AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

A Glass House in the Desert | Hart #2
Part of the Hart Homesteads (Nov 2022) trip.

One of the things about the high desert is that it just looks boring. Miles and miles of - generally boring - flat terrain. Millions of the same - boring - sagebrush arrayed out over the sandy soil. And colors that - for most of the year - are just drab and boring.

There's a lot of this land in the western United States, and one of the great things about it - in my opinion - is that everyone else thinks it's boring. The secret, however, is that these desert areas are great at preserving whatever ends up within their boundaries. Over the decades, lots of interesting things have found their way into the high desert. And today, we had our sights set on one in particular: an entirely glass house.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves - we had quite a way to go before we'd reach something that sounds like such a bad idea. I mean seriously - it's hot in the desert, and there are lots of stones.

​

Heading north, then east and south, across the desert towards Hart Mountain National Antelope Refuge from the P-38 and A-6 plane wrecks we'd explored near Christmas Valley.​

The land rose up alongside US-395, snow highlighting the layered nature of the volcanic cliffs.​

Eventually, we turned off of US-395 and onto Hogback Road. I'd expected this to be paved, but it was even better - well graded gravel! I say better because paved roads tend to suffer quite a bit in the hot/cold climate of the high desert. Expansion and contraction lead to deterioration, and fixing asphalt is difficult. Gravel on the other hand can be easily regraded, and ultimately leads to smoother travel. I smiled, @mrs.turbodb napped, and we ticked away the miles.

Hogback Road curving off into the distance.​

The steep side of Hart Mountain rising up to the east.​

An interesting tidbit that my more-geologically-adept-passenger noted to me a little later in the trip was that the steep side of Hart Mountain and the steep side of Steens Mountain (which we've visited a lot and borders the Alvord Desert region) are mirrors of each other, creating a gentle valley between the two ridgelines.

A cross section of the opposing fault block mountains of Hart Mountain and Steens Mountain.​

An hour or so later, we turned west - away from our ultimate destination - to check out a little draw that I'd noticed as I'd been planning our route. I forget why it'd jumped out at me, but the name - Mine Draw - certainly sounded promising. As we headed up, it was classic Oregon outback with rolling hills and rocky outcrops.

With its southern exposure and clear skies, most of the snow was gone despite temperatures that still hovered in the mid-30s °F.​

After several miles, and a thousand feet of elevation gain, we rounded a bend to a dilapidated old miner's cabin at the base of an area dotted with diggings. There wasn't much left to see, but if for no other reason than to stretch our legs, we got out to take a look around.

Won't be here much longer.​

On a nearby hillside, perched atop a pile of tailings, this strange ore chute stood watch over the site.​

Off we go.​

After climbing another 300 feet or so, we reached the ridge and carried on over the other side, wondering if there was more to see. Deciding after a mile or so that there was not, we headed back to the top where a snow-dusted Hart Mountain gleamed in the distance. We had only one more stop - for fuel in Plush - before we headed that way.

Fingers crossed that the blue skies win out.​

Heading back down Mine Draw.​

Into the valley. I really liked the contrast of rock and snow, brown and white.​

The Tacoma all fueled up, we soon found ourselves bumping along the western flank of Hart Mountain, the snowy cliffs now much closer, aspen still clinging to their yellow leaves as they snaked up the canyons.

Fall into winter, right before our eyes.​

To our west, what used to be Hart Lake was dry, now just a field of brilliant yellow grass.​

Pvt. Charles A. Fonda | US Army 23rd Infantry Company D | Died from wounds | April 30, 1868​

The long evening rays turned everything golden.​

Winding our way through a maze of roads, it was just after 5:00pm when we made our final turn and spotted the craziness we'd set out to find - the all-glass roof of an all-glass house in the middle of the high desert. As we pulled into what could only be considered the driveway, the love and care that went into building this place - as crazy as it was - was immediately apparent. We wasted no time exploring.

Decorative metalwork lined the driveway, the tops of stone walls, and many other elements of the property.​

The main entrance sported four large doors, an affordance for quicker cooling.​

Built into the small rise on which it sits, the house is well camouflaged if you aren't looking for it.​

Even on this cool day - temperatures never reaching higher than the low 40s °F - it was reasonably pleasant inside what was essentially a greenhouse in the desert. And, with no way to open or cover any of the roof panels, it is easy to understand why this project ultimately failed - there was simply no way to escape the oven-like environment on even relatively mild days.

The living room.​

The bedroom.​

The kitchen.​

After poking around for a few minutes - @mrs.turbodb opening some drawers (where spices, utensils, and other niceties still remained), me inspecting some of the electronics (both 120v and 12v receptacles were distributed throughout the house) - we reconvened in the kitchen where a guest book sat on the counter. With fewer than a handful of the 80 sheets consumed, this place sees only a visitor or two a month, perhaps understandable given its location in the middle of nowhere.

​

We did find one interesting entry - Wonderhussy (Sarah) - from June, 2022.​

Our search complete, it was time to figure out our camp plan. With only about 15 minutes until sunset, we decided that the smart money was on camping nearby the house so we could get dinner prepped, eaten, and cleaned up as quickly as possible. Plus, a parking area off of the driveway afforded us a nice flat spot to setup the tent. And so, as the sun dropped below the horizon and the color of the sky transitioned through a pastel palette, we set about our evening activities as efficiently as we could.

Though it hadn't been that warm all day, temperatures dropped quickly as the sun ducked below the horizon.​

Climbing into the relative warmth of the cab of the Tacoma, we killed a bit of time before climbing up the ladder to snuggle under the covers. While @mrs.turbodb read, I copied a few photos off of the camera, marveling at the things we'd seen just a few hours earlier!


An Unexpected Aside...

Some of my favorite moments of a trip - and these don't happen every time - are discoveries of something unexpected. Just such a discovery happened somewhere along our route between Christmas Valley and the Glass house - we just happened to glance at some large rocks on the side of the road and noticed that they were covered with petroglyphs.

If you know where these petroglyphs and pictographs are, please keep their location special. There are already several petroglyphs that have been shot at, and modern graffiti on some nearby rocks.

​

Of course, upon noticing the art - which is relatively plentiful in the area - we stopped immediately to take a closer look. The images and shapes here depicted common themes - bighorn sheep, hunters with bows, alien-bug-men, and concentric circles - that we've seen elsewhere in southeast Oregon (Owyhee, Hart Mountain), and were likely created by a civilization that once roamed the entire region.

Follow the leader.​

A common etching.​

Four pronghorns.​

Hills?​

A hunter and his quarry.​

A full rack.​

The highlight of the rock art was the discovery of a single multi-colored pictograph, a short distance from the petroglyphs. It's a mystery we'll never know the answer to, an opportunity for our curiosity to run wild.

Red and white Bugman.​

Of course, modern humans can't help but leave their mark as well, this yin-yang symbol adorning a nearby rock as well.

Unnecessary addition.​

The Following Morning...

Fully expecting it to get just as cold as it'd been the previous night, both @mrs.turbodb and I had bundled up before climbing into the tent just after 7:45pm. This time, I'd oriented the tent to take advantage of the sun rising over the easter horizon - my hope being that any frost on the rain fly would sublimate before we even got out of bed.

What neither of us expected, was to hear the pattering of snow that began at midnight and lasted nearly four hours!

Luckily, with temperatures in the mid-twenties (°F), the snow was reasonably dry; what little didn't slide off the tent on its own was easily shaken off when we got up to go pee. And when we did, I hoped that at least some of the white stuff would stick around till morning, because it was beautiful.

After getting an inch or more snow, this is all that was left several hours later.​

A little more on the cold steel metalwork of the Glass House.​

With sunrise at 6:30am - and even having gone to bed early - it wasn't until 7:30am that we finally climbed down the ladder and started packing away camp.

Clearing skies to the north, but no sun to sublimate any frost on the tent. Lucky for us, there wasn't any!​

Most of packing away camp is a quick process, but as I've mentioned in several rig reviews over the last couple of years, the toughest part these days is getting the zipper on the CVT cover to close. To make is as easy as possible, I now wash/lubricate the entire zipper with water, each time I zip up the cover. This can be torture on my fingers on a cold morning, so I've started storing my water bottle with me in the tent, its contents warming my fingers during the cleaning process, rather than freezing them!

Unfortunately, the problem this morning wasn't going to be fixed with warm water.​

Bummed at the lemons that life had thrown at us, I tried to look on the bright side - I still had the straps to hold the tarp mostly on the tent, and trail dust would be minimized given the moisture we'd gotten the night before. And so, with everything packed away as best we could, we set out for our final day on the trail.

Just like the last, it'd turn out to be full of unexpected surprises.

 

WonderHussy. I suppose you know she has a Youtube channel? Maybe that's why you quoted her entry.

Anyway, character, or A Character.

 

Hot Springs and Homesteads | Hart #3
Part of the Hart Homesteads (Nov 2022) trip.

Doing our best to put the failure of the tent zipper behind us, we left the Glass House in the rear view mirror and set off on our exploration for the day - to visit several old homesteads I'd found on satellite maps around Hart Mountain, just to get a better sense of the terrain in a place we've not previously been.

It was looking a little ominous to the south, with plenty of snow on the Warner Mountains.​

The first structure I'd discovered wasn't very far away, but I was surprised when - less than 15 minutes into our journey along Rifle Canyon Road - we came upon a cabin in the tall grass. I hadn't noticed this one at all when I'd been planning the route, but even with cold temps and snow on the ground, I was happy to get out for a walkaround.

A nice surprise.​

Probably doesn't fare so well in wet weather.​

Could use updating.​

All in all, this cabin was in what I would call typical shape for a place found out on the edge of the Hart Mountain National Antelope Refuge, which is to say "not great." The most interesting bit to me was that over the years, it had obviously been attacked by woodpeckers, and for at least some amount of time - when there was a human resident - the battle had been valiantly fought.

Tin can lids were used to patch woodpecker holes... for a while. Now, the woodpeckers have clearly prevailed.​

Back on the road, we wove our way in and out of the reserve over the course of only a mile or so before coming to the second structure of the morning. I'd marked this one as an "old shed" and was delighted to discover that I'd been correct in my assessment. Obviously associated with a nearby paddock and grazing area, I suspect this is where the resident of the house we'd visited kept their stock.

The setting, at the base of Hart Mountain, was definitely dramatic.​

I really liked how the siding on this barn sort of faded away from left to right - not due to time, but rather, by design.​

Stopping only long enough to snap a couple photos - my passenger, preferring to stay warm in the heated cabin, didn't even exit the vehicle for this one - we were back on our way in just a few minutes.

Travelling only another couple miles before reaching the first significant homestead of our day, this one was different than the others. Situated a little further off the road, Ranch one was composed of a gaggle of buildings, with fences, corrals, and vehicles strewn about. In fact, at a distance, both of us wondered if it was still occupied - a question that was easily answered as we drew closer.

Apparently, this is not a heavily trafficked route.​

Nice views along the edge of valley.​

The main house at the old Ranch.​

This circular corral was pretty cool.​

The old ranch truck. If you look closely, you can see that steering wheel and pedals have been moved, giving it rear-wheel steering and dualies in the front.​

The Tacoma can't win many races, but would stand a chance here.​

After inspecting the interior of the main house and poking around in a couple of the old workshops - where not much of interest remained, everything having been picked over through the years - we retraced our path just a bit. Our goal - to climb to the top of the Hart Mountain National Antelope Refuge - meant summiting not Hart Mountain itself, but its neighbor to the south, Warner Peak.

At the base of the mountain, we discovered this Oregon Central Military Wagon Road (1864).​

As we climbed, the trails were "signature Oregon," with softball size rocks that rattle your bones. And a big rock here and there (but you don't have to drive over those).​

Into a high valley.​

Warner Peak and Hart Mountain - like Steens Mountain to the east - are part of a fault block range (see this diagram). Heading up the more gradual side of the range, elevation gain came in fits and starts, broad meadows making for an almost imperceptible climb. And it was in one of these meadows that our attempt to summit was abruptly halted!

A welcome patch of sun stood between us and the cloud-covered summit of Warner Peak.​

Dang!​

Closed roads are just a part of any backcountry adventure, and though we were surprised to find that this area had been closed for restoration - it wasn't mentioned anywhere on the Refuge's website - I think we both breathed a small sign of relief - @mrs.turbodb because it meant that she needn't worry about the snowy road conditions; me because I was getting hungry and we still had a good couple hours to the top of Warner Peak.

With that, we got ourselves turned around, and headed east - our hearts set on even more homesteads, just over the horizon. And lunch.

Even on this cold (and becoming windy) day, we got some pretty great views.​

The red clay playa of Wool Lake was striking.​

It was 12:30pm - and temperatures were warming just enough to soften the road surface, threatening to turn it into a muddy mess given the snow we'd received the previous night - when we stopped for lunch near Jacob's Reservoir. With the truck angled into the wind to make sandwich assembly and consumption as pleasant as possible, @mrs.turbodb set about with the assembly while I took a few minutes to investigate a small cabin we could see just a short distance from the road.

Looks to be in reasonable shape.​

On closer inspection... Needs windows. And doors. A roof would be nice.​

I thought the weathering of the siding was beautiful, if a little drafty.​

Heading back to the Tacoma, I arrived just as our salami sandwiches (and Cheetos) were ready to eat, and boy did they hit the spot. Both were nice as a bit of variety from our usual tuna and Lays, though both of us also agreed that eating all that orange powder should remain a once-in-a-while indulgence.


An Unexpected Aside...

As with the previous chapter of this story, some of my favorite moments of a trip are discoveries of something unexpected.

If you know where this hot spring and these petroglyphs are, please keep their location special. Doing so will help to preserve them for future visitors who are willing to put in the time to find them!

​

We really couldn't believe it when we pulled up on ****** Hot Spring. I'd marked it as something that "looked interesting" in the radar imagery along our route, but I'd not realized how awesome it actually was. In fact, even as we pulled into the parking area, I don't think either of us really expected that we'd spend more than half an hour prepping the tub for a soak.

That is, until I felt the crystal-clear water that was piped from the source and realized that it was the perfect temperature for this rather cold day. Oh, and there's the fact that hot springs are - seriously - @mrs.turbodb's absolutely most favorite thing!

The source didn't look all that compelling - with not much steam, we thought it'd be luke warm at best.​

It turned out to be clear, not too smelly, and when mixed with a little cool water already in the tub, a perfect 105°F! Pure bliss.​

A good rule for all of life.​

Unrelated, we also came upon this rock, covered in rock art from two distinct time periods. Two unexpected petroglyph sites in two days!

We never really figured out the meaning of "Look up on that rock."​

With the wind picking up and the temperatures dropping, eating was a rather quick affair. It was as we climbed back into the heater-blasting-warmth of the Tacoma that I realized we ought to listen to the weather station on the ham radio, just to make sure there wasn't some crazy storm blowing in.

I'm sure you can see where this is going.

The excitement - as though it was Christmas - was palpable for the weather station. The droning robotic voice read wind warning after high wind warning. "Stay indoors." "Stay away from trees." "Unsecured objects may become dangerous." "Remain on the ground floor." For the next 18 hours, winds were projected to rise to 40-50mph with gusts to 65mph. And - of course - there was rain too.

It was - as you can imagine - exactly what we wanted to hear, given our plans to camp in a fabric tent high off the ground, on a surface that becomes a muddy mess at even the hint of rain.

We pretty much decided at that point that we'd finish our exploration for the day, and then bomb ourselves home. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than the alternative.

Not a good place to be caught in the rain.​

Luckily for us, the roads here in the area south of Hart Mountain were in reasonably good shape. Still a bit muddy from the melting snow, the brisk winds and dropping temps were quickly drying them out and firming them up. As such, it wasn't long before we were dropping down from one plateau to another, nearly to the Shirk Ranch.

Even on the final approach, the Shirk Ranch was mysteriously absent.​

We've arrived.​

The main house. Two full stories.​

In the kitchen, the sink was significantly fancier than what I've seen elsewhere.​

The downstairs living room.​

Upstairs, this room was used as a billiard room, where Shirk wrote, "I placed therein a modern billiard table for their amusement during times of idleness and the long winter nights. I had a two-fold purpose in this. First, because I believe that every man is as good as any other man, provided he is honest, industrious and conducts himself as a self-respecting man, and also, because I sought by this means and by such methods to secure contentment and steadiness on the part of the men in my employ." (Greg Shine)​

I thought the chimney pipe was... interesting. The clay segments are most commonly used as sewer piping.​

A two-hole pooper, a little worse for wear.​

The water tank still perched high off the ground, its rock walls slowly crumbling before it falls.​

Near one of several sheds, this old sled was likely once pulled in the winter by Shirk's horses.​

We spent a good half hour or more wandering around the various buildings at the Shirk Ranch. Like others in the area, there isn't much left from a "stuff" perspective - that's all been gathered up by previous visitors, though such gathering is illegal - but the sheer number of buildings, and the obvious care with which they were once treated, was quite impressive.

And, it was quite the contrast to the next homestead we visited - the Spalding Ranch. A main house and single stable were all that remained here, and they were in pretty rough shape. I don't know for sure, but I think that once a building gets to a certain state of disrepair, the respect shown for that building drops off dramatically, people who might normally admire, suddenly compelled to write their name on the wall, or throw a rock through a window. Bummer.

The main house of the Spalding Ranch, the chimney having fallen sometime since 2013.​

Inside, chalk "pictographs" adorned the pine walls.​

At one time, this too was a very nice residence. I've never seen a homestead with baseboard, but this one sported it in every room.​

Today's resident.​

Outside, an old well was lined with volcanic stone, gathered from the surrounding valley.​

With that, we'd wrapped up the list of buildings and homesteads I'd planned to visit and with only a couple more hours of daylight, we began a long trek north through the Refuge. This wasn't part of the original plan, which had been to head south to highway 140. But, having been turned around on our summit attempt at Warner Peak, and knowing that we weren't going to spend the night, I suggested that this alternate route would give us a second chance at the peak, and would likely take us approximately the same amount of time... assuming it was passable that is!

We got a good laugh out of this pair of signs. I suppose that UTV riders may need them both. ​

As we headed north, this flock of "white birds" was headed in the opposite direction. A sign, perhaps.​

Where we'd previously attempted access from the south, we now approached Warner Peak from the east.​

Alas, just as with our earlier attempt, this one was blocked! No summit for us. ​

Continuing north on Barnhardi Rd, we skirted the east side of Warner Peak and Hart Mountain, the road getting slushier and the snow getting deeper - but nothing even remotely noteworthy - as our elevation increased to 6900', the highest we'd been all day. Along the way we passed through Guano (currently closed for restoration) and Hot Springs (where we stayed on our first visit to Hart Mountain) campgrounds, as well as a couple of headstones commemorating two more soldiers who'd died in this area.

Edward Cantrell | Sgt Co B | 23rd US Infantry | 1846-1867
Lewis DeBold | Pvt Co D | 14th US Infantry | 1847-1866​

This aspen grove would have been spectacular just a couple weeks earlier.​

In the end, the roads all ended up being in reasonable condition and we covered the ground to the Hart Mountain Visitor Center in a little over 90 minutes, arriving just after it closed at 5:00pm. As the winds continued to pick up, we aired up the tires for the 600-mile trip home and tried to figure out our dinner plans. We had options, but none of them were good, this part of Oregon not known for vast variety of eateries. In the end, we choose what was the easiest - but not necessarily favorite - option, McDonalds in Hines.

A final show as we ran from the weather.​

It'd been a great trip to an area that we've previously been near but never to. And of course, the unexpected bits - hot springs and rock art - made it all that much sweeter!

 

Did you see the open air pooper?

 

I did not!

Unrelated - on a later trip (I'm about a month or so behind in posting, due to processing and writing), @mrs.turbodb availed herself of a historic pooper at a mine we happened upon, a few miles from the nearest road in desert. I thought she was just going to investigate it as we had every other building at the site, and got a good laugh when she answered in the affirmative as to whether she'd used it.

Not something I'd have done, but I suppose it is technically a reasonable decision. (Note: we - or rather she - still packed out the TP.)

 

It used to be just upstream of the soldiers' graves, at the old guano cr. campsite. Right near that photo i quoted. Park service may have "decommissioned" it by now.

 

I camped at Shirk Ranch and soaked in the “official” Hart Mountain hot spring last summer. I’d love to find that other blue tarp spring but will have to wait for next year. I suggested visiting the glass house on that trip, after learning about it from my daughter (who is NOT Wonderhussy) but my companions didn’t seem interested.

 

A Loosely Planned Meetup | Highway Hikes #1
Part of the Highway Hikes [on CA-190] (Nov 2022) trip.

Generally, when I visit Death Valley, my goal is to explore the more remote regions of the park. Long lost dirt roads, canyons that entail as much climbing as hiking, and days without seeing another soul (with the exception of @mrs.turbodb) - these are the places we spend our time. As such, exploration of Death Valley proper - largely along CA-190 - has been light. Sure, most of the major tourist attractions have been seen, but surely in a place this inhospitable, even CA-190 holds special places that are only infrequently visited. Remote despite their proximity to pavement.

With a little more than 36 hours, it was time to find out. What I'd discover - three fantastic destinations with no other footprints to be found - would get me thinking: what else have I overlooked in my adventures to Death Valley?

As usual, my trip started with a long drive south. After 15 hours of monotony I was just outside of Austin, NV as the sun dropped below the horizon.

In addition to getting this nice shot of the Belt of Venus just outside Austin, I also made a wrong turn at this location, which added an extra hour of driving to my trip. ​

With 5 more hours of pavement to pound, I texted Mike @mk5 - who I was meeting for the first hike - to figure out what time he planned to arrive and where he wanted to camp. We'd hoped to camp somewhere up Echo Canyon - which had recently re-opened after the heavy rains and flooding of fall 2022 - but upon its reopening and given its popularity, the NPS instituted a must-apply-in-person-at-the-visitor-center permit system. Hoping to get an exception - given that we were both driving from handfuls of hours away, and so couldn't arrive prior to the visitor center closing at 5:00pm - I called and spoke with a park ranger who was completely understanding but unable to make an exception.

Ultimately though, it turned out that we'd both arrive within a few minutes of 10:30pm, at a spot that Mike scouted on a previous trip. It was perfect.

I arrived and Mike was already hard at work, enjoying the clear skies.​

I'm always a little envious of Mike's night shots, since he seems to spend a bunch of time setting up lighting and whatnot. Tonight, colored LEDs ended up under my truck as well!​

After chit-chatting for an hour and a half - bringing my waking day to a full 24-hours - I pulled myself away and fell asleep immediately upon assuming a horizontal position.

The Following Morning...

Hoping to get a few nice shots around camp and an early start on the day, since I had another hike planned for the afternoon, I was happy with the 7-hours of sleep that I'd gotten when my alarm finally went off. I'd missed sunrise, but it was still nice to poke around a bit until Mike climbed out of his truck and we got ourselves underway.

First light.​

I have to admit feeling a bit like a stalker, since Mike was still sleeping in his truck at this point. ​

Out of camp, we didn't have far to go before we were ready for our first hike along CA-190!​

Now, I have to admit that both of us were a little apprehensive as we began this hike. We'd both happened upon the location via our own research, but Mike - as usual, paying a bit more attention to satellite imagery than me - had noticed what could have been a gate across the access road leading to the site. We knew that depending on the signage, we might end up turning around without ever getting to the destination, but for now, we were satisfied to soak in the views and take our chances.

A view like this was like a gravitational pull toward the mountains.​

So many colorful folds to explore.​

After a couple ups and downs, we eventually found ourselves following the wash - and road - that would lead us into the canyon, and each of us had our heads and cameras on swivels as we made the gradual ascent, chatting about life and enjoying the chance to catch up in person.

A clue that we were headed the right direction.​

Anticipation.​

It's always important to turn around every now and then, you never know when the Amargosa Range may sneaking up on you!​

Getting closer.​

More than a mile - and perhaps 60% of the distance - into our hike, we the unspoken tension was building. We both knew where the gate was located, and that meant that the next bend in the wash would seal our fate. Would we have to turn around? Would we know we should turn around but actually keep going? Would we be caught on camera and whisked away in black SUVs, never to be seen again?

In an amazing stroke of luck, none of the negative things that we'd both been preparing ourselves for came to pass. There was no need for a difficult "should we pretend it wasn't there" conversation because not only was the gate unlocked, but it was also open!

Miracle of miracles.​

Beyond the gate, we got our first glimpse of what was in store.​

As I made a beeline for the mine - sure that the SUVs weren't far behind - Mike once again demonstrated his superior research skills and informed me that we needed to explore a short side canyon before being distracted by the "obvious" attraction. This side canyon - he informed me - has a slot canyon.

Now, anyone who has read my stories knows that ever since Monte @Blackdawg introduced me to my first slot canyon, I've been hooked. Frankly, I'm like a moth drawn to light when it comes to these things - a fact that would be evidenced by my next planned hike on this very trip.

And so, we headed up the side canyon.

Side canyon sunstar.​

In the end, it would turn out that we were in the wrong side canyon, but even this one was nothing to scoff at. As the canyon narrowed to a dark tunnel, we had to decide - were we going to squeeze through?

Golden glow and mud flow.​

That's going to be a tight squeeze.​

Ultimately, only one of us made it through the squeeze. In a rare stroke of genious, I manged to trick Mike to heading through first. Having to wiggle through the dusty-badland-wash on his stomach - and with sand and rocks showering down on him as he rubbed along the walls and ceiling - I simply asked if it was worth it for me to come through as well.

"Nope, it ends right here," he said. Which meant the only thing left to do was to get covered in badlands again.

"Winning?"​

At this point we still thought that we'd investigated the "side slot canyon," and so we joyously turned our attention to the main canyon and mine. The ********* Mine operated briefly in the 1950s producing colemanite, a white, crystalline borate mineral that was used as a component of airborne retardants to fight forest fires, but activity was short-lived as the material was found to cause soil to become sterile.

Colemanite, the reason nothing grows here.​

I have to admit - nothing growing here wasn't a bad thing. It was, however, a badlands thing.​

Soon enough we arrived at the mine site, and it was just as amazing as either of us had envisioned from the blurry satellite photos we'd poured over when planning the route. The main structure - an enormous ore bin - was surrounded by fencing and signage, and the adits were sealed, but the site was otherwise in great shape!

There was only one thing to do, and the clicking of cameras commenced.

What a monster!​

A workshop was perched on the opposite side of the wash, it's old green paint fighting valiantly for a few final years.​

Mostly empty now, but clearly well-built and used.​

Hard to complain about the views.​

As Mike continued to photograph the shop - ultimately ending up with a smattering of photos that far exceed the plain-ish ones I walked away with - I meandered around the rest of the site, peering in through the grates that covered the adits, reveling in the rail lines that snaked out over the ore bin.

Hidden from the highway, it was cool to find a site that was in such good shape overall.​

Do signs like this ever actually achieve their purpose?​

No way in.​

Like the day they left it.​

Realizing that Mike might never finish photographing the workshop and that I still had a five-plus-mile hike scheduled for the (not many hours that made up the) afternoon, I wandered back down and informed him that he was missing the best part - at the upper level.

Kid. Candy store.​

The upper level of the site was a wonder to behold.​

Any ore carts on this rail got a pretty good view as they proceeded to dump their loads.​

In the end, we probably spent a little more than half an hour poking around the mine site before heading back down the wash towards our trucks. A little before noon, we discussed our next steps. Mike - having a previous family commitment that involved a flight early the next morning - would be heading south to check out some mines that I'd already seen, and I would be continuing along CA-190 for another hike that I'd been anticipating for the last 11 months, ever since I'd seen Ken's @DVexile truck parked along the side of the road as I'd ended a trip early; headed home with a busted transfer case.

And so, chatting away about what we'd seen and what we hoped was to come, we covered the ground to the highway quickly. Probably more quickly than either of us would have preferred.

There are those Amargosa's again. Gotta watch out, or they'll sneak through the Hole in the Wall.​

The colors here - as though an artist gathered them together on a pallet. And then simply walked away.​

Trusty companions.​

Fantastic colors along CA-190 at Zabriskie Point.​

We caravanned for a bit, ultimately parting ways near Furnace Creek. It'd been another short meeting in the desert, but - for me at least - the most enjoyable. I carried on, a little bummed that Mike wasn't able to join me on my next hike, but also looking forward for the search - and squeeze - that was to come.

 

Nice!
I inquired about the location of that mine at the visitor center and was told, "We don't tell people about that place."
I ended up finding it anyway, looks like the place hasn't changed in the 10 years since.

 

Ok, I'll ask.

What in the Taco is this?

 

It's a motion-activated hot water spigot.

Standard option on the '05s.

 

Dude, your photos confirm my suspicions!

Forwarding these to the DA, hopefully this is enough evidence to press charges. If not, I'll drag that ass-hole slot canyon to civil court myself. That was my EDC knife for 12 years straight. Not only is that deadbeat hole in the ground an imposter... it's a thief!

 

Oh, that is funny!

I remember thinking I'd lost one of my favorite carry knives, I was seriously bummed. Then I was cleaning out the truck only to find it and it's sprung clip on the console side of the seat. I usually carry in my right front pocket. I guess I caught the clip getting out of the truck and it pulled it right out. I've been carrying a Viper Sowbelly--no clip slip joint.

 

Big Mines and Squeeze Slots | Highway Hikes #2
Part of the Highway Hikes [on CA-190] (Nov 2022) trip.

It was shortly after 2:00pm when I arrived at the trailhead for my next destination. Literally parked along the shoulder of CA-190, anyone driving by might surely wonder, "why is a person parked here?"

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I know I was wondering why a white Tacoma was parked in the same spot, almost exactly one year earlier.​

Like the time of day, to the casual observer, there's nothing remotely remarkable about this place - though with a little knowledge, both the time and place become noteworthy. The time, because I had only a little over two hours - before sunset - to complete a 6-mile hike; the place, because despite the seemingly pedestrian landscape, there existed a double natural bridge and two of the narrowest slot canyons I've ever encountered.

Time to get going!

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From the road, there doesn't appear to be anything at all interesting in the vicinity.​

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Hiking up the alluvial fan, the Tacoma faded - and Tucki Mountain rose under an Air Force contrail - in the distance.​

Despite the unassuming start, the truth is that there was plenty for my senses to soak in as I made good time up the gently sloping terrain. Such it is, I suppose, in a place where nature is so clearly in control. The push and pull between the blazing sun and overwhelming rains evident all around - both small scale and large.

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I really liked the varied textures as the wash walls began to grow and the always-colorful Corkscrew Peak towered in the distance.​

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There were dozens of these miniature bread loaves littered along the way. I think they'd been left out too long though, they were all pretty stale.​

Knowing that my time was limited, I made relatively quick progress for the first couple of miles. This was made easier by following some advice of those much more experienced in these parts. Rather than hiking up the wash, I hiked along the small southern bench above the wash where the rocky surface had been hardened into desert pavement. It was, frankly, some of the most pleasurable hiking I've done on a fan.

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Above, even the sky was showing off.​

Eventually - as the height differential between the bench and wash increased - I abandoned the fabulous terrain and dropped back down into the wash.

At this point I was on the lookout for an element of this hike that really piqued my interest. As I alluded to earlier, Ken @DVexile had explored this area a year earlier, but he'd only recently posted his trip report. In it, he'd shared "the sketchiest chock-stone arrangement [he'd] ever seen," and I was immediately enthralled. The arrangement was so precarious that he and I even contemplated whether it was able to stand up to the flooding that had occurred during the DEVA Deluge nine months after his visit and three months before mine.

There was only one way to know - and that was to go look.

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Found it!​

Of course, I was elated to have found the location and I was more than a little amazed to find the two stones still wedged into the fanglomerate. I was also very surprised by the size of the entire situation - it was significantly smaller than I'd envisioned. And by significantly, I mean by a couple orders of magnitude. Not that it made the situation any less wonderous as I set about trying to capture the amazing balancing act from every possible angle.

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The importance of scale.
(No chokestones were touched in the taking of this photo!)​

After finding this amazing situation, I must admit that I felt a sense of relief and was much more relaxed - even as my adrenaline was pumping in a few situations - for the remainder of the hike; it's amazing how anticipation and hope can be such powerful influences, even unconsciously.

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A little further up the wash, even the fanglomerate wall was "in amazement," its mouth agape as it looked out over the landscape.​

Before I knew it, I'd reached the namesake of this hike - the only known double natural bridge in Death Valley, discovered by one of Death Valley's most prolific hikers in 2016. Like the double chokestone, I knew I was in for a special treat as I approached the formation - not only because of the bridge itself, but also because of the world behind it!

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The right natural bridge was about 4 feet tall and had to be crawled through. The left natural bridge was about 7 feet tall and could be easily walked through.​

Of course, just as I was photographing the bridge, the low battery indicator on my camera began to flash. This is a situation I've found myself in before, and yet I still have a hard time remembering to pack a second battery when I leave the Tacoma.

And so, with less than 10% of the battery remaining, I shuffled under the bridge and into near darkness - a narrow slot canyon tunneling left and right, sunlight barely able to penetrate the space, the walls more than 50 feet tall.

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A wider section, with that fantastic orange glow.​

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For a few hundred feet, I wandered in this dark cathedral, exhilarated.​

Except for the first 50-feet of the slot canyon, the walls were so close that a normal walk was impossible. Rather, a side-shuffle was the only way through the narrow passages, and experience I would not recommend for those who suffer from claustrophobia; even my adrenaline was elevated by the thought of something going wrong in here.

Eventually, the bottom of the slot gets too narrow to pass, leaving only two options - retrace one's steps to the entrance or climb a few feet up the walls and brace one's arms and legs against the sides and crab-walk, parkour style.

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As the slot gets narrower, it - thankfully - also gets shallower, eventually climbing over a small boulder jam.​

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Out of the slot, the wash widens once again.​

Now at the apex of my excursion, I planned to follow a cross over route to the adjacent wash. Following this wash back down the alluvial fan would spit me out where I'd started and give me entirely new surroundings to explore on the way down.

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The cross-over presented some fantastic views of the adjacent wash to the north.​

The highlight of this wash - like the previous - was a narrow slot canyon. In fact, this one was even narrower than the first, aptly named "Squeeze Slot" by those who'd discovered it. In fact, so squeezy was it that I could only make it a dozen feet or so past the mouth before it was too narrow to proceed and I was forced to back out (literally; I couldn't turn around).

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Enticing entrance to the Squeeze Slot.​

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The Squeeze is better viewed from above, as there's really no way to photograph it from within. At the top, one can easily straddle both sides - but don't do that, you could easily become wedged between the walls if you fall in!​

By this point, my camera battery had died, and I'd come up with the fabulously terrible workaround of using my cell phone - ironic given that on my very first trip I'd waxed on and on about how cell phone photos were "just as good" as any DSLR, Monte @Blackdawg and Mike @Digiratus assuring me in the nicest way possible that I was wrong.

Sorry guys.

Regardless, it was getting on 4:00pm by this point, and with less than 30 minutes of light remaining, I pointed myself towards CA-190 and made a concerted effort to lay off the photos. Sort of. Unless something cool presented itself. Which I knew would happen constantly.

Like the first wash, the tall walls of ultra-compressed alluvial fan (fanglomerate) were quite intriguing and necessitated a few stops.

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Even in this heterogeneous mixture of stones, it was interesting to see that the archways that form in sandstone were also forming here.​

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Erosion from spillover made for some fantastic formations.​

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I really liked how this piece of fanglomerate had cracked into three pieces.​

This wash also contained quite a few rocks that had extensive inclusions, and though I didn't know how they were caused or really even what they were, I couldn't help but to marvel at the patterns and textures that were formed.

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Such a consistent line of quartz.​

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Tiger stripes.​

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Volcano vomit.​

Of course, my slow pace meant that the sun had set by the time I finally reached the Tacoma. Luckily for me, there wasn't much risk of getting lost - as long as I followed the wash, at the very least I'd run into the highway - and my westerly trajectory meant that I was able to enjoy the light show as the sun dropped below the horizon.

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Tucki Mountain looking fine under a pastel sky.​

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Clouds turning to fire as I exited the wash.​

I arrived back at the Tacoma as darkness really began to set in. It'd been an extremely enjoyable excursion and with pleasant temperatures at 31.5 feet above sea level, I decided to make dinner right there along the side of CA-190 before heading west for my final hike along this paved route through the park.

Sitting next to the highway as I enjoyed my guacamole-heavy taco-rittoes, it was fun to watch headlights snake between Furnace Creek and Stovepipe Wells as stars appeared in the sky. Speeding by, these good folks probably wondered what some bozo was doing - parked on the side of the road in a place where there doesn't seem to be much to see - and I'm just fine keeping it that way!

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A couple hours later, I found myself camped only a few miles from CA-190 under crisp, clear skies.​

The Following Morning...

I awoke, in an adjacent valley, at 5:00am the following morning.

When I'd arrived - in the pitch dark, though it was only 8:00pm - the night before, I'd intended to camp quite a bit closer to my destination for the morning, but I'd run into a wilderness sign where I hadn't expected to find one. I'd reasoned that the NPS must have closed the remainder of the road to all but foot traffic and so with an extra couple miles to hike, I just set my alarm for a little earlier than I'd initially planned. After all, when you go to bed before 9:00pm, you can pretty much get up any time and still have had plenty of rest!

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After stowing the tent and double checking that I had an extra battery for the camera, I headed up the wash well before sunrise.​

Walking up the wash, I completely understood why the area had been designated as wilderness*. There was no real road here (anymore), and I figured that the wilderness marker was probably a new addition after the previously mentioned DEVA Deluge of 2022.

* or so I thought.

Still, walking in the wash wasn't difficult, especially once I found an old section of road that climbed out of its banks. By 6:15am, I was out of the wash entirely and climbing up towards the Big Four Mine, views of Panamint Valley stretching out below.

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The geology in this unnamed canyon of the Panamint Mountains would have been reward enough for me. Remember, those layers were laid down horizontally!​

@mrs.turbodb and I had considered exploring the Big Four Mine when we'd hiked the Panamint Dunes on a previous trip, but when we looked up the canyon and didn't see any structures, we - incorrectly - assumed that it wasn't worthwhile. Only later would I discover that we simply didn't look hard enough, and that there was actually quite a bit of cool stuff to check out, if we weren't so darn lazy!

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The lower ore chute.​

The trick at the Big Four Mine is to get from the lower level to the middle workings. This is done by scrambling up the hillside (there's no real path as far as I could find) and can be a little nerve racking as you're slightly exposed on the way up, and it's steep and loose on the way down. Regardless, it was most definitely worth it once I peeked over the edge of the ridge to the middle workings.

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Rail lines, an ore bin, and an ore chute - my eyes lit up at the sight!​

Naturally, I was most interested in the rail lines as they curved out of the adit, but I forced myself to investigate the rest of the site, lest I completely forget to look at anything else. Naturally, it too turned out to be interesting, with several hundred feet of forked tunnels and braced diggings.

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Good advice, even if I wasn't going to follow it.​

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Two-by-fours holding up a mountain. Seems legit; safety third. ​

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S-curves in a mine aren't something I see very often (though I'm sure they are more common than I think).​

With the sun just sneaking over the horizon as I exited the shaft, I tried to find the perfect angle to photograph the ore chute and curved rails as they exited the main digging. I don't feel like I succeeded with either, but it was still a fun feeling to poke around a space like this. In fact, I didn't know that the time, but I'd see another similar setup just 10 days later when I was back in the park to explore the Eastern Inyo's.

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A gentle curve... into the wall!​

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Material was sent down the chute to trucks waiting in the wash.​

By the time I was done, it was nearly 7:00am, and with a long northerly drive scheduled for the remainder of the day (and most of the night), it was time to hoof it back down to the Tacoma and back onto the only road I'd followed for this series of hikes - CA-190.

From the mine, I headed down the segment of road I'd found as I hiked up the wash, the views of Panamint Valley glowing orange below. Caught up in the sights, I didn't even notice - at first - that I seemed to be taking a different route down the canyon than the one I'd used before sunrise. The road - it seemed - continued next to the wash, not only making for an easier hike, but also for an embarrassed hiker.

In fact, as I got back to the Tacoma - completely on the road, mind you - I realized that the wilderness sign I'd seen the night before, and hiked past earlier this morning, was simply to keep people from driving into the wash and off of the main route. However, because the main route made a sharp 90° turn - crossing another nearby wash - I hadn't noticed it, and just assumed I'd reached the end of the road.

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It was, I assure you, a moment I was glad to be alone, and I chuckled that perhaps Digonnet - author of the Hiking Death Valley books - has himself experienced. Naturally, he'd cover up such an event with some witty statement like, "Rather than drive the rough road, hike through this playground - where rocks go wandering while no one is watching - and enjoy the spectacular stripes on the mountains of this unnamed canyon."

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Lake Hill, casting long shadows as a new day breaks across Panamint Valley.​

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Back in the Tacoma, it was only a few miles to CA-190 and Panamint Springs Resort in the distance.​

The drive home was a long one, though the weather was great and traffic didn't give me any problems. It'd been another fantastic trip to the desert, and I already had plans for my imminent return.

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Driving north past Mono Lake, shrouded in fog under crystal clear skies.​

 

The chock rock and bread loafs are fascinating.

Edit: I bought a little inverter to charge camera batteries while driving. It's got a couple ac outlets. Enough for the canon charger. Plugs into the cig lighter/accessory outlet.

 

you've come a long ways in a lot of different ways.

 

Aren't they though? There were actually lots of those little bread loafs; super cool.

I've got an inverter as well for the camera battery - and three batteries (my goodness, these things aren't cheap!), so I can theoretically always take two with me while one is still charging. It's hard to fix forgetfulness though. Luckily, it hasn't happened on any of my "major" hikes, and I've always had my phone with me for backup.

 

I'd like to look into those bread loaves. It almost looks like there was some low temp material between the slices.

Some days, I feel like my life is run by batteries. Making sure they're charged or charging

 

Lol that wilderness sign should have an arrow or something!

 

I somehow missed replying to - or even liking - these. I'd like to blame the fact that I was warming my bones in Hawaii when they got posted, but really, I'm just old and forgetful.

I'd love to know what caused this as well. I mean, there must have been some material difference, but there were so many, and they were so consistent - it was super cool. If you do ever find out what causes them, I'd love to hear. Note: I feel like at the large scale, this isn't all that uncommon, it's only at the small scale that I've never seen it before (probably because I simply haven't noticed).

Thanks for confirming the company I'm in.