AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

Oh No! Rain! - Out-and-Backs #3
Part of the Owyhee Out-and-Backs (May 2022) trip.

My exploration of Blue Valley complete, and a bit of my curiosity satiated at the Hattie Harrell Homestead, it was time to scratch another itch that had been bothering me for more than a year. On the same trip where I'd seen the Harrell Place across the river, I'd spotted a road high up on the eastern escarpment of the canyon. A series of switchbacks, I made a note to investigate when I got home.

I year earlier when I spotted this zigzag I thought, "Doesn't that look intriguing!"​

Making my way back up through Blue Valley - completing yet another of my out-and-backs - I soon found myself overlooking the descent back down into the canyon at access road to the Christine Marie Mine. Unfortunately, by this time, it was raining.

A tempting plunge, but a difficult climb if it becomes a muddy mess!​

If the Pollock-esque pattern on my door was any indication, I wasn't in for a clean afternoon.​

Looking out over the canyon, the weather situation didn't look promising. Or did it? There seemed to be rain everywhere around, some places heavier than others. But then - far to the west - I could see what appeared to be rainless skies; not cloudless, but dry. With a brisk westerly wind, I crossed my fingers that the ground would still be dry enough upon my return and drove over the edge toward the mine. If I was going to do this, I was going to be quick about it.

On a small plateau above the switchbacks, the old cabins for the mine as well as an old International Harvester Scout 800 stood guard over the site.​

Axle seals anyone? Castle nuts?​

Barely broken in, mileage wise!​

Jake's cabin was set into the hillside - likely to moderate temperatures and shelter from the driving wind.​

I really liked the rockwork-woodwork combination. I don't feel like I often see this attention to detail in miner's cabins.​

With the rain increasing, I started to wonder if I'd made the wrong decision. Even a quarter inch of water on the Owyhee mud could leave me stranded until things dried out. But I'd come this far - and curiosity is a beast - so rather than retreat, I rolled the dice and headed to the top of the switchbacks. "I'll just take a photo from the top," I told myself, and then beeline it back to the relative safety of the plateau.

"A photo from the top."​

As I'm sure everyone reading already suspects, upon reaching the top of the switchbacks, I couldn't bring myself to turn around. "I'll just descend to the first turn," I decided.

"The first turn."​

Well, at the first turn, I could see that there were only a few more to what appeared to be the main mine workings, and after a bit of hmming-and-hawing, I convinced myself that I could be quick about a trip down to check them out. I'd later discover that these were the workings of Jake's Place, and not the Christine Marie Mine.

For more information about the Christine Marie Mine and the man who worked it - Eugene Mueller - I have some recommend reading. Years after working the Christine Marie Mine, Eugene put together a blog containing several of his stories. I wish I'd discovered his blog before heading out on my adventure, but having only discovered it once I returned and was doing some research for my own story, I knew I needed to share to those who enjoy my adventures. His writing style, as well as the background and detail on this place, are fabulous. Read a few pages or the whole thing; I don't think you'll be disappointed.


​

I soon reached the workings about 700 feet down the hillside. This, it turns out, was known as Jake's Place.​

It might appear that copper was the goal at the Jake's Place - and by extension the Christine Marie Mine - but it wasn't. Morrisonite Jasper was the ultimate prize.​

The views from the workings were spectacular. To the northeast, the storm that'd been passing overhead continued to dump buckets across the landscape - my earlier hope that the clouds would add a bit of drama, easily fulfilled. To the southwest, it was still cloudy, but - as I'd hoped - dry, the green landscape below, now devoid of any dust, somehow even brighter than it'd been earlier in the day.

Into the storm.​

Blue Valley has never been greener!​

Eventually - though in less of a rush, as it wasn't raining at the moment - it was time to make my way back up to the top and on to my final destination for the day - a second set of petroglyphs that I'd apparently passed by many times before! And so, up, up, up, I went, surprised at how quickly I'd made it down, and now slowly I was making it up the old mining road at the Christine Marie. I can only imagine driving this road in the old International Harvester Scout, hoping that it would make it with a full load!

On the way back up, I detoured to check out a small cave on the hillside.​

Relative safety of the flat ground. At least here, muddy trails would only lead to a muddy truck, rather than the risk of sliding down the hillside!​

From the mine, I had only about five miles to the site of the petroglyphs - somewhere long the circumference of Jordan Craters. Then, as I slipped and slid my way across the just-wet-enough-to-be-sloppy roads, I spotted a truck up ahead. Initially I thought it was someone out hunting, but as I drew closer, I realized it belonged to a rancher, working their fences. Likely having bugged out a couple hours earlier when the rain had started - some would say, in the way I should have - they'd left the job for another day. I climbed out to take a look.

An old Dodge M37, the military version of the Power Wagon. Sharing the same same chassis, drivetrain and most of the body, the biggest difference was that the M37 had a rag top, and the PW had a full steel cab.​

I loved this sticker on the inside of the door. If only drivers today still took such pride in their practice.​

Now, with nowhere to put a key, how do we start this thing?

(Note: I never figured it out, and wouldn't have, even if I had.)​

After poking around a bit - hoping that the owners would come return so I could gush over their rig for a bit and learn a bit more of its history - I eventually pulled myself away and was soon trekking cross-country through the on-again rain towards the edge of Jordan Craters. I'd never approached from this angle before, and with the green grass of spring, it was quite the dramatic view into the blackness of the flow.

On the edge of a lava lake.​

I searched around for the petroglyphs for a good half-hour or so, finding several places where they should have been - nice patina to the rock, smooth faces to etch on, etc. - but never actually finding the rock art I was after.

While I didn't run into any rock art, I did startle this little guy. Of course, he let me know he was there, and I gave him plenty of room.​

Finally, with the rain increasing and a realization that I could always come back for a more thorough search, I headed back the way I'd come, toward the Tacoma. With only 20 miles between me and the highway, I decided that I'd push towards home a bit - hopefully out of the rain - before finding a spot to get some shut-eye in order to break up the ten-hour journey. It'd been another fabulous trip to the Owyhee Canyonlands - one I would not soon forget.

Airing up in the rain, always a joyous experience.​

Spring Flowers of Day 2

Showy Phlox​

Lupine.​

I thought the lupine leaves were just as pretty as the flowers!​

Red-stemmed Filaree​

Fiddleneck​

Bitterroot Lewisia​

Evening Primrose​

Apricot Mallow​

 

A Tour of Cabins atop Steens Mountain
Part of the A Tour of Cabins atop Steens Mountain (May 2022) trip.

I don't know why exactly, but the Alvord Playa holds a special place in our hearts. Perhaps it's because it was the first big playa that we ever drove out onto and camped on. Maybe it's due in part to the history around the women's world speed record and our search for the final tracks left by Jessi Combs after her death there several years ago. At least partially, it's due to the surrounding landscape - full of hot springs, old mines, vast ranches, and of course, the ever-present Steens Mountain.

We've ventured onto Steens Mountain before, trying to make our way - on dirt - over the southern end in order to explore the Steens Mountain Loop, but were turned around by locked gates. What we've never tried to do is explore the flank of this gigantic behemoth that extends 50 miles to the north.

Until now.

Anyway, we got started around 8:00am. With a relatively short 10-hour drive - at least, compared to some of our 20+-hour jaunts - and with the days getting longer, it was still light as we approached southeast Oregon to some very windy conditions.

That's not fog or snow, that's dust stirred up by the steady 25mph winds and 45mph gusts!​

Luckily, we had one final pass to navigate, and as we dropped down on the leeward side, it was a little less dusty - though definitely not the clearest day we've had - as we sped down Fields-Denio Road toward the Alvord Playa and Steens Mountain.

It might have been a little dusty, but it was also so green!​

My plan had been to head all the way to the Alvord Playa to camp for the evening, backtracking to Stonehouse Canyon the following morning - where our adventure along the northern slope of Steens Mountain would take place - but from 30 miles away we could see that the playa was a disaster of dust, so instead we opted to nestle ourselves into a spot in Stonehouse Canyon where we hoped to be sheltered from the worst of the wind.

Searching around in Stonehouse Canyon for a nice spot to call home for the evening.​

Eventually we found a nice little site off the side of the road; the long spring grass completely enveloping the fire ring that would go unused for our short stay.​

After enjoying a beautifully pink-and-purple sunset, we deployed the tent to relatively calm conditions and climbed under the comforters, hoping that the wind would die down even more over the course of the night.

Day 2...

As we'd climbed into bed, the westerly wind and shape of the canyon meant that the majority of the wind was blowing down the north side of the canyon - to the extent that I even commented to @mrs.turbodb that it was "nice" to hear the river of wind running through the trees and grass - while we were in the relative calm in our little eddy.

Around midnight, that all changed. Instead of blowing from the west, the winds became northeasterly and we were suddenly caught in the line of fire. The shaking and buffeting of the tent became relentless, and though I'd secured the ladder with our 5-gallon jerry can of water - so we didn't need to worry about the tent folding up on us - even with earplugs, it was too chaotic for a good nights sleep.

And so, even as the sun rose to the east, I decided to hold off on my usual photos, opting instead for a few more minutes of rest.

Eventually we got up to a beautiful - though still windy - day.​

Longer days meant that - even with our lazy morning - we were under way just before 8:00am, headed west up Stonehouse Canyon Road as it climbed the eastern escarpment of Steens Mountain.

The green grass of spring made all the roads nearly disappear.​

Lupine going strong at the lower elevations.​

​

The basalts of Steens eastern escarpment really remind me of the geology in the Owyhee Canyonlands, not too far to the northeast.​

We didn't even get out of the Tacoma to investigate these purple blankets that popped up here and there along our trip, but we certainly admired them from the comfort of the cab!​

Eventually, we reached the top of the canyon and popped out along the eastern edge of Steens Mountain. This mountain - the largest of Oregon's fault-block mountains - rises from the west side of the Alvord Desert Playa and stretches more than 50 miles to OR-78. A single mountain, rather than a range, Steens is shaped like a shallow wedge - the northern end feathering into the landscape at 4,200 feet, the southern end rising dramatically over the playa at 9,738 feet.

Where we'd popped out at 6,375 feet, we crossed our fingers that the patchy snow would stay patchy, allowing us to explore the middle-elevations of this amazing place.

Before long, we came to our first cabin.​

Every cabin that we came to was interesting in one way or another, and this one was no exception. While it wasn't in great shape, it was obvious that was someone (or someone's) who was trying to keep it from completely disintegrating, some newer lumber now supporting the opening in the stone where the door once hung. The door itself was inside the cabin, and affixed to it were two patent deeds of the surrounding land, signed by the presidents at the time - Calvin Coolidge and Woodrow Wilson.

Not originals, but I've never seen a patent deed at a cabin before, so these were a great find!​

The rest of the cabin interior was a little worse for wear.​

With little to see, we were soon on our way. Climbing a few hundred feet in elevation - just enough to traverse a couple of snow drifts - we passed through the second of what would end up being a dozen or so gates over the course of the day, much of this land a mix of leased Bureau of Land Management (BLM) and private holdings. A few minutes later, we were dropping down into a meadow that contained our second cabin of the day!

I have to say, a smile crossed both our faces when we saw this sign.​

This second cabin was once much more elaborate than the first, but is quickly deteriorating due to lack of attention.​

Lathe and plaster - this was a fancy place!​

Outside, even with patches of snow on the ground, spring was breaking through.​

After wandering around the second cabin for a while - checking out some of the graffitied names and dates on the interior - we were back in truck for less than a mile when we stumbled upon our third cabin. I'd not noticed this one as part of my route planning, so it was with a bit more excitement that we climbed out to inspect the situation.

A small hunting cabin nestled into the hillside.​

Well-constructed and sealed up tight, this cabin was - unfortunately but understandably - locked.​

A little bummed that we couldn't admire the insides - surely nicer than the cabins we'd previously encountered - we were soon back underway. Headed south again, our first loop of the day was nearly complete - only a climb out of the meadow and a short overlook spur remaining before we'd head west - across the Steens Plateau - towards the small town of Diamond.

As usual, plans are more easily made than executed!

Climbing out the south end of the valley meant we were climbing the north-facing hillside. And of course, north-facing means snow. And this late in the spring, it's slushy and slick.​

Luckily, we were able to make it around the drift, and upon reaching the rim of the valley, we were faced with 20 miles of Steens Mountain, gradually rising in front of us.​

Hoping that would be the last of the white stuff to present itself along the trail for the day, a half-mile long spur that led to the edge of Steens Mountain - some 20 miles north of the Alvord Playa - was a place I'd considered to be a camp site when I'd first planned the trip. With a constant 40mph wind ripping over the ridge as we arrived, it was obvious that there'd be no camping - at least this trip - but we still worked out way out to the edge to admire the view.

In the distance, dust blowing across the Alvord Playa.​

The other direction, our shelter from the wind!​

Even with all we'd seen so far, it was still only 9:30am, but rather than feeling confident about the rest of the day, our brief encounter with snow had us on edge - especially since I hoped to reach the head of Kiger Gorge, at a mere 8,900'.

Hmm, right.

Anyway, I tried to push that elevation out of my mind as we rambled up and down along the plateau-like mountain-side. We were headed west now - across the Kiger Mountain Mustang Viewing Area - on our way to Diamond and the trailhead that would lead us to the mouth of the gorge. Or at least, we were headed west until we came to the Snow Mountain Cabin.

Looked like it could even be occupied.​

This cabin is quite clearly still used on a regular basis, everything buttoned up with care and signage noting that occupancy was by reservation only. And of course, to make a reservation, you probably have to know the owner! I was careful to leave it just as nice as I found it, only snapping a few photos so that I could contact the owner and let them know the condition of their oasis atop the mountain.

It was not a warm day.​

A hunting cabin, as evidenced by the racks, as well as the entries in the logbook.​

I read a few of the stories of past visitors, and thought it was a great one. We all have days like this, but my sense is that these kids handled it better than most!​

From the Snow Mountain Cabin we continued west through the wild mustang viewing area, our hopes high that we might see some wild mustangs roaming the hillside. Maybe because it was too early in the season, or just because the day happened to be on the cold side, we didn't run into any - though the lush green landscape helped to keep our spirits high.

Spring on gently sloping side of Steens Mountain.​

Another cabin!​

Small windows through massive rock walls that were more than two feet thick.​

Well, despite nearly losing the trail in a couple of places, we eventually hit Happy Valley Road in Diamond and turned towards the unnamed road I'd routed to take us to the top of Kiger Gorge. Over on this side of Steens Mountain, what we thought initially to be blown dust was actually fog piling up against the ridge, making for an eerie sensation as we began our trek east.

Green under grey. If this pea soup didn't clear, we weren't going to have much of a view at Kiger Gorge!​

Where we nearly lost the trail across the Kiger Mountain Mustang Viewing Area, it completely disappeared about three miles into our 27-mile climb through rolling pastures and thousands of cattle. With problems stacking up - the fog was only getting thicker, our bellies were grumbling for lunch, there was a 99.999% chance of getting stopped by snow (even if we were able to find a road) - we pulled over to solve the most pressing issue - with a liberal application of PB&J sandwiches and potato chips.

Then, we made the responsible decision to turn ourselves around and show ourselves back down the mountain. We'd been beaten - this time - by a long-forgotten route to Kiger Gorge.

Heading back off of Steens Mountain - if only for a moment.​

Well hello, marmot!​

With our attempt at Kiger Gorge squashed, we briefly contemplated running over to Diamond Craters to explore a bit and find camp - except that we quickly realized that with all the fog on this side of Steens Mountain, we weren't really going to see anything there. Of course, we had no idea of the conditions on the east side of Steens, but we figured we might as well head that direction and hope for the best!

Heading east along Little Kiger Creek.​

High water this time of year!​

For a while, the road along Little Kiger Creek was fabulous. Like all of the roads over Steens Mountain, it was nearly 30 miles long, and I'd say that for the first five of those miles, it seemed like we'd made a great decision - only a few gates to be opened and closed as we progressed quickly up the gentle western slopes of the mountain. It was 2:30pm and I thought we might make it back to the Alvord Playa within an hour.

Except, with each gate we passed through, the road became less and less travelled. Eventually, the well-defined road became a two-track, and then - as we passed yet another old hunting cabin, a no-track, the entire road covered in 16-inch-tall grass, trees and shrubs encroaching from both sides.

Another surprise cabin.​

Not frequently visited, but appears to be structurally sound.​

Well then, could use a bit of work.​

With the deteriorated roads - which I wouldn't run again myself, or suggest to anyone else - our progress slowed dramatically for the rest of the climb, but we pressed forward, knowing that at any time, we could run into a locked gate, forcing us to turn around, retracing our path to find another route.

Climbing up and out of Little Kiger Creek.​

We probably ran into half-a-dozen gates over the next three hours. Luckily, none of them were locked, though several were so overgrown with sage that it was tough to pull back the barbed wire in order to get the Tacoma through.

Perhaps three miles from the end of the road, conditions slowly improved. It was a reassuring sign - one that gave us hope that we'd make it through. But then - as the road wound through a grove of aspen - we ran into the inevitable.

​

I hadn't even considered bringing the chainsaw, so we were lucky that the Japanese pull saw was enough to get these cleared.​

I bet this is beautiful in the fall.​

Finally, with less than a mile to go before we re-joined one of the roads we'd travelled earlier in the day - one that would lead us back down Stonehouse Canyon - we encountered our final cabin of the adventure. And it was a nice one!

A working cabin, with new fencing, a solid roof, and an interior that smelled of the countless fires that have kept its occupants comfy.​

​

This cool old California license plate, and a small revolver were on the mantle. Plus, I always like seeing the brands of these ranches, though I couldn't find this one in the Oregon brand book.​

An abandoned project? Weird.​

With that - and with the cold foggy skies beginning to spit a little bit of snow - we made a beeline towards the trail that would shepherd us off of Steens Mountain and onto the Alvord Desert. We'd come up this way just 12 hours earlier to decidedly different conditions, and as the wind rushed through the canyon, blowing the snow continued to fall, we hoped that we'd be able to find suitable shelter for the night.

A cold, stormy evening as we descended Stonehouse Canyon.​

Our plan was to camp at a little spot just north of the Alvord Playa, nestled into the trees and sheltered from the winds at the base of Pike Creek Canyon. We'd never camped there before, but on previous trips we've parked at the camp site and hiked up to the uranium mine, so we knew it'd be a good location - if someone else hadn't gotten to it first.

As we pulled up to the turn off of Fields-Denio Road, we noticed a steel cable across the road and looked at each other with surprise. In the last year or two - since we visited last - the BLM has closed the road (to vehicles) in order to protect the sensitive habitat. Well, dang!

And so, hoping that the 30mph winds would die down once the sun set, we headed for our usual spot - the playa itself.

It was windy out here, but at least we were out of the snow!​

The Alvord Playa really is a special place, and with the truck pointed into the wind, we prepped dinner and climbed back into the truck - the tent not yet deployed - to read our Kindles and wait out the gusts as best we could.

At 9:00pm - having already fallen asleep several times - I couldn't wait any longer. I re-oriented the truck as best I could to ensure we wouldn't get folded up in our sleep, and within minutes we were brushing our teeth and climbing into bed. After two days of driving, with a blustery night of no sleep in-between, we were both exhausted.

Day 3...

Thankfully, around midnight, the wind did actually die down, and when I awoke the following morning, it was calm as could be. Having parked near to the edge of the playa to keep the blowing dust down, I now wanted a different perspective, so a few minutes before sunrise, @mrs.turbodb was transported a little more than a mile out onto the lake bed, the tent once again proving itself in 15-20mph winds.

<p id="photoContainer47" class="full-width-container imgbox"><img id="photo50" class="flickrPhoto bottom" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52097803852_9754fc7dc8_n.jpg" data-srcset="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52097803852_9754fc7dc8_n.jpg 320w, https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52097803852_9754fc7dc8_c.jpg 800w, https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52097803852_e32fba9301_h.jpg 1600w" data-largesrc="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52097803852_e32fba9301_h.jpg" /><img id="photo49" class="flickrPhoto top" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52099067104_647a7d0e54_n.jpg" data-srcset="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52099067104_647a7d0e54_n.jpg 320w, https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52099067104_647a7d0e54_c.jpg 800w, https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52099067104_5e802324a5_h.jpg 1600w" data-largesrc="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52099067104_5e802324a5_h.jpg" /><!--<img id="photo47" class="flickrPhoto top" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52099331790_1132c218ca_n.jpg" data-srcset="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52099331790_1132c218ca_n.jpg 320w, https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52099331790_1132c218ca_c.jpg 800w, https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52099331790_b6ec8f3a9e_h.jpg 1600w" data-largesrc="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52099331790_b6ec8f3a9e_h.jpg" />--></p>

What a beautiful morning.​

Leaving the camera setup to snap photos every 15 seconds, I headed back into the tent and enjoyed two more hours of sleep followed by another hour of reading as the sun warmed the tent and we had nowhere to be.

Eventually of course, we decided to get up, eat breakfast, and get on our way. Having run most of the roads - that we could anyway - the previous day, we decided to head home early after a little playing around on the playa.

Zoom zoom.​

We weren't setting any land speed records in a 1st gen Tacoma!​

Headed home; a little more snow on Steens than when we'd arrived the day before.​

Usually when we're headed to - or from - a place, we do our best to make reasonably good time. Stopping only for gas, food, and bathroom breaks, our days are long and borning - podcasts, naps (for the passenger), and geology books, our sources of entertainment. But, a day ahead of schedule already, we made an exception on the way home, to check out an old car we've passed countless times in the middle of a field just north of Steens Mountain.

Watching time tick by.​

Two hunks of metal, one of them fifty years older than the other.​

And with that, we headed home. I have to say that I was a little bummed to not have made it to Kiger Gorge, but looking back on it now, it was another great trip with all sorts of unexpected discoveries. And of course, Kiger Gorge will be waiting, when we head that direction again!

 

Even Better - v2 of Old-Guy Tire Inflator & RTT LEDs

Two of my favorite camping conveniences just got better.

Ever since I modified my tire inflator to extend the hose on it - enabling me to inflate tires standing up rather than crouching down - I've been very happy.

Old guys don't want to strain their knees when out camping.​

Similarly, I've been happy with the LED light strip I added to the CVT Mt. Shasta RTT. While I didn't write up the mod in any serious way - it just seemed too obvious at the time - it's been really nice to move around in the tent and get ready for bed with more than just a headlamp. Plus, it makes for some fun photography!

A warm glow out of the tent is a great beacon when roaming around at night.​

Tire Inflator Improvements

The tire inflator has worked flawlessly since I modified it, but one of the things I realized relatively early on was that the biggest pain with inflating tires is the finessing of the target pressure and moving the inflator from one tire to the next. With four tires, I was doing this four times, approximately 3-5 minutes apart. That timeframe meant that doing other things - be it adding fuel, making a sandwich, or simply talking to buddies - was nearly out of the question.

And so, when my air-up kit was stolen out of the garage, I decided it was time to replace the Old-Guy Inflator Mod with the Old-Lazy-Guy Inflator. It'd follow the same concept, but would air up two tires at once, rather than just one. Obviously, it could be modified further to air up all four tires, and there are products out there that already do that - but I don't want the bulk of carrying one of those kits around. My version continues to fit in a Dewalt case with several other bits of recovery and trail-clearing gear, taking up no more space that my single-tire kit.

Keeping everything compact was important to me.​

Since all my air-up stuff was stolen, I got started by purchasing all new components. It seems like a long list, but it's really not that bad; it looks long because I've included options for folks hoping to do copy the solution with different setups:

• The tire inflator itself. You can choose one of many gauges, but I chose this tire inflator with an analog gauge one because I would rather not rely on batteries.
• The connector between the gauge and hose - Brass M10x1.0 Male Thread to 8mm Hose Barb,
• The tee connector to split the inflator for two tires - 5/16" Brass Barbed Tee Fitting
• (4) stainless steel hose clamps
• Some ¼” hose (I used a portion of a 25' long, ¼" flexzilla hose)
• (4) ¼" MPT strain relief fittings for the business ends of the hose
• (2) 1/4" FPT Lock-On Chuck devices, that are closed at rest.
• Fittings to adapt the inflator components to your air compressor. I use Hi-Flow V-style quick connects for this, but I'll also include links to the more traditional (lower flow) M-style.
  • V-style, Hi-Flow quick connectors:
    • (1) HI-Flo V-Style 1/4" FPT FNPT Brass Plug Air Quick Connect
    • Note: you can purchase the following as a kit
      • (1) HI-Flo V-Style 1/4" MPT MNPT Brass Plug Air Quick Connect
      • (1) HI-Flo V-Style 1/4" FPT FNPT Brass Coupler Air Quick Connect
  • M-style, normal flow quick connectors:
    • The cheapest way is to pick up a kit of plugs and connectors.

With all the parts in hand, assembly is straight forward. I make the setup in two parts - first, a simple, straight, hose that connects to my compressor, and then the inflator that branches off to two tires at the same time. This allows simple storage, and allows me to give the inflator to a buddy, and they can hook it up to the hose coming off their compressor as well.

A diagram of the entire thing, assembled.​

The Simple Straight Hose

1. Cut the length hose you need. I find that approximately 7-10 feet works well.
2. Install a ¼" MPT strain relief fitting onto each end.
3. On one end, install a 1/4" FPT Brass Plug, this end will connect to your air compressor.
4. On the other end, install a 1/4" FPT Brass Coupler, this end will connect to your inflator.

The Split Inflator

There's a little more to the Inflator, but it's all pretty easy. Refer to the photo above and you can probably ignore the instructions!

1. Using a small crescent wrench, unscrew and then remove the factory hose from the inflator (being careful to keep the rubber eye intact.
2. Insert the M10x1.0 Male Thread to 8mm Hose Barb into the inflator, with a bit of teflon tape to seal the threads.
3. Cut a short - 2½" - length of hose and secure it to the 8mm Hose Barb using a stainless steel hose clamp.
4. Insert the 5/16" Brass Barbed Tee Fitting into the end of the short length of hose and secure it using a stainless steel hose clamp.
5. Attach a 2-3' length of hose to one of the remaining ports on the tee fitting, and secure it with a stainless steel hose clamp.
6. Install a ¼" MPT strain relief fitting onto the end of the 2-3' length of hose, then install a 1/4" FPT Lock-On Chuck to the end of the strain relief fitting.
7. Attach a longer length of hose - long enough to reach from your front tire to your rear tire - to the final ports of the tee fitting, and secure it with a stainless steel hose clamp.
8. Install a ¼" MPT strain relief fitting onto the end of the longer hose, then install a 1/4" FPT Lock-On Chuck to the end of the strain relief fitting.

Tent LED Lighting Improvements

I never really thought I needed lights in the tent before I installed them, but I have to admit that putting some leftover LED strip lights along the top ridge has been great. They are 12V LEDs, so all I had to do was run a small wire down to my bed rack where I have a 12V power box installed. Each outlet there is switched, so since installing the lights, I've just switched them from the box.

The 12V power box made connection and switching easy.​

Of course, you've probably already spotted the issue. Turning the lights on - when I'm setting up the tent or when it gets dark - is no problem. In fact, it couldn't be easier to just flip the switch. But when I'm ready to turn the lights out, things are a little trickier. I've got to unzip the door, reach my arm down and around the bottom of the tent, and blindly find the switch.

Nightly contortions. (Photo missing, because I forgot to take it when I installed the switch.)​

It'd be much easier to have a switch in the tent where I could turn everything off more easily.

To make that a reality, I recently found these really small switches. They only support 1A of current, but that's plenty for my LEDs, so I set about cutting the positive wire of the LED circuit - where the wire snakes its way up one of the support poles to the ridge - to solder in one of the switches (and a bit of heat shrink to keep everything isolated).

A couple zip ties hold everything in place.​

Conveniently located on the center pole.​

Now, when I go to bed, I can just press my magic little button in the tent and poof, darkness. And, when I put everything away in the morning, I'll just turn the interior switch on as I close up the tent, so I can continue to use the exterior switch when I deploy camp in the evening!

Now that is camping convenience. For an old guy.

 

Dude I'm back!

Hadn't put a mile on the truck since I got home from meeting you in DV back in ... January?



Until yesterday that is...



I'm finally catching up on the thread while bagholding on a poorly chosen sunrise timelapse. Spectacular color in all other directions though.

Damn, the shot you got of the owl in that cave is epic!

Cheers!

 

Mike! They say great minds think alike, but I can never really put myself in that category. Still, I was thinking about how it'd been a while just a couple days ago. We (@mrs.turbodb and I) were out on the WYBDR and as I took a photo of a train trestle (really just a boring bridge), I wondered how you were doing. Super glad to see you got out again; that's quite the sunrise!

 

How I Use My Garmin inReach Mini Satellite Communicator

A few years ago, I wrote a post about how I got started adventuring out into the middle of nowhere all by myself. I went into a bunch of details about my experiences growing up, and how those experiences shaped me into the traveler I've become. Still, one of the things I mentioned not being fully prepared for was a bodily injury or "now-we're stranded" problem with the Tacoma.

It was about six months ago that I acquired a Garmin inReach Mini. I wrote about it only briefly as part of the Hiking Saline Valley trip that spurred the purchase - I was going to be doing some remote hiking, as well as the Rig Review following the trip.

For a few of the hikes on the trip, I had more safety gear than normal.​

Having only mentioned that I bought it - and never really went into detail on how I use it - I realize that getting a satellite communicator is the easy part of the equation. Using it efficiently - both from a cost and communication perspective - is actually the more important part to "get right." So, here's how to make the most of a Garmin inReach Mini satellite communicator.

Also - most importantly - I owe much thanks to Ken @DVexile for sharing his thoughts on various satellite communicators and their use. I've modeled much of my solution - and the information here, much of which is blatantly copied from various posts of his throughout the site - on his knowledge and extremely pragmatic mindset. Thank you Ken.

Lastly, in today's world of instafluencers and sponsor-supported youtubers, it's worth mentioning that I am not sponsored by Garmin or any other vendor mentioned here. Like every other bit of gear I have, I spent my money on what I hoped would be the best for my situation.

My Subscription Rant
I dislike subscriptions. I know everything is going that direction, but I've refrained - to the extent possible - from the plethora of streaming music and video services. Of course, my utilities, internet, and cell phone are all subscriptions, but I'm careful to monitor their costs to make sure I'm not paying for more than I actually use.

In fact, my aversion to subscriptions has been the primary motivator behind my reluctance to pick up an inReach Mini, and even though I know an inReach would be better, I've seriously considered a Personal Locator Beacon (PLB) device instead. For more on why I didn't go that route, see Why a Garmin inReach and not a SPOT or dedicated PLB?

The Goal
So, my rant should make it clear that biggest hurdle for me with the inReach Mini was the subscription. As such, my goal was to minimize the cost while maximizing the benefits. And there were two benefits/goals I was hoping to achieve:

1. The ability to trigger a Search and Rescue (SAR) via SOS functionality, without cell service.
2. The ability to communicate my status and location to loved ones back home on a regular basis, even without cell service.

Garmin has three consumer plans - ranging from $11.95 to $64.95 - with which I could attempt to meet these goals:

​

Garmin inReach subscription pricing, as of June 2022. (source)​

The Solution
All three of these plans include a solution to my first goal - sending an SOS to spin up SAR, so my focus was on the second - communicating my status and location on a regular basis.

The most expensive plan would clearly solve the issue - I'd have an unlimited number of text messages that I could send, and I could also communicate an unlimited number of tracking points - up to one every two minutes - so they'd know where I was. The other two plans varied only in the number of text messages, and neither 10 nor 40 seemed like they would approach my desire for "regular basis."

However, while arbitrary Text messages can quickly get expensive, all plans allow me to send Preset messages - of which I can define up to three (and each one can be delivered to any number of email/SMS recipients) - an unlimited number of times. Preset messages also include the location from which they are sent, so I set about devising three messages that would meet my goal around regular status messages.

So what are the messages, and when might I send them?

I've configured each of these preset messages to send to several individuals - via both email and SMS - who I think can help should SAR need to be called. Further - and just as importantly - I've educated them on when and why I would send each message, and instructed them to not respond, since responses count against my text message count for the month.

If fact, since getting the inReach, I've only sent one custom text message out of my monthly allotment. It was a doozy, when we broke a main rear leaf spring deep in the Death Valley outback.

Being able to send a message - even in a situation that wasn't life-or-death - was comforting in itself.​

And with that, I have a solution that works with the lowest-cost plan, which I've subscribed to at the "annual" level of $12/month, or a little over $150/year after taxes.



Background and Frequently Asked Questions
Given my solution above, I will try to anticipate a few questions, but please don't hesitate to ask more, and I'll add them (plus answers) to the list. Note that a large portion of this content is courtesy of Ken.

What are the differences between SPOT, inReach, and dedicated PLBs?
SPOT, InReach and PLBs all use LEO (low earth orbit) constellations. This means that having an unobstructed view of a particular part of the sky is not critical since the satellites are constantly moving overhead. At some point the device will eventually have view of a satellite, even in fairly restricted locations like deep canyons. Further, when in emergency mode, all of the beacons transmit continuously. This means that given enough time (and battery) they will get a message out, since eventually a passing satellite will have view of the transmitter.

The specifics for each are a bit different.

SPOT
Is a commercial service with a subscription. SPOT uses the GlobalStar constellation and more specifically uses a blind one-way transmission for sending messages. Location information for those messages is acquired using standard GPS.

The SPOT beacon (that is their lower cost actual beacon products, not some of their two way messengers) - when used for routine messages - just blindly sends the message three times over 15 minutes hoping that your sky view and a satellite line up for one of those three tries. If you've got open skies it probably succeeds on the first try; with restricted skies, odds decline with the reduction of sky.

As noted for all the products, when in emergency mode, the beacon transmits continuously and thus the odds of a message getting through are much, much higher than in routine messaging. Still, even in emergency mode, there is a good chance the SPOT beacon might not be able to get a GPS fix if there isn't much sky available, and thus your emergency message won't have location information. Still, it will start a SAR effort and the SAR folks can use whatever resources they have (loved ones, your itinerary, an earlier message you sent with a GPS fix) to narrow the search. For this reason, when using SPOT, it is best to send periodic status messages when you know you have good sky view so that SAR will have a recent fix if you have an emergency with restricted sky view.

inReach
Is a commercial service with a subscription. InReach uses Iridium which supports two-way transmission with acknowledgement for communication. It also uses GPS to determine location.

The key difference is that Iridium inReach devices listen for a signal from an Iridium satellite before even attempting to send a message. If it can't hear the satellite, then the satellite certainly can't hear it either. This allows it to be much "smarter" than a SPOT beacon, since the SPOT blindly transmits and "hopes" a satellite is listening. InReach, instead, listens for the satellite (a much, much lower power operation than continuously transmitting in the blind) and when one is heard, the inReach does a quick handshake before sending out the message and receiving a read receipt from the satellite.

By default, many InReach devices take power saving one step further and won't even try to listen for Iridium until it can hear GPS first. In this mode, they will refuse to send a message without GPS unless you intervene. Combined with the fact that some InReach devices (e.g. Mini) have really sucky GPS front ends, this can make the network seem far less reliable than it actually is. Intervening to force transmission without location is not difficult, but the UI should do a better job of informing the user about what is going on.

In emergency mode all these GPS restrictions are removed, and the communications are more robust. Even with restricted sky you just need to wait long enough for an Iridium satellite to pass overhead, at which point it is highly likely an emergency message will get out. Like SPOT, it may not have a GPS coordinate in the message, but again SAR can work around that.

PLB (Personal Locator Beacon)
Is a public service with no subscription. A PLB when activated begins transmitting continuously to the SARSAT constellation at a power about 5 to 10 times higher than the Iridium or GlobalStar based systems.*

PLBs don't support routine messages at all. It is an emergency use device only - the very act of turning it on means you need immediate help. It is similar to the beacons used in aircraft and ships that automatically activate when they crash or sink.

Most PLBs have an integrated GPS and send location in their message. However, even without GPS the SARSAT constellation itself uses a synthetic aperture technique to geolocate the PLB transmission - usually accurate to within a few miles. SAR teams also have radio direction finding equipment to home in on the PLB beacon.

For more information on the PLB system, this article does a good job of explaining in more detail.

* Higher power transmission does not necessarily equate to more reliability. See I've heard/read that a PLB is more reliable. Is that true?.

Why a Garmin inReach and not a SPOT or dedicated PLB?
This is a great question, and there's no single correct answer - or at least, no single answer that is correct for all users/situations. First, it's important to break down the different device classes, of which there are essentially two:

1. PLB - Personal Locator Beacon - Does not require subscription, device costs about $250, battery is good for 5 to 6 years depending on the model (battery replacement service is around $100). Amortized cost over a 10 year period would thus be about $35 per year. This does one thing, it calls SAR and they respond assuming a life threatening emergency (usually after quickly contacting a list of emergency contacts to try and verify it isn't a false alarm, but the assumption when a PLB activation is detected is that someone needs rapid extraction from a life threatening situation). The only thing you need to do, which is free, is register your beacon with the SAR network so they have emergency contact information for you. Satellite constellation is government funded and operated. Extremely reliable, you push that button you pretty much are going to get rescued no matter what. This is essentially the same system that life-rafts for commercial aircraft, ships and oil rigs use. It does one thing only and does it really well.
2. SEND systems like SPOT, inReach - Does require a subscription, device cost varies from $150-$500+, batteries are rechargeable via USB. These are messaging platforms that include a SOS component to them, essentially like text messaging on a satellite phone. Satellites are commercially owned and operated (hence they need to make money from you on a subscription). Some are one way only (SPOT) and others offer two way communication (inReach). They have a reputation (perhaps unfounded) of being less reliable for SOS than a PLB.

Then, comparing SEND systems, the two primary are inReach and SPOT:

• Price: While the inReach Mini is a more expensive device (~$400 vs ~$150), its annual subscription cost is about the same as SPOT, and over time the subscription cost is the larger of the two costs, bring the prices inline with each other. Advantage: neither.
• Satellite Constellation: SPOT uses GlobalStar, inReach uses Iridium. Both are Low Earth Orbit (LEO) constellations which means having view of a particular part of the sky is not critical. The satellites are constantly moving overhead and at some point the device will eventually have view of a satellite even in fairly restricted locations like deep canyons. Advantage: neither.
• Messaging: SPOT devices are one-way-only when sending messages, so there is no acknowledgement that a message was sent. Therefore it is wise/necessary to send the same message repeatedly to increase the likelihood of it reaching the intended recipients. inReach allows for two-way messaging, and delivery confirmation, giving it a fairly obvious advantage over SPOT as far as coordinating with people - either in an emergency or just when checking in. Advantage: inReach.
• Location Data: Both SPOT and InReach depend on a GPS fix to give rescuers your location. That should rarely be a problem, but might be an issue in the classic "pinned in a slot canyon" situation. With InReach you could of course describe your location via the message though you might have poor Iridium connectivity in the same slot canyon. Advantage: neither.

Thus, while the initial price of a SPOT is less, over time the advantage tilts to inReach due to the two-way messaging.

Then, to compare the inReach (the prefered Send device) to a PLB:

• Price: An actual PLB (like the ACR ResQLink) is priced around $270 and requires no monthly fee or plan. It is surely a less expensive option as compared to an inReach. Advantage: PLB.
• Satellite Constellation: PLB uses SARSAT, which like Iridium is a LEO constellation with similar characteristics. Advantage: neither.
• Messaging: A PLB can only be used in an emergency and has no messaging features at all. Advantage: inReach.
• Location: If a PLB has a GPS fix it will send it in its message giving rescuers an exact location. However, even without a GPS fix the system is designed to give a good location using just the raw beacon signal. This will get rescuers to within a few miles of you at which point they can home in on the beacon signal itself using handheld equipment. As such, it may get you out of more "slot-canyon" style situations than an inReach. Advantage: PLB.

It may seem then that a PLB would be better than an inReach - and for some it may be. However, the two-way messaging of the inReach is extremely valuable when using the device as both a SAR device and a way to regularly communicate status to loved ones back home when no cell signal is available. Further, the ability to transmit a signal on the Iridium system might be more robust than the SARSAT system, though location and specific conditions are likely to play a larger role than the theoretical robustness (see I've heard/read that a PLB is more reliable. Is that true?).

So, there is no "perfect" solution but any of the above is of course much better than hoping to have cell signal when something goes wrong!

Should I get a device that does both SOS as well as navigation/mapping?
In my opinion, no. A phone or tablet will be orders of magnitude better at mapping and route tracking these days, with fantastic screens and user interfaces that are honed by app developers for ease of use. Additionally, the last thing I want to do is suck all of the battery life out of my SOS device while using it for navigation, only to have the battery die when I need it to call Search and Rescue. For that reason, I like to keep the devices separate, and I turn on the SOS device - with a full battery - when I need to send a message.

I've heard/read that a PLB is more reliable. Is that true?
If one does any amount of reading on the internet about PLBs and satellite messengers, they are bound to come across articles that proclaim the superiority of a PLBs reliability over a messenger such as the SPOT or inReach, due to the higher transmission power of a PLB. (see [1] [2])

However, a fantastic Link Budget Analysis by Ken recently flips that assumption on its head. He explains it better than I do, so I'll simply quote his entire analysis here.

Should I use a satellite communicator (PLB, inReach, SPOT, etc.) or a cell booster like a WeBoost or a WiFi router?
These two devices are for entirely different things. If you're looking for a safety device, then a WiFi router, or even a cell booster aren't what you're looking for. You need something that's satellite based and can communicate when there's no WiFi or cell signal available.

On the other hand, a satellite communicator will never be the right call for transmitting large amounts of data, phone calls, or thousands of text messages. While a cell booster can't create cellular service where there isn't any, it can boost weak, unreliable service quite efficiently, making it the right choice for "broadband-style" connectivity in more remote areas.

Note: While not broadly available, Starlink may become a product that provides the best of both worlds, though in a larger form factor than a PLB-style device. Additionally, the subscription cost for the service is significantly more expensive than other solutions.

 

Slowing Down in the Sierra

More than 30 years ago, my dad found what is now his only camp spot. For the last five of those, I've been lucky enough to join him at least once over the course of the summer for a few days of relaxation and soaking in of the sights, fresh air, and some staying-in-one-place rather than the usual travels of my adventures.

This year - like last - was up in the air for a while. Much of the Sierra National Forest is still recovering from the Creek Fire of 2020, and there are quite a few places that are not yet open to recreation. Luckily for us, after a few calls for clarification, we surmised that we'd have to take an alternate route to camp, but that there were no restrictions on us actually being there. Whew!

And so, on a Thursday - morning for dad, and evening for me - we rolled into camp. It wasn't without incident, but luckily for me, Dad showed up first and was able to take care of the manual labor.

Showing up late has its perks when there's firewood down over the road.​

We'd roll out again, several days later, having spent much of our time in camp chairs, thoroughly enjoying ourselves as we slowed down in the Sierra.

For now, though, it was time to settle in. Ultimately, since we didn't move around much, I sort of just carried the camera around. This report then, will be a collection of photos and a few stories of our time. Enjoy!

Set up in my traditional camp spot, I opted for a different orientation of the Tacoma than previous trips. This worked out nicely, since I had a view out the back window when I woke up in the morning.​

There's that morning view.​

Around Camp

We spent the bulk of our time hanging out around camp - chatting in our chairs as we gazed out at the granite landscape, reading, and in Dad's case, birding. The weather was rather varied - warm the first day, cloudy with wind the second, and clear but cool on the third. Ultimately it was good news for our coolers, which didn't have to work so hard, but a little chilly for us.

New growth on a nearby fir.​

Lichen cascading down an old growth Juniper.​

Flowering succulent. (Sierra Stonecrop)​

Pale white flowers of the Morning-Glory.​

Nature's pipe cleaners. (Pussypaws)​

The Botanist in his natural habitat.​

Our view from camp.​

Even under cloudy skies, ************ was majestic in the distance.​

I finally learned the real name of Sleeping Bear on this trip. (**********)​

The ground was covered in new pinecones, their precious payload critical to the reforestation after the Creek Fire.​

Birdious Brainious in his natural habitat.​

Apparently, a traditional pose.​

Crackling warmth into the cool night.​

Scarred Landscape

Reminders of the Creek Fire were all around. A few trees that we'd seen the year before and wondered as to their survival had died; others had fallen through the winter. In the years to come, the danger will increase as more of the standing dead succumb to the elements. Still, we were thankful for what was left - it certainly could have been much, much worse.

Fallen giant.​

Colorful cross-section.​

A brush with death.​

This tree burned from the inside, out. When the bark was too weak to support it, the entire thing folded to the ground.​

A forest of feasting fungus.​

Lost Knife Knoll and Tip of the Spear Point

As nice as it was to relax, I couldn't sit around camp the entire time. On our second day, I decided a hike to Lost Knife Knoll was in order, as well as - pending conditions along the ridge - a possible extension to Tip of the Spear Point.

Setting off across the creek.​

Water is looking a lot clearer this year compared to the charcoal-filled pools of last year.​

My previous hike to Lost Knife Knoll - the first after the fire - had been an eye-opener. Dozens of trees were down over the trail, and it was obvious that I was the first presence in quite some time. Expecting the same this year, I was delighted to see that some significant trail work had been performed and the trail was in better shape than ever before; albeit through a charred landscape rather than a towering pine forest.

New life in a sea of death.​

Abundant sun streamed down to the forest floor, which was teaming with spring. (Woolly Sunflower)​

In the shade near a running stream, Crimson Columbine hung in the air.​

Light streamed through leaves.​

Scarlet Gilia.​

Nature's centerpiece.

(Indian Paintbrush, Woody Sunflower, Yarrow, Gay Penstemon)​

With relatively cool temps, I made it to the ridge leading to Lost Knife Knoll in relatively short order. The views - as always - to the ***************** were dramatic, the water raging in the river below.

A wilderness wonderland,​

Up here on Lost Knife Knoll, the fire spared much of the vegetation, and so, views of the surrounding monoliths were familiar.​

Below the ridge, the fire had raged, much of the landscape now shades of brown rather than green under puffy clouds in the sky.​

Of course, the reason I'd come was to check on the status of the "Lost Knife." I'm always a little nervous when I get to this point, wondering if I'll find the stone that guards the knife, its location never quite where I think it should be.

Still there!​

After a few moments on the Knoll - some chatting with Dad over the ham radio, a few checking my phone with the first LTE service I'd had in two days - my next steps were obvious: it was time to make my way to Tip of the Spear Point for the first time since the Camp Fire.

It has seemed that one of the side effects of the fire has been a decrease in the four-legged wildlife in the area. So, I was happy to see that along the ridge, there was evidence that at least two recent inhabitants.

Shortly after leaving the ridge, I happened to startle a group of four deer who hopped away and kept an eye on me from a distance.​

"Hello, bear," he thinks, looking around nervously.​

Mostly downhill before a steep climb to the summit, I soon found myself in a place I'd only been once before - the highest point at the Tip of the Spear.

The pointed stone still stands tall above the granite landscape.​

Familiar views in the background.​

Tabs were being kept on my progress. A few seconds later, I got a call on the ham radio.​

Heading down from the point, I soon found myself back in the burn area, the devastation here, as stark as any I'd seen so far.

Monstrous match-sticks.​

142 rings.​

A Subalpine Mariposa Lily pushed up through the barren ground.​

Making my way back towards camp, I soon found myself crossing ******* Creek, where our traditional swimming hole was looking fine - the water higher than it has been the last few times I've visited, requiring me to wade across, rather than my usual hopping from rock-to-rock.

Down by the water, fewer trees had been scorched, and the swimming hole sported a newly deposited sand beach from the winter runoff.​

Western Azalea thrived in this wet environment, the long stamen beckoning pollinators.​

Winged Wildlife

As always, one of us was more attuned to the winged wildlife than the other. Still, I happened to capture a couple of our flying friends when I happened to have my camera in hand. Of course, the most interesting sighting - described to me as "an impossible bird" - wasn't captured on film, but it was the first time Dad had seen a Lawrence’s Goldfinch in his 34 years visiting this place.

Yes, we had three hummingbird feeders hung around camp. This Anna’s Hummingbird was appreciative.​

The coloring on this male Western Tanager was stunning.​

Chrome Grills

And now, for a fun story.

I don't remember exactly what we were talking about that led to the specifics of this discussion, but at some point, we were talking about a few of the spots on the Tacoma that could use a bit of touch-up paint. The most obvious is the dent in the bedside that I got when running the Oregon Backcountry Discovery Route. I ultimately - after purchasing a kit to repair it, including some color-matched spray paint and clear coat - decided not to repair it, realizing that it was likely only first of many.

Our conversation of paint prompted Dad to tell me about the time he'd painted his Jeep in his parent's garage, using dozens of cans of spray paint, picked up at the local hardware store. After a good chuckle, he then related to me a story of some of his friends at the time who went so far as to paint the front grill of their Jeeps a chrome silver.

"It was just so wrong. Jeep grills shouldn't be chromed," he chuckled.

Whatever you say Pops. ​

Back Down the Mountain

Eventually, it was time to pack up and make our way back to civilization. As always, it was a bittersweet process - happy to have had a few relaxing days in this special place, and yet wishing that we had more time to remain.

As we packed up, I mentioned to Dad that I was thinking about heading out via a different route than we'd come in. We knew there were two - at least - bridges out on this route, but I was curious as to the state of bypasses, and whether we might be able to use this route on future visits, assuming bypasses that the chromed-grill Jeep could navigate.

And so, with final glances and a plan to regroup once we reached pavement, we each turned in separate directions and made our way through the blackened forest and out of the mountains.

It will take time, but the green on the ground will return to the canopy, eventually.​

A bypass at a burned bridge seemed passable.​

Two years later, no work has started to repair this site.​

The fire was hot through here.​

In the end, this alternate route seemed passable. Who knows, maybe it will be our way back in, the next time we visit!

 

At the end of May, I finally had the opportunity to experience your father's special place firsthand and I understand why he has been coming back for the past 30 years. Thank you for leaving breadcrumbs along your adventures so that some of us may also experience new places and adventures.

On the way out there is or was a fitting monument to your father, a symbol of renewal and rebirth.





Succulents pre-bloom.


And of course the obligatory truck.

 

Beautiful spot. I can understand why your pops likes hanging out there. Especially with the view of ..... . That would be the direction of my tent door.

 

I Think We're the First - WYBDR Prologue and Red Desert Stage X
Part of the Wyoming Backcountry Discovery Route (Jul 2022) trip.

There are several reasons that @mrs.turbodb and I like to run Backcountry Discovery Routes (BDRs). Some of them are selfish - the trip planning has been done for us by the good folks at RideBDR; some of them are nostalgic - our first trip in the Tacoma was on the Oregon BDR; some of them are practical - we know that the roads - generally - won't be all that difficult, making the trip more enjoyable for passengers; and of course, they also mean that we get to see a large portion of a state in a single shot, feeding our curiosity and giving us ideas for the future.

After wrapping up the New Mexico BDR last summer, I'd had my eye on Colorado or Utah throughout the winter. Both are beautiful states through which to travel, and though we've spent a lot of time in portions of each, a trip through the entire state would be a special treat.

But then, just five months ago - in the dead of winter on Feb. 1 - the Wyoming Backcountry Discovery Route (WYBDR) was released by the BDR organization. Totaling 967 miles and blocked by snow until July, it winds through one of the last frontiers in America - some 48% of the state being public land.

A brand-new route, inaccessible at its release.​

We couldn't resist the temptation to be the first 4WD vehicle to complete the entire route and explore a state that we've both wanted to see more of over the last several years. And so, for the sixth year in a row, we are set out on a BDR. It would be familiar, and yet different.

Familiar in that we'd take it a stage at a time. Familiar in that there will be a few places that either @mrs.turbodb or I have already seen - though, none that we've both experienced together. And familiar in that we'd planned a few short side trips to lookouts, hikes, and other interesting places that presented themselves along the route.

There were hints along the way that were on the right track.​

Different in that we also planned to do a new "Stage X" route through the Red Desert - a shorter, BDR route that forks off of a main BDR and returns to where it started. Different in that we'd be one of the first 4WD, and first solo vehicles to make the trip. And different in that we planned to eat only two meals each day - an early lunch and early dinner - in order to eliminate the need for milk, which always takes up valuable space in the fridge.

And so, a day before we were to leave, we started prepping food and packing. We envisioned the trip taking 10 days given the travel to-and-from Wyoming, split across nine stages once we got there:

Stage X: Red Desert | 155 miles.​

Stage 1: Baggs to Centennial | 160 miles.​

Stage 2: Centennial to Elk Mountain | 68 miles.​

Stage 3: Elk Mountain to Alcova | 122 miles.​

Stage 4: Alcova to Atlantic City | 148 miles.​

Stage 5: Atlantic City to Shoshoni | 130 miles.​

Stage 6: Shoshoni to Ten Sleep | 104 miles.​

Stage 7:Ten Sleep to Burgess Junction | 122 miles.​

Stage 8: Burgess Junction to MT Border* | 43 miles.​

* Actually, to the Crow Indian Reservation.

It was a Wednesday morning when we headed south. Later that evening, we crossed into the state we'd call home for the next week.

Welcome to Wyoming!​

 

Red Desert - An Underwhelming Start - WYBDR X

Having arrived at our middle-of-a-random-field BLM camping location just after midnight, there was no getting up for a pre-6:00am sunrise. Rather, we climbed down the ladder at nearly 8:30am to temperatures that were already in the mid 70s °F.

With no breakfast to make - as we'd decided to skip bringing milk in favor of more room for lunch and dinner fixings, we set about breaking down the tent and prepping for our first day on dirt. We still had a few hours to drive to the beginning of the trail, but then we'd be setting off on the first "Stage X" route ever released by the BDR (Backcountry Discovery Route) organization - Wyoming's Red Desert.

And so, it was just after 11:30am when we turned off of WY-789 and onto the wide gravel road that would begin our journey. Almost immediately, the landscape wasn't what I'd expected (though I think it surprised @mrs.turbodb less, as she's generally more up on the industries spread across our country). As far as the eye could see, oil and natural gas wells covered the ground, service roads running between each, shuttling pickup trucks full of workers as we made our way north.

There's liquid gold in them tanks, especially these days with average fuel prices of more than $5/gal.​

We weren't on the trail more than 10 minutes before a speeding oil company truck approached us at high speed from the opposite direction. Speeding along at 50mph, the driver made no attempt to slow down or move from of the center of the road, as I hugged the shoulder and lifted a few fingers in a wave. And then, as he raced by, I saw it coming - the rock his tire had flung into the air!

@mrs.turbodb screamed when the golf-ball sized rock hit our windshield with a loud bang! Looking back, we were lucky it didn't punch its way through!​

​

Ten minutes into the trip, and I was not happy that I had an almost-new windshield to replace, again.​

At the time, I felt like it was the most underwhelming start we'd ever had to a BDR, though as I write this, I can't help to recall our disastrously bad start to the Oregon BDR. Of course, there was nothing to do but to push onward - at the end of the day, costs like this are just part of maintaining a vehicle that can take us all over the country - and it's important to take these types of things in stride.

Besides, the weather was gorgeous, and we were both looking forward to lunch overlooking the Red Desert.

The clouds in the sky were looking nice as we transitioned off of the main oil company roads and onto our first two-track.​

Over the course of the trip, we'd see several hundred pronghorns, something neither of us expected. At this point though, they were still novel!​

Headed west along Delaney Rim, we found ourselves several hundred feet above the Red Desert to our north, with views down into the colorful badlands that give this place its name. After a few stops for photos, we eventually found a spot - perched out on the edge of a finger - that seemed the perfect place to enjoy some turkey sandwiches and a few cherries that we'd picked ourselves just a couple days before heading out.

Colorful sandstone of the Red Desert; it too tapped by a matrix of wells.​

Parked on the edge, ready for lunch!​

A familiar foreground. Henceforth, "Tip of the Spear Two."​

Our turkey sandwiches, some potato chips, and a few tasty cherries behind us, we turned away from the rim overlooking the Red Desert as we began the southern segment of this Stage X loop. It was one of the more beautiful sections of the loop in my opinion, and apparently a relaxing section for my copilot - who almost immediately nodded off for her afternoon siesta - as we made our way through gentle buttes towards the old route of the Overland Trail.

Winding our way down off of the ridge into some low-lying buttes, I enjoyed the curving trail and views ahead.​

Like us, the prickly pear cacti were reveling in the late spring.​

The La Clede Stage Station along the old Overland Trail.​

In operation from 1862 to 1869. The station and nearby fort were both constructed of flat slabs of fossilized snail shell sandstone (Turritella) that is prevalent in the near-by hills. Originally built as a Home Station, it later became a Telegraph Station along the Overland Trail.

A marker at the nearby Fort La Clede commemorates the pioneer route that once passed through the area.​

The fort, established in 1863, included a barracks, a corral and a gun tower. On surrounding hills, gun pits were constructed and maintained. In June 1865 Company B of the 11th Ohio Volunteer Cavalry - then posted to Fort La Clede - skirmished with Indians some two miles east. The soldiers were drawn into an ambush and were rescued with the assistance of employees of the Stage Station. (The Overland Trail)

The fort itself had no windows, only small gun ports that could be used to defend from attack.​

Today, only a few walls of the two buildings remain.​

With not much left to explore and 92°F temps, we only spent a few minutes poking around the ruins, the mid-afternoon sun beating us back to the confines of our air-conditioned transport. Here, the road turned east - back toward WY-789, where we'd eventually head south to the start of the official WYBDR route, First though, the landscape changed again as we entered a region known as Adobe Town.

Well, that looks different...​

Down, into the maze of badlands and hoodoos.​

Soon, we were winding our way through drainages, the ashy, eroding badlands, rising up around us.​

It’s tricky to try to describe a place that everyone in Wyoming knows about but where relatively few people have been. Sinking into the landscape - rather than rising above - this is a place that can take hours to find, even if you’re looking, or is easily never be found by those who aren’t. It’s a place where wild horses bunch and scatter and raise their young. It’s a place where pronghorn race cars that dare traipse down the seldomly-used roads.

Hoodoos standing watch over this surreal environment.​

Folds, accentuated over time by water and wind.​

A heard of horses, racing off with their young.​

A few miles later we climbed out of Adobe Town and back onto the plateau. From here, the lightly travelled two-track slowly became well-defined, eventually meeting up with the wide gravel roads of the oil-and-gas fields to our east. Our speeds increased, we soon rejoined pavement for the final push south.

Headed back towards the highway, The Red Desert Stage X route now behind us.​

It was 5:00pm and the border between Wyoming and Montana was calling. With several hours of daylight remaining, it was time to start the official WYBDR.

 

Red Desert - An Underwhelming Start - WYBDR X

Having arrived at our middle-of-a-random-field BLM camping location just after midnight, there was no getting up for a pre-6:00am sunrise. Rather, we climbed down the ladder at nearly 8:30am to temperatures that were already in the mid 70s °F.

With no breakfast to make - as we'd decided to skip bringing milk in favor of more room for lunch and dinner fixings, we set about breaking down the tent and prepping for our first day on dirt. We still had a few hours to drive to the beginning of the trail, but then we'd be setting off on the first "Stage X" route ever released by the BDR (Backcountry Discovery Route) organization - Wyoming's Red Desert.

And so, it was just after 11:30am when we turned off of WY-789 and onto the wide gravel road that would begin our journey. Almost immediately, the landscape wasn't what I'd expected (though I think it surprised @mrs.turbodb less, as she's generally more up on the industries spread across our country). As far as the eye could see, oil and natural gas wells covered the ground, service roads running between each, shuttling pickup trucks full of workers as we made our way north.

There's liquid gold in them tanks, especially these days with average fuel prices of more than $5/gal.​

We weren't on the trail more than 10 minutes before a speeding oil company truck approached us at high speed from the opposite direction. Speeding along at 50mph, the driver made no attempt to slow down or move from of the center of the road, as I hugged the shoulder and lifted a few fingers in a wave. And then, as he raced by, I saw it coming - the rock his tire had flung into the air!

@mrs.turbodb screamed when the golf-ball sized rock hit our windshield with a loud bang! Looking back, we were lucky it didn't punch its way through!​

​

Ten minutes into the trip, and I was not happy that I had an almost-new windshield to replace, again.​

At the time, I felt like it was the most underwhelming start we'd ever had to a BDR, though as I write this, I can't help to recall our disastrously bad start to the Oregon BDR. Of course, there was nothing to do but to push onward - at the end of the day, costs like this are just part of maintaining a vehicle that can take us all over the country - and it's important to take these types of things in stride.

Besides, the weather was gorgeous, and we were both looking forward to lunch overlooking the Red Desert.

The clouds in the sky were looking nice as we transitioned off of the main oil company roads and onto our first two-track.​

Over the course of the trip, we'd see several hundred pronghorns, something neither of us expected. At this point though, they were still novel!​

Headed west along Delaney Rim, we found ourselves several hundred feet above the Red Desert to our north, with views down into the colorful badlands that give this place its name. After a few stops for photos, we eventually found a spot - perched out on the edge of a finger - that seemed the perfect place to enjoy some turkey sandwiches and a few cherries that we'd picked ourselves just a couple days before heading out.

Colorful sandstone of the Red Desert; it too tapped by a matrix of wells.​

Parked on the edge, ready for lunch!​

A familiar foreground. Henceforth, "Tip of the Spear Two."​

Our turkey sandwiches, some potato chips, and a few tasty cherries behind us, we turned away from the rim overlooking the Red Desert as we began the southern segment of this Stage X loop. It was one of the more beautiful sections of the loop in my opinion, and apparently a relaxing section for my copilot - who almost immediately nodded off for her afternoon siesta - as we made our way through gentle buttes towards the old route of the Overland Trail.

Winding our way down off of the ridge into some low-lying buttes, I enjoyed the curving trail and views ahead.​

Like us, the prickly pear cacti were reveling in the late spring.​

The La Clede Stage Station along the old Overland Trail.​

In operation from 1862 to 1869. The station and nearby fort were both constructed of flat slabs of fossilized snail shell sandstone (Turritella) that is prevalent in the near-by hills. Originally built as a Home Station, it later became a Telegraph Station along the Overland Trail.

A marker at the nearby Fort La Clede commemorates the pioneer route that once passed through the area.​

The fort, established in 1863, included a barracks, a corral and a gun tower. On surrounding hills, gun pits were constructed and maintained. In June 1865 Company B of the 11th Ohio Volunteer Cavalry - then posted to Fort La Clede - skirmished with Indians some two miles east. The soldiers were drawn into an ambush and were rescued with the assistance of employees of the Stage Station. (The Overland Trail)

The fort itself had no windows, only small gun ports that could be used to defend from attack.​

Today, only a few walls of the two buildings remain.​

With not much left to explore and 92°F temps, we only spent a few minutes poking around the ruins, the mid-afternoon sun beating us back to the confines of our air-conditioned transport. Here, the road turned east - back toward WY-789, where we'd eventually head south to the start of the official WYBDR route, First though, the landscape changed again as we entered a region known as Adobe Town.

Well, that looks different...​

Down, into the maze of badlands and hoodoos.​

Soon, we were winding our way through drainages, the ashy, eroding badlands, rising up around us.​

It’s tricky to try to describe a place that everyone in Wyoming knows about but where relatively few people have been. Sinking into the landscape - rather than rising above - this is a place that can take hours to find, even if you’re looking, or is easily never be found by those who aren’t. It’s a place where wild horses bunch and scatter and raise their young. It’s a place where pronghorn race cars that dare traipse down the seldomly-used roads.

Hoodoos standing watch over this surreal environment.​

Folds, accentuated over time by water and wind.​

A heard of horses, racing off with their young.​

A few miles later we climbed out of Adobe Town and back onto the plateau. From here, the lightly travelled two-track slowly became well-defined, eventually meeting up with the wide gravel roads of the oil-and-gas fields to our east. Our speeds increased, we soon rejoined pavement for the final push south.

Headed back towards the highway, The Red Desert Stage X route now behind us.​

It was 5:00pm and the border between Wyoming and Montana was calling. With several hours of daylight remaining, it was time to start the official WYBDR.

 

Baggs to Centennial - "Yeah Buddy," Into the Sierra Madre - WYBDR 1
Part of the Wyoming Backcountry Discovery Route (Jul 2022) trip.

Unlike most other BDRs we've done, getting to the start of Wyoming Backcountry Discovery Route, for us, meant travelling just a bit of the route backwards - south on WY-789 towards Baggs - first. And Baggs - it turns out - is a couple miles north of the Wyoming-Colorado border. So, upon arriving, we drove right through town - determined to run the entire route, from border-to-border. We were, we convinced ourselves, not cheaters!

​

We may not be cheaters, but I guess we were faking it a bit. This wasn't really the first time we'd entered Wyoming! ​

​

Well hello Baggs. You seem so familiar! ​

As any good BDR traveler knows, you fuel up where you can, so after making our way back to town, we topped of our tank before heading north out of town on WY-789. Ten miles later, we turned off of pavement and onto dirt, the first stage officially underway!

Already, the difference between this stage and the Red Desert Stage X that we'd run earlier in the day was striking. Climbing the eastern foothills of the Sierra Madre, the undulating hillsides were green under the warm evening sun.

​

Don't let the green fool you, it was hot at 6:19pm - still over 90°F!​

In the distance, tanks. Reminiscent of those we'd seen earlier in the day, we wondered if the entire route wound its way through oil fields. But - as we got closer - it became clear that we were now in ranch land; these tanks held water for the steaks that vacationed here from time to time.

​

Stay hydrated, steaks.​

Even though we'd started this stage when most folks in town might have been prepping or even settling down to dinner, we'd gotten a late start to our morning and hoped that we'd be able to climb at least a few thousand feet into the Sierra Madre in order to find a cooler camp site to call home for the night. The roads appeared to be in our favor, and we made good time as we snaked our way through the foothills, stopping here and there to admire the landscape - and sky - around us.

​

An old cabin not far off the track caught our attention, the sun streaming from the west under dramatic skies.​

​

The sky wasn't quite so ominous to the north, something we were glad for given our general direction of travel.​

​

Not much remained inside, an old stove, and interior walls finished with corrugated steel.​

Continuing around the northern flank of Muddy Mountain, we had an hour of sunlight left as we descended into the Savery Creek Valley, and I for one was starting to wonder whether we were going to end up "settling" when it came to a camp site for the evening. It wouldn't be here - the creek and greenery meant that the mosquitoes were thick - but given that we still needed to make dinner, we knew we needed to find something sooner rather than later.

​

The combination of storm clouds to the south and sun low on the western horizon added tons of visual interest to the landscape in front of us.​

​

What do we have here?​

​

The Boyer YL Ranch is clearly a fan of the BDRs!​

From the ranch at 6700', the next 10 miles of track took us to 8300' - enough to make the temperatures much more pleasant and still give us plenty of light by which to set up camp and make dinner. In that time, we'd passed through our first grove of aspen, their white trunks glistening in the sun as they lifted their bright green leaves to the sky.

​

Surely a sight to see once fall rolls around.​

​

The view from camp - south to Battle Mountain, in the heart of the Sierra Madre - was spectacular.​

There was only one issue with our camp overlooking the Sierra Madre: it was paved. We were - it turns out - on an old spur of WY-70. This spur - it turns out - had once been the highway itself, but a landslide rendered the road impassable. Rather than clearing the material, it was determined that re-routing the highway was a better long-term solution, the original highway spur now signed as a viewpoint.

​

Front wheels up on the curb, we were perfectly level.​

After a quick conversation about the likelihood of anyone else coming along - in the 10 hours before we planned to leave in the morning - we concluded that we were unlikely to encounter anyone else along this lonely stretch of highway, and we proceeded to prep our first dinner of the adventure.

Our location - paved as it was - turned out to be great in that the pavement resulted in a complete lack of bugs, and that meant we were able to eat our taco-ritos unmolested by the mosquitoes that we'd dodge for much of the rest of the trip. It was - despite the unconventional groundcover - fantastic.

Though we'd gotten up after 8:00am, we'd driven for more than 12 hours. Tired, we putzed around for a bit after eating dinner, but soon climbed up into the tent for some shut eye.

The Following Morning...

As we suspected, our evening on the old WY-70 highway was uneventful and while I'd set my alarm for a few minutes before sunrise, it wasn't until an hour after the fiery ball started climbing into the sky that we actually climbed down the ladder to start our day. Even then, our bodies still screamed that it was really 5:37am; Mountain Time be damned!

​

Not often that our campsite looks like a highway!​

​

As we'd find through the entirety of the trip, we'd timed our visit perfectly and spring wildflowers were in full display. (Lupine)​

Soon we were underway, the track quickly turning to dirt less than a mile beyond our camp site. Here, we entered a section of trail known locally as aspen alley, where the trees rose tall as they crowded the road. We'd pass through a few aspen groves over the course of our journey, each time making me wonder if we should have waited until fall to enjoy this route.

​

Into a tree tunnel.​

From there, we began a circumnavigation around the north flank of Bridger Peak. This was a pleasant drive in the cool morning air of the Medicine Bow-Routt National Forest, as the road wound its way through the firs and pines that covered the land.

It's in the middle of this section that the BDR splits - the first of several "alternate" routes that are designed for "expert" riders who are willing to put up with gnarlier roads in exchange for extra fancy views. I assure you - every alternate route is worth taking; we've never been disappointed.

​

Having visited once before - albeit in a lightning-and-snow-storm, I knew that the route up and over Bridger Peak would be well worth it!​

So early in the season, getting up the trail did turn out to be a bit of a muddy mess in a couple places, but nothing the nearly-new Cooper ST/Maxx tires couldn't handle with relative ease, and soon we were making our way along the ridge toward the summit. Patches of snow dotted - and in some places, covered - the road. We'd timed it perfectly - a week before, this area wouldn't have been passable!

​

Making our way along the only-recently-passable ridgeline.​

​

These Yellow Glacier Lilies (Erythronium grandiflorum) were looking fancy and carpeted vast swaths of ground.​

And then, as we were admiring out surroundings, we noticed a guy walking towards us! To say we were surprised would be an understatement, but we both soon realized exactly what was going on. This portion of the route happened to follow the Continental Divide Trail - which we've followed before - and this was likely someone making another border-to-border journey; one much longer than ours! As we rolled up to the hiker, I slowed down and said good morning.

"You hiking the Continental Divide?" I asked.

"Yeah buddy," he replied, a huge grin on his face, his top two front teeth completely missing.

He was obviously having a great time, and seemed happy enough to chat with us for a few minutes about his journey from the Mexican border a couple months earlier, and the remaining 2-3 months he had on the trail to Canada. Wow. We'd end up seeing four hikers in the span of the next hour - each of them aware of each other, but none of them seemingly friends.

​

"Yeah buddy" guy, our favorite CDT hiker.​

A few minutes later we wound our way up the final rocky trail to the old Bridger Peak lookout. Only the foundation - and a new radio tower - remain at the summit, but it's clear why this location was once used for a lookout; it certainly sports a commanding view of the surrounding area!

​

Columbines near Bridger Peak.​

​

This would have been a great place to spend the night, though even at 9:00am as we soaked in the views, the mosquitoes were thick in the air!​

​

Headed down from the summit, for another couple miles of following the Continental Divide.​

As the alternate leg over Bridger Peak came to an end, we wound our way down toward the town of Encampment, stopping at a few Wyoming wildlife and CDT informational signs posted along the way. We were a little more than halfway through the first leg, and it was proving to be one of the best starts to a BDR yet!

​

Welcome to Encampment!​

​

We loved this barn so much that we backtracked to take a photo. Wish the world had more of this mindset these days!​

Exiting Encampment a little after 10:30am, we were back on well-graded gravel roads for the remainder of the stage - some 50 miles or so - across the North Platte River, on our way to Centennial. Along the way, the landscape varied. First - as seems to be common to all BDRs - was cow-covered ranch land. This being the first stage, we didn't think anything of the wandering cuts of beef, but by the end of the trip, we found ourselves surprised by the lack of active grazing along the route. Perhaps we just hit the trails at the perfect time, but one thing was for certain - we weren't complaining!

​

Out of my way, dummies!

(To @mrs.turbodb's dismay, I have a tendency of muttering "dumb cows," under my breath any time we pass the tasty morsels.)​

A little further out of town, we began to climb into the Medicine Bow Mountains in search of somewhere to eat lunch. Here, we were presented with a reminder of the fires that have ravaged the west over the last several years - remnants of the 2020 Mullen Fire, which had burned more than 176,878 acres across the Savage Run Wilderness and Medicine Bow Mountains - affecting the forest for decades to come.

​

We only passed through the very northern edge of this massive fire.​

​

At Rob Roy Lake, we found a perfect spot to have lunch at the water's edge.​

Inexplicably, as we were eating lunch at the lake, nearly a dozen people converged from all directions - a traffic jam in the middle of the woods on a Thursday afternoon - and we reflected on the luck we'd had to show up at this primo lunch spot just a few minutes before it'd have been snapped up by any number of other hungry travelers. Of course - with a full itinerary ahead of us - we didn't linger longer than necessary, and soon we were wrapping up the stage as we pushed into the town of Centennial.

​

As would happen almost every day, the clouds in the sky added fantastic visual interest to the already-vibrant colors along the route.​

​

Centennial didn't have a water-jet-cut sign that we could find, but the old train terminal-turned-museum was enough to make us stop!​

Having pulled into town at 1:00pm, we'd completed the first stage in less than a day. It was too early to celebrate though - because I knew the following stage - where we planned to reach elevations over 12,000 feet, 1,000 feet above the snowy trails on Bridger Peak - had the potential to slow us way down.

 

Jumping ahead in your story, it’s interesting to see the BDR goes through 10 Sleep, WY.

C.J. Box is an author who lives in Wyoming, he writes a book series about a Wyoming game warden named Joe Pickett. The books are set in “12 Sleep, WY” but are based on the actual town and surrounding area of 10 Sleep. It will be interesting to see if your photos and story details match up with what the author describes. I find book series is pretty enjoyable if you like crime novels with a western “Longmire” vibe.

 

Hah! We have a Big Agnes Ten Sleep tent. It’s maybe a four person tent and I always wondered about the name, but never bothered to research it. And now I know.

 

Centennial to Elk Mtn - Top of the World - WYBDR 2
Part of the Wyoming Backcountry Discovery Route (Jul 2022) trip.

Having pulled into the Centennial Historical Museum for a photo of the train depot, @mrs.turbodb and I each spotted displays that we wanted to check out, so we popped out of the Tacoma for a few minutes to do just that. I headed over to an old Union Pacific caboose, and she wandered into the museum to see what sorts of historical information was available.

One of the nicest cabooses I've come across.​

I've never seen the original system for running water inside before; I got a good chuckle out of the drain.​

Knowing what we had in store for the rest of the day, even with our poking around, we only spent about ten minutes in town before climbing back into our trusty steed and heading back out onto dirt as we climbed to more than 10,000 feet in the Snowy Range. We had a good number of items flagged here for our attention - including a hike to the highest point at Medicine Bow Peak - but our first stop was at a little Episcopal open-air chapel, St. Alban's.

A pretty little place where we probably wouldn't have stopped, except for the fact that it was marked on track that's distributed by the BDR organization.​

From the chapel, we continued in a westerly direction towards a trailhead that I'd marked as the starting point for our hike. This, it turns out, pleased @mrs.turbodb quite a bit, as she'd spent a week in this area with her dad the previous summer, and wanted me to see how beautiful it was. In fact, when I asked her to take a look at the route prior to our departure to see if there were any things she wanted to add, she suggested the hike to Medicine Bow Peak, and was delighted to hear that I'd already included it on the map!

With snow and wildflowers all around, it was a beautiful afternoon in the Snowy Mountains.​

The only problem - as we neared our destination - was that our high elevation meant there were still deep snow drifts, and soon I was out of the Tacoma, checking for the feasibility of passage.

After a few failed attempts at this drift, I finally got out to walk it - and the next drift along the road - to figure out a plan of action.​

In the end, the snow was simply too soft and deep to pass, and we backtracked a few miles until we could re-route to the trailhead. It was another indication that we were the first to make this journey for the year, as the passibility of the route was only now becoming a reality.

It was 2:34pm when we set off from the trailhead at Lewis Lake (note: there is a $5 day use fee to park here, or you can use - and I recommend - an America the Beautiful Pass) along the trail that would take us to the top of Medicine Bow Peak. At the time - given the amount of snow we could see around us, and our recent experience on the trail - I think we'd each have given ourselves about a 30% chance of making it to the top. Maybe.

Lots of snow between us and the summit.​

With high water levels, we had to find innovative ways to keep my sneakers dry. It was - within a few minutes - obviously a losing battle.​

Yellow-Bellied Marmot is keeping an eye on you!​

Soon we left the edge of Lewis Lake as the trail began to gain elevation.​

There are several ways to reach the 12,018 foot summit of Medicine Bow Peak. It turns out that I'd mapped the shortest - a little over three miles roundtrip - and a little more than a mile into our journey we came to a sign where our trail joined a section of the seven-mile loop that seems like the more popular route.

No one - regardless of the chosen route - can escape the 1,700-foot climb!​

Hiking straight up the face of the mountain - where most people took a more gradual ascent at the other end of the loop - the views of the aptly named Snowy Range were some of the best we've seen. Several times on our way up, we found ourselves stopping just to admire the range.

And yes, that's our story and we're sticking to it. We most definitely weren't stopping because we needed to catch our breath.

The Snowy Range from 11,047'.​

The Snowy Range from 11,340'.​

The Snowy Range from 11,561'.​

American pika (Ochotona princeps) is keeping an eye on you, too!​

As with the roads we'd travelled so far, the hillsides here were covered with wildflowers, and we stopped just as often - again, not because we were out of breath - to view them as we did the mountainous region through which we hiked.

I think these little lavender flowers were my favorite.​

A living bouquet.​

To our surprise and delight, the trail seemed to pick its way through the snow fields as it climbed higher and higher. Our 30% chance of success climbing to 50% by the time we ran into what I initially referred to as "our turnaround point."

The trail clearly continued, but even we weren't dumb enough to attempt this snow field.​

After a closer inspection, it became clear that while someone had navigated this snow field, they'd done it quite some time ago - the snow now too icy and the grade too steep to allow for a crossing here. Instead, we could see where more recent hikers had turned the already-steep-trail into a straight-up-scramble-towards-the-ridge-trail, and after following suit, we soon found ourselves near the top.

The Snowy Range from 11,956'.​

Somewhat surprisingly, there was relatively little snow at the summit of the Snowy Range, which actually gets its name from the sugary-white Precambrian quartzites that reflect sunlight and look like snow in late summer, even when there is none. (Roadside Geology of Wyoming) Not that we were complaining.

The survey marker at the top of Medicine Bow Peak is illegible from all the hiking poles that have pulverized it.​

The Snowy Range from 12,018', at the top of Medicine Bow Peak. Oh, and some definitely-not-tired hikers.​

The view north to green valleys and alpine lakes of the Medicine Bow-Routt National Forest.​

The view east towards Gap Point, Brown's Peak, and Lewis Lake, Libby Lake, and the Gap Lakes.​

Unfortunately, just as we were enjoying ourselves at the top, so were the mosquitoes! So, after a few pictures and a little looking around, we began to retrace our steps back down the mountain. Down was certainly faster than up, though we weren't able to entirely escape the desire to stop for some of the same - or at least similar - photos to those we'd taken earlier.

Some areas were blanketed in yellow.​

The Snowy Range from 11,148'. Note: as much as I'd like to, I can't promise this will be the last photo of this range.​

Mr. Marmot is still keeping an eye on you.​

I really liked the pale yellow petals and bright stamens of these flowers that I found near the beginning of the trail.​

Back at the bottom, where you can really see the white quartzites that give this place its name.​

It was a little after 5:15pm when we reached the bottom of the trail at Lewis Lake, each of us a little hungrier than when we'd set out a mere three hours earlier. I mentioned to @mrs.turbodb that we should find a reasonably breezy place to eat dinner - so we wouldn't be bugged by mosquitoes - a suggestion that was met with enthusiasm. Of course, we also needed to find camp for the night - and I'd hoped that we'd be camping somewhere in this general area, so we could see the Snowy Range - when the morning light was shining on them - but given the time, it seemed like we might still be a little too early in the evening to call it a day.

Back on the trail for less than five minutes, our next stop - a parking lot at the Libby Flats Observation Tower - turned out to be the perfect spot to eat dinner as we enjoyed 360° views with a warm wind to keep the bugs down.

I don't know why this observation tower was made, but I can only imagine that it was built by the CCC.​

The view out over Libby Flats was spectacularly spring. And no, it is not a golf course. The “sand traps” are receding snow drifts.​

Dinner - taco-rittos full of guacamole of course - was delicious, and I think it'd be safe to say that the few others who showed up while we were eating in our rocking camp chairs were just a wee bit jealous. Of course, they were likely headed for showers after a day of exploring, and we still had a week left on the trail, so the jealousy was a two-way street.

After dinner - with a good two hours before sunset - we decided that a final short hike to the ruins of a miner's cabin and headframe - was easily achievable before we started looking for camp. A popular and well-marked trail only a few hundred feet up the road, we finished the .75-mile loop quickly.

The old miners cabin. @mrs.turbodb related to me that it was not collapsed when she'd visited 10 months earlier.​

The Red Mask Mine consisted of a vertical mine tower (headframe), shaft house and boiler. Claimed under the General Mining Law of 1872, the mine was thought to contain rich gold, silver and copper. Only small amounts of silver and trace amounts of gold and copper were ever extracted. The remains that you presently see consist of the collapsed hoisting tower, rusted boiler and shaft house remnants.<cite>USFS Information Sign</cite>​

The Red Mask Mine today.​

Our hike complete, it was time to find a place to camp. After a bit of searching, we found a spot that we thought wouldn't be perfect, but would keep us in the area so that I could see the mountains in the morning, and proceeded to set up the tent.

As we did, I noticed that there were quite a few moths around, and I figured we'd have a few of them nestled around the tent the following morning. In reality, as we nodded off to sleep, I had no idea.

The Following Morning...

I wanted to be sure that I was awake for sunrise the next morning, so I set the alarm for 5:15am, and though it still sort-of felt like 4:15am for me, I pulled myself out of bed as soon as it went off.

I'd expected some beautiful sights of the Snowy Mountains, but the nearby lake is what really blew me away.​

Nestled away in our private little spot.​

@mrs.turbodb was up not-too-much-later, and as I began to fold up the tent, I realized that we had a serious problem on our hands. Over the course of the night, we'd ended up with a couple moths in the tent, but as I folded up various elements, dozens - and then hundreds - of the fuzzy flutterers were nestled into every nook and cranny they could find.

These three had squeezed into the fold of the zipper.​

Moths, it turns out. look for places to nestle. The seams of the tent - where the window awnings joined the main body, and the main folding seam between the two halves of the floor - are their favorite places, and in the end we had at least a couple hundred of those little buggers that we had to evacuate. The floor seam was the worst, as the only way to clear it was to fold the tent, and when I did, half of the moths flew into the tent. That meant opening it again, and shooing them all out as they frantically fluttered around on the inside. Not fun.

In the end, I think I got all but about five out of the tent, though we'd be finding them in the bed of the truck - nestled here and there and flying out when things moved - for the remainder of the trip!

We didn't have far to go until our first stop - to admire the mountains - but within a minute of pulling out of our short spur and back onto the BDR, @mrs.turbodb spotted five moose grazing along the side of the highway!

Nom, nom.​

Clouds along the eastern horizon meant that there was no direct sun on the Snowy Mountains, but they still rose gorgeously to our west.​

I guess that's why it's called Mirror Lake.​

Only 15 miles into the 75-mile-long stage, we had quite a bit of ground to cover - including another "Alternate" route that eliminated 10 miles of pavement in exchange for a fun water crossing and winding, narrow forest roads. #win and #win.

Into the trees.​

This section is considered expert due to a relatively wide water crossing. In a Tacoma, it's no big thing.​

​

Good thing I brought the chainsaw!​

After a few miles, we rejoined the main route for a few miles - as it headed north towards Elk Mountain - before forking off again for a 13-mile side trip to Kennaday Peak and the fire lookout perched at the summit.

Unlike some of the other BDRs we've run, there were relatively few lookouts along the Wyoming route, so we were excited to get ourselves to the few we knew about, eager to see if they were occupied, and to share stories with their occupants if they were!

As we climbed through the trees, we finally got a glimpse of our destination.​

All closed up.​

One of the plywood shutters had either been blown off or removed, and it was a bit of a mess inside the lookout. We patched it up as well as we could before heading back down the mountain.​

In the distance, the snow-capped Sierra Madre.​

Looking north, Elk Mountain.​

And away we go.​

Once off the Kennaday Peak spur, we were treated to the BDR staple road: a relatively wide, well-graded gravel road. As the miles ticked away quickly, @mrs.turbodb read me an interesting tidbit about Elk Mountain.

It is - apparently - a well-known story in Wyoming; a story we'd hear from long-time residents that we ran into a bit later on our journey. Total BS that a private landowner could attempt to restrict access like that, they'd tell us.

The infamous mountain. Not on our route, but we still wondered if we could make it to the top.​

Dropping down out of the foothills and into the fertile farmland to the east of Elk Mountain, this entire valley was irrigated by flooding the fields from the Medicine Bow River.​

Hay there.​

There's not much to the small town of Elk Mountain. A post office and general store, the police station, a community center, and church are all that line the main street through town. Gas is available at I-80 a few miles north, and that's where we were headed, the second stage of the WYBDR now in the books.

Elk Mountain, Wyoming. Population 191.​

It would be a hard stage to beat - given the time we'd spent hiking in the Snowy Mountains - but as we'd soon find out, this entire BDR was full of firsts!

 

I have to say - Ten Sleep was a bit to hoppin' for our tastes on this trip (and it's saying something to call a small Wyoming town, "hoppin'"). I don't know if either of you are familiar with Ten Sleep in it's current incarnation, but it's been discovered by climbers, and there are vanlife folks parked *all over the place*. To the extent that the townsfolk seem to be rather unhappy about it, even though it's probably good for the economy (which would be good if the economy is the important thing vs. the small town vibe). Anyway, it's a beautiful spot, for sure. Hopefully a few of the photos convey what we found!

The naming of it (which I have in the story), is pretty cool. Here's the Native American Indian way to write it.

 

I have never understood the whole checkerboard thing. Hunters routinely get 'trapped' by these situations and find themselves in court. I say trapped rather than caught because it's a crap shoot whether you get caught and the area you are allegedly trespassing is so small.

You would think legislators accounted for that way back when but nope. They didn't.

The flowers are amazing!

 

I had not heard about the influx of climbers and vanlifers. That kind of ruins the visual image I have of this sleepy little mountain town from the books. Of course it’s a pretty dangerous sleepy little town with all the murders that happen in the books

l know the story of the name from what the author wrote. The Native American way of writing it is cool.

Looking forward to the coming chapters!

 

Ten sleep blew up in only the last 5-8 years. Some of the best sport climbing in the world apparently. Used to VERY quite. More like Shell. But quieter I'd say.