1918, the New Deal produced 3,000 tons carrying on average 45% manganese. Most of it came out of a 90-foot inclined shaft and a 75-foot adit that probed two parallel veins, 4 feet wide at places. The mine was re-opened during World War II, and in 1946 a 30-ton mill was moved in from the infamous Death Valley Mine in the east Mojave Desert and reassembled at Owl Hole Springs for use by the New Deal Mine. The ore was milled in a jaw crusher, ground in a rod mill, then concentrated and sintered into a manganese-rich cake. When the mine was abandoned in the fall of 1950, it had become the county's largest manganese producer, with a total output exceeding 15,000 tons of 20% ore.[/quote]

The head of the 90-foot, collared, two-compartment, inclined shaft.​

The cavernous tunnel.​

Looking out from the tunnel.​

An old ladder leading down, now blocked by a cave-in.​

I always find desert mud fascinating.​

Without any machinery or buildings to explore, the history of the New Deal Mine was the highlight of this part of our hike. After looking around - and being told in no uncertain terms that I was not to climb down the two-compartment inclined shaft - we continued to the head of the wash, where we could cross over into the canyon that housed the Owl Hole Mine.

Arriving at the Owl Hole Mine.​

The Owl Hole Mine was discovered in 1910 by Alex Yeoman, but was never as successful as the New Deal Mine just a side-canyon away. Worked until 1915, and again in 1918, it only ever produced 800 tons of ore - though that ore was quite rich at 40% manganese.

Inside one of the Owl Hole Mine shafts, a 4x4 post and several busted-apart drawer sides - with finger joint ends still intact - kept the entire mountain from falling on us.​

Even further inside, I made a wonderful discovery - a still-framed inclined shaft. I was even able to get @mrs.turbodb to check this out.​

Like the New Deal Mine before it, all that remained of the Owl Hole Mine were its workings - no buildings or machinery were abandoned at this mine for us to wonder over all these years later. And so, the workings explored to the extent that we felt comfortable, we headed back down to the Tacoma to continue up Manganese Ridge to explore the remaining two mines.

Oh, and by now we were both starving, so I suggested that we eat lunch when we got to the Black Magic Mine - some four miles up the road, and the next mine on our route. I got instant agreement from the passenger seat.

Back to the truck, headed up the wash. Death Valley in our rear view mirror.​

Stand-off with the local riff-raff.​

The first of five mylar balloons we'd toss in the Trasharoo on this trip.​

At a short dry fall, the wash gave way to a slightly-more-road-like-wash, and we could just see the structure of a Black Magic Mine ore chute peeking out above us.​

The ore chute.​

The ore chute is - by far - the largest ruin at the Black Magic Mine. It's sturdy frame is made of bolted beams and is tethered to ground anchors with large cables. A chute, a lever that still operates a working trap door, and corrugated metal lining all remain well-preserved to this day, few visitors making it to this area to accelerate the decline. Strewn around, black and red ore pellets cover the loading level above the chute, a hint that there was once a crusher nearby.

Less than a mile from the chute, we found ourselves at the end of the Black Magic Mine spur road, and while @mrs.turbodb set about assemblage of tuna sandwiches, I made a quick dash up to the top of the ridge to get a peek at our surroundings.

Looking north, into the heart of the Owlshead Mountains, the dry bed of Owl Lake in the valley.​

A little closer look at Owl Lake.​

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View to the southeast, and the colorful hills that contained the Ellie Iron Mine.

More local riff-raff. A colorfully side-blotched lizard.​

And then, I heard it - music to my ears - our family whistle. I knew that meant that I was missing out on potato chips, so I wasted no time in making my way back down the ridge to where camp kitchen had been temporarily deployed and @mrs.turbodb was setting out our rocking camp chairs to enjoy our sandwiches with a view over the mountains and down to the valley - though we were just low enough now that we couldn't see Owl Lake. I don't think I've ever eaten a sandwich so quickly.

From the Black Magic Mine, it was approximately a mile to the end of the road and the Ellie Iron Mine. That mile was anything but boring - as though the Black Magic miners had been a quarreling couple - each one throwing all the other's belongings out over the hillside, never to be retrieved again.

Anyone need a cab? Lightly used, with authentic patina.​

Another old vehicle, which we mistook for a Jeep from a distance, due to the round headlights and custom wire grille.​

On our way to the end of the road and the Ellie Iron Mine.​

At the end of the road, the Ellie Iron Mine is situated at the geographical center of the mines of Manganese Ridge, and boasts - by far - the largest remaining exposures of lustrous metallic boulders. Unlike the other mines in the area, this iron deposit was largely undisturbed until 1981 when Jebco, Inc. opened the mine and extracted 7,000 tons of hematite (iron ore) over a six-month period in order to make portland cement. Then, in 1982, the mine shut down, leaving - to this day - an estimated 20 million tons of iron ore in the ground.

Today, that'd be worth $2.5 billion. Yep, that's with a B.

End of the road, with views for miles.​

A 20-foot pillar iron of on the lower platform of the Ellie Iron Mine.​

Colorful ground.​

Another view of the end of the road.​

Having explored what there was to explore along Manganese Ridge, we retraced the five-mile trail back to Owl Hole Spring, and turned west. It was 2:45pm and we were already on our way to camp. But we weren't done for the day - not by a long shot.

Headed west, along the southern edge of the Owlshead Mountains.​

Arriving in the valley we'd call home for the night.​

As I pulled off of the road and into camp - immediately adjacent to said road - we could see the subject of our final push for the day, far in the distance. We'd arrived - as close as we could drive anyway - at our jumping off point to Lost Lake.

Shaped like a slitted iris, Lost Lake is two miles long and a half-mile wide. Located in a shallow depression, it is one of the park's most isolated dry lakebeds, requiring not only the extended drive, but also a brisk-paced, two hour walk to reach the far end. It is a special place - one rarely visited by humans - beautiful in its starkness. Like the Racetrack and Alvord Playa, it is a giant playa of hardened silt - perfectly flat to the naked eye - free of vegetation.

Trapped between long parallel ranges of the Owlshead Mountains, it is also the floor of a spectacular wind tunnel - a perfect playground for rocks to go wandering while no one is watching.

But, before we could head that direction, and even before I could get the tent deployed, we decided to have a late-afternoon snack and rest for a few minutes. Four hours of sleep in 36 hours is apparently a bit tiring.

Never seen a wild tarantula before. This little guy was small...and yet quite large.​

And he had a temper.​

After snapping about 50 photos of the tarantula, I finally got the tent set up, and we started getting ready to go. My plan - in as much as I had one - was to end up on the lake bed at sunset. I figured that would give some fantastic light to photograph the geometric patterns in the dry mud, and maybe also catch some long shadows on the wandering rocks that had skated across the surface.

Camp in the middle of nowhere. Perfection.​

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Surely the lake bed isn't actually four miles away. It looks much closer, doesn't it? (Hint: it's actually four miles.)​

In the end, we set off about 30 minutes too late on what would end up being an eight-mile roundtrip hike to Lost Lake. I'd realized our mistake about a mile into our trek across the valley - the lake seemingly further away, the longer we walked - and though we'd picked up our pace dramatically, we were still a mile or so from the dry lake bed as the sun set at 6:00pm, the skies alive with color I'd hoped to capture from the lake.

A barren patch, but not the lake bed.​

More color, Lost Lake still in the distance.​

I can't say I was all that happy at this point. But I continued on, trying my best to enjoy the show even as I thought to myself that a few fewer photos of the tarantula, or a bit faster driving on the way to camp, might have meant we'd be out on the lake by now.

And then, I arrived.

Luckily, I'd had the forethought to bring the tripod - knowing that whatever the time, light would be low at best - and I quickly set it up as I walked toward the middle of the lake. Around me, the fractal pattern created by the cracked mud extended out seemingly forever.

And then, under the most fabulous light, I found a sailing stone. With a long exposure and plenty of joy, I captured its path just as @mrs.turbodb joined me on the playa.

Where are you going little guy?​

There wasn't enough light to do much of anything else, so - having spent all of 3 minutes on the playa - we donned our head lamps and retraced the four-mile trek back to camp. Half way back, it was dark. Really dark. And that turned out to be a great thing - because there, above our heads in the sky, in all its glory, was the Milky Way.

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Nothing like a moonless night in the desert.​

We arrived back at camp around 8:30pm - a dinner of tacorittos all that stood between us and our first full night of sleep in 48 hours. Though tiring, it'd been a pretty great start to a trip that would bring all sorts of surprises - not the least of which was our anticipation of hiking right to the edge of the Naval Air Weapons Station China Lake.

 

Nice photoshop of the burros, and nice of them to cooperate. Did you have to "trace" their outline or does the app now do that for you? If so, do you have to clean up a lot? My digital photo editing skills are fairly nil, but I find it interesting.

 

Thanks! Lots of tracing on that one. I think they are trying to add some auto tracing in the future, but I'm still on a version that is a manual process. I've done a bit of it before - notably with the frog display along the Mojave Road, but I really like how the burros came out for some reason.

 

Lightroom 5.0 has pretty amazing automatic masking for subject as well as foreground and background now

 

Lol we just keep missing each other...



But dang you are better at finding old mines to photograph!



Edit: Doh, I didn't mean to post literally the exact same photo from the other thread, I was at least trying to pick a new one...

 

Hmm, I'll have to check that out. I use Lightroom 10 or 11 I think. LR Classic I guess. I wonder what the difference is, maybe I need to switch over...

I have to admit - well, I admitted it in the story already - that your photo of the frame was what drove me back to the Goldwell Open Air Museum on this trip. Certainly too bad that we missed each other though.

As for mines, let me tease you a bit with this one that I found on the trip following this trip into the Owlsheads. You will certainly want to visit this one (and its mill) once I tell you where it is.

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