AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

In Search of a Marble Tub - Hiking #3
Part of the Hiking Saline Valley (Jan 2022) trip.

As I mentioned in the first post, I have organized this trip report a bit differently than most. Some of the hiking locations have little or no reporting on the internet and I feel they should remain that way; as such, locations will be redacted and/or not mentioned, and the order of the trip will be randomized.

The first and last posts will cover some of the driving, in order to separate it - and location information - from the hikes. Please, if you know the locations of the hikes, I encourage you to enjoy them as much as I did - and follow my lead to keep them a little less well-known.​

As is my custom, I set my alarm for half-an-hour or so before sunrise. As with the time immediately after sunset, this shadowless hour of the day is often aglow with pastel tones and a fleeting stillness that enjoy every time.

For 50 years or more, Joshua has had a really nice view.​

Enjoying the Belt of Venus over the ***** Mountains. The pink band is actually the area between Earth's shadow and the blue sky.​

Layers and layers, the as the *********** Range, ****** Mountains, **** Mountains, and finally the ****** Mountains reach toward the sky.​

Here, away from the hustle and bustle of the main roads, one can feel all alone in a vast valley of splendor.​

My plan for the day - like every one of this trip - was to hike. And - like every day of the trip - the route would begin at the foot of an alluvial fan, my hopes high that my research would pay off, and that within a few hours, I'd find myself immersed in a glorious canyon.

Only today, I was in search of something else, too.

From the look of my clothing in the first few photos, I'd gotten an earlier start than I had on my hike into ********** Canyon the previous day - the morning chill hanging in the air. In fact, it was only as I neared the top of the alluvial fan that the sun made its first appearance above the mountains that I planned to explore.

*********** sunstar.​

Infinite folds as light spreads across the land.​

Before I knew it, success! There, as I rounded a corner in the wash, the morning sun having climbed just high enough in the sky to illuminate half of the contents a brilliant blue, was the Marble Tub. Or, more precisely, a tub of marbles.

Even just a little bit of sun made the "water" sparkle.​

Still a bit chilly this early in the morning.​

A little creepy, really... all of them just looking out at me, as I contemplated my soak. ​

After poking around for a bit - hoping that the sun would rise faster and illuminate the rest of the tub more quickly - I finally gave up on the idea of seeing the entire thing bathed in light, and pushed on. You see, not knowing exactly where the tub was, I'd planned an entire foray for the day, which I had no intention of cutting short now!

Entering the canyon, I knew I was in for a special treat. Even at its mouth, the colors of the walls - some in shadow and some in the brilliant sunshine - beckoned me in.

I had no idea what lay in wait as I got my first peek of the narrows beyond the mouth of the canyon.​

Almost immediately, the narrows began. Squeezing inward and towering above, I had to consciously slow myself down - the urge to see what was around the next corner, strong.

Deep blue polished walls contrasted so perfectly with the warm orange glow of the upper canyon.​

Deep blue polished walls contrasted so perfectly with the warm orange glow of the upper canyon.​

A tight squeeze through a dark passage.​

As I wandered the narrows, I wondered whether my investigation would be cut short by impassable falls, my fingers crossed that anything I encountered would be easily navigated - or at the very least, scramblable.

Scramblable? Not even in my dreams.​

As I climbed this fall, I couldn't help but feel that some of the hand- and foot-holds seemed... suspiciously well placed. Even, perhaps, carved.​

And then, as if what I'd already experienced wasn't enough, I the walls themselves morphed into a gallery of art. Gazing at the walls, I found myself transported back in time - to the days when earlier explorers must have done the same. It was, a very special place.

Badger (and) Williamson (from) Greencastle Ind, must have admired the gallery before me.​

On a hike full of surprises, I pressed on - curious what I would find next. The answer - to my delight - was more narrows. I didn't know how long they would last, but I certainly wasn't going to complain.

Undulating walls, the colors and textures varied across the entire surface.​

Hallways of stone.


Hallways of stone.​

An opening - could this be the head of the canyon?​

It's not often - in fact, I don't know if I've ever - made it all the way out the top of a slot canyon!​

Could this be Death Valley's smallest arch?​

At the top of the canyon, it was exciting to see the landscape open up once again. A mountain meadow, as it were, stretched out in front of me. Lush with plant growth and still with a dusting of snow, I enjoyed the spaciousness after the tight walls of the slot. And I imagined - that over the centuries, this meadow would funnel literal mountains of water down through the narrows, carving them into the splendor that they are, today!

Nature's bonsai. Mat Rock Spiraea - not that uncommon in the broader southwest, they don't seem to be something very common to the Death Valley region specifically.​

I must have stood in that meadow for the better part of half an hour. Part of me wanted to push on further, part of me wanted to head back for a relaxing afternoon in camp. In the end, the lure of the smooth walls of the slot canyon was enough to pull me back down the wash, perhaps to visit again to complete my exploration!

Looking back down as the narrows snake their way through the mountain.​

Before long - and after a few dry fall descents - I popped out where I'd started. The mouth of the canyon still shady - though the sun was now spilling across the valley - I took a final moment to reflect on this special place, before heading out onto the alluvial fan, and back towards the Tacoma.

This wall glowed as it reflected light from the opposite side of the canyon.​

Down the alluvial fan, no trail to be seen.​

Colorful layers, once laid down horizontally, now standing in near vertical attention.​

With two of my three hikes complete, I returned to the Tacoma with my spirits high. The trip so far had exceeded all of my expectations. Little did I know, that my hike the following day would end up being the most difficult - and still, perhaps my favorite - of the entire adventure!

 

Ah. So there's a conundrum. The marble tub. What a great thing to find. Should it be removed?

Maybe just the ducks. Maybe the marbles and ducks and the tub stays as the old vehicles and mining equipment does. Maybe it should all go.

Personally I like the whole set up there, but I'm not sure where the fine line of "garbage to be removed" is. Teakettle Junction is cleaned up from time to time and I get why, but wouldn't it be great to see a pile of 100+ teakettles there?

 

Marbles are one thing, tea kettles are another. I've seen anywhere from just a few kettles to probably hundreds. Over the last few years, probably hovers around 40ish. I bet fewer people leave marbles than ducks--the ducks gotta go.

 

why did you ruin this with cheesy music? haha

 

Catching up on your latest trips. Once again, simply outstanding!

 

In Search of Lucky Rich's Riches - Hiking #4
Part of the Hiking Death Valley (Feb 2019) trip.

As I mentioned in the first post, I have organized this trip report a bit differently than most. Some of the hiking locations have little or no reporting on the internet and I feel they should remain that way; as such, locations will be redacted and/or not mentioned, and the order of the trip will be randomized.

The first and last posts will cover some of the driving, in order to separate it - and location information - from the hikes. Please, if you know the locations of the hikes, I encourage you to enjoy them as much as I did - and follow my lead to keep them a little less well-known.
​

The morning of my final hike - but not my final morning - I was once again up early. Having enjoyed previous early morning treks across the expanse of Saline Valley and up the alluvial fan of the ***************** on the opposite side, I figured I might as well do it again!

Plus, I was getting up early for sunrise, anyway.

Sunrise over the **** Mountains never got old.​

Even before the few requisite photos, I'd set about my morning, prepping for my hike. It all started with a heaping bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats with Almonds, more than a quarter pound of blueberries, and plenty of milk - nearly frozen after a cold night - to fill my belly with fuel for what was ahead. Then, a quick laying out of my gear - a similar kit as I'd taken to other canyons on this excursion - to ensure that I wasn't forgetting anything as I set off across the desert. And finally, deployment of my solar panel - not so much because it was necessary on this particular day, but - because I like the idea of getting power from the sun.

All the fixings for a fantastic day!​

Figuring I might enjoy a nap on my return, I left camp setup and deployed the solar panel to take full advantage of the sun, once it eventually crested the horizon.​

My destination on this morning was an impressive little gorge in the heart of the *****************. With towering walls of massive limestone, numerous dry falls, enormous boulders, and massive chockstones, ********** Canyon is truly a place for desert canyon lovers and geology nuts. Figuring that I certainly tick two of those boxes - a desert canyon lover and nuts - I was reassured myself that I'd at least be able to admire the geology, even if I didn't understand it.

I didn't know it at the time, but this hike was far and away the most strenuous and technical of my trip. The constant danger, and endless increases in elevation will delight adrenaline junkies and fitness freaks, assuming that - like me - they also check the box for nuts.

An early view from a wash that I hoped would deliver me to the mouth of ********** Canyon.​

An hour later and still in shadow - with sun sneaking up behind me (!) - I continued up the same wash in the alluvial fan.​

Even as I hiked the wash, it was clear that this was going to be a different kind of day than the others on my trip. Rather than a gentle slope to the foot of the mountains, even the alluvial fan was steep. Rocks here seemed bigger, rougher, and sharper. Even in the shade, I was breaking a sweat.

I wondered: would the single granola bar I'd brought along for a snack be enough?​

The relentless elevation gain wouldn't stop all day, and while the granola bar was technically enough, it definitely wasn't. But frequent stops to take in the sights around me helped to keep my perspiration and burning quads under control. After all, the views are what I was here for, anyway.

What is going on here, this granite so caringly covered with pistachio frosting?​

Mountain waves in a sea of red.​

I could just make out the truck with my 240mm zoom, and - dare I say - it was making free power!​

Eventually, I made it into the mouth of the canyon. Wider at first, the thing I noticed initially was that it seemed to get steeper with every step - a recurring theme throughout the day. Still, I hadn't come to anything I'd had to climb, yet, and so I continued to push on.

A look back toward the valley, the sun having nearly caught me by this point!​

The issue - naturally - is that the ***************** has risen so fast that erosion hasn't been able to keep up, and soon I encountered the first to ten - or perhaps twelve - dry falls that I'd climb over the course of my journey.

Up we go. Happy to have gloves!​

Dry fall number two. Or is this three? It's so hard to tell when the entire place seems to be straight up.​

This - according to my notes - is the fourth dry fall. It is a location where most will (or should) turn around. Had I realized the difficulty of the descent, I may have as well.​

It is as I show this fourth dry fall that I should note several important aspects of this route, since there will be those who may want to follow in my footsteps.

1. Please don't do anything that makes you even a little bit nervous; this is not a place where an injury is easily recovered. Additionally, the high canyon walls make satellite communications iffy at best, and so SAR (Search and Rescue) may never get your SOS should you press the button on your communicator.
2. Remember - up is significantly easier than down. In making climbs like this, I have found that climbing up and then down, then up a bit further, and down again, and repeating the process helps to ensure that I never reach a point where I can't get down. It takes longer, but many times, slower is faster, and it's certainly safer.
3. Lastly, this climb was tricky enough that upon my return, I found myself wondering if I could even find the route down. As an athletic person who has been climbing things all his life, that should give pause to anyone who finds this fall and is contemplating what to do. Please, see my first point and don't do anything that makes you even a little bit nervous.

Every step I took, the ground tilted further up - as though I was walking up an exponential curve. What had once been fist-size river rocks had given way to boulders, and the boulders were getting bigger. I didn't know it yet, but by the end, the size of the rocks in the canyon would get completely out of hand and I'd encounter the inevitable: in one grand fanglomerate finale, the ground would turn vertical. But of course, I'm getting ahead of myself once again.

Between climbs, I found myself marveling at the ruggedness of the canyon. It was so different than the smooth, narrow slots I'd found myself enjoying so far on this trip - a welcome change of pace, even though I'd expected more of the same when I'd set out from camp. I took frequent breaks to take note of the details.

Below the third dry fall, a short rock wall clung to the side of the canyon wall (bottom left, along the shadow line). Why had it been constructed, and by whom?​

Geological lasagna, each layer carefully crafted for your viewing delight.​

A small, fuzzy fern. These seemed to be growing throughout the canyon, but only in nooks and crannies, in places that never received direct sunlight.​

Fossilized birthday cake. I've never understood the draw of the little colored spots; maybe I was just a downer as a kid.​

Ka-pow! I found all of these colorful rocks within a single arm's length of each other. Such a joy of color.​

Higher and higher I climbed. After the fourth - or fifth - dry fall, the canyon split. Deciding to leave the main canyon as my finale, I took the side fork, sure - as I climbed fall after fall - that this must be the steeper of the two. And it was, until I returned to the convergence of canyons, and started up the main canyon. A stair climber - from beginning to end - is how I'd best describe the experience.

Usually, when hiking an out-and-back canyon, I find my first time through - in the out direction - to be my favorite. My first view of the walls, the surprises around each corner - these are the things that tend to get me excited. Here, in ********** Canyon, the highlight - for me - were the descents back. With such a steep grade, the views from various positions of the canyon were breathtaking. Easily missed when huffing it up the rocky vee's, they were more than reward enough on my way back down.

In some places, the view stretched all the way to Saline Valley.​

In others, the sun illuminated distant, layered ridges, a brilliant gold.​

Narrow, dark, walls lay hidden below the more common browns.​

Framed by a steep vee, it's a long way down.​

Ultimately, the climb culminated in an impassable fall. Technically the tenth dry fall of the canyon system, the boulder field that led to its base was short, but imposing. Each boulder the size of a car - or larger - required careful navigation as I hopped from top to top.

I found where all the small rocks in an alluvial fan come from - their lives began as part of these enormous conglomerates that stood in my way.​

The final dry fall. Twelve feet tall, it looked climbable, until I reached up and realized that the walls easily crumbled in my hands.​

My ascent complete, I carefully picked my way back down the canyon. The views - as I've mentioned - were fantastic, which helped to offset the painful pounding that my knees and quads took on the way down. This hike - as much as any I've done in the last year - reminded me how much I prefer hiking uphill, something I'd never have suspected when I was a kid!

Still, the canyon had exceeded all of my expectations - I couldn't have envisioned a better day.

Petrified Orca, frozen in time just before taking a bite out of the mountain.​

Heading back down the alluvial fan in the heat of the mid-day sun.​

Looking back up the way I'd come.​

Back at camp, it was mid-afternoon when I reached the Tacoma. The route - at nearly nine miles - was similar in length to the others I'd completed, but had taken significantly longer due to the unrelenting terrain. I was happy to be back, and I quickly made lunch and climbed into the tent for a well-deserved nap!

It was just before sunset when I awoke and exited my perch to bask in the glow of the late afternoon sun.

The hills were on fire.​

An already great day sported a sunset to savor.​

After a bit of reading, and watching of lights elsewhere in the valley, I climbed into the tent with my APRS beaconing away. I didn't know for sure, but I hoped that one set of those lights belonged to Mike @mk5, who was going to try to find me in the vast wilderness, if he could pull himself away from work for a weekend in the desert.

If he could, I wondered if I'd wake up to a second Tacoma in camp. Only time would tell.

 

I stayed home from work today...to be here for the "punch list" of things to complete from our kitchen remodel:

Backboard repair
Cabinet Stoppers
Air Vent covers
Fix quarter round
Touch up paint

Looking at your photos just takes me away. Thanks for sharing in your experience and showing the utility of the Tacoma!

 

Fantastic views. From one of the earlier photos I can tell what part of the area you are in. For those who know of course.

 

Nice! In my first house, I did a lot of the work, remodeled basically the entire thing down to the studs, a reconfiguration, and back again. So much fun. Kitchen was the best, since I took it from a crappy 50's galley to an open plan. All the cabinets built from scratch, and only the cutting of the countertops contracted out.

Sounds like you're nearing the final phases, which is always a good feeling, and I'm glad you enjoyed the photos!

Before (don't mind the cat):


During:




After (there's that darn cat again, hahaha!):

Thank you!

Well, if you're going to identify the location of one of the hikes, I'm glad it's this one, hahaha. It's the hardest (IMO) and the "least" secret. Definitely fantastic views, and a place you'd enjoy I think. Once you recover (which I hope is quickly). You'll also find this one in the Western DV Bible (which I assume is enough to tell you what book I'm referring to).

I also want to do the hike from your last trip, if it's the one I'm thinking it is; has been on my list for a while. And Chloride City.

 

Great hike report as usual! That’s a canyon I’ve eyed a few times but based on the little information I could find assumed it would become a bit too much like near technical canyoneering rather than a “hike”. Your report appears to confirm that for me! Nice job getting as far as you did.

Your repeated up-down approach to tackling dry falls is very sound advice. An issue I run into sometimes, and perhaps you did on this hike, is that if there are a lot of them on a long hike often by the time I get back to down climb the first ones I’ve forgotten the route! But again, doing the slow up-down thing can also help commit the route to memory and maybe forestall being stumped on one’s return.

 

You got me looking for the cat here...

 

Thanks!

As for this canyon, I would say that there were a handful of falls that were similar in difficulty to the bypass that we took in Fall Canyon. #10 was impassable, and #4 was significantly tougher and should give most pause, especially finding a route down. Your concern - of forgetting a route - is one that I share. As I climbed the canyons, I made a note in my book as to which side of each fall I climbed up, so I wouldn't have to remember them all.

I had no idea the cat was even in that photo until I was captioning it here, and thought - as I captioned the first one - that it'd be hilarious if the cat was in both the first and last pics. And then, serendipity!

 

Our Paths Finally Cross - Hiking #5
Part of the Hiking Saline Valley (Jan 2022) trip.

I was up bright and early the next morning - this time to embark on the long drive home after three tremendous hikes around Saline Valley. I was still the only Tacoma in sight, but I knew - because I'd awoken as he'd driven past at an early-morning-hour - that Mike @mk5 was somewhere further up the road, and I intended to find him in the daylight, before exiting to the north.

Good morning, Saline Valley.​

Good morning, **** Mountains.​

It didn't take long to get packed up and out of camp, as I decided to leave breakfast for "a bit later," not knowing exactly when that would be, but hoping that I could coordinate it with the same time I was transferring gas from my Scepter jerry cans in order to make it to Hawthorne, NV, where I planned to refuel.

By the time the sun hit the valley floor, I was already past the Saline Valley Warm Springs, and on my way up the road to Steel Pass. It was a fun run, the recently revalved ADS suspension soaking up the bumps as I twisted my way up the gravelly road at nearly 30mph.

​

The road to Steel Pass is not a short one, but on this cool morning I enjoyed it more than most. Fog lights helped to highlight hidden bumps in the road surface as I sped along.​

It must have been 45 minutes - or more - of relatively high-speed travel, before I spotted Mike's truck in a wash off to the side of the road. Not seeing a tent around - and knowing that he had a long day of hiking planned - I figured he was already up, and might already be gone, as I backed my Tacoma next to his for a quick photo before continuing on my way.

A long overdue meeting of Tacomas. Turns out Mike was asleep in his truck as I creepily snapped a photo.​

I believe Mike's statement was taking this was, "I don't know why I'm using the tripod." I think the reason is obvious - his shot came out amazing!​

Mike and I chatted for a while - about where we'd been, and where we wanted to go. We'd met - for a dinner of tacos, when he'd visited my hometown on business - but as it was our first time seeing each others trucks in person, there was also the requisite ogling, comparing, and describing of what was working (or not) on our rigs.

Years ago, one of the first trip reports that I read from Mike was of the Bradshaw Trail. I'd complimented him on it when I did, and he was nice enough to lend me a bit more encouragement to run it myself!​

I'm not sure how long exactly we chatted there in the wash - perhaps 30 minutes or so - but out of the sun it was chilly. That, in addition to the long days we each had planned, we decided to get going, and we continued our race up the road, the sun illuminating trails of dust behind us. I'm sure I wasn't the only one wishing that it was a weekday, opening the possibility to low-level target practice from the iron eagles that roam these hills.

Golden shadow.​

Infinite possibilities.​

With plans to explore some areas around the pass, we soon said our farewells, and I continued on my way. Marveling at the views stretched out before me, I found it interesting how my trip had been a tale of bookends - lots of driving on either side of days spent on foot; meeting ***** on the first day and Mike on the last - not a soul in between; my entrance and exit from the park occurring in the same place, a rare occurrence for my trips.

Starting the descent into Dedeckera Canyon, Eureka Dunes peeking out in the valley below.​

Desert texture.​

Dedeckera Canyon is so often thought in the context of its road - and more specifically the three 4WD obstacles - that the natural beauty of the canyon itself is overlooked. I'm as guilty as the next, and as I made why way through, I was reminded that I need to plan a trip around exploring this one small canyon between two well-known valleys - the side canyons and geology here, enough to keep me busy for a couple days, at least!

Full droop, down the first fall.​

A tight squeeze, even for a narrow 1st gen Tacoma.​

Down the second fall, a good time to inspect the rear undercarriage of your vehicle.​

The glow of the canyon - as the sun struggled to filter down the deep channel - was a delight during my descent.​

Angles matter. A good approach and departure angle can help in situations like this; no risk of catching a taillight on the rocks. ​

As I had on my way up - but for different reasons this time - I didn't spend long in Dedeckera Canyon, making quick work of the three narrow falls, and emerging into the broad wash that leads down into Eureka Valley. It's a view that always delights - especially when the snow-capped White Mountains rise up over golden dunes - and I can see why there are those who consider this their favorite view in the park. It's understandable then - as the eye is distracted by sights far away - that so many miss the road as it climbs out of the wash and down to the dunes.

So much to explore.​

Approaching the dunes, I knew that my quick trip out of the park was going to slow down for a bit. For the entirety of my trip, I'd been contemplating a series of photos to capture the absolute insanity in which I'd met ***** just a few days before. The only complication - as I saw it - was capturing the spirit of the powdery slurry without myself getting stuck in the mess.

A trail where dust flows like water.​

Splashing out, in front of the truck.​

Flowing up, over the windshield.​

Sorry, camera. You aren't going to enjoy this.​

I'm not sure that I did it real justice - my reticence to wade, and then sink my tripod in the worst of the fluff, keeping me to a slightly shallower section - but I hope these four photos give a sense of how disastrous this section of trail has become.

After a good amount of time cleaning the camera, I picked up my speed as I raced toward the northern end of the valley. Here, my plan was to exit out the old Piper Road to CA-168, some 3000' above my current elevation. My concern - which you'll likely know if you've read the rest of the story - was snow. I'd been foiled at my attempt to gain access to Eureka Valley through Cucomungo Canyon, and I knew that my only hope here was that the road utilized southern slopes in its climb to pavement.

Fingers crossed! It looks snow free from here, but looks can be deceiving.​

Heading up the alluvial fan, Piper Road was scenic, but would have been more so on foot. In a vehicle, it was slightly monotonous.​

At one point, the road curved back toward the valley. Even into the sun, the view was dramatic.​

The only relic I encountered along the way.​

The first sign of snow.​

A little more.​

A dramatic example of the north-south exposure.​

I was on pins and needles the last mile or so of my journey. Skirting between northern- and southern-facing slopes, there were sections of road completely covered in snow, but nothing that was at all troublesome for the Tacoma (unlike my nerves). As I reached the apex - and the intersection with pavement at CA-168, I let out an audible sigh. I was glad for two reasons: I'd made it out unscathed, and I hadn't had to retrace my steps - consuming valuable time and fuel - on my way home.

I'd made it!​

Quite the view up here, with the snow covered Sierra rising in the distance. I soaked it in as I aired up and ate my late breakfast.​

And then, I headed home.

Epilogue

This is the part of the story where there - usually - is no more story. Like the long drive down, the great thing about a Tacoma - while they may be slow - being reliability. Of course, reliability doesn't negate neglect, and so it was - some 100 miles before I reached the refreshment of a hot shower and clean clothes - that I found myself in a rest stop, hoping that I had what I needed to fix my trusty steed.

It all started when I heard the Blue Sea ML-ACR click to the off position as I was cruising north on I-5 at sixty-some miles per hour.

This is something that should never happen. The way the ML-ACR works is that it links the two batteries in the vehicle together when they are being charged - by the alternator or some other means - and unlinks them when one is being discharged faster than the other. This ensures that one battery - usually the one connected to the starter - always remains charged if something like a fridge, camp lights, or some other power-hungry device, completely drain the secondary battery.

Given that the alternator was - theoretically - charging away, I took a quick look at the voltages of the two batteries, just to see what was going on. It was trouble. Trouble was going on. My primary battery - the one in the engine bay that provides spark and keeps the truck running - was at a lower voltage than my secondary battery.

That's the point at which I found myself wondering:

Can I make it 100 miles home on whatever juice is left?​

The answer - I discovered two minutes later when my battery light came on - was no. Not even close. In those two miles, the battery - which should have been running in the 13.5v range - had dropped from 12.8v to 12.6v. I was losing juice fast. Fast enough that the windshield wipers - pushing the light rain from side-to-side - were slowing down as well. I turned them off and took the first exit I could find.

And then, I set to work. Luckily - oh, so luckily - for me, almost three years earlier to the day, I'd been on a trip to Death Valley with Zane @Speedytech7 and Ben @m3bassman, where Ben had radioed over the CB that he was having an issue with his battery and we needed to stop. After checking the usual suspects - missing grounds, loose terminals, Zane suggested pulling the alternator and checking the brushes. "They are really the only thing that wears out," he said.

Sure enough, that was the issue with Ben's truck, and while none of us had an exact spare, Zane was able to pillage the brushes from a spare he was carrying, and adapt them to work in Ben's alternator. Two hours later, we were back on the road to finish the trip.

Upon getting home, I'd immediately purchased a set of spare brushes, throwing them into my kit and thinking - several times - that I should just preemptively install them. Of course, other things - like trips - took priority, and so now here I was on the side of the road, hoping that this was the issue!

On removing the battery to access the alternator, I discovered that I have something else to repair when I reached home - the core support cracked where the battery is clamped down.​

Extraction complete.​

Disassembly in progress.​

This is why preventative maintenance is so important. This $15 part can strand you within a mile or two of wherever it stops working, with no real solution but replacement.​

After buttoning everything back up, I washed my hands and climbed into the truck to fire it up. My hopes high that I fixed the problem and could continue on my way, I was elated to see the voltage back in the 14.5v range as the alternator resumed the role it had so reliably executed for the previous 22 years and 210K miles.

And a couple hours later, I was home.

 

Worth noting that trail fix is still running strong on my truck hopefully it'll last the life of the truck.

 

Curious what your mileage was when you’re brushes failed.

Thanks again for your posts! The photos are so enjoyable as well as your reporting.

 

Someone almost made it to the end of the story. 210K.

Glad to hear you’re enjoying them, and I’m only poking fun about the reading. I’m always happy to answer questions, goodness knows I’ve asked a lot myself!

Ben @m3bassman - as I recall you were also around 200K when yours went out as well?

 

Yeah somewhere around that.

 

I was probably dozing off! LOL! Sorry. I get hung up in the excellent photos and get in a hurry to see the next one.
Oops! Yep the very end.

 

After a Day of Fun; Disaster! - Stranded #1
Part of the Almost Stranded (Mar 2022) trip.

For the last four months, my sole destination has been Death Valley. This would be my sixth trip to the National Park, and with temperatures warming up elsewhere, likely the last visit of the season.

I couldn't wait. Ever since December, when I'd ventured up Pleasant Canyon and South Park on the Back for More trip with my buddies Mike @Digiratus, Zane @Speedytech7, and Monte @Blackdawg, I'd been trying to get back. I'd planned an entire trip around that loop in early January, but snow levels turned out to be low at the time, and @mrs.turbodb and I were forced to change our plans at the last moment - not that exploring a series of talc mines at the southern end of the park was any sort of travesty!

Still, the draw of spending a couple days wandering through the Panamints, following side roads, and exploring the mines more fully continued to simmer in the back of my mind. And so, for the third time, we set out to finish what we'd started.

After a long drive and not enough sleep, we climbed out of the tent to a clear - but very windy - morning in Panamint Valley.​

Dust was already in the air as we looked north - past the Welcome to Death Valley sign - to the Panamint Dunes.​

Opting to skip breakfast for the time being, we got the tent squared away and headed south towards Ballarat, the wind blowing a constant 30mph - with 50mph gusts - in the same direction. I was sure that we were getting some of the best gas mileage I've ever gotten in the Tacoma - though it was still certainly below 20mpg, . Soon, we were turning off of Panamint Valley road and headed east, pausing momentarily at the radio installation just before Ballarat, before bee-lining it to South Park Canyon Road.

Having driven by numerous times, we've never stopped at this station before. It's not all that interesting, though I bet it enables a bunch of the jets we love seeing overhead.​

The initial couple miles of South Park Canyon Road aren't all that interesting, but the overlook of Panamint Valley signals a dramatic shift in the coolness of the route.​

As we admired the views out over Panamint Valley - or southern Panamint Valley, since wind-blown dust was already obscuring our views to the north - the rumbling of jets thundered overhead. Higher than they sounded - and always so far in front of the sound - we didn't see them at first. Eventually though, I spotted a glint high above.

Dogfight!​

Spiraling around each other, the planes lost several thousand feet of elevation as they tried to gain the advantage on each other.​

We probably watched for a good ten minutes or more as the planes jockeyed for position, sometimes breaking away to gain altitude before regrouping for more simulated battle. It was the first time I'd seen that on one of my trips, and as always, a fantastic experience.

Each of us getting a little hungry now, we took one last look over the valley before climbing into the Tacoma.​

One of the treasures of South Park Canyon is the narrows. Beginning just after the overlook and continuing for nearly a mile and a half, they twist and turn through vertical walls of 1.8 billion year old gneiss speckled with barrel cactus. From above, this part of the canyon must look like a wiggly fissure unable to host a road; at places it comes awfully close. Had we gotten a little more sleep, and perhaps a bit of breakfast before entering these halls, they would have been pure joy. Even tired and hungry, we each admired the scenery as we steadily climbed toward our next stop.

Entering the canyon, the rock here representing some of the oldest in the entire Panamint Range.​

This small saddle has such an interesting shape to the layers of stone. And - surprisingly - it is only about 10 feet thick; it's a miracle that floods haven't burst through as they rush down the wash.​

The wash narrows.​

As long as it's dry, it's plenty wide for the Tacoma.​

Just before 10:00am, we reached our planned breakfast destination: Briggs Camp. Unfortunately for us, both cabins were occupied, and so breaking out our cereal and blueberries to enjoy on the deck - or in the luscious backyard of the upper cabin - was out of the question. Instead, we greeted the current residents and set off on foot to explore what we could without disturbing them too much.

In case you're not sure if you've arrived.​

Visitors are welcome to stay at Briggs Camp on a first-come, first-serve basis. However, treat these cabins well and leave them better than you found them. Follow the rules posted inside the main cabin, especially directions to turn the water on and off. Only by showing the proper respect, will places like this continue to exist - for those who find them to enjoy.

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Situated in the middle of the camp, this building was both a small mill as well as a workshop.​

The small mill couldn't have processed much material from the small shaft 350 yards to the east​

Atop the mill, the appropriately sized power plant.​

The cabins are maintained by an organization called Friends of Briggs Camp, in conjunction with the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) as they are just outside of Death Valley National Park. Both cabins are amazingly clean, with beds, kitchens, minimal electricity, and even a phone line for ultra-local calls, should the residents be on speaking terms with each other.

Both cabins have running water, though it should still be filtered before consumption.​

At the upper cabin, two ore carts - loaned in 1999 from the Keystone (Lotus) Mine in Goler Wash - were in use until the mid-1990s when they were placed here for safe keeping and enjoyment.​

While we weren't able to get into the upper cabin, we did find our way into the lower one for a few minutes, and it was one of the nicest I've seen. It's clear that those who've been here before have taken good care of it - something expected by all visitors.

The aptly named Stone Cabin, built 30 feet up the canyon wall, to keep it safe from floods that may otherwise wash it away.​

While the deck and roof are made of wood, the walls of the cabin - both inside and out - are mortared stone.​

A well-appointed kitchen with all the necessities and then some.​

Mission control.​

Deciding that it would be a little weird to unpack the Tacoma in front of the occupied cabins for breakfast, I suggested to @mrs.turbodb that we head a bit further up the canyon where we could enjoy our cereal and give everyone a little more of the privacy that's so often desired on desert excursions. She agreed, and almost immediately we began climbing the shelf road behind the cabins towards the sketchiest section of trail on the entire trip.

There was once a log bridge here that could support 6,000lbs when it was built in 1998. Given that the Tacoma weights 5500lbs, and that the capacity of the bridge declined over the years, we were lucky that the BLM replaced the bridge with a more permanent solution in 2018.​

Just beyond the bridge is a section of road known as Chicken Rock. It is here that just a few months earlier, I'd taken the wrong line as I'd come down the trail - nearly sending myself over the edge. It is a section of trail perhaps best described as follows:

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The correct line, which feels wrong because of how off-camber the truck feels as the passenger tires ride along the uphill shelf. There's not enough width in the road to stay left - toward the edge - which can look like the right line.​

Checking out the situation. At this point in the obstacle, the suspension is crossed up and can lead to wheel spin, a loss of traction, and slippage toward the edge of the road.​

Up the ledge.​

Now it's just a matter of driving out.​

I noticed that it was a close call with the rear diff and the edge of the uphill shelf.​

With Chicken Rock behind us, I can't really convey the sense of relief I felt - it was, I suppose, an irrational amount. After my last encounter at this spot - when I'd heard Monte yelling at me to stop so I wouldn't drive off the edge after choosing the incorrect line - I'd only built up the difficulty of this place in my mind. The worry that there would be snow or ice, combined with the fact that we were headed uphill - the harder direction - this time, all contributed to my anxiety.

And so, now much relieved, I looked over at my copilot and suggested we find a place to eat. Luckily for us, the lower Honolulu workings of the Thorndike Mine were nestled just up a side wash, providing a bit of shelter from the gusting winds. Parked at the edge of a tailings pile, I set about poking around the remains, while @mrs.turbodb broke out a well-deserved meal.

This old tin shed housed the generator and pumps used to power the Honolulu workings of the Thorndike Mine.​

One - of two - old air compressors in the shed; used to power the mine's pneumatic drills.​

What have we hear?​

The tunnel was a straight shot, reaching more than 250 feet into the mountain. As is the case with all the Thorndike tunnels, the walls here are cracked and loose. My recommendation to others would be to keep out!​

This shaft and small stopes yielded rich zinc sulfide.​

Back to safety. And breakfast!​

As we ate breakfast, our conversation turned toward what lay ahead, as I related to @mrs.turbodb that it was - as far as I knew - mostly clear sailing from here as we explored the canyon, park, road spurs, and mines that the area had to offer. Neither of us had any idea at the time that the stress of Chicken Rock would be the least of our concerns by the end of the day, much less by the end of the trip!

For now though, we wrapped up breakfast and climbed back in the Tacoma to push onward and upward toward South Park, the upper canyon much more open than the lower narrows; grand canyon walls rising around us, blue sky blazing overhead.

Colorful blankets of stone.​

The colorful rocks in much of the upper canyon belong to the Kingston Peak Formation. Composed of limestone, sandstone, and a coarse conglomerate deposited during a glaciation period one billion years ago, the layers have been intensely deformed by Mesozoic metamorphism.

Spectacular exposures of limestone as convoluted as intestines and flattened like pancakes occur right along the road.​

We spent quite a bit of time here, having never seen anything like this before!​

Not much further along, we found a wide spot in the road to park the truck and set out across the hillsides towards the upper - Big Horn - workings of the Thorndike Mine. Even with our map, finding the old "road" (which was only - at best - a burro trail at its peak) proved to be a bit of a challenge, but we eventually did and followed the meandering path as it switched back and forth up to the mine.

Rounding a ridgeline, the trail became more visible as it switched back and forth toward the most interesting of the Thorndike workings.​

Fantastic views, on a sunny - and very windy - day!​

After a mile of trekking, we arrived at the Big Horn workings, some 1,100 feet above the Honolulu that we'd visited below.

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What surprised us most as we did was the level of development present at this site - there were nearly a dozen old stone foundations, as though miners had lived here, saving themselves from hiking up and down. With winds now reaching 40mph and temps in the low 40s (°F), we tried to poke around quickly - or at least more quickly than we might have under calmer conditions!

High winds and winter weather haven't been kind to the site. This collapsed building appeared to be a combination storage building and cabin, one side packed with ventilation pipes, the other containing an rusting old cast iron stove and bed frames.​

Broken, unused crucibles.​

A used crucible, with whatever was melted inside, still present to this day!​

Signs of life.​

A blasting shed to hold explosives, or a root cellar for cold storage, this dugout was only about 10 feet deep and lined with shelves.​

Leading out of the now collapsed shaft, a rail bed along which ore was carted, before being dumped into a chute.​

At the bottom of the chute, a second rail line ferried the ore along the hillside to the top of an aerial tramway, where the ore would be ferried down to the lower Thorndike, to be trucked down the canyon.​

The top of the aerial tramway, a windy, dusty, Panamint Valley, below.​

An old ore bucket from the tramway.​

After spending half an hour poking around - and being super excited to find our first-ever ore cart, and a really nice ore bucket - we headed off the ridge and back down the trail, happy to get out of the chilling wind. We made quick work of the trip down, what with it being much easier to stay on the trail, rather than find it in the first place!

Desert bonsai.​

As we descended, @mrs.turbodb pointed out this textbook specimen of a dip-slip fault to me!​

Even building this burro trail had clearly been a lot of work back in the day!​

Having completed our exploration of the Thorndike, we rolled quickly through the willow arches of Colter Spring, before popping out at the western edge of South Park, high in the Panamint Mountains. There aren't many high-mountain meadows that I've discovered in Death Valley, but I was immediately reminded of Hidden Valley, just north of Hunter Mountain, as we rolled through the low-lying sage towards the maze of roads on the opposite side of the valley.

Driving this tunnel in the late spring or summer - when the willows are full and covered with green foliage - must be quite the experience.​

Reminiscent, perhaps, of Toto's Africa.​

It was at the eastern edge of South Park where we spent the majority of our time exploring. A couple of mining camps there still have a reasonable number of remains, and there are enough old vehicles that one could start their own pick-and-pull franchise. All of it - of course - was worth a look!

An old pump/compressor truck of some sort - perhaps a mobile rig for powering pneumatic drills in the mines.​

This dump truck has seen better days. Still, the leaf springs have a nice arch, and the engine is still there, so it's doing better than most!​

Just barely better. The spark plugs could use servicing.​

Anyone in need of a bulldozer? Minor maintenance required.​

If the other vehicles we'd seen were work trucks, this was clearly the daily driver. Until it wasn't.​

Besides the vehicles, there were also a few cabins and structures - some on the road, others just a short hike away - that we poked around at for a good hour or so, speculating at their purpose, and wondering what exactly the folks who used to call these places home, were after. Whatever it was, one thing is certain - life here wasn't easy, and it probably wasn't all that lucrative, either.

The bottom of an old tramway, where ore was dumped from buckets into the chute, to be loaded into the dump truck we'd seen earlier.​

At the top of the tramway, the upper tower had collapsed, but a collection of engines, winches, and compressors stood guard outside of the inclined shaft.​

At a lower level working, an old tin shed - it's corrugated sides flexing in the wind - looked out over the valley, a generator inside still bright yellow after all these years.​

This generator once powered the air and water systems used to bore the several-hundred-foot shaft into the hillside behind the shed.​

Today, the tunnel provided a nice respite from the wind. I'm sure for the miners, it also provided a shelter from the summer temperatures outside!​

An old cabin. Not long for this world.​

It was right around 4:45pm when we wrapped up our exploration of the roads and spurs in South Park and headed just a little further west - to the ridgeline road overlooking Butte Valley, and leading to Rogers Pass, still some 1,200 feet higher than our current position. I'd considered camping at the end of this road - sure that sunrise over Butte Valley would have rivaled the best we've seen in the park - but the winds continued to blow and the overlook was completely exposed. It was not a recipe for success, when we were both already running on three hours of sleep in the last 48.

While the view was dusty today due to high winds, I'm sure this is one of the more spectacular views in the park.​

Striped Butte, rising up in the valley below.​

The entirety of Butte Valley, with Megal Pass to the right and Warm Springs Canyon to the left.​

We were still at too high an elevation for spring to really have taken hold, but there were definitely signs that it was on its way. A few small purple flowers, and a ton of curled grasses - strangely all laying on the ground as though they were dehydrated - dotted the hillside. If anyone knows what they are, I'd love to update the story with identification.

Spring is coming.​

What are you, you strange snake grass?!​

Pointed north now, we followed the trail - a very steep one along the ridge - until we reached Rogers Pass, where William Manly and John Rogers crossed the Panamints to bring supplies to 49ers trapped in Death Valley, eventually leading the Bennett and Arcane families to safety via the same route. It was here - on Feb 14, 1850, that one said, "Goodbye Death Valley!" giving the valley its name.

Along the ridge towards Rogers Pass.​

The apex of our route. From here on, we would be headed down Pleasant Canyon.​

It was - as we were contemplating camp, and headed through the grove of pinyon pine at the top of Pleasant Canyon - that I initially heard a clunking sound. To me, it sounded like it was coming from the front of the truck, as though something was dropping down and hitting the skid plate as the suspension flexed over the undulations of the road.

Such a change of landscape from earlier in the day - I counted on these trees providing us a bit of shelter from the gusty winds.​

Getting out to inspect the situation, my initial investigation included kicking the front skid plate in several places to ensure that it was still tightly secured (I've had issues with bolts backing out in the past), checking to ensure that the bolts securing the front diff - the only thing I could imagine dropping onto the skid plate - was secure, and using a flashlight to verify that there was nothing else hanging down and causing problems - there wasn't.

Out of an abundance of caution, I wandered toward the back of the truck to check things out. The sound - I was sure - was coming from the front, but better safe than sorry in a situation like this.

And then, I saw it - as I was checking the bolts for the rear shocks, my eyes wandered just a little further forward - the driver side main leaf was busted!

Not good. Not good at all.​

I knew immediately that this could spell some serious trouble. Capital "T" type of trouble.

 

Very nice report and photographs. My first trip to "Death Valley" was as a passenger with my flight instructor and a couple other guys. We spent one night at Briggs and one night up at Ritas. To date I've still not personally driven the bridge and Chicken Rock. I really need to do it in order to understand it better but it scares the crap out of me. I will never forget looking down onto Butte Valley and asking "What are we looking at?". The answer: DEATH VALLEY! I was hooked. Hope you don't mind me sharing some pics from that trip. At Rita's there had been a cicada festival. The trees and parts of the cabin still had the carcasses.