AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

More than a Ghost Town | Panamint City #2
Part of the Panamint City via Surprise Canyon (Nov 2022) trip.

My night on a concrete floor in Panamint City was the worst camping experience of my adult life. Really, there was nothing redeeming about any aspect of it, so entertain me while I complain momentarily, completely aware that this is all my own fault!

The sleeping bag was a disaster. In fairness to @mrs.turbodb - who warned me of this when I borrowed the bag from her - the fact that I could barely fit my shoulders into the bag, much less adjust my body at all once I was mummified, was super uncomfortable. Add to the fact that it was a 35°F bag - and it was 28°F for much of the night - and it was a recipe for disaster. But hey, the size helped to keep it lighter on my shoulders, right!?

The pad was even worse. I've gotten so accustomed to my Exped Megamat - with its insulated 4" thickness - that sleeping on a 20 year old, 18" wide, ¾" thick Thermarest was pure torture. I'm sure it was better than sleeping directly on the concrete, but not much.

And of course, the night was long and cold. With 14 hours of darkness and snow covering the ground, the thought of losing the little heat my situation retained to take a pee was not at all appealing.

The one redeeming factor - I suppose - was the tent I'd found. Not because it was a great tent, but simply because it provided a small barrier between me and any rodents or insects that could have been attracted to my sleeping bag. Small wins, ehh?

At least I found a spot that was sheltered from the 20mph winds that carried on for most of the night.​

Everything was a little too small and a little too thin for me. But hey, it was lighter to carry!​

Checking the time became a regular occurrence as I shivered through the night. At 6:00am - still a little more than 30 minutes before sunrise - I realized that I could warm up by getting an early start on the first of several hikes for the day. I'd slept in all my clothes, so it was "easy" - and by easy, I mean a struggle - to extract myself from the sleeping bag, put on my shoes, and be ready to go.

Early morning light over the "Panamint Hilton."​

In the near distance, my first destination - the mill for the Wyoming Mine.​

The mill - in operation until 1984 and most notably used for the Wyoming Mine - is the best example of a modern mill in Death Valley National Park. Powered by a large diesel generator housed in the workshop below the mill, the ore was screened at the top ore bin, pulverized in the jaw crusher beneath it, then transported on a conveyor belt to the cylindrical metal bin. From there it dropped into the mill's two-story building, where it was cycled repeatedly through two enormous tumblers and a rake classifier before being treated in a cyanide tank.

At a location as remote as this, a stockpile of fuel is the lifeblood of a mill.​

Ultimately, I decided to tackle this structure from the top to bottom, opting to get all of my uphill climbing out of the way at the beginning. For now, anyway.

Behind the mill, the blasting room walls - protected by a thick steel door - are still lined with wooden shelves, once filled with dynamite and detonators.​

Also behind the mill, Lewis Tunnel extends 750 perfectly straight yards into the mountain. A failed attempt to intercept the rich Wyoming vein, 1000 feet up the slope, the entrance is visible from the back wall of both forks.​

Even after exploring the blasting room and Lewis Tunnel, the sun still hadn't reached the horizon, lending a purple hue to the landscape as I began my exploration of the mill.

The top ore bin and grizzly bars used to screen out larger material.​

A conveyor moved material to the main mill after it passing through a jaw crusher below the upper ore bin.​

I found it curious that the two tumblers - on either side of the rake separator - were so different from each other.​

A dozen cyanide tanks were the final stage of processing.​

Cyanide wasn't nice to the painted steel, apparently.​

Just need to find the right switch...​

My exploration of the mill complete, it was time to make a plan for the day. Knowing that I had a lot of ground to cover - perhaps too much for a single day of exploration and the return hike down Surprise Canyon - I decided that there was no sense in playing it safe. Rather, I'd shoot to visit everything, knowing that I could "turn around" at any point if I felt that it was getting too late to head back.

And, given that it'd taken about 6 hours to hike up to Panamint City, I figured the hike down would take about 4 hours - meaning I had to leave around 12:30pm, and giving me approximately 6 hours to explore the side canyons and mines.

Having decided to shoot for the moon, I spent a few more minutes looking at my GPS and planning out the most efficient route. This - naturally - caused my brain to short circuit, but when the haze cleared out, I'd come to the conclusion that I could hike up Water Canyon without carrying all my gear before returning to explore Panamint City. Then, I could start my trek "down" by hiking another 1,100-feet up to the Wyoming Mine and then searching for a partly cross-country route to the Hemlock Mine, spitting me out a mile below town at the mouth of Marvel Canyon.
Water Canyon - Thompson Camp, Curran Mine, Blue Jay Mine

Happy to be hiking without my pack, I made great time up Water Canyon, reaching Thompson Camp just as the sun was peeking over the horizon and lighting the very top of the canyon's spectacular eastern wall. Towering more than 3,000-above the wash in which I walked, this mile-long tableau of granite fins - dating from the Cretaceous period - is the source behind the mineral wealth for all mines around Panamint City.

Thompson Camp has seen better days - the cabins are overgrown, but there are some intriguing remains of a small mill on the hillside.​

Pushing my way through the willows that line the creek flowing down Water Canyon - notably, the source of water for Panamint City - I found the road leading to the Curran Mine and began my first real ascent for the day - 700 feet in just under a mile.

This was the most colorful adit I'd see on the entire trip! The vein exploited here is well mineralized with pyrrhotite, pyrite, marcasite, and a little chalcopyrite and siderite.​

The main attraction - for me - of the Curran Mine - was the promise of "two desiccated tree trunks serving as a rickety tramway tower standing outside the uppermost tunnel like esoteric modern art." (Digonnet)

Though a little worse for wear, I wasn't disappointed!​

The Curran once produced approximately one ounce of gold per ton of ore - amazingly rich!​

Retracing my steps down from the Curran Mine, the sun finally crested Panamint Pass and Sentinel Peak to the south. Immediately warming the air, I finally shed the red puffy jacket that'd kept me alive through the cold night as I progressed a mile further up Water Canyon to the Blue Jay Mine.

While the Curran Mine appeared to be a smaller operation, the Blue Jay was clearly a larger affair. Its main shaft - now collapsed - was well collared with large timbers, and peering in through the rubble, a large, inclined shaft (1 of 5) was steeply inclined and littered with fallen rocks. Unlike the Curran, there were no dramatic colors on the walls - it was poorly mineralized.

An old barrel at the Blue Jay Mine from Standard Oil of California. Wonder if they're still looking for it..​

The real prize of the 1,100-foot climb to the Blue Jay workings was the view of a snow-covered Sentinel Peak.​

I have to admit - as I looked out over Panamint City from high above - that I felt pretty good. Only 90 minutes after sunrise, I'd already explored an entire side canyon. Maybe this overly-ambitious schedule I'd cooked up would actually work out!

And so, oblivious to the realities of the rest of my day, I headed back down to explore the town of Panamint City.


The Town of Panamint City
As often seems to be the case, my route back into town from Water Canyon wasn't quite the same as my route out of town had been - a function of leaving via a lower road on the south side of the creek and returning by a higher road to the north. This - I hoped - would spit me out near a few cabins I could see on the hillside, saving me the trouble of walking down to the center of town and back up again.

On my way into town, I ran into one of the main water tanks that served residents.​

Yep, it was a cold morning.​

As I hoped, the road passed by all three of the cabins I could see from the center of town; none of them in great shape, but all of them worth exploring. Each of them weathered and in varying states of disrepair, their water-stained siding gleamed in the morning sun as I made my way from one to the other in turn.

Double-Z-Door Cabin. The front room in this cabin was reasonably clean, and could have been a nice flat place to setup a tent.​

The middle cabin is rather unremarkable and in the roughest shape of the three.​

The third cabin - signed as the "overflow cabin" - was the most well put together of the bunch, and its bench offered a welcome place to soak in some of the morning rays.​

Inside the overflow cabin, rodents have taken up residence.​

After enjoying the view from the bench of the overflow cabin for a few minutes - something I could have done for much longer had I not over-planned my stay - I gathered up my camera gear and descended the final 60 feet so I could poke around the buildings that make up the city center.

This old ore cart caught my eye just outside the city center. Heavy duty in order to survive the harsh conditions, the wheels were lined with concrete and the entire cart was constructed of heavy steel.​

The dumping system was a series of steel rollers.​

Several buildings are clustered at the crossroad on the valley floor - a two-room plywood cabin with glass windows and a one time working tap that's earned it the nickname, "Panamint Hilton," a large workshop constructed of steel beams, and a quarried stone quadrangle where I'd shivered away the night, just a few hours before.

Welcome to the Panamint City Hilton.​

Over the years, visitors have lovingly left art for others to enjoy. I'm not sure if I appreciate this or not, as the context behind these relics - and where they were discovered - is now unclear.​

Inside is certainly cared for - and livable in a pinch - though rodent droppings are plentiful on most surfaces.​

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Like The Castle, a guest book, instructions, and lots of historical information could keep one occupied for hours!​

"Nearly died. 10/10 would do again." -me​

Ultimately, I must admit to being a little underwhelmed with the cabins of Panamint City proper. Certainly, running into any of these structures elsewhere in the desert would have been a welcome discovery, but I think I'd built up the greatness of this ghost town to be something more - a series of shelters still in nearly-livable condition, rodent-free and complete with running water. Of course, time - and visitation - takes its toll on places like this, and today, these cabins are like many others you'd find elsewhere in Death Valley.

Still, the experience itself - difficult as it was - was awesome. 10/10 would do again!


The Wyoming and Hemlock Mines
While planning my trip to Panamint City, two elements had really piqued my interest. The first - which I'd already experienced and had checked all the boxes - was the smelter smokestack that stands tall above the town. The second - visiting the Wyoming mine on the hillside south of town - promised an encounter with a historic aerial tramway, and the challenge of finding a historic connector trail to the Hemlock Mine, the districts largest producer.

Even during planning, I was acutely aware that the Wyoming and Hemlock mines might be unattainable goals on such a short trip. Others - much more experienced than me (ahem, Digonnet) - allot four days to cover the ground I was attempting to traverse in 36 hours. Yet, at 10:55am - only a couple hours before I'd planned to head back down Surprise Canyon - I made the decision to start up the 2-mile-long trail toward the Wyoming Mine. Surely, climbing 1,100 vertical feet of snow-covered road, photographing two levels of Wyoming Mine workings and aerial tramways, finding the historic connector trail, and hiking an additional 3.7 miles to the explore and photograph the Hemlock Mine - all before rejoining the Surprise Canyon trail a mile below Panamint City - could be done in that time.

Remember kids, if you ignore reality, you can create your own.

As I started up the road to the lower workings of the Wyoming, views all the way to Panamint Valley and the Argus Range filled my view.​

Here in the shade of northern slopes, the entire hike took place in 3-5 inches of snow.​

Looking to the north, it was a nice surprise to see Telescope Peak (center) towering above.​

Knowing I was pushing it from a timing perspective, I reached the lower workings - 700' above the town center - in less than half an hour. Here, a shed built in the 1970s housed a blower that once ventilated the 1,000 foot-long tunnel - the old canvas ducting disappearing into darkness as it clung to the wall.

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It was significantly warmer in the mountain than it was outside, snow covering the blower shed at the mouth of the adit.

I never found out what was around that first bend.​

This lower-level working was also where the aerial tram towers - built in 1875 and refurbished in 1925 by the Panamint Mining Company - that I'd been anticipating were located, though they were just out of sight of the workings, making me thankful that I'd re-read the description of their location just prior to embarking on this hike.

Lighting wasn't the best, but aerial tramways are - for some reason even I can't explain - one of my favorite features of old mines, so I was happy to add another to my list!​

Continuing up the side of the mountain, I covered the final half mile and 400 vertical feet - to the upper workings of the Wyoming Mine - in just under 15 minutes, my puffy coat unnecessary, even in the snow-covered, shady confines below Sentinel Peak.

Here at the end of the road are an interesting mix of modern and historic remains. Guarded by a modern generator on rubber tires, a rail track links the historic tunnel to a trestle bridge, where the ore was dumped into the aerial tramway (now collapsed) before being lowered 1,100 feet to the mill in Panamint City.

A diesel tank and generator at the upper workings of the Wyoming.​

Still, nearly, ready for service.​

Unfortunately, the historic tunnel - accessible until at least 2019 - has collapsed, leaving only a narrow gap at the top of the collar from which one can peer into the darkness. Here, now trapped and inaccessible, two functional ore cars are still parked inside the tunnel.

Oh, how I'd have loved to push one of those carts!

My exploration of the Wyoming Mine complete, it was almost exactly noon, and I had a decision to make: head back down the way I'd come, skipping the Hemlock Mine but giving myself a good chance of descending Surprise Canyon before sunset, attempt to link together a few historic trails and cross-country scrambles to find the Hemlock Mine.

My heart set on the Hemlock, I pulled up Digonnet's description of the route to convince myself that it was a bad idea:

Obviously - with snow making already faint trails made even more difficult to find - I made the irresponsible decision to push on.

Scrambling over snowy trails and up hillsides covered in ice, there were several points at which I wondered if I'd made the right decision. If I was forced to turn around, the descent was going to be significantly more difficult down the slippery 45° slopes.

Somehow - and seriously, even I was surprised - I was able to find the uppermost trail, and in the distance, I could see the trail leading to the tailings of the Hemlock Mine!​

As I wound around on the connector trail, I found this historic, burro-drawn, ore cart blocking the route.​

A little further on, artifacts from a collapsed cabin lay in the snow. (What is the item on the left?)​

The closer I got to the Hemlock Mine, the more the trail improved. Quite a lot of work went into several sections, though time is obviously beginning to take a toll.​

Anyone who'd summited Telescope Peak behind me could have kept a close eye on my progress as I trapsed through the snow.​

It took me an hour - from the time I left the Wyoming Mine - to reach the lower tailings of the Hemlock.

What is particularly impressive here is the height of the two tailings, which are one above the other. Combined, they completely engulf the ravine over an elevation drop of over 350 feet! My plan had been to explore the main tunnel - located above the lower tailings - which follows a smooth vertical fault plane on one side and is solid quartz on the other, eventually opening to a cathedral-like chamber with a high ceiling streaked in reds and yellows.

Unfortunately for me, the tailings - which are difficult to climb on the best of days, the pea-sized gravel making upward progress painstaking at best - were covered in two inches of ice, eliminating any chance of reaching the top.

The ice-covered, 60° slope of the tailings pile was intimidating to say the least.​

In fact, initially I wasn't even sure how I'd make it down the tailings to the road - and I momentarily considered backtracking the entirety of the way I'd come - until I found a 10-foot length of small-guage rail track that I could use to both crack the ice and as a brace to "safely" make my way down the sheet of ice.

It was 2:00pm when I reached the bottom of the tailings and breathed a huge sigh of relief. After sending a message on my inReach Mini that I was no longer "doing something sketchy," I took a moment to soak in the spectacular views of the landscape below.

The contrasting walls of Surprise Canyon, a small slice of Panamint Valley, and the Argus and Sierra Mountains rising up in the distance, were all the reward I needed to conclude my time at Panamint City.​

It was a 2:30pm - couple hours later than I'd hoped - when I reached the mouth of Marvel Canyon where it joined the Surprise Canyon trail that I'd hiked in the opposite direction just 24 hours before.


Racing Down Surprise Canyon
With only two hours until sunset, I knew that I was really going to have to hoof it in order to avoid navigating the slippery Suprise Canyon narrows in the dark. Grabbing the last of my trail mix and a few slices of dry mango - I hadn't brought much food, knowing I'd only be gone for 36 hours - from my pack, I picked up the pace as I raced the sun through the upper elevations of the canyon.

Bright rock against dark shadows.​

As had been the case on the way up, a maze of paths crisscrossed the wash and while I generally seemed to follow my original route, there were places where I found entirely new experiences.

I'd somehow missed this tree tunnel - the easy route - on my way up.​

With just over six miles to cover - I'd joined the Surprise Canyon route one mile below Panamint City by hiking six extra miles to the Wyoming and Hemlock mines - things were looking good as I maintained a 4mph pace through the upper canyon. Even as I reacquired my Muck boots - thankfully unoccupied by local riff-raff - for the wet section, I knew that I even if I didn't make it back technically before sunset, there would still be plenty of light, such that I wasn't walking in the dark.

As the rays of the sun got longer, the light became more saturated, reflecting an orange glow to even the shadowed walls.​

The billion-year-old white aplite of the lower canyon glowed the most beautiful hues as it was enveloped by shade.​

I'd made it. Tag, you're it!

 

A little further on, artifacts from a collapsed cabin lay in the snow. (What is the item on the left?)

It's cast iron correct? My guess is it's a foot to a stove. It's upside down.

 

Bingo! Thanks. Guess I need to do a few more head stands when I'm out and about.

 

Is one of the "tumblers" a dryer maybe?

 

Dude, from the comfort of my armchair here... that adventure looks entirely worth a night of being miserably cold. Most excellent!

Although to be clear, Id've trekked up there with 50 pounds on my back. Sure, my heart would probably explode halfway up... but that somehow sounds better than shivering through the night.

Wait... I've got a better idea. Yeah, what I'd actually do is hire someone to ferry me up the cherry stem in a helicopter. I wonder if an R22 could carry me and my camp espresso machine up to the Hilton...

 

Superb writing. Your penchant to sarcastically mock your own “stupidity” is fantastic.

I’ll bet you (1) learned to take the correct gear on such an excursion and (2) had the best nights sleep of your life after getting back to the truck

 

By dryer, do you mean for the ore, or dryer like "clothes dryer?" I'm pretty sure it's neither of those - the ore wouldn't need drying, and a clothes dryer would be way too light duty to survive the rigors of tumbling.

You probably know this already, but the tumblers are also commonly known as ball mills. They ordinarily are filled with steel grinding media which crush the ore as the mill rotates and they are lifted up to tumble down when they reach angle of repose and the ore gets pinched between the media and broken up.

One of the nice things about ball mills (compared to other types) is that if they are cared for, they hold up really well and many run 100 years or more. As a result, many mills for small deposits are built with used mills and so you often see completely different designs as is the case for these two tumblers.

Typically, depending on the ore being crushed there would be an optimal length to diameter ratio to size the ground material to the best particle size to extract the desired precious metals. The bolts on the shell typically hold liner plates to prevent the carbon steel shell from being worn by the media. The liners are usually high chrome white iron which is incredibly hard material and these liners usually get replaced periodically as they wear out. They often include lifter bars which help lift the media to ensure that the maximum amount of energy is available for size reduction.

By "someone," you might consider the regionally appropriate Death Valley Burro. An R22 would just be so... fancy-pants.

I must admit to being influenced by the previous commenter in my attempt at a slightly more entertaining prose this time. I'm sure it will wear off as time goes on, but having just hiked with him, and knowing that his story would be more entertaining than mine, I felt that competitive urge kick in. I obviously failed at anything near as good as his, but I had fun trying.

As for
(1) - I learned no such thing. Rather, I learned that even suffering, I had a fabulous time. In the book at the Panamint Hilton, I scribbled "Nearly died. 10/10 would do again." I'm totally serious about that, though I might try to pick an evening that was a tad warmer.
(2) - It was SO nice. Strangely not my best night of sleep (I think I was excited for the next morning's hike), but laying down on that 4" insulated mat with plenty of warm covers... I didn't last long reading my book, let's just put it that way.

 

Dryer for the ore. I guess you’d need to know more about the process to know whether it was dried or heated. Regardless, it would be difficult to run with limited supplies. Maybe it’s a trommel?

 

I'm guessing you haven't spent much time in an R22, then.

And no way I'd hire a Burro to fly one. Nothing against the equine species... but they are simply too heavy. I need that espresso machine at camp. And its generator. The ideal pilot for the proposed flight profile and airframe should weigh at most 60 pounds.

I can honestly say though, based on having once taken an introductory helicopter flight lesson... it is entirely possible that a Burro could fly one better than I can.

 

Into the Inyo | Inyo East #1
Part of the Inyo East (Dec 2022) trip.

Preserved as a 205,000-acre wilderness adjacent to Death Valley National Park, the Inyo Mountains rank among the most formidable and majestic mountains in the California desert. Forming the western backdrop of Saline Valley, they rise in just a few miles from an elevation of a little over 1,000 feet at the valley floor to above 11,000 feet. Very few places in the desert are this steep over such distances. From Saline Valley, this abrupt wall appears to be impassable - and it is nearly that. The few roads that make ingress into this sheer wilderness of stone are short but spectacular, while its canyons offer some of the most tremendous hiking anywhere in the desert.

Hiking Western Death Valley National Park​

With a description like that, I knew that our next trip needed to Death Valley would technically be to the Inyos. And so, over a three-day period, we reveled in the majesty of these mountains near the north end of Saline Valley - exploring mines of lead, silver and talc, climbing waterfalls cascading through narrow canyons, and enjoying views seldom seen by modern man.

- - - - -

We wrapped up our long drive south as we turned onto CA-168 from Big Pine. My plan - crazy as it seems now - had been to get all the way to our first trailhead prior to calling it a day, but given that it was already 3:00am and the trip over North Pass and into Saline Valley would take another 90 minutes, it seemed prudent to find camp rather than risk needing to do so in the much colder elevations should the pass be... impassable.

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There was no getting up at sunrise. Nestled in a small side canyon and protected from the 25mph winds, we waited for the sun to hit the tent before climbing down the ladder.​

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This guy was frozen solid just behind our parking spot. I don't even know what to say about that.​

We turned off of pavement and onto Waucoba Road right around 9:00am, a bit of weather - that we'd driven through the previous day - still hanging over the Sierra. Hoping that weather would confine itself to Owens Valley for the duration of our visit, we aired down to a hazy descent into the north end of Saline Valley.

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Ghost mountains.​

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Helper.​

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Driving into the sun, the Inyos we'd be exploring were looking rather unincredible.​

With only a few hours sleep and having last eaten around 5:00pm the previous evening, I think we were both craving a snack and a nap when we finally hit the valley floor and found our first foray into the Inyos - via one of the canyons.

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Into the Inyos.​

A nap would have to wait - with only three days to poke around before we had to head home, and sunsets at 4:24pm, we needed to take advantage of the little daylight we had - but lunch was seeming like a really good idea. "Let's do one short hike and then eat," I suggested.

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Perhaps this is what happened to the last couple who decided to "explore first, eat later?" ​

Looking back now we should have eaten first - given my inability to view anything quickly in Death Valley - but instead we parked at the wilderness boundary and headed up the trail. At less than two miles roundtrip, it didn't take long to reach the mine camp.

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Just past the wilderness boundary, some ATVer used a cutting torch to demonstrate why we can't have nice things.​

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Yep, no ATVs.​

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200 yards past the torched gate, nature narrowed the trail to a footpath - sorry ATV asshole! - as the camp came into view.​

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Looking fancy!​

A few minutes later we were climbing out of the wash - the road having been reclaimed since the area was worked - to several relatively recent corrugated-steel buildings. These were later additions to the site, as mining at this location took place in the 1920s and 30s. Still in reasonably good shape, we spent the better part of half-an-hour poking through them looking for treasure; calling to each other as interesting tidbits were found.

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From left-to-right: workshop, residence (kitchen, bathroom, etc.), sleeping quarters, generator shed for collapsed aerial tramway.​

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Extra.​

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This dugout was once a residence - primitive, but cool year-round!​

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A wood stove, artwork, and no rodent droppings in the sleeping quarters!​

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The workshop was the nicest I've seen. While I'm sure the majority of items have been removed, it was clean and still had a few interesting artifacts.​

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An old forge still contained one of the crucibles used to refine the good stuff.​

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These cogs transferred power from an electric motor into a small ball mill.​

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Outside the house, the water tank was apparently "borrowed" from another nearby mine.​

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Currency, Silver, and Checks.​

There was one other building - an outhouse. After noticing that @mrs.turbodb spent a little longer investigating it than I thought warranted, I jokingly asking her if she used it, we both got a good chuckle when she answered in the affirmative. Of course, seats make everything easier for the ladies, so I can't really fault her for making use of the facilities (and she still packed out her paper).
Nearing noon, the smart decision at this point was to return to the Tacoma where we could fill our bellies with tuna sandwiches and Doritos. Naturally, it was only @mrs.turbodb who made this decision. I - having spotted the workings of the mine high on the hillside - opted for danger.

This impressive little mine was never accessed by anything more sophisticated than a foot trail, and [having] been severely damaged by landslides and you will need to guess ... where the trail is.

[Near the top] is a very interesting aerial tramway and trestle bridge, but there is a problem: reaching them safely. They are constructed at the very edge of the cliff, and the trail to it is gone. To get to them, you will need to scramble down a short, slippery talus, and if you do slip you will drop 50 feet or more over the cliff. If you decide to try it, do so uphill from the terminal, so it will stop you in case you stumble. Once you get there, refrain from loitering, and stay clear of the cliff.

Hiking Western Death Valley National Park​

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I only nearly died twice getting to this spot, and I wasn't even to the cool stuff yet!​

With every few feet of progress, I questioned - and validated - my stupidity in reaching these types of structures. Cursing Mike @mk5 under my breath since my fascination with tracks started after seeing one of his photos a few years back, I was like a kid in a candy store as I poked around the mine shaft and trestle.

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Made it!​

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Looks safe... as he glances over his shoulder towards...​

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...the exit.​

Ultimately, I knew I had to make it across the slippery talus - spanned by the trestle - in order to check out the suspended ore cart, but I quickly abandoned my initial plan of walking the trestle itself when I realized that the planks lining the railway had weathered away to almost nothing. That meant my only option was to navigate the talus itself.

And by navigate, I mean lunge across, since my only hope of not sliding 50 feet to the edge of the cliff - before bouncing several hundred feet down the mountain - was to use the legs of the trestle as anchors. Assuming they still had enough purchase at their bases!

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The view under here is pretty nice, maybe I don't need to get to the other side.​

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Halfway there. Long way down.​

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Success! Sort of...​

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...still need to go back.​

I have to admit a bit more confidence in the return trip under the trestle, until the pea-sized talus gave way under one of my feet. Luckily my momentum propelled me within reach of a piling, and as I caught my breath, I wondered how long I'd have to be gone before @mrs.turbodb came to find my body.

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Here's a picture of a bright red barrel cactus to calm everyone down.​

Thankfully, the rest of my trip down to the Tacoma - where I found my lovely companion singing in the cab at the top of her lungs, lunch already made on the tailgate - was uneventful.
Apparently, it would have been a while before she came to investigate.

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Who's the bozo holding up lunch, anyway?​

The highlight of lunch - as much as we probably both hate to admit it - were the Doritos. Not that the tuna sandwiches didn't hit the spot, but we rarely eat the unnaturally orange triangles, so they were quite a treat. Soon enough, our bellies full and everything stowed back where it belonged in the truck, we made a relatively short drive to our next destination. It was 1:30pm, three hours until sunset.

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This is as far as we go.​

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Wilderness road closure, courtesy of the NPS.​

As with our first hike of the day, this one wasn't too long or too steep - at least, as far as we planned to explore - and soon @mrs.turbodb was leading the way, trying out Gaia GPS on her phone for the first time (and loving it).

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The only wide canyon we'd encounter.​

**** Canyon was quite different from other canyons we'd explore in the eastern Inyos: except for short narrows just inside the canyon - which made for a bit of fun driving - the remainder of the canyon was reasonably wide. No towering rock walls lined a narrow wash; no polished stone lined the trail on which we walked. Still, it's its south slope was impressive: a long talus that arches up more and more steeply to a rocky crest, rock slides exposing the underlying structure - the mountain twisted and crumpled like a sheet of lined paper.

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Crumpled rock.​

Though wilderness, the old road continues all the way up the canyon, crossing the wash - or the wash crossing it - a few times in the process. In one spot, the carcass of an old International R-110 - once owned by Lucky Rich - litters the rocky bottom.

The story goes that:

High up in nearby Paiute Canyon there is a gold mine called Baxter. The two brothers who owned it, both fighter pilots, died on a mission in the Korean War around 1951, and the mine was up for grabs. Two Saline Valley regulars became interested in it. One was Rogers, who operated the valley's talc mines. The other was his friend Lucky "Banjo" Baldwin, also known as Lucky Rich, who purportedly owned a lead claim in the Last Chance Range. Rather than splitting the Baxter Mine, the two friends simply gambled it: the first one to reach it from Willow Creek Camp would be the new owner. Lucky Rich tried his luck up this Canyon, but at a steep roadcut his truck overturned and crashed.

He was not the winner of the Baxter Mine.

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Crumpled truck.​

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Can't decide if "lucky" or "not so much."​

Still, he survived the crash and lived to be an old man - passing away in 1998 at his Petaluma home.Hiking Western Death Valley National Park​

Beyond the wreck, the cabins of the ****** Mill site nestled were into the canyon. Time hasn't been kind to these cabins, though it's clear that they were once well-kept and cared for, personal affects still strewn about.

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The larger of the two cabins.​

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Could stand to be oiled.​

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Kitchen cabinet, for those things one must keep away from the mice.​

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The bedroom - the back room of the larger cabin - still seemed somewhat serviceable in a pinch.​

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A few hundred feet away, the second cabin - more recently used - looked inviting from a distance.​

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Nicely situated, with views of the Saline Range.​

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AOA - An Orange Adirondack.​

With no mill to be found - making us wonder a bit about the naming of this place - we didn't poke around all that long before deciding to head back the way we'd come; we wanted to check out one more canyon before the sun dropped below the horizon and we turned into pumpkins for the night.

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Always leave a note if you can. You never know who might enjoy reading it in the future.​

​

The highlight of this place really was the view.​

As I mentioned earlier, this canyon - unlike the others we'd visit - was generally quite wide. The exception to that description though was near its entrance where the walls closed in and the wash and road became one. The wash has won this battle over time, and a for a few hundred feet there are a several technical sections to navigate. Not that they caused any real trouble.

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Down we go.​

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Slickrock? In Death Valley? Apparently, yes.​

With less than an hour till sundown, we headed south for a few miles before once again turning west - into an unnamed canyon - for our third climb of the day into the eastern Inyo Mountains. With limited light, the mouth of the narrows would be the perfect place to setup camp - the tall walls providing at least a little shelter from the wind.

Of course, even with only a few minutes to spare, I couldn't leave well enough alone. There were mines to explore up this canyon, and gosh darn it if we weren't going to try to visit at least one of them before dark.

​

While not wilderness, the road up this unnamed canyon has been thoroughly obfuscated by mother nature, and at the mouth of the narrows, we could make it no farther.​

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Grasses in the wash were matted and covered in fresh mud. There'd been a lot of water in these parts just three months earlier as part of the 2022 DEVA Deluge.​

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A few flowers poked up here and there, confused that it was nearly winter.​

We had two mines to explore in this canyon, but only enough time to explore zero of them. As such, I suggested to @mrs.turbodb that we hoof it a little more than a mile to the further of the two mines, leaving the closer one for us to explore from camp the following morning.
As always, she was game, and soon we were racing up the wash, and then the road, and then the wash, and then the road. It was confusing.

​

If that pesky rain hadn't wrecked it for us, apparently we could have driven that final mile-and-a-half!​

Our destination - the Lucky Boy Mine - was assessed until as recently as 1992, but it's clear that no one has really worked this area...ever. The road passes by a dusty dugout, the scattered timber of a collapsed cabin, and then two short tunnels that reach a few dozen feet into the hillside before the road peters out.

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I'm always a sucker for dugouts.​

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One of the two lower tunnels, its entrance protected from flooding of the wash by a rock wall.​

Beyond this point, the four primary tunnels of the Lucky Boy mine are high on the hillside, a quarter of a mile up a nearby side canyon. Apparently, no one ever bothered to build a trail to them - the wash was the trail - and with the sun now below the horizon, @mrs.turbodb informed me that I was on my own if I wanted to climb the two dry falls that stood between us and the adits.

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So enticing. If only they weren't another 700 feet higher than our current elevation!​

Initially I decided that it probably wasn't the best idea to begin my climb through a trailless wash, but in the end, my hard-headedness prevailed - I'd brought a flashlight for goodness sakes - and I was on my way. The first fall - a knobby aggregate of Cambrian dolomite 25 feet high - required a bit of careful climbing, but soon I was scrambling up the tailings pile and wondering whether my real mistake was in not considering how I'd get down in the dark.

It was at this point that - from down below - @mrs.turbodb kindly yelled up to me that she was headed back to the truck. For the second time in a day - and in nearly the same position - she left me high and dry on the side of a mountain. Not that I can blame her.

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An upper adit of the Lucky Boy mine - less interesting than I'd hoped from below.​

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The real prize of my scramble was the view as the sky played games with color and light.​

After a few minutes poking around, I carefully picked my way back down the dry falls and wash, figuring that I'd catch my companion as she retraced our path back to camp. Somehow though - even without a flashlight, and with increasing darkness - she kept ahead of me, and it wasn't until I peeked in the passenger window that we'd see each other again.

Though it was only 6:00pm, it was good and dark at this point. Even though it'd been - relatively - a short day of exploration, we were both tired and hungry given the travel and sleep situation of the last 48 hours, so @mrs.turbodb prepped dinner while I deployed the tent and proceeded to goof off with the head lamp.

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How old is this guy, anyway? Dork.​

After way too many takes at something that I hoped would rival some of the night compositions that I've recently seen out of others, I was informed that my best shot (above), "looks like the Tacoma is wearing a skirt."

Yep, I knew, that was the best I could do.

Fully satisfied, we brushed our teeth and climbed into bed. Oh man, were we looking forward to some shut eye - but of course, mother nature had other plans...

 

It was pretty cool. We saw another similar outcropping later in the trip (sorry, you'll have to wait). Still the most bestest I feel like I've seen was this specimen in South Park. So. Amazing.

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Oh, man. Those folds are spectacular.

 

Noting a specific picture:

See, @turbodb this is how one goes hiking. With a backpack. On your back. For things.

 

Tramways and Waterfalls, Cascading Down Canyons | Inyo East #2
Part of the Inyo East (Dec 2022) trip.

Nestled into the mouth of an unnamed canyon of the eastern Inyo Mountains, sleep came quickly after climbing into the tent a little after 8:00pm. For five hours, everything was great - temperatures were perfect, in the low 40s °F, a gentle breeze cascaded down the canyon, and clear skies eliminated any anxiety about putting the tent away wet in the morning.

Then, as if to remind us that conditions should never be taken for granted in the desert, the wind picked up. As though a switch had been flipped, gusts up to 40mph seemed to appear out of nowhere. Nearly folding the tent in half with us inside, I scolded myself for not weighing down the ladder with a 5-gallon jerry can of fuel. As I climbed down the ladder to take care of it at 2:00am, it was another reminder that slower is faster - the adage I first heard from Eric @RelentlessFab several years ago.

By the time the sun as peeking into the canyon, the winds had died down again. It was shaping up to be another beautiful day in Death Valley. Or, I technically, immediately west of it.​

Not so sheltered as we'd thought.​

Having walked right past the Blue Monster Mine when we'd arrived the previous evening - an optimization I'd proposed given our limited light - we'd camped less than 500 feet down wash from the lower terminal of the aerial tramway and mill site, allowing for easy access this morning.

This mine was known for decades as the Monster Mine, perhaps because of the unusual size of its original lode: a vein of solid galena over 3 feet wide and 40 feet long worth $100 per ton!

Quartz veins also contained a little pyrite, cerussite, tetrahedrite, chrysocolla, linarite, and caledonite. From the mine high up the canyon wall, the ore was trammed down to the mill, then processed, packed over the Inyos to Mazourka Canyon, and teamed to the railroad in Owens Valley.

Most of the galena had been removed by 1911, just four years after its discovery. Since 1912 - except for short-lived exploitations - the property has been mostly idle. The only recorded production was in 1935, when 50 tons were shipped to a smelter in Utah. It was around then that "Blue" was appended to the mine's name, perhaps following the discovery of copper.

Hiking Western Death Valley National Park​

The mill that once sat atop the concrete footings is no longer present, but the tramway terminal and ore bins still line the side of the wash.​

An early attempt at the modern turnbuckle.​

This seemed a little out of place, but perhaps not given the mine was active in the early 1900s.​

Less than a quarter mile farther up canyon, a foot trail climbs 700-feet to the upper tram and workings for the Blue Monster Mine. As always, I'm a sucker for the aerial tramways, so there was no question that we had a bit of climbing to do.

Having left about 15 minutes before @mrs.turbodb, I left Hansel-and-Grettle-style sagebrush arrows on the ground for her to follow, just to make sure that we both ended up in the same location. Ironically, in a cruel twist of fate, @mrs.turbodb reached the top 10 minutes before I did when my initial trail choice resulted in a dead end at the edge of a ravine, the entire side of the hill having slipped into the wash!

The upper anchor and brake for the aerial tramway.​

The braking system used blocks of wood wrapped in canvas to slow the rotation of the pullies.​

Once I'd clambered my way up the mountain to rejoin the - more intelligent - hiker who'd headed straight to the top, it was time to check out the rest of the mining operation. An old generator and rail line sat outside the main tunnel, and a narrow trail lead higher up the hillside to what appeared to be an open-pit operation.

From the open pit, the view down to the primary adit and out into Saline Valley would have been a nice place to come to work every day... if the work didn't involve wandering into a hole blasted in unstable rock.​

I'll stay out here, thanks. ​

Anyone need a size 24 battery? Sears quality, only 90 years young!​

Colorful ore, indicative of the small amounts of copper found in the later years.​

Knowing that we had a full day ahead, and already having spent longer - entirely due to my bumbling along the wrong path - than we'd planned at the Blue Monster, we headed back down to the Tacoma and quickly packed away our belongings before heading back towards Saline Valley.

There really is a trail there somewhere.​

Glancing back at a canyon we'd explored the previous day.​

Back on the main road - technically Waucoba I suppose, but one that I always think of as being Saline Valley Road - our next stop wasn't at a canyon or mine but, rather, at one of the few places in Saline Valley where civilization maintains a reasonably constant toehold - Willow Creek Camp.

While seeking out civilization may seem out of character, our goal here was noble: the next mine we planned to explore was on private property, and a note from Digonnet implored us to "Please obtain permission from the caretaker at Willow Creek Camp before coming here."

We've never run into this truck when it was in good shape (our first encounter), but it's certainly not getting any better.​

I've found that whenever possible, speaking to locals - be it to ask permission or to glean knowledge/insights they have about an area - is extremely rewarding. Most people are more than happy to chat with those who show genuine interest and respect, and more than once I've left such an encounter with a tidbit that pays dividends for years to come.​

From Willow Creek, it was less than a mile to the talc mine we planned to explore. One of several talc mines overlooking Saline Valley from the foothills of the Inyo Mountains, I'd noticed what appeared to be an aerial tramway when I'd been researching this trip.

Yeah, sorry, another tramway.

At any rate, there were two roads to this mine: one that terminated at a mile-long foot path which climbed 750 feet to the workings; another that accessed the lower terminal and ore bin. After a quick discussion, we - unsurprisingly and at my urging - opted for the hike, and soon we were climbing a well-defined foot trail as it switch-backed up the hillside.

As we approached the base of the Inyos, we both wondered... "where's the trail again?"​

Up we go, the switchbacks tight and the views alright!​

Given the position of the trail and topology of the landscape, none of the mine is visible until rounding a final ridgeline and descending 20-feet to the upper terminal. Still, there's plenty to keep a hiker busy on the way up - views of Saline Valley and the Last Chance Range compete for attention as they extend into the distance.

Rounding the ridgeline, the upper terminal of the aerial tramway stands at attention overlooking the valley.​

The upper pulley of the aerial tramway. Seems... legit?​

Winch line pulley.​

Making our way down to the terminal, it took several minutes to work out exactly what was going on. The tramway - it seems - wasn't used to move ore at all. Rather - given the roadless nature of this site - it was used to move equipment and supplies to-and-from the valley floor. Ore - rather than being lowered in bins - was funneled into a medium-diameter pipe that ultimately emptied into a large ore bin 750-feet below.

The ore chute (foreground) funneled talc into the 12-inch diameter pipe, sending it cascading down the hillside. My super-scientific experiment showed this trip to take approximately 72 seconds for a baseball-sized chunk of talc. And it wasn't quiet.​

The tramway wasn't the only interesting element of this mine site, and for the next 30 minutes we poked around the various trails, platforms, and adits, calling to each other as we found interesting details scattered about.

One of the powerhouses that was the lifeblood for this operation.​

Plenty of this stuff around.​

In one of the adits, a large bag of dynamite blasting tubes - filled with explosives before being inserted into pneumatically drilled holes and detonated - was enough to keep @mrs.turbodb at a safe distance.​

Sometimes you just need a vise.​

These "smooth operators" were key in such a dusty environment.​

Only the main adit was sealed - likely as a liability precaution given the few pesky wanderers who find this place.​

Of course, the most interesting element of all was the extensive rail system was used to move ore from the various adits to downhill transportation apparatus.

I feel that every historic rail line should have included curves in the track; they add so much visual interest for photographers.​

Unlike most rail lines I've seen - which tend to be reasonably flat - there was a significant uphill grade from the main adit to the dump site. This obviously posed a problem for the miners - a several-hundred-pound ore cart full of talc would be impossible (for even a group of men) to push - but they came up with an ingenious pulley system to winch the cart uphill.

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Looking down - and back up - the track to the main adit.​

Looking up the line, it was interesting to see that they'd blasted a path to decrease the grade, and there was something interesting at the top.​

The pulley - to keep the winch line from being abraded by the terrain - and winch used to move carts.​

It was almost noon when @mrs.turbodb finally pulled me away from what would end up being our favorite mine of the trip. Both of us were hungry and decided that a reasonable plan of action would be to hop in the Tacoma for the short drive to the bottom terminal of the mine where I could snap a few photos while sandwiches were assembled.

Down we go.​

A few minutes later...​

Desert kitchen.​

Not knowing what we'd find at the top, I'd originally thought that the bottom of this mine was going to be more interesting. In fact, I'd said as much to my co-pilot when we'd discussed which approach to take first - or perhaps at all - which could have resulted in us skipping the upper workings entirely! Obviously, the exact opposite turned out to be true, but I still had a good time looking around the few artifacts spread around the site, working out their function and relation to the rest of the mine.

The bottom of the pipe that carried ore from high above, the final 50 feet rather modern.​

From here, you can just see the upper tramway; the rest of the mine camouflaged from below.​

It was this cart for the aerial tramway that confirmed our opinion on the fact that it was used to move equipment rather than ore.​

Once pulled from the top, the tram most recently seemed to be operated from below by this Skagit Steel & Iron Works winch built in the 1950s.​

Gear reduction.​

One way to repair a drive chain.​

Talc mine exploration complete, it was time for an entirely different foray into the Inyo Mountains. So far - on this trip - we'd climbed up their sides and wandered their wide valleys, but it'd always been in search of human paraphernalia. Now, we'd do the polar opposite - hiking a deep gorge along a lively creek to witness something seldom seen in these parts: two cascading waterfalls that tumbled through sweeping walls of fern. We were headed to McElvoy Canyon.

Impressive or intimidating? A little of both, I suppose.​

The hike into McElvoy Canyon begins - as do most hikes in this region - by following a wash on the alluvial fan. Draining the extremely steep eastern slope of Mount Inyo - just west of Saline Valley's main sand dunes - water rushing east has carved a deep channel into the fanglomerate, making the actual entrance to the canyon a little ambiguous for those of us shorter than about 75 feet tall.

Never mind those multi-ton boulders hanging precariously overhead.​

A colorful specimen.​

Much deeper than it is wide, the entrance to the lower canyon - a slot in the hillsides hemmed in by sheer walls of hard granite over 160 million years old - is imposing. We found it impossible to move more than a few feet at a time, our eyes repeatedly wandering up the walls, our mouths agape at the scale. This was a unique place, something special in this magical land.

As we reached the mouth of the canyon, we got our final peek at the valley below.​

There was only one direction to look - up!​

As if the visual stimulation of wasn't enough, the sound of rushing water echoed down the canyon. So unexpected is this sound in the desert that it didn't even register as out of place. But then, realizing that the falls - which we'd both given only a 50% chance of having actual water flowing over them, most of it seeming to have dried up in California over the last couple of decades - were flowing, excitement filled our conversation as we continued on.

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Our first glimpse at the green, fern-covered wall of water (left), and the top of a 60-foot plunge (right).​

Below the falls, a blanket of maidenhair ferns enveloped the canyon floor.​

Not only was water cascading over the canyon wall high above, but a spring farther up canyon fed a constant flow of water running below the fall and making continued progress on the trail tricky.

Tricky that is, until I noticed an old rope. Covered in algae and soaking wet, it was a prime example of the type of rope that you should never trust your life to in the desert, the elements sure to have compromised its integrity. It was, however, our only path forward.

In this case, a fall would be muddy, but that was about all.​

Above the first fall, this already magical place became even more so. As the trail became steeper and the towering granite canyon walls more imposing we wound our way around the tight bends of the canyon, the sound of running water filling our ears. As we bushwacked through willows and hopped over fields of boulders the size of small cars, we couldn't help but wonder how much longer this experience would last.

Light and shadows playing on the canyon walls.​

Spilling over a house-sized chunk of granite, the creek cascaded down a polished chute.​

Eventually - as we knew it would - we ran into an obstacle that there was no way around. A 50-foot fall - polished smooth and slick with algae - blocked our way. A route along the right side of the falls seemed the most promising - others having obviously thought the same as there were two bolts and a piton anchored into the stone - but without a rope and climbing equipment, all we could do was fake it.

Silly boy.​

Still, as we turned around to make our way back down the canyon, our minds and conversation focused on the two hours of success that we'd had as we'd enjoyed this fantastical place. So unexpected in this generally dry terrain, it was a refreshing interruption of the status quo.

Heading back, the views of Saline Valley strained to be seen between the hairpin bends of the canyon.​

A mushroom? In the desert?​

By the time we reached the Tacoma it was 4:00pm. With less than half-an-hour till sunset and not knowing what to expect from the weather overnight, we decided that the prudent move would be to find a sheltered spot to call home for the evening. As we retraced our path to Saline Valley Road - the Saline Valley Dunes filling our view - the only question was, which of the two remaining canyons we planned to explore would be the best candidate? We didn't have time to check them both.

One of the few dunes I've not had the pleasure of hiking in Death Valley National Park.​

Across the valley, the sun danced in the folds of the Last Chance Range.​

Local riff raff.​

Ultimately, we made the decision to head up to the mouth of the southernmost canyon to the **** Mill site. This wasn't a decision we made based on topography or any intelligent analysis of the terrain; rather, our thinking was that - given the historically developed nature of the location - it would provide some level ground, and would allow us to explore the site in the morning without having to tear down camp beforehand.

Win. Win. If it wasn't too win-dy overnight.

Hopefully, our home for the night.​

As we climbed the alluvial fan, an old dump truck stood guard along the side of the road, just beyond the wide mouth of the canyon.​

How many times have we driven within a few miles of this place, completely unaware of its existence?​

We pulled into camp just as the final rays of sun were kissing the snow-dusted peaks of the Inyo Mountains to our south.​

It had been another full - and fantastic - day. As we set about setting up, we reflected on how similar our route - so far - seemed to the route we'd taken along the east side of Panamint Valley, as we'd followed the Nadeau Trail. There too we'd repeatedly turned up the alluvial fans - into the Argus Range - to investigate canyons and mines hidden in the hillsides.

With the sun set and the camp lights on, dinner was a familiar affair - Taco-rittos with plentiful guacamole - as we looked out over the valley that we'd skirted the eastern edge over the last two days.​

We'd seen no one as we'd travelled the Nadeau Trail, and after two days of solitude on this similar route, I found myself wondering if - for only the second time in 17 visits to the park - we'd achieve the same along the base of the Inyos.

Looking back now, the approaching weather - which we'd get our first taste of overnight - may have been a contributing factor...

 

Big Mine, Small Dunes | Inyo East #3
Part of the Inyo East (Dec 2022) trip.

It was 2:00am when the light pitter patter of rain woke both @mrs.turbodb and me from our cozy sleep in the mouth of a canyon on the eastern escarpment of the Inyo Mountains.

"Guess I waited too long to go pee," she said.

"Me too," I replied.

It was the first time - in more than 80 nights in the park - I've ever experienced rain at night in Death Valley. Of course, while the whole bathroom thing was inconvenient, my biggest hope was that the rain would tail off reasonably quickly, allowing the tent to dry off before we had to put it away a few hours later.

It ended up raining until just after sunrise. Dry tent hopes, shattered!​

Once rain stops in the desert, it's usually not long before things get back to their usual dusty selves, so we figured that after looking around the mill - which I'll refer to from this point on by the color of the cabin door - and wandering a short distance into the canyon, we'd probably never even know that water had fallen from the sky the night before.

Cabin with the Yellow Door.​

The Cabin with the Yellow Door site was used in historic times for talc claims near Willow Creek and lode claims near Cerro Gordo. Aficionados of antiques on wheels will enjoy its unusual outdoor museum of vintage trucks, front-end loaders, graders, and bulldozers. There is a fairly recent cabin and a few decaying shacks at the end of the road, and a rusted swing where children once played. This is private property; leave everything as you find it.

Hiking Western Death Valley National Park​

An interesting profile.​

Narrow cab.​

"Stuck?" Or, "secured?"​

Neglected under cloudy skies, erosion has buried the swing set up to the seats.​

I'm never a fan of "desert art" when it comes at the expense of historical artifacts that might have otherwise contributed to the story of the site. Here, an old rotary phone, a tricycle, and a record player - all destroyed in the making of this contraption.​

A mobile motor on a tiny sled.​

Our farewell note.​

From the Cabin with the Yellow Door, I'd originally planned to move on to another area entirely, but @mrs.turbodb suggested we first investigate the canyon. Having heard what would turn out to be the first obstacle since arriving in camp the evening before, curiosity won the day and soon we we'd gathered all of our hiking and camera gear to check it out. Reminiscent of McElvoy Canyon, water courses through this canyon year-round and within a few feet of the mouth we ran into a 25-foot fall.

The gatekeeper.​

It was a colorful cascade.​

The route around this fall wasn't overly difficult - a slant to the right offering reasonable holds and making for an easy climb. But, with the rock still wet from the rain and another hike already planned for the day, we decided to leave this one for another time - perhaps one when the cool mist arching over the slick rock face would seem a delightful spot to cool off in the mid-day heat.

We'd spent longer getting ourselves ready for the hike than actually hiking, when we decided to turn around.​

Returning to camp, we assumed our usual roles - me, breaking down the tent; @mrs.turbodb prepping lunch for the hike on which we'd soon embark. In the end, it took us less than 15 minutes - these tasks second nature after so many repetitions.

A final look back up the canyon, the steep walls a masterpiece of natural architecture. How could we leave this unexplored?​

Usually, we're pretty good about choosing an efficient route given our limited time to explore on these outings. However, since we'd been looking for a sheltered place to camp the previous evening, we had a bit of backtracking - though an alternate route was available, so perhaps it wasn't truly backtracking - in order to get to the jumping off point for our final foray into the Inyo.

Once again, the Saline Valley Dunes - one of the only dune fields we've not visited - taunted us, tantalizingly close.​

To our west, the Inyos rose colorfully into the cloudy sky.​

Up the alluvial fan we go.​

We arrived at the base of the Inyos - and the bottom of the Snowflake Talc Mine road - just before 9:00am. From here, it was either going to be an easy drive 2.25 miles to the talc mine, or a steep hike up the 1,700 feet of road that switched back and forth as it climbed the mountain.

This road is very steep, soft at places, and littered with rocks. Good clearance, power, and off-road tires will improve your chances of making it through. Unless the mine operator has recently bladed the road, rock slides will likely make it undrivable and you may have to walk some of it.

Hiking Western Death Valley National Park​

Digonnet's description was encouraging, but more recent trip reports of those undertaking the grueling hike to Beveridge - quite possibly the most remote ghost town in the California desert - which starts from the Snowflake Talc Mine, implied that we'd probably be hoofing it most of the way.

A large ore chute - still filled with low-grade talc - has slid down the hillside over the years near the bottom of the road.​

Sure enough, not 300 feet beyond the ore chute, multiple slides and drainages made the road completely impassable to anything less than a bulldozer.​

Across the valley, a nearly empty warm spring.​

A little south, a sunlight played below a cloud-capped Last Chance Range.​

Up. And up and up and up we climbed, one switchback leading to the next, the condition of the road continuing to deteriorate with each step we took. And still, we had a long way to go.

Lost in a maze of harsh angles and stone.​

Along the way, desert holly celebrated the holiday season with its miniscule berries.​

Having skipped breakfast, I suggested - after climbing 1,000 feet or so - that we ought to each lunch before we got to the top. My reasoning - never mind the grumbling of my stomach - was that the energy of our tuna sandwiches (and Doritos) was better used climbing the Inyos than descending them. Plus, by consuming them now, we'd have less weight to carry (...in our packs? )

At any rate, I got only minimal pushback from my hiking companion, and soon we were perched on the edge of the road, our legs dangling down the precipitous drop, our faces stuffed with Doritos - no point in carrying any of those back, either!

If only for the views of the Last Chance Range, this would have been a worthy hike.​

After a bit of munching we continued up, eventually reaching the eastern workings of the Snowflake Mine. There, a large ore chute - still full of ore like its sibling below - dominated the hillside.

High on a narrow ridge and surrounded on by precipitous slopes, this must have been a dangerous place to work. Even with heavy equipment, constant maintenance would have been necessary - even the platform below the chute - where trucks would have loaded talc for the trip down the mountain - was gone - having slipped down the steep slopes of Beveridge Canyon.

Precariously positioned.​

Standoff.​

Above the chute, the Snowflake Mine exploits four talc lenses. Formed in the early Mesozoic (200M years ago), when Diorite of New York Butte - the dark gray rock exposed along the access road - intruded, and thermally altered the Hidden Valley Dolomite, more than half a million tons of talc were formed. There are many roads, cuts, and collapsed tunnels here, and while there's not much remaining from an equipment standpoint, the views are plentiful.

Above the ore bin, the scale of this place - the mine, as well as the valley over which it resides - are put into perspective.​

I don't know what this material was, but it fit together like a puzzle and crumbled like a crumb donut!​

An Inyo ridge (near), the Saline Range (mid), and the Last Chance Range (far).​

From the eastern workings, it was less than half a mile - most of it reasonably flat - to the west group, which is entrenched in a deep ravine. This - apparently - was worked later than the east group, with the 80-foot timbered main tunnel and a rail track available to explore. The problem - as with many remote locations - is getting there.

While the road continues, it soon narrows - due to the same erosion that erased the ore chute's loading platform - to a foot trail. And then, as if simply to spite intrepid explorers, a 6-foot section of foot trail is simply "missing," replaced by a nearly vertical talus chute more than 1000 feet long.

"I bet we can jump, if we get a running start," I said - stone-faced - to my hiking partner.

She knew better and didn't even reply.

Ultimately, there is a way around - at least, theoretically. With more time, or perhaps alone, I might have attempted the small foot trail that climbed higher into the mountains, but for today, it was time to head down - inspecting one last tunnel along the way.

This 360-foot tunnel - the mine's longest before it collapsed - cuts under the main road and over to the top of the ore bin.​

Steatite, also called "soft talc" by miners, is the highest purity talc. White to green, translucent, and streaked with black, this beautifully smooth (almost slippery) feeling material is exposed near the tunnel. It may be the ore that inspired this mine's name.​

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Amateur tip: I highly recommend picking up and rubbing steatite if you ever run across it. Not realizing how it would feel, I initially picked up a small piece - due to the color - and was audibly surprised when I touched it for the first time. I must have picked up a dozen more pieces, the first one felt so nice. Such a pleasurable feeling, it's hard to describe.

</div>
By now - even having left at 9:00am - it was shortly after 2:00pm in the afternoon. With only a couple hours remaining before sunset, we had a decision to make: camp another night at the base of the Inyos, or start our long journey home a little early - giving ourselves a bit more time for the 1000-mile slog.

That's some messed up rock!​

Ultimately - in what would prove to be a lucky decision - we opted for the later. We hadn't heard a weather forecast since we'd driven through Big Pine several days earlier, but even then, a bit of rain had been predicted between Big Pine and Furnace Creek for the following morning. We didn't know it at the time, but the storm had grown, and it would turn out that we'd call 911 several times to report accidents and spinouts between Bishop, CA and Grants Pass, OR as several feet of snow pummeled the entire west coast.

Having made the decision to bail - and with an hour of daylight remaining when we finally arrived back at the Tacoma - our next steps were obvious: we needed to get out on those dunes that had been taunting us the last few days! So, finding a location along Saline Valley Road that seemed as close to the dunes as we could get, we went to play in the sand.

East to the Last Chance.​

West to the Inyos.​

Covering a rather small area - only a couple of miles square, and certainly short - the highest dune isn't more than 25 feet tall, most of the Saline Valley dune field is comprised of whaleback dunes. Whalebacks - half-cylinders of sand that often form extensive, parallel waves - are formed at an angle to the prevailing wind, making easy-to-follow corridors for any who venture into their midst.

Additionally, their diminutive size and proximity to more ... popular - warm water - attractions, means that the Saline Dunes see significantly less visitation than many of the other dunes in and around Death Valley. Whereas the ridges of the Eureka, Mesquite, and Panamint Dunes are almost always covered in tracks, we saw only a few prints - in wind-sheltered depressions - as we romped across the impeccable surface here in Saline.

​

A familiar pose, and another of Death Valley's dune fields, conquered!​

No need to keep the surface track free anymore! ​

Dunes and moons.​

Queen of the hill.​

I really liked the light of the sky, Inyos, and rippled sand as the sun dropped below the ridgeline.​

A final look as we retreated to the truck.​

From the dunes, it'd be another 90 minutes before we'd crest North Pass and reach the pavement of CA-168 where we'd air up for the drive home. Already, we were realizing what a good idea it had been to leave a bit early, ice, snow, and fog socking us in at the higher elevations.

North Pass, looking wintery.​

As always seems to be the case, we'd had another great trip in this place that always seems to have something new to share. In fact, we'd - essentially - driven less than 20 miles along a single road that formed the boundary of the park, and we'd only scratched the surface of all that the Eastern Inyos had to offer.

Guess we'll need to go back!

 

Rig Review - What worked and what didn't at the end of 2022?
Part of the Inyo East (Dec 2022) trip.

December 18, 2022.

The final three months of 2022 have seen several more trips and the Tacoma has weathered them well (as usual). Interestingly, while the set of trips is large, the actual driving for these trips has been relatively small:

• Olympic Peninsula Passages (Sep 2022)
• Lake Hopping the Eastern Sierra (Oct 2022)
• Hart Homesteads (Nov 2022)
• Highway Hikes [on CA-190] (Nov 2022)
• Panamint City via Surprise Canyon (Nov 2022)
• Inyo East (Dec 2022)

The Olympic Peninsula - while large - is located in our home state, eliminating the long drives to-and-from that have become so common. The Highway Hikes and Panamint City trips in Death Valley shared a single the long drive south, and added (essentially) no off-pavement travel to the Tacoma. Even the Inyo East trip - during which we explored several canyons leading into the Inyo Mountains - encompassed fewer than 100 miles of dirt roads.

With that in mind, let's get down to it.

My Engine is Happy (ongoing)
TL;DR - I had my first oil analysis done, and with 235K miles on the Tacoma, it came back great.

I've sort of postponed getting a Blackstone Labs oil analysis, since I was worried about what it would say. For the first 16 years that I owned the Tacoma, I probably only got 4-5 oil changes - though, to be fair, I only drove the Tacoma a sum total of 40K miles in that time. Since then, I've put quite a few dirt miles on the truck, and since 2016 I've been using an aFE air filter - something that I like conceptually since I'm not buying and throwing away air filters all the time - but which I've heard isn't as good as using a paper filter.

At any rate, I feel like these numbers show that whatever I've been doing - even if completely by accident - has been well-received by my 5VZFE engine. Mostly, I think, is that I am a reasonably relaxed, grandpa-esque driver.

Your sampling method worked fine from what we can see. This first look inside of your Toyota is a great one. Universal averages show typical wear for this type of engine after about 5,800 miles on the oil. You went almost 7,000 miles on your oil and ended up with average or lower wear -- nice!

We aren't suspicious of any mechanical problems or poorly wearing parts based on these results. No harmful contamination like coolant, excess dirt, or fuel dilution was found. Try 9,000 miles on your next oil and check back to get trends started.​

The full report, minus my deets.​

I'm Not Happy with SPC (the company) After Installing My New Upper Control Arms (ongoing)
TL;DR - I no longer recommend SPC upper control arms (UCAs) if they contain X-Axis bushings.

In my last rig review, mentioned replacing my UCAs due to a worn out bushing. Since then, I've added a significant update to Replacing my SPC Upper Control Arms ...with SPC UCAs which I think is worth highlighting here.

The new SPC UCAs that contain X-Axis joints are not lifetime parts as I was initially told by SPC when they convinced me to participate in their trade-up program. In fact, the life warranty (3 years, 36K miles) of an X-Axis joint is less than the lifetime that I got from a SpecRide bushing.

Not only that, but they are completely discontinuing the SpecRide bushings, so whatever is left in stock... is it.

For all the details, please read the update.

As I've not used the new arms long enough to know how long the X-Axis actually last, I can't say exactly how upset I am, but I've already acquired a set of used SPC arms that use the SpecRide bushings, as well as enough spare bushings that I should be covered for the life of my truck.

Older SPC UCAs with SpecRide bushings vs. newer arms with the X-Axis joint.​

I Got Another Flat with My Cooper ST/Maxx (new, resolved)
TL;DR - I got my third Cooper ST/Maxx flat ever, all on the same set (my fourth) of tires. I still think they are one of the best tires out there.

I got another flat - this time the driver rear - as I was driving home on I-5 after a long trip to Death Valley. I'd been driving for approximately 20 hours when a fellow driver alerted me to the situation, only a few miles from home.

I find it strange that I've gotten two flats in my Cooper ST/Maxx in the last 4 months. Further, that they've both been on I-5 - as opposed to on dirt roads - is also intriguing.

I also find it fantastic that SimpleTire has been so easy to deal with when getting insured replacements. Which brings me to the topic of tire certificates:

In general, I am not a fan of "additional insurance," or even really insurance in general (to the extent that it's optional), if it can be avoided. There are a lot of reasons for that, but the main one is this: If an insurance company is willing to sell me insurance (let me *definitely* give them some money, with the *possibility* that they might give me *some amount* - which could be more or less - in the future), then THEY are making the bet that they are going to come out on top. And, insurance companies have notoriously high profits (that's how Warren Buffet really made it).

So, generally, I don't like to play that game; rather, I like to "self insure," which is to say, bet that the vast majority of the time, I wont need the extra insurance, and save that money. If, every once in a while, I have to pay myself, then I have this "big pool of money that I've saved over time" (note, I don't actually set this money aside or anything, but I do have reasonably good financial habits, so I'm not without a cushion) that I can use to cover the cost. My bet is the same as the insurance companies - that over time, I'll come out ahead.

So, that's my usual approach. I only buy insurance if it's required (auto, home (if you have a mortgage), etc.) or if it could cause catastrophic expenses - i.e. an amount that I couldn't cover with self-insurance (health).

That said, I have two additional things that I understand are important to keep in mind:

1. 
   
   
   • Self-insurance relies on having a buffer to cover unexpected expenses. Not everyone is in a position to have this sort of buffer, and at the very least, the buffer amount varies.
   • A bunch of this is a mental game. It can feel reassuring to pay "a little bit" for insurance, and not have to worry about a larger self-insurance event taking place in the future.

So, given all that, my general recommendation has always been to not buy tire insurance.

...which I followed for 45 years, until April 2022.

This spring, I had to buy new tires. I run Cooper ST/Maxx, and when I went to price them, they were $100/tire more than the last time I bought them - like $350 each tire. Holy smokes. I also tried SimpleTire for the first time (I usually buy from DiscountTire) and their insurance was *way cheaper* (as a percentage of the tire cost) than I'd ever been quoted in the past. I think it was like $120 for all four tires - so less than 10% of the overall cost, and only 33% of the cost of *one* tire.

Magically, this has been a good call. 2 months ago, I got a flat (on the freeway - I-5 in Oregon). New tire was covered. Then, this Sunday, on the way home from another trip - and amazingly, on the freeway (I-5 in Seattle) again - I got *another* flat. I'm hoping/assuming that's covered as well. So, that's $700 "worth" of tires that I will have paid $120 for insurance.

Honestly though, this is statistically improbable. "Lucky."

I've never gotten a flat off-road, and I've never had a Cooper ST/Maxx get punctured before these two (I've had 19 of the tires over the years).

So, my general guidance is that you shouldn't get tire certs - as it seems is the way you lean already (so I agree with you!) But I recognize that I just got lucky by getting them with my current set of tires.

----

Oh, and I know a lot of other folks (esp those who off-road a bunch) who always get certs and think they are a good deal. Of course, the certs are *technically* not supposed to be used for off-road flats, but that's hard to enforce, so I completely understand where they are coming from.
​

The Zipper on the CVT Tent is Shit (resolved)
TL;DR - The zipper finally failed catastrophically. Both CVT and YKK had amazing customer service and solved the problem in different ways.

While exploring the backroads of Oregon's Hart Mountain, the zipper on the cover of the CVT tent finally failed. This has been an ongoing issue for the last several years, and I've been babying the zipper by cleaning it every time I close the cover.

End of the road.​

When the slider finally failed, it was time for a different approach. I started looking for a new slider online. Mine had the marking YKK 10RC cast onto the back of the slider itself, but I couldn't find a 10RC slider from YKK anywhere.

Assuming nothing would come of it, I fired off an email to CVT support:

Hi there,

I’ve been enjoying my Mt. Shasta ever since I picked it up in ... 2016, I guess. I’ve considered other options - most notably, a GFC - but in the end, it’s been a great tent and I’ve spent so many nights in it (about 80/year), that I’ve kept it on the truck.

For the last 2-3 years, I’ve been having issues with the zipper on the cover. I think this is reasonably normal, and I’ve “worked around” the problem (the zipper splitting) by washing/lubricating the entire length of the zipper every time I close up the cover. Until yesterday, that seemed to work. Yesterday, the clasp finally broke into three pieces (photo attached).

I’m wondering a few things:

1. 
   
   
   • Do you have any replacement sliders? I’d hate to replace the entire cover if all that is wrong is the little slider. The back of mine says YKK 10RC if that makes any difference.
   • If you don't have a replacement sliders, can I purchase a replacement cover? I don’t know if it matters, but I have the “old-style” ladder - the 2-piece sliding one - and a black cover with white writing. Shoot, you can see it all over my site, I suppose.

Thanks much, look forward to hearing from you​

Sure that I'd only hear back that no sliders or covers were available - sliders aren't listed and covers for my (very old in the scheme of things) tent were listed as "out of stock" on the CVT web site - I also took a shot in the dark and called YKK America.

After a few tries over the course of a couple days, my call finally connected. Toni - who answered the phone - was fantastic. Generally, YKK only sells large quantities of zippers to wholesalers, manufacturers, etc., but after I explained my situation to her - the fact that I couldn't find these sliders anywhere - she asked me to hold on for a few minutes so that she could see if they had any on hand.

Not only did she happen to have one available, but she offered to send it to me completely free of charge. Three business days later I had a tracking number and an ETA of seven more business days until delivery. Way to go YKK!

Coincidentally, as I was waiting on the sider from YKK, I received this email from Amber at CVT:

Thank you for reaching out and apologies for the delayed response. Glad to see you are enjoying your tent to the absolute fullest! That always make us smile and is definitely what we love to hear!

Unfortunately we don't have a clasp to send you, but I'm happy to send you out a replacement travel cover for your Shasta that functions properly.

I have an address of **********************************. Is that still a good address to ship?

Look forward to hearing from you soon!​

Way to go CVT!

At that point, I had both a new cover and replacement slider on the way, and they both arrived a little more than a week later - along with replacement instructions.

In a rush to leave on my next trip, I immediately put the new CVT cover on the tent, knowing that it would be a "sure thing." Figuring that I might as well repair the old cover as well - it does seem to fit my old-style ladder a bit better - I also installed the new slider using Toni's instructions. This took less than five minutes and when I was done, the zipper on my original cover was working better than it has in years!

Talk about great customer service from two companies who stand behind their product.

Bright and shiny cover from CVT and some replacement sliders from YKK. Works like new for the first time since 2016!​

I'm Starting to Question My Choice of GPS Navigation Software (new)
TL;DR - For years I've used Backcountry Navigator. After checking out Gaia on our last trip, I'm considering a switch.

When I started exploring in 2016, there wasn't much choice when it came to offline mapping applications. That, combined with the fact that the guys who introduced me to my first long trip used Backcountry Navigator, and it was an easy decision for me to use the same.

I started with the free version and ultimately splurged the $12 for BCN Pro (which is totally worth it). Then, when BCN XE (Android and iOS) was released, I loved the idea that it would work on both platforms, so I went with the 10-year plan.

I have to admit that I've been a little disappointed with BCN XE. The maps - and especially downloading offline maps - are better, but battery life and GPS accuracy are worse, and the iOS version still doesn't work all that well after three years of updates.

On our most recent trip to the Inyos, @mrs.turbodb downloaded Gaia onto her iPhone. Not only did it work well tracking our routes, but the default (free) map was significantly more detailed than any map I've been able to find on BCN. I can only imagine that the paid version - with overlays - is even better, so I may be jumping over to that platform for a little while to see how it compares with extended use.

The detail of our location using BCN (left) and Gaia (right).​

The Rear Diff is Weeping (new)
TL;DR - the form in place gasket (FIPG) used to seal the carrier to the rear axle housing is leaking just a tad and needs replacing.

Not much more to say about this for now. I suspect this will be a reasonably straightforward fix, which I'll take care of when I change the oil in the rear diff this winter. The biggest issue will be cleaning the mating surfaces well in order to get a good seal.

Caked dust - a telltale sign of a slow leak.​

The Transmission is Leaking (new)
TL;DR - The seal in the transmission that accepts the input shaft from the transmission is leaking and needs to be replaced.

At the same time I noticed the slow leak at the rear diff, I also noticed a drop of gear oil on the transfer case skid plate. A quick inspection led to the seam between the transfer case and transmission - a cavity that should be dry. More often than not, a bit of oil leaks into this location, with the probability increasing if the two components have ever been separated.

After noticing the gear oil, I added a bit of oil to both the transfer case and transmission and then proceeded to drive a few thousand miles, checking the oil levels again upon my return. Only the transmission was lower than I'd left it, making it the prime suspect.

Given that I replaced the transfer case about a year ago, the likely culprit is the seal on the transmission side that accepts the input shaft of the transfer case (90311-40007), so I've ordered a new one and will replace it at the same time I work on the rear diff.

Is this cavity ever dry? In real life?​

Carrying Three (3) Jerry Cans of Fuel
TL;DR - I've begun to carry three, 20L Scepter military jerry cans full of fuel and despite the extra weight, it's been great.

For a long time, I've carried two (2) 20L Scepter military jerry cans full of fuel. Each one holds about 5.9 gallons, giving me a reasonably good cushion when it comes to feeling confident that I can make it to fuel no matter how remote the roads I'm exploring have taken me.

As gas prices rose last year and with several trips to California in the works, I decided that it would be a good idea to add a third jerry can to the mix. Given that any trip to California entails travel through (at least) Oregon and Nevada, I could fill up all three containers for less than half of what I'd pay in California, resulting in 17.7 gallons of fuel - essentially an entire tank - that I could use to avoid the high priced stuff in the Golden State.

Additionally, the third container has been great to secure the tent on windy nights. Tied to the ladder, it keeps strong gusts from folding the tent closed with us inside. Previously I used the 5-gallon Scepter water canister for this, but as that empties over the course of a trip, the fuel container means that I've always got the maximum weight possible to fight the wind.

These are the best fuel canisters out there. They are hard to get in the United States, but if you can, you should.​

The Canon R6 and RF Lenses
TL;DR - I don't ever really mention them, but my Canon R6 and lenses are doing great.

It was nearly two years ago that I made the Involuntary Evolution to a New Camera and Glass (Canon R6) after running over my Canon 80D DSLR. In that time, I've taken more a lot of photos and I have to say that I'm impressed with both the Canon R6 body and the lenses (Canon RF 24-240mm F4-F6.3 IS USM Lens and Canon RF 15-35mm F2.8 L IS USM). Most impressive to me has been the 15-35mm F2.8 lens, to the point that I've mentioned to several people that I'd happily pay whatever it cost for an RF 24-240mm F2.8 (Canon doesn't make one) to replace the lesser quality version that I'm using now.

There are only two things I wish were different about this camera:

1. I wish the electronic viewfinder would only activate when the shutter button was half pressed, rather than being "smart" and sensing when it is brought to your eye. This sensor is too sensitive for me, and cuts the battery life in half (or worse) if I don't turn the camera off between shots.
2. I wish there were more megapixels. With only 20MP, it's hard to crop some images (birds, planes mostly). I think 30MP would be enough. Certainly the 45MP of the R5 would be more than enough. Who knows - maybe I'll pick up an R5 when prices drop after the R5 Mark II is released!

Love this thing!​

Seemingly solved from previous Rig Reviews

1. The Zipper on the CVT Tent is Shit - I don't know how I'll ever address this, short of getting a GFC.

Unchanged / Still an issue from previous Rig Reviews

There are some things that have been featured in Rig Reviews that are - as yet - unchanged from when I originally reviewed them. Rather than highlight those things again, I'll simply link to them here.

1. Skid plate attachment could be better - While I've got the skids working for now, I'm going to need to work out an attachment solution for the front skid at the LCA tab location for them to work longer term.
2. My Suspension Squeaks - still squeaky. I'm not all that worried about it, so I'm in no rush to fix it.

 

There's an update for the R6. 1.5.2. Have you applied it yet?

 

I'm on 1.6.0. I don't remember if I applied that, or if Canon did it when I sent it in for cleaning, but that's where I am. I don't generally notice any differences in each upgrade though.