AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

It's funny, I've been to Boxcar in the past, and I thought it was a rail car at the time... but that's because I didn't really question the name. Going back this time, I was curious as to whether it really was, and so I looked more closely. Boxcar cabin is significantly - like several feet - wider than a rail car. Plus, if you look at its construction, it's built on a foundation, with floor joists, etc. - where even rail cars of the time were built wood-on-metal frames in order to endure the rigors of travel.

Another hint - though this would be more easily modified over time - is the fact that there aren't doors on both ends of the cabin - every living car has doors on both ends.

Those things make me think that it is - essentially - an old single-wide. Which of course resembles a box car, hence the name. I'd love to learn the entire history of course; and perhaps see it as the rail car, if it once was...

Here is the history as described in the cabin itself. No one really knows about the cabin itself, or when it showed up.

 

I don't recall when railroad cars were standardized. I think around the time they went from wood to metal They came 40 to 60 feet ish but they're all 9'6" inside width. The maximum inside height seems to be 13'. I would guess the cabin gets its name from the basic shape of a boxcar. Nothing else about its looks give it away as once a real boxcar. I mean no wide side sliding doors to speak of, no signs that it was modified. I'm going with it looks kinda like a box car but doesn't fit the dimensions of a rail car of the time.

 

Beginning of the End - Back for More #3
Part of the Back for More (Dec 2021) trip.

I think the night we spent in the Panamints was the most peaceful of the trip. Sheltered from the wind, our high elevation resulted in cool temps - always better for sleeping in my book... to an extent, anyway.

Having arrived at dusk the night before, none of us had a chance to look around our camp site before it was too dark to really see anything. So, though it was cloudy, I was up and looking around relatively early the next morning.

Mike found a spot on what appeared to be an old garage pad. Certainly was level!​

As with the previous day, it was just before 9:00am when we rolled out of camp. Headed down ******** Canyon, a family of burros greeted - and then trotted along beside - us as we descended to the main road.

Today's residents, sporting their long winter coats.​

A little further along, this S-shaped rock formation caught my eye. At first, I didn't even notice the cavern below...​

Further investigation revealed a shallow mine shaft underneath. Apparently, years ago, someone else found this same spot intriguing!​

From ******** Canyon Road, we headed south, Hugging the base of the Panamint Mountains along the east side of Panamint Valley, we covered the 15 miles to Ballarat in a little over half an hour. Once again, dust was our enemy, forcing everyone but me to slow down and hang back. Even so, there were several sections where I heard Mike on the radio letting us know that visibility was near zero as he felt his way along the road.

The Ballarat Jail. Built in 1898, it's always been first come, first served . Today however, a weary traveler can call it home for an evening, assuming no one else has claimed it.​

An old ore cart - one of several period pieces scattered around Ballarat.​

Ready. To. Go. (Looks like a fun drive!)​

I was very much looking forward to the next portion of the trip. As the organizer - and person most familiar with Death Valley - nearly everything on our route was somewhere I'd already been on a previous trip - after-all, I didn't want to bore my good buddies to death with something mediocre. However, the route up Pleasant Canyon to Rogers Pass - and then back down to Panamint Valley via Middle and Lower Parks - was new to all of us, and that got me excited.

Excited, and a bit worried, since I wasn't really sure how long this 30-mile loop would take, and it was already 10:00am!

An unknown route into the Panamints.​

Up we go.​

Entering Pleasant Canyon.​

Initially, the route up the canyon was alternately choked by brush and bordered by rocky canyon walls. Unusual for the desert landscape we were exploring, Pleasant Canyon has persistent springs at several spots up the canyon. These help to keep water flowing all year round and were certainly advantageous to the mines that once worked the nearby hillsides - remnants of which we stopped to peruse along the side of the road.

Tunnel vision heading up Pleasant Canyon.​

This old grader - its bright paint still gleaming under cloudy skies - had been out of service for quite some time. Interestingly, Zane pointed out that it could be run on both gasoline - easier to start in cold conditions, and diesel - a more cost-efficient fuel - using the same engine!​

An old dugout, with two, quarter-inch-thick steel doors - one that opened out, and another that opened in - was likely used to store explosives for a nearby mine.​

After making our way about halfway up the canyon - passing several spur roads that I'll have to go back and investigate in the future, as it seems I could explore for nearly a week in this area (!) - we found ourselves at a large mining site - the old Claire Camp gold mine.

We weren't, however, alone. Two guys in an ATV - and one more in a full-sized pickup - were at the site already, and I thought they were actively working the ground for gold. Hopping out of my truck, I approached them cautiously and asked if they were mining the area, and whether they would mind if we looked around. Turns out, they were there as contractors for the BLM, and rather than mining, they'd been hired to clean up the site as part of an ongoing restoration effort for the canyon. As such, they had no problem at all with us poking around, so we maneuvered our trucks to the side of the road and gave ourselves the nickel tour.

A set of three old stamps from the nearby mill.​

In 1896, Henry Ratcliff began working his Ratcliff mine in the hills above Pleasant Canyon and pulled approximately half a million dollars' worth of gold from the ground over a 5-year period. To achieve this, nearly 200 miners worked the mine and a town - complete with a Blacksmith, and assaying office -spring up in the narrow canyon. Ultimately, this was too large a population for such a small area, and the town was abandoned - along with Ballarat - in 1901 due to large gold strikes in Tonopah, Nevada. Subsequently, W.D. Claire - hence the name "Claire Camp" - bought the Ratcliff mine in 1930 and worked the tailings successfully bringing out another $60,000 in gold ore.

Monte looking over the now-stampless-mill sprawling up the hillside.​

Old boilers, once stoked 24-hours each day in order to produce the steam that would drive the mill.​

Loading platforms, used to dump gold-rich material into waiting trucks for transport out of the canyon.​

The camp was a strange mish-mash of old and sort-of-new. The mill, boilers, and much of the mine equipment clearly dated back to the original working of the site, but there were also newer RV trailers and a semi-refurbished cabin that must have been less than 50 years old. Our hope was that these newer items were what the BLM-hired cleaners were here to remove, and that the historic bits of the mine would remain for future visitors to admire.

An old cabin with new (vinyl) windows.​

Furniture, tucked away in a back room, awaiting the return of its owner.​

A reminder that the hard work of a mine wasn't limited to adult men. Entire families lived here, in these harsh conditions.​

After wandering around Claire Camp for half an hour, it was time to move on. We'd only scratched the surface - I knew that I could spend an entire day poking around these parts, exploring adits and admiring old structures - but the rest would have to wait for another time... we had lots more ground to cover before the day was done!

So, naturally, less than a mile up the road - we stopped again.

This time, it was a solitary cabin that caught my eye. Pulling into the parking area, it was clear that this one was still actively maintained, and we'd soon find that it was the cabin for the still-registered World Beater Mine. Yet another area to come explore in more detail on a future trip.

The World Beater Mine cabin, perched high in Pleasant Canyon and surrounded by claim markers.​

No room in the log book, but there was certainly an interesting story on the last page!​

It's not often I come across an active claim.​

The inside of the cabin was well maintained and clean. Power was provided by a solar panel on the roof, and heat from an old barrel stove in the center of the room.​

Maddog was a busy guy, as I've seen similar stoves bearing his mark at other cabins in the area.​

It was noon by the time we finally pulled out of the World Beater Mine, and I at this point I knew we had a time problem. The entirety of the road up Pleasant Canyon was 11.9 miles, but in two hours we still hadn't made it to the apex at Rogers Pass. With another 13.6 miles to go down Middle and Lower Parks, lunch to be eaten, and Goler Wash to be traversed before reaching camp - well, you can see where I'm going. We needed to get moving.

We didn't stop again until we reached Rogers Pass, and even then, we only stopped long enough to read the marker before moving on.​

It was chilly - and windy - up along the ridge. Though it was already after lunch time, we pushed onward in search of somewhere a little more sheltered to break out our camp chairs and sandwiches, to satisfy our hungry bellies. As we did, we were treated to some fantastic views of Butte Valley from a perspective that I've never seen before. For me, it was fun to look down on where we planned to camp for the evening - though it turns out that even I had no idea what we would go through to get there!

Butte Valley from the ridge to the northwest. Just above the Tacoma - and partly obscured by the ridgeline - the spectacular Striped Butte.​

Now headed back down, we passed through Middle Park - a large, "mountain meadow" if such a thing can exist in the desert - nestled high in the Panamints and dusty as could be. High speeds and good spacing meant we didn't spend long there before crossing into Lower Park and finding a place to pull out our chairs in the shelter of some pinyon pine.

Middle Park. A mountain meadow / desert playa; home to burros and dust.​

Monte had fallen behind - the views down to Butte Valley from the ridge delaying his race across the valley. Nothing a little skinny pedal couldn't fix, his trail of dust growing by the foot.​

In Lower Park - as was the case on the entirety of this route - there was more to explore than we had time for on this blustery day. A reason to return.​

Near the yellow generator, a large mine shaft reached into the hillside; one of several in near what used to be a relatively large camp.​

It was 1:00pm when we finally stopped for lunch, with a view of Lower Park stretching out before us. We ate quickly - or more quickly than normal - as I related the remainder of the trail we had in front of us to the rest of the guys. I suspected that we'd mostly speed back down the mountains to Panamint Valley. A little further south, we'd head back into the same range - stopping as we could at a few mine sites and the Barker Ranch - on our way to camp in Butte Valley. We'd arrive, hopefully, just before dark.

None of us realized at the time, but the next three hours would most definitely not go as planned; they would in fact spell the beginning of the end.

"Looks like it's raining down there in Panamint Valley," I said as we continued entered the canyon that would soon deliver us into the wet weather.​

At the top of the canyon is this particularly beautiful growth of … I don’t know, some sort of plant. But it looked like it belonged in a fairy tale, lining the road to the witch’s house. -Mike @mk5​

We all thoroughly enjoyed this little tunnel.​

A big part of the reason we'd run this trail was because I'd read through one of Mike's trip reports where he mentioned a section of trail that was once a sketchy wooden bridge but had recently been replaced by the BLM. Even if it wasn't nearly as dangerous as it once was, seeing this section of road seemed like it was a worthwhile activity, and as we turned a corner to a rocky, shelfy area, I wondered if we'd come upon the spot.

I was first through, the trail seemingly more interesting from the driver seat than it was in the photo.​

Zane breezed right through, though the Land Cruiser always looks a bit top heavy to me with the tent perched on top.​

Mike took a slightly different line, one that was a bit more photogenic.​

It turns out that this wasn't the section that I was thinking of, and so we continued down to the only part of the trail where I hopped out of the truck in order to walk the trail before driving. A spot where the road narrowed, and a shelf on the up-hill side suggested an off-camber turn with a hundred-foot vertical drop off the passenger side.

And this is where I made a mistake. It looked to me that a 1st gen Tacoma - one of the narrowest vehicles on the road - could just squeeze through the turn on the downhill side of the ledge, avoiding the off-camber section. So I started into the turn, waving off any spotting from my buddies behind.

Smarter than me - or perhaps just hoping to snap some photos - Monte hopped out of his truck anyway, and as I inched forward, I suddenly heard him yelling to turn my wheel hard driver. "You're going to drive off the side of the road," he yelled as I stopped the truck.

Well, then, that wouldn't have been good.

Doesn't look too close to me... But then, I'm probably only alive thanks to Monte.​

Definitely the wrong line.​

Ultimately - with a bit of maneuvering, I was able to get the truck onto the correct line, and squeaked through unscathed. Barely. While this could have been the beginning of the end, it wasn't. Not yet.

Next up, Mike made the whole thing look easy as the Redhead flexed in all the right ways.

Mike kept his driver tire on the uphill ledge, right where it was supposed to be.​

And then eased down, the IFS nearly rendering the off-camber section of trail, level.​

Getting a bit flexy and looking sexy.​

Having provided all the drama we needed, the remainder of the trail was completely uneventful, and a few hundred feet beyond the turn was the metal-reinforced ledge that was apparently once a wooden bridge.

The skies were getting darker and drops of water were falling from the sky by the time we reached the narrow ledge that was once a wooden bridge.​

Descending into the narrows, this trail became a bit reminiscent of Titus Canyon as we wound through the colorful geology.​

As the rain picked up and daylight ticked away, we refrained from stopping much at all on the way down.​

Finally, we exited the mouth of the canyon and were deposited onto the wrinkled alluvial fan. The views here must be spectacular on a clear day, but it was hard to complain about the rare experience we encountered - rain storms coursing through the valley below.

It's not often that one sees water falling - and pooling - on the floor of Panamint Valley.​

Every once in a while, it's wet in Death Valley. This storm would drop upwards of an inch - nearly a third of the annual allocation for this part of the world.​

By the time we reached the valley floor and headed south toward Goler Wash, it was 2:45pm in the afternoon. With less than two hours of daylight left - and 15 miles of rocky trail, with numerous mines and places to explore before camp - I knew we'd be rushing a bit more than ideal.

Eight miles further south, we'd driven out of the rain by the time we pushed into into Goler wash.​

Heading up the wash, I pointed out various rock formations, interesting spur roads, and abandoned old mines I'd hoped to explore. Light fading fast, we pushed on past each of them, radio chatter assuring me that it was OK - just another good reason to return in the future. It made me think back to my first time at the park - when I'd travelled a similar route with similar constraints. Less than a month later, I'd come back - to spend nearly an entire day in this canyon. It was a good reminder that rushing through Death Valley is a common mistake!

The main house at the Barker Ranch, which burned to the ground in 2009.​

The Barker Ranch - built in 1940 by Bulch and Helen Thomason was originally used to support their mine in the area. It was later acquired by James and Arline Barker in 1955. Working nearby gold and uranium mines through the 1960s, the ranch was also a seasonal vacation property for their families.

It wasn't until 1968 that Charles Manson learned about the ranch and began staying there with the Family. Eventually, suspected of vandalism further north in Death Valley National Monument, the group was captured in raids on October 10 and 12, 1969, with Manson himself caught hiding under the kitchen sink. At the time of their arrest, law enforcement was unaware unaware that they had captured a mass-murder and his followers.

A secondary living structure at the ranch.​

Having completed our only stop between Panamint and Butte Valley, we pushed forward over Mengal Pass and into the valley we'd call home for the night. Our route winding its way north, the rain had picked up again by the time we reached the final descent into Butte Valley, and we mostly remained in the trucks through the roughest - and most fun - sections of the trail.

Headed east, Mike winds his way up the west side of Mengal Pass.​

This rocky descent into Butte Valley is always a fun one - in both directions.​

Even in the stormy weather, Striped Butte is such a striking landmark. After three years away, I was happy to see it once again.​

It was during the final descent that I first heard a strange noise coming from what I thought was my transfer case. Hoping I was wrong, it seemed intermittent in 4-Lo, and sounded - to me - like grinding.

Letting the guys know that I needed to check out a noise, I crawled under the truck, hoping to find a loose bolt and a flopping skid plate as I have in the past; unfortunately, everything was tight. And, by the time I climbed back out from under the truck, all three of my buddies were standing by - ready to lend a hand with whatever the problem might be.

The consensus - based on my description and from guys who knew more than me - was that either one of the planetary gears in the doubler portion of the transfer case might have lost a tooth or that the j-shift bushing was worn out and so the shifter was rattling around in the case. And, while either of these could eventually cause a problem, it would probably be OK to continue for the remainder of the trip.

I hoped they were right, and we rolled onward toward camp - a little spot that both Zane and I had camped previously; a spot that - assuming the rain stopped - I knew would be the perfect place to wake up in the morning.

Once we arrived in camp and got our tents deployed, Monte set about working on his fridge, which he'd discovered wasn't working at lunch.​

For the second night in a row, we arrived in camp after sunset. Luckily, the rain mostly stopped about an hour or so after we got set up, and we were able to enjoy the propane fire ring for the remainder of the evening. Plus, about 90 minutes into working on his fridge - having tried new fuses, tightening of screws, and reseating of terminals - Monte figured out the problem: he'd had the fridge turned off!

Another fabulous night in the desert.​

If only the solution/situation had been the same for my transfer case - alas however, as I'd discover in the coming hours, it really was... the beginning of the end.

 

i love this guy dude

 

I was just looking into that loop from Ballarat but thinking wide LT trucks may not work on that ledge. Reviews said scary as shit with a full size truck. But it sounds like it's a cake walk now.

 

I think you'd be fine with an LT truck, there was plenty of room and my LC is almost as wide as a 2nd gen stock.

 

Sounds like an epic trip and one that brings back memories of my first trip to Death Valley, the trip that got me hooked. On subsequent trips I would earn my first pinstripes on my truck, I call them Panamint pinstripes. On the first trip I was a passenger and learned a lot about the area. Information such as that large meadow once having an airstrip to bring friends, goodies, and minimal supplies to a resident down canyon.

Pleasant Canyon has had various activity since my first trip and Claire Camp continues to erode due to the hands of time. It is an impressive place with a rich (no pun intended) history. On my first trip there, August 2008, I was blown away by what lingers out in the desert. Later trips showed more recent work and people living out there. I was told that some mining claims are still active, which would explain the people (a strange family of three in an old Nissan 2WD) I crossed paths with who were coming down canyon one morning. That yellow grader does work. It had a battery at one time which my friend hooked up and successfully started the grader which he quickly shut down and disconnected. We didn't think it would fire up. Hopefully BLM can keep the structures in the area maintained to preserve the history.

Having visited back then I started searching the internet for information about the Panamint Mountains and surrounding area. One search led me to a story which actually changed the vibe of Claire Camp for me in later trips...
https://avcws.tripod.com/news/claircamp.html

 

It'll be a bit tight, you'll want a good spotter to make sure. But certainly do able and not what I'd consider dangerous with calm driving. Should be fine.

 

We had a bit of a time at the top of Mengal pass as it was more on(off?) camber than your photos. Side walls were tested. This was on the way to Prospector's cabin.


Also, you called it "World Beater Mine Cabin", but I have it as something else - nevertheless.
We stayed there overnight (not inside, due to Hantavirus) and were woken to the sound of what I affectionately named as Murder Donkey.
Did you notice:
- the external lighting cable with auto battery clamps so you could light the inside?
- the outhouse?

Looks like a fun trip, minus the xfer case...

 

Oh, I had no idea that your first trip was up to this area! Quite an introduction to the park, I must admit! Certainly now, if you were head that direction again, you'd get pinstripes on your first trip to the park, hahaha!

As for Pleasant Canyon - my understanding is that there is active mining there today. I didn't mention it in the report, but we heard (did not see) machinery on the trip in December. I'm hoping to go check it out a bit more in the near future - perhpas spending a couple days back up in there just exploring spur roads - if a few other bits of life line up and allow me to. Hopefully, no crazy experiences at the cabin though! (wow!)

Today, the grader sits with one tire removed and another flat. Would it start up with a battery? Perhaps. Might be fun to find out. The paint has held up well over the years, but I don't recall the "controls" situation.

Mengel can be an interesting beast. There was some off-camber for us as well at that same spot you included a picture of, but I didn't include photos of that in the story - they didn't come out as well as I'd hoped as I never found the right angle as I was running/slipping around in the rain. The line through there also makes a big difference, with the "a bit more off-camber" line keeping you away from the rocks on the driver side.

As for the World Beater - the guest book has the name written on the front cover, so we could be thinking of different mine sites - though, we did notice both the electrics and the outhouse, so it seems like we may be thinking of the same place. At any rate, we definitely passed many over the course of our route on this particular day!

​

And yeah, those Murder Donkeys can be crazy. I've run into them in Butte Valley, and it was... alarming! Only problem was that it was like 3:00am when they "alarmed," hahahaha!

 

Awesome trip report once again!

That rain really made a mess of the Panamint Valley floor. As I posted on the other thread, I came down Goler in darkness on New Years Eve, having enjoyed a spectacular day of light rain and intermittent sunshine in the park. Near the bottom I met a jeep coming up, hoping to grab one of the cabins. He was totally covered in mud, and I remember thinking, jeez, what's with the jeepers always needing to splash around in the mud? I of course had been daintily driving on wet trails all day, avoiding the puddles or at least tiptoeing through them in my nice clean pickup truck.

Somewhere around the pit mine, the road changed (quite invisibly) from firm grippy compacted sand to slick mud, and my attempt to slow to a crawl for the next puddle didn't quite go as planned. I hit it sideways at probably 40 miles an hour, watching in terror as the embankment approach from my side just before everything disappeared beneath the mud raining back down on my windows. A pretty stupid move for sure, but it snuck up on me like black ice.

I slowed to a stop on the next dry patch to clean off my windows and maybe re-evaluate some life choices, then scoured the maps for another way out of the valley that didn't involve climbing back over Mengel Pass (or China Lake lol). Nope, the only way I was going to make it home in time to celebrate the new year with my wife was through Ballarat, and it was soup all the way to the radar station -- no avoiding it. Luckily not the kind of mud where you're tearing up the road though, it was a firm surface. Just coated edge to edge in thin goopy slime. And then just as suddenly, a mile from pavement, the roar of mud splatter suddenly stopped, and although the road looked just as wet, it was nice compacted sand again.

Took me over an hour to reach pavement from that first mud puddle, then I went through 10 gallons of water just cleaning up for highway travel. What a mess! Then all the connecting roads to the 14 were closed due to flooding, so I had to drive the death-trap of a road that is the southern extent of US 395--jam-packed that night with big-rigs dozing off at the wheel, and impatient idiots trying to pass them. Wound up in the shoulder not once but twice to avoid a crash. Oh well, I'll count my blessings that I made it to Trona without running out of gas. The fuel light had been on since Butte Valley.


Somewhere back there is the hookup for airing up the tires!


Oh and regarding the grader, my recollection is that it looked pretty functional as far as the controls go, but it's missing the serpentine belt and some ass-clown shot up the radiator. Didn't see a battery though, and I couldn't quite push-start it.


Wouldn't budge!

 

I think I've heard that part of the drive referred to as Chicken Rock (the blind off camber turn with drop-off) and Chicken Bridge (narrow trail built up on retaining ledges/bridge). Is this correct or am I confusing them with another part of the Panamints?

 

That's Chicken Rock alright. Several stories of people going over the edge there, pics too! Google if interested.

I think I picked that same line, realized it half way through and had a hell of a time "correcting" it.

 

Awesome thread! I have really enjoyed reading and seeing your excellent photographs! Sadly at my age I likely will never get to see Panamints in person, so thanks for sharing!

 

been looking at this build for a while now. Have a question for ya... I saw that you had a good bit of rub with 3.5" bs and those 33s. How much cutting did you have to do for those? Im going to be running 255 80 17s. and I hate when the skinny tires are sucked under the truck. so ill be at about 3.25" BS to push them out. do you think that's doable? Or will there need to be an excessive amount of cutting. thanks homie.
@turbodb

 

Glad you're enjoying it! Lots more Death Valley coming - it seems I basically live there during the winter since everything else is snowed in - so stay tuned.

I didn't do any cutting except for the pinch weld - which I think is easier to cut prior to bending over with a hammer - and then hammering the firewall a bit. Likely be the same for you, and you can negate a bunch of rub with SPC UCAs set to the forwardmost position (at the expense of caster).

The rubbing wasn't at all the issue for me with the 3.5" backspacing - I didn't feel like there was very much at all. Certainly it was easier to fit my resis in the front since the tires were away from the frame. The problem for me was the amount of mud that got thrown up onto the truck any time there was even a suggestion of moisture. I hated having all my stuff in the bed covered in sticky dirt, and having clumps of the stuff landing on the windshield and roof. The tire poke may have looked more bad-ass, but for me it's all about function, and having them under the fender flares has been much more enjoyable.

What wheels are you looking at with 3.25" (or are you looking at spacers)?

 

Sounds good thanks for the info. My SPCs are already maxed forward, so hopefully I dont have too much of an issue. And im using spacers with some old 4 runner wheels. nothing special. I just did some measurements and ill be right at 3.5". Thought it was 3.25 but the wheels have more BS than I thought.

 

Eye of the Storm - Back for More #4
Part of the Back for More (Dec 2021) trip.

I've found no place in all my exploration of Death Valley National Park that I like more than waking up to a view of Striped Butte. You can imagine then - sleeping in our tents less than a mile away - that I had more than one alarm set in order to ensure my alertness when as the sun began to illuminate the sky.

With the skies clear after an evening of rain, and before the sun even crested the horizon, I soaked in one of my favorite sights in the world.​

I spent nearly an hour hopping around behind, in front, and around camp - sometimes snapping photos, other times just watching from a momentarily comfortable rock - as the sun crept into the sky, bathing the mountain and valley with long orange rays.

First light on the hillsides, the sun still below the horizon.​

Still asleep.​

Nature's candy cane. Remember, these colorful layers were originally deposited horizontally.​

It was - I'd later realize - the perfect start to a wonderful day. A day where everything seemed great on the surface. Just like it does in the eye of a storm. Of course, now I'm getting ahead of myself.

As others began to stir, I took the opportunity to dig into the transfer case issue I'd noticed just before we rolled into camp the previous evening. Around the campfire, I'd theorized that the sounds I'd heard almost exactly three years and 100,000 miles earlier - and the resulting mud-colored oil I'd removed from my transfer case at the time - could have been the first indicators of a problem that had simply taken this long to surface again. Still, Zane @Speedytech7 and Monte @Blackdawg had suggested that I take off the J-shift, just to see if the problem was the bushing - an easy fix.

A few screws and bolts were all that was necessary to access the top of the transfer case. Unfortunately, it was in perfect working order.​

Buttoning everything back up, eating breakfast, and putting away camp took another 50 minutes, and like clockwork we rolled out of our site just after 8:45am - everyone looking forward to the day ahead, and thankful that the less-than-ideal weather had tamped down the dust, making for much a much more pleasant caravan.

I wasn't the only one who was soaking in the views.​

Not far from camp, we stopped in at the Geologist Cabin. While we could have set up camp at this location, I've always felt that the spot by the rocks is nicer, making the cabin a nice place to check out on the way into - or in our case out of - Butte Valley.

It's unlikely that our engines had even warmed up by the time we were parked again.​

I'd wager that this is the most well-known, and perhaps the most nicely maintained, backcountry cabin in the park.​

Did someone say Diet Caffeine Free Coke? Clearly, they knew I was coming!​

Built in 1930 by Asa Russell (aka Panamint Russ), the cabin served as his living quarters as he worked a mine claim high up the side of old Manly Peak. An article, written by Russell himself in the April 1955 edition of Desert Magazine details some of his adventures in the area.

Left a little note for future explorers. Perhaps one day, they will find their way to this trip report!​

Good advice, no matter where you may find yourself exploring.​

Even if there's a better place to camp, it's still hard to complain about the view.​

From Butte Valley, we headed east. Our travels on this gorgeous day would take us through Warm Spring Canyon - stopping at several mines along the way - before dumping us out near the southern end of West Side Road. From there, we'd head north - exploring some of the more touristy sites the park had to offer - before finding camp somewhere in the Funeral Mountains.

Our first stop along this route was at Warm Springs Camp.

Lined up and - apparently - ready for Christmas.​

The old Gold Hill Mill sits near the road near Warm Springs Camp.​

An arrastre next to the mill. Ore was dumped into the stone lined trough and as the arrastra turned, large stones connected to the four arms were dragged over the ore to crush it.​

Getting artsy with some of the mill's old components.​

The history of Warm Springs Camp, the Warm Springs Talc Mine, and the Gold Hill Mill is not a pretty story.

In 1929, Louise Grantham - one of very few women in the mining industry - leased land from Bob Thompson, a local Timbisha Shoshone man. The springs were his ancestral homeland, but after signing a five-year lease and making just one payment, Grantham sued him for ownership.

With the legal battle underway, Grantham occupied this site and posted an armed watchman to guard against "trespassers." The courts eventually supported Thompson 's claim. For over a year, attempts were made to evict Grantham (including by federal marshals enforcing a court order), but she refused to comply.

Eventually, Thompson walked away from his claims. Grantham assumed total ownership and operated the most successful talc mine in the region until her death in 1969.

-NPS​

The interior of the mess hall, one of five main buildings that made up the camp.​

Grantham's personal residence was renowned for having the only swimming pool in Death Valley.​

After looking around the buildings - and commenting on the rather shitty way in which this place transitioned to become the property of Louise Grantham - we wandered over to the entrance to the White Pine Talc Mine - an opening large enough to drive a truck into.

The wood framing that supported the entrance to this mine was sketchy enough that Mike @Digiratus was content to stay back while the rest of us peered through the steel bars, wishing we could squeeze past.​

This shaft - seemingly supported by scraps of whatever the miners could find around camp - tunnels several hundred feet into the mountain.​

Unable to go inside, Monte and I climbed 50' to an upper shaft - the remnants of an old generator and ore track still clinging to the side of the cliff.

Sometimes when you need a generator to pull ore carts out of a mine, the front half an old truck fits the bill perfectly.​

Looking back up the canyon toward Butte Valley.​

It was already 10:45am by the time we wrapped up our exploration of the Warm Springs Camp and continued to make our way east towards Death Valley. Just before reaching another of Grantham's Talc Mine sites, Monte spotted a group of Desert Bighorn off the side of the road. Naturally, any sense staying on schedule was thrown to the wind, and we stopped to watch as the animals scaled the steep terrain as though the footing couldn't have been better.

My first sighting of Ovis Canadensis Nelsoni in the park!​

Neither of these two sheep were happy to have their photos taken.​

The loading bin at the lowest talc site along Warm Springs Road, the platform of the ramp towering 60 feet off the ground, and no longer stable enough to walk on.​

Err... I didn't think anyone caught that on camera.​

The last of the talc sites explored, we regrouped at the road and picked up speed as the surface became increasingly smoother as we exited the canyon and descended the alluvial fan into the valley. It is a grand entrance to be sure, the Black Mountains rising almost vertically in the distance, and yet the true scale of their prominence still completely deceiving.

Nothing like a 6,500' prominence to make you realize how tiny you really are.​

"Now this is a shot worth taking." -Mike (and apparently everyone else)​

With such a great view and reasonable temperatures - plus, knowing that there'd be very little, if any, traffic along this road at 11:30am on weekday - I suggested that perhaps this would be the perfect spot for lunch.

Anyone hungry?​

All of us, apparently.​

As we ate, we admired the view. To the east - obviously - the Black Mountains were the most prominent, but the view to the northwest was stunning as well - there, poking out of the clouds, was Telescope Peak, the upper elevations covered in a dusting of snow from the weather that'd rolled through the previous evening.

The snow on Telescope Peak wouldn't last long - it was completely gone by early afternoon.​

After a leisurely lunch - with no traffic at all - and thoroughly enjoying our vantage point on the alluvial fan, it was time to continue down into the valley of death. We'd play tourist for the afternoon, checking out the sights that most people come to see when they visit the park. We'd start with the most famous: Badwater Basin.

At 282 feet below sea level, Badwater Basin is the lowest point in the western hemisphere. Like most places below sea level, Death Valley wasn't created by erosion, rather, shifting of the earth's crust has dropped it to such a low elevation.​

Only two inches of water falls to the Death Valley floor every year. The water near the boardwalk is produced by a spring, the water spoiled by the surrounding 200 square miles of salt flats.​

A salt island.​

From Badwater Basin, we made our way a few miles north and soon we were headed out into the salt flats, this time to wander our way through the Devil's Golf Course. Here, crystallized salts compose jagged formations of a most forbidding landscape. Deposited by ancient salt lakes, they are shaped by winds and rain, the formations ever changing.

Walking out into the salt formations is a strange experience - the entire landscape is both delicate and as hard as a rock at the same time.​

Tiny tendrils rise up out of the salty surface.​

Away from the trampled main routes, delicate salt arches reach for the sky.​

Continuing north - the early afternoon sun of this most pleasant day to our back - our time on Badwater Road was short, a detour into the northern end of the Black Mountains the final touristy spot on our days agenda.

Headed into the colorful hillsides of Artists Palette.​

I think the best way to enjoy the stunning colors - the result of volcanic deposits rich in compounds such as iron oxides and chlorite, which creates a rainbow effect - is to park and hike into one of the many narrow canyons, or into the palette itself. For us though, a few stops along the road, and at the main overlook would suffice - not that we had anything to complain about except the crowds.

Someone spilled their mint ice cream on the hillside.​

Having enjoyed the mainline attractions, but ready to get back out of the crowds - if a couple dozen people can be called crowds - we pointed our Tacomas toward the hills and began our 10-mile trek into the Funeral Mountains by way of Echo Canyon.

Like Gohler Wash - and Titus Canyon before that - a few rocky sections help to keep the riff-raff at bay, but in general, the lower section of Echo Canyon is a relatively easy drive as long as you have the right vehicle. And on this trip, we wouldn't be tackling the much-more-difficult-upper section at all, so we leisurely wound our way between the soaring walls, stopping now and again to capture particularly photogenic formations.

Back on dirt and headed toward camp!​

Afternoon sun streamed into the canyon, the long low rays adding a glow to fingers reaching down into the wash.​

Oranges contrasted with blacks as we wound our way toward camp.​

Halfway to our destination, we made a quick stop at the Needles Eye Arch.​

Rainbow uplift.​

Our day almost done, I called out over the radio that we'd soon be passing the Inyo Mine. Knowing that getting to camp while it was still light was high on the list of priorities - especially given our late arrivals the last couple of evenings - I mentioned that we'd continue on to camp, and then anyone who was interested could drive back to check it out.

I took the silent response as a hint: I might be the only one turning around for a look.

We reached camp just before 3:45pm - a full 45 minutes before sunset, and a good 90 minutes before dark. At the end of a road and the edge of wilderness, we all - myself included - set up our tents, the lure of a relaxing evening outweighing the draw of the Inyo Mine. We could - I realized - visit it on the way out in the morning.

As the sun eased below he horizon, calm pinks and purples illuminated the clear skies above. A glorious end to a beautiful day.​

Once again, we'd covered a lot of ground, seen some of my favorite sights in the park, and we'd done so without a single worrisome noise from the underbelly of my Tacoma. Suffice it to say, it'd been a great day. Not only that, but the next two promised to be just as wonderful - our route taking us to Eureka and then Saline Valley.

But then, I find that it's rare that anything ever really goes to plan...

 

The shot from the pool stands out as ... particularly impressive to me

 

Just Like That, It's Over - Back for More #5
Part of the Back for More (Dec 2021) trip.

After another evening spent around Mike @Digiratus propane fire pit, we'd all climbed into our tents to clear skies and very light breeze. Thousands of feet above, however, things must have been different. Climbing down my ladder, a dark sky lent a dramatic air to our own little slice of paradise.

​

Here, at the end of the road, we had no idea what the day had in store.

Ironically - given that the trip would be over by 11:00am - we were out of camp earlier than any other morning of the trip, pulling up to our first stop - the Inyo Mine - at 8:26am. Having passed by the evening before - and with no idea that anything was amiss at this point - we were in high spirits as we piled out of our trucks to have a look around.

More colorful geology of Echo Canyon on display, even under overcast skies.​

Our parking methodology - four abreast in the middle of the road - may have been a bit... presumptuous, though it was a reasonably safe bet that we were the only ones in the area at such an early hour.​

The Inyo Mine's camp is a cluster of half a dozen wooden buildings at the foot of the steep hillside where gold was mined from several different elevations. One of the most scenic - of the easily accessible - mining camps in the park, it is one of the very few that might qualify as a ghost town. Anchored by a large wooden mill at the west end of the camp, this is a place worth setting aside an hour - or four - to explore, making me glad that I hadn't tried to rush through it the previous evening.

The remains of the Inyo Mine's ball mill.​

Although the ball mill itself has been removed, other major components of the mill remain. Its 30-ton ore bin, the wheels of the jaw crusher, its settling plates and large metal tank, and the diesel engine that powered it are still in place - each of them perched, welded, and rigged just so, as is often the case with desert machinery.

Settling plates to assist in the separation of gold from the worthless stone.​

A workshop near the mill stored spare parts and provided a place to fix anything that broke.​

A small dugout dating from the 1907 mining era.​

The boarding house.​

A building of unknown use, soon to be a pile of boards. Please, if you visit, don't accelerate the inevitable.​

Having explored the buildings at the lowest level of the mine site, it was time to head up the mountain to investigate a few of the workings. Split into three elevations of shafts, I'd only investigated the exterior of the first shaft when the @mrs.turbodb and I had visited one year earlier. I hoped that this time, Zane @Speedytech7, Monte @Blackdawg and I would explore at least one more adit before getting back on the trail.

A loading ramp and ore chute at the lowest shaft allowed material to be easily trucked down the hillside to the mill.​

After taking a few photos of the ore chute, I made a beeline for the adit. This - the Octaroon adit - was the main adit of the Inyo mine, connected to the others via a series of vertical and inclined shafts. We wandered in.

The floor of the Octaroon was dusty, depressions in the floor betraying the narrow-gauge rail that once carried carts full of ore to the chute at the entrance.​

A hundred feet in, we found a vertical shaft with a ladder leading to daylight. Soon, we'd discover the other end!​

We continued on.​

There were several forks in the Octaroon shaft, blasted away to follow the six veins of gold-bearing quartz contained in the mountain. Some were short, while others led to large caverns supported by timber.​

A sparkling vein of material.​

700 feet into the mountain, a ladder led up an inclined shaft - to where, even we were not going to find out.​

Thirty minutes after we entered - and after a moment of utter darkness deep in the mountain - we worked our way back toward the entrance, glad to have flashlights to aid us along the way. As we exited the mine, I suggested we head up the hill - to the second of three levels - since that would be new ground for me after my last visit. Monte and Zane were - naturally - game.

A hundred feet further up the mountain, we came upon the adit known as the Martha Raye. Actually, we came upon two shafts - one, a vertical shaft that we soon realized was the same one we'd seen from below as we'd explored the Octaroon, and a second that headed horizontally into the hillside - ripe for exploration.

Opting to work smarter rather than harder, miners used this vertical shaft to deliver ore from the Martha Raye adit to ore carts in the Octaroon. Today, signs at the opening implore visitors not to drop anything down the shaft as it has begun to impede the ability to explore the Octaroon.​

Shall we check this one out as well? Yes, we shall!​

Inside the Martha Raye was significantly different than the first shaft we'd explored. While the Martha Raye shaft did push its way into the hillside, there were many areas where miners had hollowed out large voids in the rock as they chased valuable material. Though most were no more than 2-3 feet high, they were 30 feet wide and extended for 50 feet or more - even pitching up, down, and sideways - where veins of quartz once ran through the mountain. The strange angles of the workings, the fact that the remaining material is heavily shattered, and the skimpiness of the wood framing make it a miracle that some of these adits have not yet collapsed.

Certainly, three beams can hold up a mountain... right?​

We spent significantly less time in the Martha Raye than we had in the Octaroon - each of us getting the feeling that the construction here wasn't quite as... reliable as we'd seen on the lower level. Within just a few minutes, we were headed back toward the safety of daylight, ready to return to the Tacomas.

The view across the Funeral Mountains and to the Panamints was breathtaking as we exited the mine.​

Back in the trucks and headed out Echo Canyon for Eureka Valley!​

We covered only a couple miles before I knew something was seriously wrong with my truck. Since hearing the weird noise from what I thought was my transfer case a couple days earlier, I'd had no reason to use 4-Lo - the only mode in which I'd noticed a problem. With the rest of the fellas suggesting that the problem was with one of the planetary gears in the doubler, I figured that as long as I really limited my 4-Lo usage, I'd be just find for the remainder of the trip. The problem was: I was currently in 2-Hi.

Immediately I stopped the truck and radioed back to the guys, calling Zane forward to listen to the sound that was now much louder - and more consistent - than it'd been before. Almost immediately, Zane zeroed in on it being the noise of a bearing spinning itself to bits. He suggested that I place the transfer case in neutral and the transmission in gear so that while the front half of the case would spin, the truck wouldn't go anywhere.

The sound persisted. Worse, the entire transfer case - and everything connected to it, up through the driver seat - began clicking.

"Definitely a bearing, looks like you're going home!" Monte said. And of course, Zane agreed. A bit of discussion ensued as I tried to better understand where the issue was, and how screwed I really was. What bearing did they think was failing? Did they think I would make it home? What was the worst that could happen if the bearing failed catastrophically along the way?

Guesses to those questions shared, Mike made a good suggestion - while the shortest route home was back through Nevada, the smarter route was probably to head west to US-395 and ultimately I-5, ensuring a relatively constant stream of civilization, should I need to avail myself of a u-haul trailer.

And, so it was - under the Needles Eye Arch - that we made the decision to call the trip. Zane and Mike would follow me home - just in case - and we'd all have to come back to Death Valley in the future to finish what we'd started.

It was hard to believe that in the span of just a few minutes, so much could change.​

Though my spirits were a bit crushed - how could my truck break when I was in the middle of showing off one of my favorite places to friends who'd never been before? - everyone else was completely understanding and remained in high spirits as we took our last photos.​

Finishing out Echo Canyon, the bearing that'd first caused me some trouble on a single trip 100,000 miles earlier, and that had acted up for only the second time a couple days before, was quite obviously in a much angrier mood. As if reading my mind, Monte chimed in over the radio, "I'm sure it's not easy, but just try to ignore it; you'll get home just fine."

Hoping he was right, I suggested that rather than heading straight home that we at least check out Zabriskie Point - just a mile or two away from the mouth of Echo Canyon. Everyone was game, so that's exactly what we did. We even used the stop to throw in the spare fuel we'd brought along - not need to pay California prices if we didn't need to - and air up our tires for the pavement in front of us.

As we climbed the paved trail to Zabriskie Point, our first view of the badlands - with the Black Mountains behind - was breathtaking.​

From the top, the badlands spread out - the fantastic marbling adding to the drama!​

These formations are the result of the recent uplift and erosion of sediments that settled to the bottom of a lake that covered Death Valley some 3- to 5-million years ago.​

As we walked back to the trucks, we noticed that we picked up a fifth vehicle. A classy gold one, no less!​

Any trip where you only air up once can't be all bad.​

Our trucks as road-worth as they could be - it turns out Mike was also experiencing some drive-train issues, though less-significant than mine - we all headed north on CA-190. We'd travel as a group of four for a few miles until Monte split off to Beatty and the rest of us continued to the Owens Valley.

Just before we split up, I spotted a vehicle along the side of the road. Oh, how I wish we'd been in a position to stop and find Ken @DVexile - hiking somewhere in a spectacular canyon nearby - but that wasn't in the cards today.

Well now, I know that truck.​

For the next 19 hours, I was more nervous than I've ever been when driving the Tacoma. Every few minutes, the balls would catch between the races, spinning and crunching. Every time, I'd jump in my seat. The pattern would repeat - sometimes seemingly better, other times much worse - all the way home. But Monte and the guys were right - I made it.

Maybe I shouldn't be surprised... it is - after-all - a Tacoma.