AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

What a great trip report and photos as usual. Was the "moonless night" sarcasm? If not what is that nighttime fireball in the sky?

Definitely interested in the aforementioned mine.

 

wow looks like it was a great trip! I really liked the astrophotography

 

Thanks! I got a good chuckle out of your comment because - bear with me on this story a bit - initially I thought you were referring to one of the stars (or more likely a planet) that is pretty bright in the first photo and in the middle-left of the sky. Then, I noticed the big moon at the bottom of the Milky Way streak. What a dope, I thought!

So then, I was going to tell you that my caption was based more on how I recalled the overall night/evening, and I completely ignored what was in the photo, since the moon was likely just setting as I snapped the photo, and most of our 4-mile walk back to the truck was in the dark. Having typed all that here, I figured I ought to give some details on moonset, and time of photo, so I popped into Lightroom to grab the pertinent info...

In fact, the pic was taken at 6:26pm on 4 November. Moonset, according to this site was at 5:55pm. That - as you're likely realizing at this point - suggests that what we're looking at isn't the moon, and that my memory might not be so terrible as I give myself credit for (really, it's worse, but in this case, I might have gotten lucky).

So, I took a closer look at the pic. What we're seeing there is a bright star/planet shining through clouds. The clouds diffuse the light, and over the 25s exposure, we get something that looks like the moon.

Wow, I'm super wordy.

Thanks! I have to say - I felt like this first day was perhaps the most ho-hum of the trip (though others seem to have really enjoyed it - a fact that I don't mind at all). Anyway, I hope you enjoy the rest of it just as much!

 

For those not familiar, there are a number of cool astronomy apps that show you what is (or will/was) available. Star Walk and Night Sky are two pretty good ones. Stellarium is more advanced and can be used to control a telescope. PhotoPills is more geared toward photographers can be used to plan all sorts of shots but not always help with what will be in the sky although the developers have been working on it a lot lately.

Cool tools for helping star gazing. Pretty crazy what your phone can do these days.

 

I use night sky and was in the middle of Baja bfe with no cell service and it worked great for me.

 

Lowest Peak in the Park - Owlsheads #2
Part of the Lowest Peak in the Park - aka Into the Owlsheads (Nov 2021) trip.

Thankfully, the wind tunnel that can occur through the Lost Lake valley didn't materialize overnight, and we slept reasonably well, with the entire place to ourselves. I was up - as usual - just before sunrise, and the light was fantastic.

Unfortunately, I'd forgotten that I'd changed the settings on the camera to capture the Milky Way the previous evening - plus I failed to notice anything in the little viewfinder on the back as I reviewed them in the moment - and so I ended up with some very soft, very noisy shots that I've done my best to recover in processing.

This shot is why the morning camp photos are a bit meh. I guess I shouldn't complain too much. ​

Soft morning light.​

A desert view.​

As the sun peeked over the horizon, @mrs.turbodb climbed down out of the tent and got to work on breakfast. We'd gotten some blueberries for our cereal, and they turned out to be fantastic, which was a great way to start the day.

As breakfast was prepped, I was wandering around and found this amazingly large casing. What is it?​

Breakfast was eaten and camp was stowed by 8:00am, as we set off to cover the four miles to our next destination. It was a perilously daunting journey , and ten reasonably-smooth minutes later - the engine hardly warmed up - we were at the trailhead.

Owlshead Mountains Road is the only vehicle-friendly trail in the area, and we had a nice view of our afternoon hike as we made our way west.​

Parked at the trailhead to Crystal Hills.​

It's always nice to be the only vehicle at a trailhead, but this was even better - our tracks were the only ones on the road - no one else had been here in quite some time! We slathered on some sunscreen, I setup the solar panels, and for the second time in 12 hours, we set out across the desert.

We'd be the first foot traffic in some time. And I think the burros might take offense at being called horses. Just sayin'.​

As the trail descends out of the Owlshead Mountains, we get our first view across the alluvial fan of the sparkling badlands.​

So remote is this hike, that it's impossible to walk a straight line from the trailhead to Crystal Hills. Rather, in walking toward the hills, we came to the border between Death Valley National Park and the Naval Air Weapons Station China Lake (commonly called the NWC). Here, we'd have to skirt north - for nearly a mile - before turning west again, lest we subject ourselves to the hazard of unexploded ordinances.

At NWC Davis gate, the shortcut to the Crystal Hills was obvious.
Relax Internet, I'm just egging you on with this photo.​

An unexplained marker we discovered after circumventing the NWC.​

Getting close now; the hills were quite striking.​

And then, we arrived. There isn't a lot left from the Epsom salt mine at Crystal Hills, but an old - collapsed - wooden cabin, a disintegrating rock dugout, and some scattered machinery were fun to explore before setting off in search of the main attraction.

The old cabin - both the wood framing and rock foundation, collapsed.​

I found myself wondering... how does just a frame end up in the desert?​

The rock dugout was in better condition than the cabin, but had certainly seen better days.​

Colorful china to go with the equally colorful surroundings.​

The salty ground is tough on anything metal.​

Epsom salt crystals.​

The main attraction - and the reason I'd drug @mrs.turbodb all this way - was the remnants of an old monorail. Constructed in the 1920's by Thomas Wright, the 30-mile-long monorail is perhaps one of the most astounding mining structures in Death Valley's history. Interestingly, it was not built to convey precious metal, but to transport ordinary Epsom salts to the Trona Railroad!

A short section of five A-frames that supported the monorail.​

Why Wright didn't take a more traditional approach - using an existing road that already ran within a few miles of Crystal Hills - is explained by his motivations behind the entire endeavor: he was looking for fame. With no ability to go #viral on #metagram, he formed the American Magnesium Company and sold company stock to finance his glorious plan. His design, while influenced by existing lines, was unique - in addition to the center steel rail, the engine and cars would also balance on two lower, wooden rails, adding stability to the entire system. Construction took two years and $200,000.

The result was mixed. The tracks were often damaged by the harsh desert conditions and required constant maintenance. Propulsion was an issue as well - the trade-off between power and weight a constant issue for the rail structure. And then of course, there was braking - the long, steep, downhill segments adding a perilous risk to every load of ore. But when the monorail worked, it did so surprisingly well - innovative enough that it was featured in several scientific magazines. One valiant driver made the trip with a full load in just one hour, a feat that earned it the title of "fastest moving monorail in the world."

...Until 5 years later, when - in 1927 - the supply of easily accessible Epsom salts was exhausted.

A half mile below Crystal Camp, a longer segment of frames - a few still supporting a top rail - exists just inside the NWC gate.​

I must say, I very much enjoyed seeing the old monorail - its uniqueness amongst all the things we've explored over the years, a delight - before we turned around started back toward the trailhead. Along the way, we detoured through the colorful badlands behind Crystal Camp - experiencing the sparkling, colorful hills that were once worked with common garden tools to collect the salts sitting on the surface.

Nest with sunstar.​

A century after the area was mined, the desert salts are making themselves known once again.​

What in the world are these? They look like rocket bases, but must be some sort of transport container.​

Colorful badlands.​

Desert wrinkles.​

Tortoise den? Burrow? Hole?​

We arrived back at the Tacoma just after noon - 12:17pm to be exact. @mrs.turbodb had smartly prepped our sandwiches at the same time she'd made breakfast, and so with minimal effort we were seated in the shade of the truck, enjoying lunch in our rockers and looking up the road towards our next afternoon hike - the highest point in the Owlshead Mountains, Owl Peak.

Before we get there though, a few questions are worth considering:

1. Are you a serial under-achiever?
2. Does the thought of hiking Telescope Peak - Death Valley's highest summit - make you snuggle deeper into the couch?
3. Is even getting second place just a little too much effort?

If so, Owl Peak might be right up your alley - because while it's the highest peak in the Owlsheads, it's the lowest peak in the park. And for us, that was perfect. Lunch over, we climbed into the Tacoma and covered the two miles between trailheads, quickly.

The jumping off point to Owl Peak (center) was not much further up the road, near the old AT&T relay at the end of Owlshead Mountains Road.​

Keeping the cab cool and the batteries fully charged, even as the fridge works furiously in the desert heat.​

Of course, I jest slightly about Owl Peak being the lowest in the park, but this hike would be nothing like our morning stroll across an alluvial fan. While only half the distance - at 4.5 miles - we'd be going completely cross-country, gaining some 1250 vertical feet, as we reached the 4,666 foot summit. As the most remote peak in the park, its remoteness meant that care was in order.

Setting off along the ridge, a false peak standing between us and the summit.​

The views - along nearly the entire trail - were stunning. Far from everything this place commands expansive views of public and government territory that most of us never get to see - Robbers Mountain, Eagle Crags, and Fort Irwin's Granite and Tiefort mountains.

To our west we could see many miles along the road we'd hiked to Crystal Hills. Making its way across Long Valley, the darker track of the Epsom salts monorail parallels much of its route to Wingate Pass and the southern end of Panamint Valley.

The road out of Crystal Hills (the badlands to the left).​

How cool would it be to see the miles of monorail frame, now out of reach on the NWC?​

In the distance, planes, trucks, and simulated structures dotted the land - targets for the pilots that own these skies.​

To the east, the Owlshead mountains - and then a procession of parallel ranges - parade across the Mojave desert, one behind the other, all the way into Nevada.

Colorful ridges.​

Gentle slopes.​

Lost Lake hiding - for now - in the valley below.​

We stopped frequently along the route - both to catch our breath as we ascended rises in the ridge, or simply as the views presented themselves to us along the way. A breeze picked up as well, helping to keep us cool, even in the afternoon sun.

Our view east from the false summit.​

Some areas were littered with the spikes of barrel cacuts (Echinocactus polycephalus), where local burros pull them off in order to eat the juicy flesh underneath.​

Making the final push toward the summit.​

We reached the summit just before 2:00pm, our pace averaging just under 2mph. If the views on the ridge had been stunning, those from the summit were all the more special. Lost Lake - a destination that'd nearly bested us the previous evening - was visible in its entirety, as was the highest summit - Telescope Peak - to the north. We spent a good 45 minutes at the top, enjoying ourselves and building a 4-foot tall pile of rocks - twice, given our shoddy construction on the first attempt - on which to set the camera for a rare selfie.

There are not many who get to see this lost lake bed, and even fewer from this vantage point.​

The rare selfie didn't work so well the first time.​

Better? Well, except that I look pregnant.​

Our pile of rocks, redistributed after serving their purpose.​

And then, it was back down the mountain - literally - to the Tacoma waiting below. Parked at a pull-out - below the radio tower under which we planned to camp - we wouldn't see it for the first hour of our return trek; by the time we did, we were glad to be nearly done for the day!

Salvation and relaxation!​

It was quarter-to-five in the evening - about an hour before sunset - when we reached the perfectly flat surface of the carved-off platform for the old AT&T Long Lines relay station. We weren't sure exactly what it was until our return, but were happy to discover that it was out of service when we arrived, since that meant there wouldn't be any generators chugging away through the evening and night!

A quiet giant.​

We found our perfect spot - right out on the edge of the platform - and quickly deployed camp. For the first time in many nights, we prepped - and cleaned up - dinner with daylight to spare. And we enjoyed the rainbow of hues playing across the landscape and sky from our own personal front-row seats.

Living on the edge.​

Long shadows, a long way from...everything.​

The best show, with the largest screen.​

Color still on the western horizon, we climbed into bed. We'd covered 15 miles on foot over the course of the day - three times the number we'd driven, and we were both ready for some quality time reading our Kindle Paperwhites before dozing off for the night.

I think I lasted about 3 minutes.

Looks like sunrise, but on the wrong horizon.​

We didn't know it at the time, but the next day would bring decisions we've never had to make before, and I hope we never have to make again - as, with water running low, we split up and head separate directions across the desert.

 

Wow great update! I'm new to all of this. This is inspiring and is a goal I look forward to being able to start. I really like your format. Your photos, captions and content is great. I've bookmarked adventuretaco and will be using it tonight as a picture book during story time with my 5yo.

 

It'd be something to see an operating monorail across the desert. That was something I had not heard about. However, with the advent of fiber circuits, most of the long line network has been abandoned. Most of these were built beginning in the late 40's/early 50's. I'd bet the majority of that network was built much later than that and had a seemingly short life span.

 

Yay, the monorail! I was looking forward to this report.

Wish it were just a bit more accessible for us real underachievers.




Oh, and I'm not exactly sure what that little metal cylinder is, but I'm quite sure I'd enjoy operating the device that ejected it.

I think I already spammed it here or on one of the other threads we frequent, but if you haven't seen it, I recommend checking out that scrapper documentary!

 

Another great trip report Dan (as always). I’m looking forward to the next chapter!

Shortly after I joined TW, I found the DV thread and became fascinated with the park. I bought both of Digonnet’s books and enjoyed them very much. When I read about the Owlsheads area I told myself I really want to go there even though there’s really nothing there, I can’t explain it but it draws me in for some reason.

 

I forgot to add, that cartridge looks like a .50 caliber machine gun round or a 20mm cannon. Hard to tell from the angle.

 

Low on Water, We Split Up in the Desert - Owlsheads #3
Part of the Lowest Peak in the Park - aka Into the Owlsheads (Nov 2021) trip.

One of the things that surprised us when we climbed into the tent just after 6:30pm, was that there wasn't much wind up on the top of the platform. Not that we were complaining.

But it wouldn't last. By midnight, it was windy and we'd both put in our ear plugs to quiet the flapping of the tent fabric, as larger gusts rocked us in and out of sleep. Still, by sunrise - some 12 hours later - we'd both gotten enough sleep to feel reasonably well rested, and certainly more energized than we'd been after our hikes the day before!

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Rays of light betray the position of the rising ball of fire.​

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Layers of light.​

From our vantage point at the very end of Owlshead Mountains Road, the time just before the sun broke the horizon was sensational. The light transitioned from blue to purple and back again, the cloudless sky offering a smooth transition across its entire dome. I took full advantage.

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A new perspective.​

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No one else for miles.​

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I suppose there were some clouds on the horizon, far to the north.​

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Hello down there!​

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From California to Nevada.​

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The sun, it is coming.​

Eventually, it was time to get going. I put away the tent - not an easy operation in the wind - while @mrs.turbodb fixed breakfast and lunch. Soon enough, we were enjoying Peruvian blueberries with our Cheerios as the sun began to warm our bodies.

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The last of our tasty tuna, shoveled into sandwiches for easy access later.​

It was at this point - before we'd even driven to our next trailhead - that we made our first mistake of the day: we decided to store the sandwiches in the fridge, rather than take them with us on our hike. But, more on that later...

At this point, we had no idea that it was a mistake, and we drove into the sun, retracing the entirety of the road system that we'd navigated over the two previous days.

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Driving into the sun is never ideal, but it does make for some cool silhouettes.​

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As we passed Lost Lake, a family of easily-spooked burros kept a watchful eye.​

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A few minutes later we passed Owl Lake.​

Near the end of our (wheeled) journey - and as we were reaching Owl Hole Springs Road - we found ourselves with a view into the Naval Air Weapons Station China Lake (NWC) that @mrs.turbodb had missed on our way in - the lack of sleep catching up to her a couple days earlier as we bumped along in the opposite direction. This morning, however, she was wide awake, and we took a few minutes to check out a platoon of vehicles scattered across a dry lake bed in the distance.

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Targets.​

I took the opportunity to suggest that one of us - ideally, me - could run out there to get a closer look. It looked to be only about eight miles or so, one way. Only 97% sure I was joking, I was told in no uncertain terms that I would not be dashing across miles of possibly unexploded ordinances. I smartly relented with only a bit of a fight.

Ten minutes later, we pulled over again. This time, we were about halfway down the smoothly graded Owl Hole Springs Road, at the spot I'd determined to be the best place to begin our hike to Military Canyon.

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Our route (pink) vs. the original route (green).​

Military Canyon was a hike I'd discovered on Steve Hall's web site before he'd taken it down. It intrigued me for a few reasons: first, I'd very much enjoyed his hike to the Smoke Tree Slot Canyons a few years earlier. Second, it was in the Owlshead Mountains - so convenient. Lastly - and for me, most importantly - Steve had named it Military Canyon because there was an old fuel tank dropped from a jet, and an old weather dart located along the route, and I love seeing stuff like that!

Steve, of course, had taken the green route - but at this point, we still had no idea of the mistake we were about to make.

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On our way across the broad alluvial fan of the Owlshead mountains.​

It's here that I should mention that we'd decided to leave our lunch at the Tacoma. We had no real desire to eat warm tuna sandwiches, and the hike wasn't all that much longer - maybe only a mile or two - than the hike we'd done to Crystal Hills the previous morning. As such, we figured that it might be 1:00 or 2:00pm when we returned - no big deal.

But almost immediately we realized that the drawback of hiking across the alluvial fan - saving ourselves a mile in distance, and the elevation gain walking up the fan from Harry Wade Road - could quite easily be offset by the up-and-down over each rutted wash between us and the mouth of the canyon.

We soldiered on, after a brief discussion about how - even if we'd started at Harry Wade Road - we would have to choose all the right forks in the maze of washes in order to end up at the correct canyon.

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Doing our part.​

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Also found this blowing across the desert. A fellow adventurer, I'm sure Guy Starbuck is happy I collected it.​

About two miles into the hike, I just happened to glace east (up the wash we were traversing), and noticed something white at the base of the mountains. Thinking it must be a sign of some sort - but at a loss for what it would be doing in that location - I pulled out the camera and snapped a quick photo.

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What the heck is that? Looks like some sort of rocket? Is it an undetonated missile?​

If it was an undetonated missile, you can bet your net worth that I was going to see it, so I pointed it out to my hiking companion and after a quick conversation - the detour would add a mile to our already-long hike - we headed that way.

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Not a missile. Made of cardboard and covered in foil, our guess is that it is some sort of weather instrument that fell out of the sky and embedded itself in the ground. Still pretty cool.​

At this point, we were feeling - or at least, I was feeling - quite justified for taking this route. "We'd never have seen that if we'd come the other way," I offered up to @mrs.turbodb, who was clearly not enjoying the up-and-down of the 20+-foot deep wash walls.

Plodding on, every mile or so, we'd find an extremely large shell casing, and add it to our collection of desert trash. I quite enjoy cleaning up the desert - it seems like a little thing I can do to give back a bit for all the wonders it has shared.

And then - around noon - we reached the mouth of the canyon, and one of the main things we'd come to see: the fuel tank dropped from a jet, decades before.

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My first thought on cresting the hill was that the tank looked like a fish out of water.​

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Another angle.​

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Severed - or jettisoned - control lines.​

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Well there's the problem, it's missing the gas cap.​

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@mrs.turbodb stands next to the tank for a size reference.​

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Now I'm just playing with angles.​

Having spent more than two hours making it the 3.5 miles to this point, it was time to take stock of our water and food situation. As I've mentioned, our lunches - by design - were back at the trailhead. I hadn't had any water to drink yet - so still had 40, luke warm ounces, in my Camelbak bottles. @mrs.turbdob was a little more than halfway through her 1.5 liters. I'd grabbed a couple of granola bars before we left the truck, and so @mrs.turbodb ate one, while I held off for the time being.

It certainly wasn't the ideal situation, but neither was it dangerous - yet.

A short discussion ensued, and I offered that I could do the canyon loop, while @mrs.turbodb took a bit of a break, but in the end, she decided that having come this far, it would be a shame to miss the canyon itself. With that, we set off up the southern wash.

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Colorful walls were everywhere as we entered the Owlsheads for the final time this trip.​

Where the slog to the canyon had been... a slog, the wash winding a mile into the mountains was nothing short of fun. Changing scenery, dry falls to climb, and bits of shade here and there from the canyon walls made it a much more enjoyable experience.

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Up canyon.​

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Down canyon.​

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Splashes of color.​

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Resident scurrier.​

By the time we'd wound our way up one canyon, crossed over a ridge, and exited the Owlsheads from a completely different canyon a little further north, it was two-and-a-half hours later, and it was clear that the lunch we'd planned to eat was going to be significantly more like dinner.

And, it was at the mouth of the second canyon that we had a discussion I'd never envisioned having while out on a hike in the middle of the desert: I mentioned the possibility of @mrs.turbodb continuing down the wash - following the original route - to Harry Wade Road, while I headed back across the alluvial fan to the Tacoma, before driving to pick her up.

Neither of us liked this solution - splitting up with relatively little food and water generally being a bad idea - but we both knew it was probably the right call given our location, energy levels, and the amount of water we had left.

With that, I poured some of my water into her Camelbak and handed the GPS to @mrs.turbodb - making sure she knew to follow the route east rather than take some random path - before I headed south toward Owl Hole Springs Road. Knowing that her route would be quicker, I also told her I'd start up the wash along the trail if she wasn't on the road when I got there.

Low on water, we'd split up in the desert.

While the hike out to Military Canyon hadn't been much of a slog for me - the scenery constantly changing and the thrill of the adventure fresh in my blood, the two hours back was most definitely a trudge.

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By the time I got back to the Tacoma, I had quite the collection of 50-caliber and larger shells.​

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Finally seeing the truck in the distance was a sight for sore eyes (and tired legs).​

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It was here that I drank the last of my water.​

Back at the truck, I didn't waste any time racing down the last few miles of Owl Hole Springs Road and the then north up Harry Wade Road to the spot I expected to find my companion. It was 4:20pm - we'd been gone for nearly seven hours - twice as long as we'd expected.

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Exiting the Owlsheads solo.​

Anticipation, and then relief, are the feelings I had as I neared the trailhead and saw @mrs.turbodb get up from the shade of a large creosote along the side of the road. Though her path was longer, she confirmed that it was much easier and most definitely the right call for her to head this way. She'd arrived about twenty minutes before I had, consuming the last of her water once she reached the road.

Happy to be reunited, we set up shop in a nearby wash and availed ourselves of the food we'd so foolishly left behind. Guzzling and gobbling, I don't think we've eaten faster, nor has tuna ever tasted so good. And then, with 45 minutes of sunlight left, we pointed the truck north and started our 21-hour drive (over three days) home.

A mere 15 minutes later, as we transitioned from Harry Wade Road to Badwater Road, we made our first stop. It was a planned stop - this is where we needed to air up and add fuel to the tank - but even if neither of those things were necessary, there was no way we would have kept driving.

For the first time ever, we'd run into a wagon train.​

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Wait, what?​

Turns out that this group of enthusiasts have been wagon-training-it up the length of Death Valley - along Harry Wade and then West Side Road - for the last 60 years! A two-week journey, they have three layover days, and the rest are spent following in the footsteps of the settlers, literally.

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Beautiful black stallions.​

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Braided manes.​

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Wagons, with a few upgrades for comfort.​

We chatted with the group for twenty minutes or so before bidding them safe travels and returning to our tasks of prepping for pavement. We had three hours of driving to the spot I hoped to camp for the night, and the moon was already setting as we rolled onto the highway.

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We couldn't have asked for a better sky as we parted ways with Death Valley.​

It'd been an eventful day - one we won't soon forget. One that left us physically and mentally exhausted, and meant that we would fall asleep quickly in one of the treasures of the Owens Valley, when we arrived three hours later.

 

It's always good to hear about people with your experience and sensibilities making mistakes, (and being okay of course).
I know I for one, need to be reminded how important it is to not do something really dumb. Your mistake wasn't bad. I've definitely done worse.

 

Owens Valley Before Lunch - Owlsheads #4
Part of the Lowest Peak in the Park - aka Into the Owlsheads (Nov 2021) trip.

We arrived at Alabama Hills and started looking for somewhere to call home at 8:30pm on a Saturday night - surely not an ideal time to show up at such a popular location. Tired from our hike to - and through - Military Canyon earlier in the day, the first several spots we checked were occupied, but eventually we found a secluded-enough spot nestled in the rocks and leveled the truck. Fifteen minutes later, we were brushing our teeth and climbing into bed - each of us ready for some well-deserved shut-eye.

The catch - there's always a catch - was that it was fall-back for Daylight Savings, which meant that sunrise would be at 6:00am rather than the 7:00am that it'd been for the majority of the trip. I begrudgingly set my alarm, and then I was out.

Morning in the Alabama Hills is always one of my favorite times. The light - spilling across the sky, but not yet shining directly on the rocky outcroppings - gives the moonscape an ethereal feeling. And then, the Sierras rise majestically in the background.

It's easy to understand why Alabama Hills is so crowded, with views like this.​

Not much snow on the Sierras. We need more precipitation!​

Nestled into a private - or, relatively private - nook.​

Knowing that we had quite a bit to accomplish before leaving the Owens Valley and heading north to Washington - a trip that would take us two full days of driving - I whistled to @mrs.turbodb, who joined me just as the sun broke the horizon, bathing the Sierras in a pink glow.

A few seconds before the sun hit the mountains.​

A colorful morning.​

The few degrees of sun movement at the horizon always seem to progress more quickly than mid-day, and before long, the entire area was bathed in sunlight. By that time, we were eating the last of our blueberries and packing away the tent for the final time. It'd been a great trip from a tent perspective, no rain or dew meaning that we never had to worry about putting it away wet.

And then, at 6:59am, we pulled out of camp - our earliest morning, by far, of the trip. I figured we could spend an hour or so wandering around some of the more popular sights at Alabama Hills, and then make our way north - making a few stops so @mrs.turbodb could see some of Owens Valley - before hitting Copper Top BBQ in Bishop for lunch.

One of my favorite spots was just a few hundred feet away, so we stopped at Sharks Fin just a couple minutes after leaving camp.​

Some day we'll need to climb this one.​

One thing I'd never noticed the first time I saw Sharks Fin was that a large, relatively flat slap of granite in front of the rock has four (round) morteros and a metate (the broader, smoother surface) decorating its surface. It's understandable, really, that centuries of civilizations would find this the perfect place to call home.

Kitchen with a view.​

From Sharks Fin, we headed north for a mile or so, dust from the road hanging in the calm morning air - to the Arch Loop trail. This is a half-mile loop passing by several arches, the first of which is heart-shaped, and the last of which is the Mobius Arch. It's an easy stroll, with no real elevation gain, and we were lucky enough to have it to ourselves - our early exit from camp meaning that most were just waking up.

Winding through granite outcroppings.​

Heart arch.​

Mobius Arch, always framing the Sierras to the west.​

Better than any TV, for sure.​

Many different ways to take in the same arch.​

Shadow fun.​

Soon enough, we ended up back at the parking area where we'd started, the sun really starting to turn the landscape into day at this point.

The contrast between the orange granite of Alabama Hills, and the white granite of the Sierras, adds to the drama.​

The Alabama Hills were named for the CSS Alabama, a Confederate warship deployed during the American Civil War. When news of the ship's exploits reached prospectors in California sympathetic to the Confederates, they named many mining claims after the ship, and the name came to be applied to the entire range. More recently the area has become very popular with the overlanding, RV, and social media communities, prompting the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) to begin work on the Alabama Hills Management Plan. This is a great thing in my opinion - if people can't be respectful, stay on trails, pack it out, and not overrun a place, it's only right to try to protect it. I've read through the plan and it seems more than reasonable, with camping limited by permits and several of the "random roads across the landscape," closed.

A place worth protecting.​

Our last stop was at one of the northern-most arches in the area, and one that I'd camped near the first time I'd visited, some 10 months earlier: Boot Arch. It was fun to hear my companion exclaim that, "It really is a boot!" as we covered the few hundred feet from our parking spot to the proper viewpoint.

A boot-shaped arch in a boot-shaped rock.​

And with that, we hopped onto US-395. Our next stop was only a few miles away, and it was one where I knew we could spend all day if we let ourselves: Manzanar - a Japanese Internment Camp from WWII.

A dramatic freeway exit to a dramatic destination.​

I think the most respectful way to enter the camp is through the historical entrance, following in the footsteps of those who'd had no choice in the matter.​

Double checkpoint.​

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.

Today - unlike first time I'd visited - several of the remaining buildings were open, giving us the opportunity to see - and learn - a bit more about what the people who'd been held here experienced.

Our first stop was at the fire station. Construction crews built the fire station to support fire prevention and protection operations in Manzanar. They completed the central part of the structure in June 1942, and added the wings - serving as fireman dormitories, office space, and truck garages - in October 1942. Some Japanese Americans put personal touches to their work, inscribing dates, names, and phrases in the concrete foundation.

The original fire station was torn down, but volunteers rebuilt this replica.​

Situated at the east edge of the camp, the fire station's location was unfavorable. Fire chiefs and inspectors worried about increased response time to fires. They also complained about the slow fire alarm system, which delayed response time up to ten minutes. In 1944, the department requested the purchase of a fire siren, but it "was denied by Washington without further justification."

Despite these setbacks, Japanese American firemen successfully battled 91 fires, averting catastrophe for those incarcerated in Manzanar.

The original truck used at Manzanar.​

For the first few months, Manzanar's fire personnel relied on hand tools and a borrowed truck. On July 11, 1942, the Army Corps of Engineers delivered a new Ford engine with a pump capacity of 500 gallons per minute.

After the war, the Bishop Fire Department purchased the Ford and used it for decades. They expanded the bed and added the ladder in the 1950s. The National Park Service acquired it in the 1990s. A second truck used by Lone Pine Fire Department before being transferred to the Keeler Volunteer Fire Department, where it was used for years. They donated it to Manzanar in 2017.

From the fire station, we headed to investigate the buildings that had been closed due to Covid-19 on my prior visit. Replicas of buildings that once made up a part of "Block 14," they allowed visitors a bit of insight into the living conditions of the residents.

Outside, a dirt court allowed for some recreation - though playing basketball in the desert heat must have been quite the experience.​

Living quarters. While rather spacious in this photo, eight people would have been packed into a single room when the camp was occupied.​

Wooden furniture was largely built on-site.​

Each block had a sewing room.​

I thought this cook top, oven, toaster was quite ingenious!​

Tiny slippers.​

Each of the 36 blocks at Manzanar consisted of 14 barracks as well as a laundry, latrine, and mess hall, so after visiting the barracks, we made a quick pass through the remaining buildings.

The women's latrine. Privacy - even here - was non-existent.​

The mess hall, where most residents took their meals.​

As a woodworker, I enjoyed seeing some of the period, cultural, joinery on the boxes used to store goods. Works of art, really.​

An original range.​

After touring the buildings, the remainder of the camp is accessible via a self-guided auto tour, where you can stop anywhere along the way to get out and read about various elements of the camp. Our first stop was at an area known as the orchards, a remnant from a time when hundreds of apple, pear, and peach orchards occupied the Manzanar landscape. Romeo Wilder planted these pear trees around 1918, which thrived during years of expert care and have since grown resilient through long decades of neglect. Manzanar's Bartlett and Winter Nellis pears, as well as its prize-winning Winesap and Spitzenburg apples, brought profits to a few, but others' dreams of wealth eventually withered like the trees themselves as water became more valuable than the fruit they produced.

The Orchards.​

Our 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.

The southeast corner of Pleasure Park.​

A bridge, built of local cottonwood, in the Japanese style.​

Our 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.

Kanji characters inscribed by Buddhist Reverend Shinjo Nagatomi translate to "soul consoling tower."​

And with that, we'd spent nearly two hours solemnly absorbing what we could of this unfortunate chapter of American-Japanese history. 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.

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

These words are - in my opinion - as relevant now as they've ever been. Our country - our world - must look for ways to reduce conflict and find compromise. To work together and build each other up, rather than picking sides and fighting at every turn. We are all humans, and we need each other.

A reminder - as we left the compound - that leaving wasn't always an option.​

Having covered only a few miles since sunrise, our final two stops were half-an-hour north on US-396, in Big Pine. The first was an installation that I've wanted to check out for quite a while - the Owens Valley Radio Observatory.

One of the largest university-operated radio observatories in the world, it was established in 1956 and is owned and operated by Caltech. Additionally, it contains one of the ten - enormous - dish-antenna radiotelescope systems of the Very Long Baseline Array that is operated out of New Mexico and that I'd hoped to visit when we'd run the New Mexico BDR earlier in the year. Needless to say, when we pulled up, I was quite excited.

Note: I've included more information about the radios in the comments below, courtesy of Mike @mk5 and Ken @DVexile.

Dishes everywhere.​

Look at the size of the Very Long Baseline Array dish! Every other dish was dwarfed in comparison.​

A small bit of the array.​

Nearby, a dish that looked to be a smaller version of the VLBA stood off by itself, and had a road leading right to its base.​

OMG, it started moving! And OMG, I filmed it crooked! ​

Watching the dish rotate 180 degrees was certainly a highlight of the visit, and with that, we decided that it was time to go eat lunch. We'd heard lots of good things about Copper Top BBQ, and we'd noticed that there was one in Big Pine - in addition to the one we had previously planned to visit in Bishop. So, we backtracked into town and soon, we were enjoying a meat-laden meal.

Special Tacoma-only parking.​

Mmmmm, pork.​

Ultimately - and perhaps it was because of what we ordered - we weren't all that impressed. It was tasty for sure, but the full rack of pork ribs seemed a little too smoky, and the pulled pork sandwich could have used a nice dollop of coleslaw to contrast with the sweet meat.

That said, we didn't throw anything away.

And with that, all that was left between us and the end of the trip was an 18-hour drive north. We'd do 8 hours into the evening, and another 10 the next day. Another successful trip in the books!

And we can't wait to get back!

 

When I travel to Manzanar, I am always left with a sense of reverence and amazement. I spoke to a gentleman who was held there and he simply said "we were given lemons and made lemonade". His wife was a lot more animated and angry for what happened to her husband.
I've heard the cemetery was built outside the perimeter of the camp so that those buried would be buried as free souls rather than as captives. when the camp was abandoned, many of those buried were relocated. Some remain.

Tokens of paper cranes and coins can be found at the base of the monument. The cranes are a symbol of healing.



Beautiful story and I whole heartedly agree with you on Alabama Hills.

 

OK, well, after much prodding, I've submitted two photos to the 2022 Calendar. I'd appreciate any votes (links below). Or, if you find something you like better over there, vote for those.

Why I submitted the two pics I did:

• Pic 1: This one is a nice photo, and I like the idea of featuring more than one 1st gen since there are limited slots. Was taken on the Whipsaw Trail in Canada.
• Pic 2: This one is just one of my more favorite photos from the year and it seems like one that folks wouldn't get tired of looking at for a month. I live so close to Mt. Rainier, but always forget how majestic it really is. I also really enjoyed this entire afternoon that I got to sit in full view of the mountain, rather than my usual trapsing around.

Like this photo (click the 'like' button on the page that loads)
(or view the full size version in the thread and like it there)


Like this photo (click the 'like' button on the page that loads)
(or view the full size version in the thread and like it there)
​

 

Wonderful reports as always. Once again I have renewed goals of future trips due to you, DVexile, and others. Such neat views from the old comm station. I need to get there before it is covered in graffiti or removed altogether.

Thank you of course for picking up trash in the desert but I'll plead with you to leave those projectile/bullet casings in the desert. Yes they are there but each person who comes across them gets a sense of what took place over the skies there many years ago. They no longer practice with live ordinance over DVNP so the remnants of times long passed are a nice surprise to find once in a while. Even though they are potentially "trash" they do not distract from the environment visually since they have a patina of sorts and most of the time it takes substantial effort to find them in the first place.

I have similar feelings about Alabama Hills but need to read the finalized plan. Pretty sure I submitted a comment when the proposal sought public comment. Even before there were crowds of pandemic and social media spawned hordes encroaching on the AH area there have been closed areas. One of which, looking at the map, could still be a very nice camp site yet the road to it has been "closed" for the entire time I've known about it. But the hordes compel me, as does it you and others here, to find other areas of solitude which should remain protected by pursed lips.

 

I’ve been helping with volunteer trail planning and mapping at a local BLM National Monument which is not yet open to the public. The BLM ranger assigned to work with us pointed out that the oldest pop-top beer cans are now old enough to be considered archaelogical artifacts, not litter. And he told us we should not pick them up and pack them out when we find them. Snapple bottles or Modelo cans: trash.

 

I'm a little confused. But whateves.

 

Find an old aluminum beer can with a pop-top but crimped at both ends, it’s probably from around 1970, so leave it where you found it. Even though it’s not an old rusty steel can that might date back 100 years, it’s still historically significant. Find a glass bottle with a large cap, like iced tea or fruit juice, or a modern-looking aluminum can, pack it out: it’s trash. Of course, if you leave it for 20 years and no one else finds it, it’s no longer trash, so yeah, I guess it doesn’t totally make sense. That burned out 1997-or-newer F150 on Saline Valley Rd, that looks like junk today, will look like a Model A to future generations.