AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

That's kind of my point. I can see leaving what we consider "artifacts" from the early 1900's and before and clean up everything after whatever. Because of the later, the "new artifacts" aren't as valuable unless you just want to see how poorly people treated the place.

By "aren't as valuable", there is no context to why they are there.

 

The comm station was pretty neat - and we were quite happy that it was decommissioned, since - had it not been - there would have been generators running all night! I'll also say that it was much cooler to experience in the morning light than it was in the "normal" light of mid-day, and so camping there is almost a must to catch it at the right time. Not a problem if it's not too windy, but on a windy night, it'd be torture. Not to dissuade you or anything.

As for the shell casings - you raise and interesting point, I hadn't really thought of it this way... though of course, I know exactly what you mean when it comes to old mine sites, etc. - some of which are likely the same era (WWII) as these shells. In fact, I'm so used to picking up shells at various camp sites, I didn't really give it a second thought on the hike. I'll have to noodle on it a bit more to figure out what my position is on them moving forward.

Speaking of which - if anyone is interested in them, I've still got them (and they are destined for the recycling). Happy to send them along if someone would prefer.

The biggest problem with AH is, like so many other places, that it is easily accessible. It will never be as peaceful as countless areas in the desert (or even the valley that contains it), but I think it's still nice to visit as long as you're prepared for what you will find - some amazing views, and a nice place to spend a few hours. Like any "campground," it's just not a place to "get away."

I added solar to the Tacoma a while back, and the panel that I use is a fold-out panel that happens to fit the windshield perfectly and doubles as a sun shield. I have to say, I've been *thrilled* with the entire setup, which easily powers all my electronic devices (phones, laptops, fridge, camp lights) and keeps both batteries fully charged. The panel is 100W (so in practice maxes out around 65-70W), and can go anywhere and be pointed any direction to maximize sun - on the truck, on chairs, etc. which is super convenient.

More info: Infinite Free Power – Adding Solar to the Tacoma – ADVENTURETACO

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@Madjik_Man

 

Thought I deleted my post. Found the link in your OP.

Great write up. I'm gonna eventually need the Cliffs Notes for Dummies version.

I think there might be a draw on my battery from the previous Broheim owner adding every friggen aftermarket system/gadget possible. So while I try to figure out where the draw is coming from I'd also like to add solar for peace of mind when I'm deep in the woods with no one to potentially jump me.

I only have a one battery system so it would just be to maintain it.

 

Loving the pictures Dan! Been stuck at home for a while now.

Personally I wouldn't recycle those old military shells, they are too cool to scrap imho. I'm sure somebody would want to collect them! If I came across them out there I would have probably grabbed one or two for myself... well, at least until reading @ETAV8R 's excellent point above, or perhaps listening to my wife, who would remind me that we don't need any more random trinkets cluttering the house.

OK, the actual reason for my post... I wanted to recommend a modern clamp-on hall-effect multimeter for diagnosing issues like this. Perhaps you already have one, but if not, here's an example:

$50 BSIDE ACM91 Digital Clamp Meter 1mA AC/DC Current True RMS Auto-Ranging 6000 Counts Meter Hz Temperature Capacitance Live Check V-Alert Low Impedance Voltage Tester

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07G84XDWH

Of course there are much better ones out there, but this relatively cheap one will do the job, giving you usable precision down to a few mA. There are some caveats though, you can't just clamp it on and measure DC current accurately. And forgive me if you already know this, but... Basically these work by detecting a magnetic field -- current flowing in a wire produces a magnetic field. But a lot of other things have magnetic fields too, such as pieces of iron or steel, other nearby wires carrying current, and also whatever makes a compass work. So to get an accurate current reading, you have to carefully zero it... and even then, if you move the multimeter around, or do anything else that might change the ambient magnetic field, then you'll lose that accuracy. It also tends to drift over time, but usually by only a few mA.

But it turns out you don't really need an accurate reading to diagnose most battery drain issues, you just need a precise relative reading, and these multimeters are perfect for that. Just clamp it onto your battery lead, zero it, and start pulling fuses and flipping switches to figure out what circuit has the draw. When you pull the right fuse, the current reading will drop to a negative value. Reconnect and disconnect a couple times to make sure, you can find parasitic loads as low as a few mA. (I would only worry about loads of maybe 100 mA or more on my truck.) You can even do this with multiple loads present, for example to figure out how much current your radio or headlights or whatever are drawing.

I only recently became aware of such affordable clamp-on DC current meters and they are so super useful that I now carry one in my truck all the time. I'm sure this is old news to some folks, and I wouldn't be surprised if Dan already did a writeup on this exact topic, but I'm so damned pleased with myself right now, I just had to ramble about it.

Oh, and while we're on the topic of gleeful consumer spending, consider getting yourself a lithium battery jump-starter. They can be had for less than $100 and are smaller and lighter than carrying jumper cables. I run a fridge and all sorts of gadgets on a single battery setup too, and although I've never actually drained my battery overnight, it's comforting to know I have a backup option should the engine fail to crank.

If you go back, get the tri-tip!

 

I was thinking this as well. Beware of Amazon reviews though. Many of them will come with a gift card for positive review. Mine did, and I took the bait. I listed every positive thing about it. At the time, it seemed like a bargain and I genuinely thought it carried that rating....so why not get a gift card and share my experience. ....fast forward about a year and the thing is so low that it won't even attempt to jump start a vehicle. I find that I have to top it off about every 3 months or so to keep it at or near 100% charge. I went back and updated my review accordingly.

Project Farm has done a handful of tests on them and many people have purchased the Audew as a result of his tests. If I were to do it again, I wouldn't buy anything but a NoCo. They might not get the best results of all the youtubers tests, but they seem to have the best consistently reliable reviews on places like TW (in addition to Amazon) where reviews aren't rewarded.

 

Yeah mine's probably about due for replacement, had it for over two years. Batteries are getting a lot better these days but the sad reality is that all these battery packs we're buying now will be garbage in a few years. I wish more products were designed for user battery replacement, but with the complexity of lithium technologies, I also understand why this isn't typically the case.

One thing you can do to prolong the life of most lithium batteries is to partially discharge them before storage, especially if it is going to be stored in a car outside. My understanding is that temperature swings aren't great for these things, and they degrade a lot faster if fully charged. Somewhere in the 40-60% range is supposed to be best. For jump starters, 50% charge should still leave enough to turn over an engine -- when I tested mine (brand new at the time), boosting a dead car battery only took 5 or 10% of its charge to get the engine running again. But of course you'd want to fully charge it if you're heading out alone to the back country, or at least I do. It's also good to fully discharge it and recharge it from time to time, to calibrate the charge meter, and make sure it hasn't lost too much capacity.

The problem with this plan of course is that it completely sucks. Who the hell has time to unpack and repack yet another gadget after each camping trip, charge your phone with it for half a week, babysit it while it charges back to 50%, zone out and accidentally fully charge it, charge your phone for a few more days, remember not to loose any of the wires, get it all back in the truck for daily driving... and then remember to unpack and recharge it right before the next camping trip? I did this for a while but eventually gave up. I threw it under the back seat with 80% charge last spring and haven't seen it since. Kind of hoping that will give me prolonged battery life while still retaining enough charge for a jump if needed. But who knows if it would actually turn over an engine at this point. My plan is to hope for the best for a while longer, then throw it in the ocean and buy a new one, just like any other battery-powered consumer device.

I do also carry a solar panel I can clip to the top of my topper on my truck. And if you thought fake product info was problematic for cheap battery packs, cheap solar panels are probably even worse. Mine was sold as a "150W" panel but it only puts out about 1.8A to charge my battery. This wasn't a surprise though because I knew from its dimensions and cell layout that I'd get ~2A at best. A power point tracking buck converter could get a bit more from it, maybe 2.5A, but I just direct wire it for simplicity. It's generally just enough to keep the fridge running during the day, and it could trickle-charge a dead car battery to crank the engine in an hour or so. Between the solar panel and the jump starter, I don't really worry about running down the car battery at camp.

 

Thanks for the tip on the digital clamp meter. I just picked one up so I can try to track down my parasitic draw.

For anyone considering this, Amazon is doing one of their "lightening" deals for the next ~7 hours (15% off), so my wallet was lightened a little less than it would have been otherwise.

 

Damn, I love your post. Not only I learnt a lot from yours, but also it is such a great story! Cheers!

 

Through Dunes, Arches and Canyons - Panamints 1
Part of the Highest Peak in the Park - aka Pushing into the Panamints (Nov 2021) trip.

The 20-hour drive home - that concluded our Lowest Peak in the Park - aka Into the Owlsheads trip - gave me a lot of time to think. The trip had been brilliant, with some predictable highlights, and some unexpected surprises. And I have to admit that joking around as we climbed Owl Peak - that it was the lowest in the park, perfect for the serial underachiever - had been a lot of fun.

But it also got me thinking. In the nearly four years that I've been visiting Death Valley, Owl Peak is the only summit I've ever climbed. And, I thought, what if I followed it up with the highest peak in the park? I mean, by doing the lowest and highest, it sort of follows that one has done them all, you know?

And so, now less than two weeks later, we're headed back. To hike to the top of Telescope Peak, and to explore areas in the Panamints - areas that we've driven by many times, but always enroute to somewhere else. Not this time though - this time, we're Pushing into the Panamints.

The trip got started as the previous one concluded - with a 20-hour drive. And so, a few hours after midnight we once again found ourselves setting up camp just outside of Beatty, NV.

On the drive south, a milestone. The Tacoma is finally getting broken in, now 22 years after I rolled it off the lot.​

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We woke up the next later in the same morning to blue skies and pleasant temperatures.​

Topping off the fuel tank in Beatty, we headed into the park and coasted our way down Daylight Pass. For the first time ever - and to the surprise of my passenger - we didn't stop at the Death Valley entrance sign, an indication of how recently we'd been in this exact location.

Approaching CA-190, the Mesquite Dunes sprawled across the windshield and it was time for our first ad-hoc itinerary modification. We've driven by these dunes numerous times, but like many of the places we'd visit on this trip, we've never stopped. And it was time to change that.

Mesquite Dunes, with white-roofed Stovepipe Wells and the Cottonwood Mountains in the distance.​

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A few minutes later we pulled into the nearly-empty parking area, the near-dunes sporting their namesake plant life.

We ate a quick breakfast and slathered ourselves in sunscreen before heading out onto the dunes. I have to say that neither of us really had a plan at this point, since we'd not planned this stop at all. On the one hand, it might have been cool to get to the highest dune - two miles from the parking lot, near the center of the dune field. On the other, a less obvious route could offer us virgin sand, and a (more) unique experience than is perhaps the norm.

After a quick discussion, we altered our trajectory and headed for a series of dunes off the beaten path. They were still tall - perhaps only 50-feet shorter than the highest - but we'd achieve plenty of elevation later in the trip - - no need to rush things now.

Can't beat the sight of empty dunes framed by the Grapevine Mountains.​

Walking through pristine dunes is both a blessing and a curse. Sand in the shoes, the inevitable back-sliding that comes with every attempted step up the slope of a dune, and the constant up-and-down just to make it a short distance - these things all suck. But, for me anyway, the gentle flow of the ridges, the wind-blown ripples of sand, and the opportunity to make the first tracks - those things easily make hiking in dunes worthwhile.

Mini dunes in a field of giants.​

Finding our own corner of the dunes certainly didn't save us any distance from a hiking perspective. Eventually though, I found what I considered to be a suitably tall and yet still pristine field of dunes and I asked @mrs.turbodb to make her way to the top while I got the camera (more info on my camera gear) set up on the tripod.

Apparently, I don't cover a quarter mile quickly enough. Barely.​

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Second time is a charm. Good thing there was plenty of oxygen here at 10' below sea level to catch my breath.​

With that, we were headed back - the time only 10:00am, but the temperature already climbing enough that we were ready to head out of the valley and into the Panamints to escape the worst of it. Our first destination: Mosaic Canyon.

Mosaic Canyon, where - apparently - everyone who comes to Death Valley goes to hike.​

Passing - and thoroughly dusting, unfortunately - four vehicles on our way to the trailhead, we quickly got the hike underway so we could beat the crowds that were carefully making their way up the well-graded alluvial fan. Of course, the situation in the parking lot meant that we'd still encounter our fair share of other hikers, but such is life on a popular location like this.

Heading into the canyon.​

The main formation exposed in lower Mosaic Canyon is known as Noonday Dolomite. A tan-colored dolomite, it forms the canyon's flat, tilted west wall (right side in photo above). Deposited in the late Proterozoic era - some 900 million years ago, when this area was flooded under an earlier incarnation of the Pacific Ocean - it was later buried under the Precambrian and Cambrian formations that now form the east wall (left side of canyon above). The burial process - as is common - resulted in extreme temperature and pressure on the lower layers, converting some of the dolomite to marble.

Marble outcroppings reaching for daylight, visible along the sides of the wash.​

Part of the first narrows, where exposed marble adds an amazingly smooth texture to the already highly-sensory experience.​

The sun, filtering down through the winding passages, adding layers of light and shadow to the already striated surroundings.​

In a slightly wider section of wash, a large chunk of wall had broken off, now an island that younger hikers surely enjoy.​

As with any desert wash, Mosaic Canyon is constantly undergoing change. Large floods in the 1950's and 1970's carried enormous volumes of gravel from the surrounding area, depositing the gravel into the canyon as the water slowed at its mouth. This has resulted in narrows that - while no more than a few feet wide in areas - are no longer as deep as they once were.

@mrs.turbodb demonstrates a railing and the few final steps of a bypass that was once used to climb around a dry fall that is now buried in the gravel below our feet.​

I really like seeing the workmanship of previous generations. So functional and appropriate for a place like this, as compared to the more modern - and surely safer - installations I see sometimes today.​

After the first narrows, the canyon opened up for a while before constricting once again into a second set of winding passages. These narrows - as is common in any body of water flowing over hard surfaces - also contained dry falls, most of which were fun and easy to scale, and which we thoroughly enjoyed.

Up a fanglomerate fall.​

A smoother and taller marble fall added visual interest in the warm light of the canyon.​

Eventually, the second narrows terminated at a 20-foot dry fall that is more than most will be willing to negotiate. @mrs.turbodb took a well-marked bypass trail around this fall, and then I decided that a scramble up the face - but not down, I'm not crazy - would be a fun challenge.

@mrs.turbodb, a bit out of her comfort zone on the edge of the fall. I took the route up the diagonal shadow below her.​

Not far after this fall, we found ourselves in an amphitheater with an even more imposing 25-foot fall. There was no climbing this fall - even for someone as foolhardy as me - and though a somewhat sketchy bypass trail does exist, we decided to leave Upper Mosaic Canyon for a future trip, calling this our turnaround for the time being.

I'm nearly invisible at the bottom of the large fall.​

The hike down the canyon was just as visually stimulating as the hike up. I've tried to train myself to turn around more often - especially on through-or-loop hikes - in order to not miss anything, because it's amazing how different the same landscape can look, coming from the opposite direction.

A section of fanglomerate, worn smooth by water and gravel, now the mosaic for which the canyon is named.​

The wide section of wash, aglow in color, with the Cottonwood Mountains rising in the background.​

Layers of color.​

At the first narrows, the fanglomerate that once compressed the dolomite into marble now clings to its surface as life rushes by.​

Upon reaching the parking area, we enjoyed a lunch of chips and sandwiches in our new rocking camp chairs, views of Death Valley and the Cottonwood Mountains rising up to the north. It was nice to relax for a bit, each of us still tired from a night of not-very-much-sleep and a long day of driving the day before.

But, as is our habit, we didn't dally - we still had a couple places to be before calling it a day - and soon we were back in the Tacoma and headed into the Panamints along Emigrant Springs Road.

Soon enough we found our turn-off and I popped out of the truck to air down for the remainder of the trip, as we were now going to be largely travelling on dirt roads.

Certainly a nice view while airing down.​

Let's explore Telephone Canyon, shall we?​

Not long after starting along the Telephone Canyon route - which would ultimately take us to both arches and the old Tucki mine - the body of an old vehicle hinted at those who'd come before us. Hopefully - of course - our luck would prove more resilient than theirs!

Not a place to break down.​

Starting up the canyon, the alluvial fan and Cottonwood Mountains behind us.​

Car-sized fanglomerate undercuts were fun - if a little nerve racking - to drive under. What's the worst that could happen with a bunch of loose rock overhead, amiright?​

Soon enough, we came to a fork in the canyon. Here, our road would head into the north fork, while the main canyon continued to the south - along a route that gave the canyon its name, as it was once used to run telephone lines between the (now ghost) towns of Skidoo and Rhyolite. In the early 1900's, these two towns were then the region's two largest - and frankly only - mining towns, and communication between them was important enough to complete a telephone line in 1907.

But we weren't here to see a telephone line, instead, we were here to visit a telephone-shaped arch, and the remains of an old mill.

Always a welcome sign.​

A short way up the canyon, Telephone Arch - an unlikely arch of crumbly siltstone and fanglomerate.​

An old arrastre at Telephone Spring, used to grind gold-bearing ore, resulting in a slurry of material that flowed into several settling ponds down the canyon.​

Walls delineating the settling ponds.​

We come across arrastre relatively infrequently in our travels, and to pair the viewing of one with an equally rare arch was - for me at least - exciting. Energized, we headed back to the Tacoma to continue on our way. Our final destination for the day - and our camp for the evening - was deep in the Panamints, at the site of the Tucki Mine.

Continuing up the wash.​

Pushing into the Panamints.​

I think one of my favorite things about Death Valley are the drives through landscape that many consider to be desolate. The sense of solitude, the knowledge that we are probably the only ones to have travelled this way in quite some time, the wonder about what could be around the next corner - those are the things that I really love about places like this.

For me - since my passenger was asleep at this point - that made drive through the north fork of Telephone Canyon extremely enjoyable.

A side road, which I figured I might as well check out - in order to allow my passenger a few more minutes of rest, of course - revealed a fabulous view down into Death Valley.​

Compressing the background.​

After cresting the ridge of the Panamints from the west, we dropped down a bit less than a mile onto the eastern slopes, and into the top of Tucki Canyon. Here, nestled into a hillside was the Tucki Mine. I quickly found a spot to park the Tacoma for the evening - it was only 4:00pm, but sunset was less than 30 minutes away - and hopped out to explore.

The lone standing cabin that remains at the mine site.​

The interior is still in reasonable condition, though it may not be for long. One wall, and several sections of roof have been liberated - by either the weather or visitors, I'm not sure - in the last several years, exposing the cabin to the elements.​

An entry from the log book, left by the NPS a couple years earlier. Intriguing!​

Having spent a few minutes with the log book, my curiosity was piqued about the diggings and structures I'd seen on the hillside, so up I went to check them out.

One of the larger shafts, though not very deep.​

A welcome view after working underground all day, I'm sure.​

A precarious entrance.​

The old headframe and ore chute of the largest workings.​

The longest shaft, some 307 rickety ladder rungs to the bottom, and apparently now filled with bats! Stay out, stay alive.​

Ore would be dumped from the head frame through the grizzly bars into the ore chute.​

By this time, the sun had set, and to my west, a warm pink glow was filtering up the wash from Death Valley below. I figured it to be a good idea to head down to the truck to consult with @mrs.turbodb on the timing of dinner and the plan for the remainder of the evening.

A desert sunset.​

The tailings pad made for the perfect(ly level) spot to set up for the night. The four bins were made of steel-lined cinderblock and used to leach the gold-bearing tailings, removing worthless mud to reduce processing volume at the mill.​

Ultimately, we spent a couple hours in the truck - reading, knitting, processing a few photos - before getting out to make dinner and ultimately hit the sack a little after 7:00pm It was early, but we'd had fewer than six hours of sleep in the last 48, and we were both ready for the cool, windless night that was to follow.

An active camp.​

The next day would find us pushing even further into the Panamints, exploring the most fantastic mill we've ever seen, and ultimately setting ourselves up for what would be the highlight of our trip. But that story is for another time...

 

Another awesome read! As if the desert didn't already intrigue me enough, your stories and photos really bump it up a notch. These mine photos are awesome, it must never get old exploring these run down mines and structures. I'm jealous as heck!

 

@turbodb , Excellent ! thanks for all the posting

 

Glad to hear you are both enjoying the story. We had a great time on this trip, which all culminated in the hike at the very end. Not to build up the anticipation or anything.

 

Sounds like a very good time.
Good thing you were out there planning to do telescope before the recent storms. It's probably covered in snow now.

 

There are some road closures, etc. their website might be of some help.

 

The Legend of Skidoo - Panamints 2
Part of the Highest Peak in the Park - aka Pushing into the Panamints (Nov 2021) trip.

Sleep came quickly on our tailings platform nestled into the drainage high in the Panamint Mountains. Sheltered from the wind, and with temperatures in the low-40°F range, it was one of the most pleasant nights of sleep I've had in a long time. It wasn't quite as good for @mrs.turbodb, but she certainly welcomed the nearly 11 hours of shut eye after the slog of driving we'd endured over the the previous 48 hours.

I'd set my alarm for just before sunrise, but my internal clock was having none of that silliness, and I awoke three minutes before Toto's Africa came blaring out of my phone. I pulled on my clothes and climbed out of the tent, happy to explore the bits of Tucki Canyon that I hadn't gotten to the previous evening.

Waking up in the Panamints, pretty good if you can swing it.​

I ended up wandering down the canyon a tad more than a mile to the end of the old mine road - at a gaggle of rocks and dry falls making further wheeled travel impractical. Besides trash that'd washed down the canyon over the last hundred years, there wasn't much to see, and 45 minutes later I was back at camp - to a much more cheerful (than the previous day) companion who already had breakfast-in-hand.

A hard worker, long forgotten.​

Soon, with breakfast and camp wrapped up, we were bouncing our way back up through Tucki Canyon, over the ridge, and down Telescope Canyon towards our next destination. It was a beautiful day with cool-but-comfortable temps - all you can ask for when visiting this place known for heat.

Winding our way through the wandering wash in the heart of the Panamints.​

Can't complain about the views.​

Nearing the mouth of Telephone Canyon.​

The gatekeeper. You know it's a nice place to visit when a 1st gen Tacoma is a squeeze.​

A different perspective of the squeeze.​

As I was out of the Tacoma - through the window, mind you, since I couldn't open the driver door in the squeeze - I happened to glance up a short side-canyon nearby and noticed the most amazing outcropping of copper. The color rivaled that of any we've seen, and was reminiscent a mine we found at Echo Pass earlier in the year.

Geology is a strange beast.​

From Telephone Canyon, we headed south, passing Emigrant Springs before arriving at our next two destinations. The first - Journigan's Mill - is located right on the side of what is now a paved road. As you can imagine, that means it's rather highly visited, and well picked over - not much more than a set of concrete foundations and a couple tanks at this point.

Journigan's Mill - or rather, Journigan's Water Tanks.​

Three of the seven cyanide leeching tanks.​

Journigan's Mill in its heyday.​

Despite the sparse nature of the mill itself, we did discover a few interesting vehicles nearby and spent a few minutes checking them out. It's amazing, really, how many vehicles are simply left to rot in the desert.

A grand grille.​

Note the strategic wheel turn. We've got an OG overlander here. ​

Custom leaf pack; definitely overlander.​

The second destination - the ******************* Mill - was not too far away, but its mile-or-so buffer from the road meant that approximately zero people visit it on a given day. Perfect!

Setting off on foot, the wide-open canyon made for an easy cross-country journey.​

What remains of the two-story ******************* Mill.​

A nearby water tank, which apparently wasn't for drinking.​

If there was a theme so far on this excursion, it was rusty cars, and this mine site was no exception. There, parked in front of the cinderblock-and-stucco cabin was a veritable cornucopia of vehicles. All were in extreme states of disrepair, but it was clear that some of them had once been quite fancy.

I'll be arriving to work the mine in my Pontiac.​

It's rare to find branding still on a vehicle in the desert.​

I now understand why they are called engine blocks. Seriously. I need to get out more.​

Our next stop was the cabin. Made of stucco over cinder block, it has weathered the elements better than most structures in the desert and still had recognizable insides. Rodents and time have taken their toll - I wouldn't want to sleep here - but stepping inside was like stepping back 75 years in time.

A reasonably cozy cabin in its day, the residents even enjoyed warm water from a heated tank outside!​

The chicken soup still seemed viable. The tomato however, had exploded. ​

On our way back down to the Tacoma, we noticed an old chain - perhaps for a gate - anchored to a stone.​

The wash walls in the area are becoming mini-badlands as the fanglomerate erodes.​

Having enjoyed the longest hike we'd take during the day, we climbed back in the Tacoma and soon we were on dirt again, this time headed east - toward Skidoo. This road - as with the remainder of the roads we'd explore this time - was nicely graded, to the point that being aired down was unnecessary. The lower pressures did make things more comfortable however, so we let the tires be as we once again wound our way into the Panamints.

I'd forgotten that I'd noticed a cabin and headframe when I'd planned the route, but as we reached the halfway point to the old mining town, we spotted both - on opposite sides of the road. Both the cabin and headframe seemed to be in reasonably good shape, and I found myself wondering if this would be like the handful of other cabins in the park that are lovingly maintained by a core group of people.

Even as we pulled up to the cabin, I still wondered if it'd be nice inside. It wasn't, the dirt floor and an old box spring all that it contained. We spent a few minutes replacing the three railroad ties that had fallen out of the wall and onto the ground.​

The headframe was in much better shape, sporting a view of the back side of Skidoo.​

Behind the headframe, @mrs.turbodb found an old cinder block blasting cabin, the metal door that secured the explosives, propped open, revealing a wood plank interior.​

After wandering to a few nearby adits and diggings, we were both starting to get hungry and figured that we ought to find somewhere to eat once we got to Skidoo. Of course, we had no idea what to expect when we reached Skidoo, and while there was nothing in the way of old buildings - the few houses that were not dismantled and moved (an old desert tradition) now reduced to rubble, a couple of mine shafts quickly distracted us from the task at hand.

A nicely built entrance.​

A rather large tailings pile and old ore chute, the wooden tressle used to ferry ore from the mine shaft, no longer stretching to the chute itself.​

Somehow I was able to convince @mrs.turbodb to walk into this mine shaft a way, but I wasn't convincing enough for her to stay while I took a few photos.​

I thought it was super interesting to find this chute - a quarter mile underground - where material was funneled from a higher shaft into rail cars waiting here.​

After poking around in the system of tunnels for the better part of 20 minutes, I eventually headed back toward the light.​

I found my fellow explorer napping in the truck, the sun warming the cab to just the right temperature and after filling her in on the maze I'd discovered, I asked her if she'd been down to the end of the road beyond the mine. In fact, she had, and told me that it led to the Skidoo Mill - the whole reason we'd come to Skidoo in the first place. I wasn't going to miss that, so once again, lunch had to wait.

Note: The Skidoo Mill is not stable and the National Park Service has posted signs asking visitors to stay off of the structure. There are plenty of places on the hillside to photograph this historic structure.

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The lower three levels of the Skidoo Mill - one of the largest mills we've ever seen.​

Powered by water piped from Birch Spring - high in the Panamint Range and over 20 miles away - the Skidoo Mill was the only water-powered mill to extract gold from ore in Death Valley, and was the areas second most profitable operation.

The view of Death Valley from just above the mill.​

A closer view of the two main levels of the 15-stamp mill.​

The stamping level is still in amazingly good shape!​

Large wooden flywheels turned the cams that would raise and lower each stamp a couple times per second.​

Finally - our exploration of the mill complete - we couldn't delay lunch any longer. Finding ourselves a fantastic overlook, we could set up our chairs and enjoyed sandwiches with a view.

The perfect lunch spot. If I'd lived in Skidoo, I'd have wanted my house here, overlooking the Cottonwood Mountains and the east flank of Towne Pass.​

On our way out of Skidoo, we opted for the less-direct route, winding through the hillsides, amongst dozens - or hundreds - of workings. The most intriguing of these were a series of trenches, where gold was mined from quartz veins. The veins were thin - 18 to 24 inches wide - but impressively deep and nearly 100 feet long! Mining was difficult, as the trenches were prone to collapse, requiring miners to support them with timber logged near Telescope peak, now more than 100 years ago!

A quartz vein - rich in gold - once occupied this trench.​

The compression strength of wood is amazing.​

On the well-graded roads again, I'd mapped out an all-dirt track to our next destination - Aguereberry Point, with a quick stop in Harrisburg (Aguereberry Camp) - but the road I'd hoped to take is now in a wilderness area, so we made a quick jog back out to Emigrant Canyon Road before pulling up to the parking area for Harrisburg.

While it's never a joyous moment when we come upon a closed road, it's hard to complain when we realize that it reduces traffic to historic sites, keeping them more compelling for those of us willing to walk a little.​

The "town" of Harrisburg - also known as Aguereberry Camp - named for Shorty Harris and Pete Aguereberry, who each had nearby mines.​

Aguereberry's cabin.​

A spartan kitchen, still with Aguereberry's appliances.​

We followed a winding road as it circumvented the hillside behind camp. A half-mile or so up the road, the main workings of Pete Aguereberry jutted from the rocky surface - we'd found the Eureka Mine and Cashier Mill.

Gold from the Eureka Mine sustained Pete Aguereberry for 40 years. Records show that Aguereberry extracted and estimate $175,000 worth of gold - nearly 9,000 ounces, then valued at $20 per ounce - from Providence Ridge during his lifetime.

In recent years, the Eureka Mine has become a winter home for the endangered Townsend big-eared bat, and for many years the National Park Service would close the shaft when they were using it, only allowing people to explore the mine when no bats were present. However, the shaft has now been barricaded with steel like so many others - the risk of liability just too great.

Aguereberry's ore carts would ferry ore out the mine and to a dump truck - the hopper still rusting along the side of the road - at the end of the rails. Ore would be taken to be crushed a few hundred feet away at the Cashier Mill.​

A dugout - perhaps once the blasting shack for the Eureka Mine.​

On the southern slope of Providence Ridge, just behind the Eureka Mine, the Cashier Mill - built in 1909 - stands on old concrete footings. Originally powered by gasoline engines on nearby pads, the mill crushed the ore before chemical processes - using mercury and cyanide - extracted the gold.

What remains of the aptly named Cashier Mill. Imagine needing a few bucks, and being able to make a quick withdrawal - of gold(!) - from your own personal cashier! ​

Above the mill, I originally thought this was an ore chute to feed the plant. On investigation, it was another - well-engineer, slanted shaft - into the Eureka mine.​

As we poked around the camp and mine, and as is often the case on weekdays in the airspace above Death Valley, the roar of military jets had filled the sky. Naturally, we were rooting for an entire squadron of F-35s to come tearing over the landscape, a couple hundred feet off the ground, but we had no such luck this trip. We did however see a rather large plane being escorted - we thought - by a couple fighters.

They were too high for much detail, but it was a bit out of the ordinary to see a mixed-plane formation.​

The planes completed at least four complete circles in the air overhead. It was only upon inspection of my photos (at 240mm) that we later realized what was going on. This was no escort, it was practice.

Dual refuel.​

The main reason we'd headed this direction wasn't for Harrisburg at all - rather, it was for a location, 6,433' up in the Panamints: Aguereberry Point. Offering one of the most expansive views on the western side of Death Valley, we could see more than 90 miles - from the salt flats of Badwater Basin to the Nevada's 11,900' tall Mt. Charleston in the distance.

Views upon views.​

Looking toward Furnace Creek, we could see the road winding up into Artists Pallette.​

If one ever doubted the fault activity in the region, @mrs.turbodb spotted this fantastic example of a dip-slip fault.​

Having enjoyed the view that Pete Aguereberry reportedly loved enough construct a road that would allow him to show it off to visitors, we climbed back into the truck for the six-mile descent back to Emigrant Springs Road. It wasn't yet 3:00pm, but with only 90 minutes until sunset, it was time to start making our way toward camp.

The views leaving Aguereberry Point rivaled those at the top. Badwater Basin in the distance.​

We followed Emigrant Springs to Mohogany Flats, once again winding our way up into the Panamints - this time, higher than we'd been at any other point on our journey. In fact, the plan was to camp at the highest campground in the park - Mohogany Flats. Campgrounds are a rare occurrence for us - we much prefer the solitude of a lone ridge or wide-open alluvial fan - but we weren't optimizing for the evening.

Heading up into Birch Canyon, a memorial to the pipeline that'd run water from here to Skidoo, back in the day.​

We were only the second vehicle in the campground, we sampled several sites before settling in.​

Rather, we were optimizing for what we knew would follow the next day - the primary reason for the trip. Our goal - if we could muster the stamina - was to climb our way to 11,500 feet, and the highest peak in the park.

 

Splendid report.
I've seen the refueling exercises while hiking in the Hunter Mountain area a couple years ago.
I was out at the Mahogany Flat campground earlier this month, December 2021, and the sign at the pipeline section was missing. Hopefully one of the newer style information signs will be placed there soon.
The views from Auguereberry Point are wonderful. I still have more of that area to explore. Thanks for taking us along. Looking forward to your hike experience.

 

Mahogany Flats is one of the coolest campgrounds.

 

Due to its high elevation, we've camped a few times in the summer at Mahogany Flats -- always comfy temps up there while the Valley bakes below. I remember we camped there on a Fourth of July and watched fireworks launched out of Beatty. And love the lack of humans.

 

Thanks!

I was out this direction again at the beginning of December as well - which I'm currently processing photos and writing the story for, hahaha - and I too noticed that the Skidoo Pipeline sign was missing. I thought someone had stolen it - though the pipeline segment was still there - which surprised me. I suppose that if they're replacing it, that's better...but I did like the old-style wooden sign. Probably does require more maintenance, but like the "Death Valley National Monument" sign on Lippincott Pass Rd, I like the old-schoolness of it.

If there is a new sign placed there, it'll be sort of fun to know that I saw the old one just before it was retired!

I always want to like Mohogany Flats more than I end up actually liking it. Would be a really fabulous spot if there were better views, but it always seems just a little too tree-y for me. As in, I know how amazing the views are just beyond the trees - and yet... there's not a single camp site where you can see down into the valleys on either side. As established campgrounds go though, it's certainly my favorite - the trees act as a good wind break, and at least compared to other sites, there are a reduced number of campers on any given night.

Of course, backcountry sites are almost always better .

 

Wow! Just wow! I just read the last few pages. Can’t wait to go back and start at the beginning.