AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

I’m curious just how much does your Tacoma weigh ready to go?

 

I think you are an excellent writer! I enjoy every bit. I just get behind being a bit long in the tooth and not seeing nor as mentally active as I once was. I hate my glasses, but need them badly.

 

Oh yeah, I did pick up one of those back in this rig review. Forgot to add it to the list. Updated, thanks!

5,500 with a full tank, 15g of spare fuel, and 10g of water. Not light, but better than it's heaviest at 5900lbs. I try to shave weight wherever I can.

Well, thanks! I'm certainly glad you're enjoying!

 

Interestingly the gen 1 has a higher load capacity than the gen 2 & 3. Crazy Toyota would ever reduce load capacity!
So even at 5,500 gvw you are 400 lbs over gvw limit (5,100 lbs). Yours has held up very well I would say!

 

If I remember correctly, Gaia was a native iOS app that went over to android. I’ve heard some things just don’t work as smoothly on the android platform and it can be a little clunky at times. It seems like marking waypoints was one of the android users complaints.

The landscape screen layout can get cluttered if all of the info boxes are visible (speed, elevation, moving time, etc.) you should be able to go full screen and hide these to improve the map visibility.

I’ve been using Gaia for several years now and find it very good for navigating. IMO you get the most out of the app when you have the premium subscription which gives you the Nat Geo maps (limited to the areas that have paper Nat Geo maps) and the complete map catalog and overlays. They have a new “overlanding” topo map (I do hate to use that word) which combines the Gaia Topo, MVUM, and the USFS rec sites info all in one which is a pretty useful base layer. I think it also give you the ability to layer maps and adjust the opacity for custom views.

Give it some more time, pay for a year of the premium subscription, I know DV has a Nat Geo map. I really think you will like the app after some more use.

 

Keane Wonder Mine | Left Behind #1
Part of the Left Behind (Jan 2023) trip.

There are several places that I've wanted to check out in Death Valley for quite some time, but that haven't fit into the route or schedule for previous trips. Hoping to knock off a bunch of those places that I've "left behind," I set about planning a route that would take us along West Side Road and the eastern escarpment of the Panamint Mountains. From there, we'd repeatedly climb into the canyons, exploring the mines, narrow passages, and vistas that each had to share. It would - I thought - be a lot like our trip along the Nadeau Trail, or our recent foray into the Inyos.

In fact, it was nothing of the sort.

As always, we had a fabulous time, but left behind more than half of the canyons we'd hoped to explore. Oh, and we left behind something even more surprising... the Tacoma itself.

Getting There
As has been the case for years now, the trip began with a 1,100-mile drive south. With atmospheric rivers wreaking havoc on the west coast, we had to make our first decision quickly: risk snowy conditions when crossing the Cascades in Oregon or California to save a few miles, or add a bit of time to the trip by heading east - towards Boise, Idaho - before turning south for the remainder of the journey.

Not wanting to find ourselves plodding over a mountain pass at 15mph in white-out conditions, we opted for the slightly longer route - one that we've travelled many times - and settled in for the 19-hour grind to Beatty, NV.

Shortly after passing through Austin, Nevada - and between the hours of 1:00 and 3:00am - our 19-hour grind became a 22-hour slog, as we were stopped while this accident was cleared from the US-50.​

It was just after 5:30am as we pulled into our camping spot outside of Beatty and I set my alarm for three hours of shut eye. One thing was for certain - we were off to a "great" start!

The Keane Wonder Mine and a Quick Stop to Meet Jeremy
With the best of intentions, things got off to an overscheduled start when, at the last moment, I threw another "left behind" location - the Keane Wonder Mine - into the mix.

It was a beautiful day as we headed into the park after only three hours of sleep.​

Having been closed from 2008 to late 2017 for structural stabilization, mine mitigation, and soil sampling, we'd just never gotten around to visiting after it reopened to the public. I figured that - as it was on our way to West Side Road - that it we might as well make a couple-hour* pit stop to explore such an important location.

* Surely, we could complete a five-mile hike with more than 1,500 feet of elevation gain, and take photos in two hours, right? Right.

The lower aerial tram station used to feed the mill that once processed gold ore around the clock.​

As usual, we'd consulted our Death Valley bible as we'd driven to the parking area for the mine, and Digonnet suggested that rather than hike directly up the old mining road, we could make the excursion into a loop:

A more adventurous route to the mine is along the canyon that starts just south of the mill. The first couple of falls that soon block the way give a good idea of what lies ahead: a chaotic passage choked with rocks, high crooked walls, shallow pools in polished bedrock, and an impressive collection of falls. There are 11 falls higher than 10 feet on the way to the mine, and scores of shorter ones. The wash is so sinuous that it often gives little advance warning of what is coming next. The canyon traverses mostly Proterozoic schists, quartzite, and marble of the Crystal Spring Formation. The smooth outcrops of marble and quartzite are particularly pretty. Depending on their relative contents of quartz, biotite, and staurolite, the schists cover a wide spectrum of brilliance and color, from dull to sparkling, silvery to green, purple, and gold. The falls reflect this diversity and greatly vary in color, composition, and degree of polish. At places extensive metamorphism has folded the rocks into oddly distorted formations. You trudge across a broken landscape, hundreds of feet beneath the tramway, skirting fallen tramway buckets partly buried in the wash.

Some of the falls are crumbly and unsafe, while others are quite strong and fun to climb. At least two of them are impassable, and one probably exceeds 100 feet. There is always a way around them, often along short bypass trails built in the mining days. Use caution in bypassing the two high falls near the second cable crossing (about 0.6 mile in), which requires scrambling up loose slabs.

Hiking Death Valley​

That sounded fantastic to me - but a little more than @mrs.turbodb wanted to tackle after three hours of sleep - so we grabbed our handheld GMRS radios so we could keep in contact throughout our respective climbs, and set out.

Almost immediately, I was thoroughly enjoying the canyon!​

Narrow, polished, chute.​

As I wound my way higher, one of the things that struck me was how wet the canyon wash was. It'd rained for a couple days prior to our arrival, and much of the ground was saturated and soft under foot. It was a very different experience than usual, and one that I found both intriguing and slightly disconcerting, given the usually-bone-dry nature of this wonderland.

It's not like there's never water here - it formed these amazing passages - it's just rare that I encounter it in my wanderings.​

Silky smooth silt.​

One of the best parts of hiking up the canyon was that the aerial tramway - that once carried ore down from the mines at 3,050 feet to the mill at 1,320 feet - continually crossed high above me, the tram towers still supporting cables and ore carts as they clung to the steep hillsides.

Gaining elevation.​

Every now and then, when skirting an impassable fall, I'd find myself near one of these terrific towers.​

Ore carts would roll along the upper cables, as the lower cables - now fallen out of the Y-shaped guides where they originally travelled - pulled them along. Gravity did the work here, the weight of loaded carts pulling their empty brethren to the top.​

Fallen comrade.​

Wayward wheel.​

As if the tramway wasn't enough, the geology of the canyon provided constant interest. Whether climbing usually-dry falls, navigating 6-inch wide bypasses clinging to near vertical cliffs, or just admiring the changing colors of the rock, it was a pleasure I would happily repeat as I pushed higher into the Funeral Mountains.

A striped slot through a tight turn.​

Bridge to nowhere.​

Marble bend.​

The grain of the marble reminded me of woodworking.​

Eventually - though the mining road had generally been a hundred feet or so above the canyon trail - I followed a drainage up to the main mining area. Now above @mrs.turbodb - who had stopped a couple hundred feet below at the upper aerial tram tower - I looked down to see her chatting with another hiker who'd made the climb on this perfect morning.

We don't often run into other hikers!​

While most mines in Death Valley - or really, any location - were failures, the Keane Wonder Mine was anything but. Coined the "King of the Desert" by the Rhyolite Herald, it was discovered by Jack Keane and Domingo Etcharren in 1904. Capitalizing on their discovery, they sold the mine to Homer Wilson in 1905, who laid out plans for the nearly one-mile-long aerial tramway and an 80-ton milling complex. The first echoes of the mill's 20 stamps bounced off the Funeral Mountains in October 1907, and $20,000 of gold bullion (~$650K in 2023) was delivered to Rhyolite two weeks later. By December the mill was running around the clock, processing 70 to 75 tons a day at an average value of $18-20/ton. Except for a few short interruptions, the mine's tramway and mill performed almost flawlessly for five years.

A cyanide plant was installed in the fall of 1908 to further treat the 20,000 tons of mill tailings that had been saved since the early days of the mine, nearly doubling the production of the ore.

Ore bodies started playing out in 1912. In August the wooden pillars supporting the tunnels were removed to mine the last of the ore, cleaning out another $10,000 but sacrificing the mine in the process. By the end of 1912 the mine had shut down. After five years of glory and nearly one million dollars (~$31.7M in 2023), the Keane Wonder Mine had become one of Death Valley's largest - second only to Skidoo - gold producers.

The mining area - with more than 50 openings - has been fenced off by the NPS for safety reasons.​

Having removed nearly all of the wooden framing to extract the last of the gold, this was the only support structure we found.​

Time to head down and check out the upper tramway!​

The upper tramway was an amazing piece of equipment, reminding us of the terminal of a high-speed quad ski lift. With enormous pullies and tracks to guide the ore carts, two chutes from the attached ore bin would load the carts as they passed by, the additional weight of the ore allowing each full cart to pull one that'd just been emptied at the mill 1,500 feet below.

A feat of engineering.​

Once a rail platform that would dump gold rich ore into the bin that fed the tramway.​

Track was extended as the pile of worthless overburden grew into a platform.​

Nearby, an old steam-powered winch.​

The steel cable was rust-free and seemed good-as-new.​

The brake lever still functioned.​

Two enormous flywheels added torque to the gear reduction.​

Exploration of the upper mine area complete, we were a little over two-and-a-half hours into my two-hour estimate for completing this detour. It wouldn't have been a big deal at all, had I not already arranged to meet Jeremy - an NPS employee who leads the Abandoned Mines Program at the park - to hand off some old 20mm canon shells that we'd picked up more than a year ago when we'd hiked Military Canyon in the Owlshead Mountains.

Note: For anyone hiking in Death Valley (or any National Park for that matter), it is illegal to remove artifacts from the park, and anything over 50 years old is considered "historical." I'd always known this about remains of mines, cabins, and rocks, but I hadn't realized it was true when we were picking up these casings. In fact, we thought we were doing the park a service, in the same way we gather up Mylar balloons. It was Jeremy who - kindly - reached out to me when I posted a photo of the "trash" we'd collected, correcting my understanding. Having not yet recycled the casings, I offered to return them, which he took me up on, and we've been trying to get together ever since - to do the hand-off, and just to meet each other in person!

These are not trash - or souvenirs - and shouldn't be moved. Leave them where you find them.​

At any rate, heading down the mountain was a quicker - and somehow steeper - operation than the canyon climb up, and with only a few stops to investigate some of the tram towers along the way, we made good time.

Water was at a premium here, and a 4" pipe, complete with expansion bends, followed the old mining road between the mine and mill.​

One of the larger tram towers had rollers to guide the drive cable that connected the ore carts.​

Some parts of the system looked like a they were still ready for operation.​

Frequently, towers were grouped in sets of two or three, perhaps to provide stability as the 600 pound ore carts careened down the line.​

A good look at the Y-shaped guides that once guided the drive cables between the ore carts.​

Back in the truck, it was just before 2:00pm when we pulled into the Furnace Creek Visitors Center to make lunch and met up with Jeremy. And, while lunch was good, the real treat was getting to talk to Jeremy. Like us - probably more so, given his position - he loved Death Valley, having started on a road crew and then working his way into a 17-year career with the park service. Constantly exploring and figuring out ways to best preserve the mining history within the park boundaries, he was literally the guy who makes much of what we do so enjoyable.

Super. Cool.
Finally, to Trail Canyon

Having planned to head down West Side Road and up to Trail Canyon just after 10:00am for a 5-mile hike up one of its three main forks, I realized as we pulled out of the visitor center - at 3:00pm - that we only had about 90 minutes of daylight remaining.

Guess I'd underestimated how long that "left behind" Keane Wonder Mine hike would take. Still, 10/10 would do the same way again!

With no real hope of squeezing in the hike before dark, the pressure was off as we rolled south on Badwater Road and then crossed the salt pan to the base of the Panamint Mountains. @mrs.turbodb took the opportunity for a quick nap, and I enjoyed a part of the park that I rarely visit due to the relative crowdedness compared to my usual haunts.

I've probably driven by this cool rock half a dozen times, but I've never noticed it before.​

The Golden Canyon/Zabriskie Point area - technically part of the Black Mountains of the Amargosa Range - was looking colorful in the afternoon sun.​

Onto the salt pan.​

The only snow that can survive 130°F summers is in Death Valley.​

Natural (salt) bridges and miniature crystal forests.​

Eventually we began making our way up Trail Canyon, our thoughts now on finding a spot to camp before the sun dropped below the horizon and the temperatures dipped into the low 40s °F.

Like many of the Panamint's canyons, Trail Canyon's banks start as rounded hills, quickly growing to high ridges, then to walls of solid rock. Distinctive bands across its slopes display a sizeable portion of the region's geologic history. From its mouth to the confluence of its three main forks, nine stratigraphic formations - from the Late Proterozoic to the Late Ordovician - are displayed in sequence, covering a span of some 250 million years.

The first one, on both sides shortly after the road drops into the wash, is the Ely Springs Dolomite. Just up canyon, erosion has divided the next few formations into giant ribs. The interbedded limestone and dolomite belong to the Bonanza King Formation. The last one, the Stirling Quartzite, ends at the confluence.

Hiking Death Valley​

We'd enjoy this striped view for much of the next 24 hours!​

The view back down into Death Valley and the Black Mountains - turned a deep magenta by the fading sun - was nothing to scoff at, either.​

At the Broken Pick Mill Site, we found the perfect perch to set up camp.​

With light fading quickly, we spent the next 15 minutes or so exploring this little camp that was in use from the 1930s through the 1960s (or so). Several structures and plentiful equipment remain, though none of it in very good condition.

The kitchen in the old bunkhouse had a pretty nice view.​

I can't imagine hauling this trailer up here, but it's probably not the strangest thing we've found by a long shot!​

Probably the oldest standing structure in camp, dating back to the 1930s.​

Anyone need a flywheel? Only minor rust.​

Perhaps I can interest you in some lightly used radial tires on steel wheels?​

A u-joint, then?​

Even these old interiors had plenty of space for large touchscreen panel. Forward thinking.​

After poking around camp for a bit, the sky started to change colors. Knowing the forcast in the coming days was for cloudy skies, this resulted in my pace quickening as I frantically ran from location to location to try and capture the pinks and purples as they spilled across the horizon.

@mrs.turbodb knew better, and just watched with a smile.

An overview of camp.​

Framing the shot.​

Home for the night.​

With the light show complete by 5:00pm, it still seemed a bit early for dinner. But, knowing that it would be easier to cook and clean with a bit of non-headlamp illumination, we set about preparing our usual feast: taco-rritoes, of course.

And then, tired from measly three-hours of sleep we'd gotten in the last forty-eight, we brushed our teeth and climbed into bed. I had no idea at the time, but this wasn't the only day that I'd underestimated how long our adventures would take. Nope, not by a long shot.

 

Have you changed the setting to make the waypoint the option for long press, instead of create route? it is hidden in the settings menu, under 'map controls', and towards the bottom the 'long press action'. I am not sure how BCN works waypoints, to compare, but this may help.
It also helps the screen real estate to turn off the status bar, and compass (both in the 'map controls' settings), then use the 4 arrows to make the map full screen.

 

Definitely. I never knew when I bought this truck 24 years ago, how perfect it would be.

We've got the premium subscription, which is part of why I like the mapping (and downloads, etc) - layering is just really nice, downloading is much smaller (than BCN) and managed better, etc. The problem I'm running into (mostly) is that there's no way to turn off the Android "on screen buttons" and then there's another Gaia bar at the top that can't be turned off either. Together, they use up ~15% or so of the vertical screen real estate when in landscape mode.

Weird, I looked for settings like this and didn't find any when I was out on the trail, but I did find them now - awesome, thank you!

Screen usage now (...and yeah, I'm definitely always using the four arrows to get "full screen") is much better...though I'd still like to get rid of the android nav bar. That would probably be doable on newer android builds/tablet - this one is a few years old and still on Android 8. The long press is great as well - and is like BCN.

 

If you still have the tablet in front of you, go into the Android settings menu, and find 'Display', the navigation bar settings may be in there, and give the option for buttons, or swipe. I am looking at a Samsung, running version 12, and cant remember how, or if 8 had those options.

 

Yeah, no option for the nav bar until Android 10, I think. It's already a lot better than before though with the Gaia status bar gone, so I'm excited to give it a try again.

 

Oh, there’s an easy fix for that, you just get an iPhone

 

The Trail Canyon Canyon Trail | Left Behind #2
Part of the Left Behind (Jan 2023) trip.

Having gotten horizontal before just after 6:00pm the previous evening, I figured it wouldn't be hard to get up by 5:00am and hoof it a few miles up the North Fork of Trail Canyon - to Aguereberry Point - in order to capture some sunrise photos.

Right.

Fumbling frantically for the "turn off you stupid thing," button when my alarm went off, we proceeded to sleep another two hours until our internal alarms - err, bladders - just couldn't take it anymore.

With 13 hours of sleep we were doing a great job wasting precious daylight and falling even further behind schedule.​

Knowing that there was no way we could complete three Trail Canyon hikes with only 9 hours of daylight - each hike was between 3 to 6 miles long and entailed 1,000 - 2,900 feet of elevation gain - we immediately removed the north fork trail from our "to do" list, relegating it once again to the "left behind" pile. Again.

At this point I suppose we could have just admitted defeat, but being rather stubborn, we decided to skip breakfast and tackle the shortest of the hikes - up the main fork of Trail Canyon to the Smith and Polson Camp a couple miles away.

Off we go! (Finally.)​

Not only was this the shortest hike, but it also turned out to be the easiest from a terrain perspective. The canyon remained wide and an old road - no longer drivable given the area's wilderness designation - made hiking easy. We stopped only a few times to marvel at the geology of the canyon walls, before reaching the first adit.

This seam between the fanglomerate (left) and bedrock (right) caught my eye as we headed up the canyon.​

I think this is Kingston Formation. More importantly, @mrs.turbodb agrees.​

The adit - only about 75 feet deep - was interesting in that the walls were canted at a relatively steep angle - matching that of the layers of rock in which it was excavated, I suppose - and were surprisingly smooth.

It was as if someone had used a knife to slice a passage into the mountain.​

Are you sure you want to go in there?​

Smith and Polson's Ronald "A" No. 1 Mine and Ronald "A" No. 4 Mine were Tungsten operations that saw little success. Within a couple hundred feet of each other, the No. 1 mine worked a nearly vertical vein of tungsten-bearing milky quartz using a unique - to us - contraption that appeared to be a stationary dredge with tiny buckets. This contraption has fallen down, but it was still fun to figure out how it worked and wonder about its effectiveness.

Digging tool? Mill? Why not both?​

Tiny buckets once rose vertically on a chain, dumping material into a 10'x10' bin contained in the tower.​

120 feet up the hill, the tailings pile of the No. 4 mine decorated the hillside.​

This ladder looked sturdy enough - the treads were even rabbeted into the rails - but we opted to let someone else verify its integrity.​

This was as far as we'd planned to explore this central fork, we booked it back down to camp where @mrs.turbodb made an early lunch - it was only 10:30am or so - while I broke down the tent and got the Tacoma ready for travel. Half-an-hour later, we were headed down canyon toward the south fork, where we'd end up spending the vast majority of our day!

The stripes at the confluence of Trail Canyon were no less dramatic than they had been the previous day.​

Unlike the North and Middle Forks of Trail Canyon, a road climbs the first couple miles of the South Fork to the Morning Glory Camp. This road isn't the smoothest - high clearance, 4WD is a must - but we were glad for it regardless given that even after reaching the camp at the end, there was still a 2.5 mile, 2,100 foot climb to reach the mine itself!

There are those stripes again.​

What is this fantastic cairn we found on our way up the canyon? Clearly, .​

​

Morning Glory Camp.
(I don't always try to duplicate photos that Digonnet has in his books, but in this case, I have to admit trying.)​

Built on a long bench above the wash, Morning Glory Camp is relatively well preserved and still has several standing structures. One of them is a small cabin, furnished with a bed, cupboards, and shelves. It even has a separate (non-functional) bathroom with a sink and toilet.

There is also a long, wooden, green bunkhouse with a stone fireplace and an eclectic mess of furniture, a headframe, and an open shed with work benches.

The carcass of a 1950s-vintage Dodge is resting on a heap of rusted cans, its chrome grid grinning in the sunlight. At least one good-sized flashflood has ripped through this fork since the 1950s. It severed the frame of a small truck, now largely buried under gravel in the middle of the wash.

Hiking Death Valley​

Just below the old mill, this screw used to move slurry caught my eye.​

Bunkhouse or Panamints - who wears stripes better?​

This little jar may not be that old, but I liked its shape and patina.​

Exploration of the camp complete, it was time for the main attraction of the day - the trek to the Morning Glory Mine itself. This was a hike I'd been looking forward to for some time - even more so after talking to Jeremy the previous afternoon - as the descriptions I'd found promised more aerial tramways, mining cabins, and colorful ore over the course of the 5 mile loop that would see us reaching elevations of 6,400 feet!

As we departed camp, a snow-covered Wildrose Peak rose in the distance and we wondered if we'd be getting into the white stuff at all.​

The first mile was easy going. The wash - as with the main fork earlier in the day - was wide and though we had to avoid the plentiful desert shrubs, finding a path wasn't difficult at all. We stopped from time to time as interesting finds presented themselves, eventually reaching the Old Dependable Antimony Mine after a little less than an hour.

It's not every day you stumble upon a bighorn sheep horn!​

This orange conglomerate was some of the most visually interesting conglomerate we've ever seen!​

As we rounded a curve in the wash, the Old Dependable Antimony Mine came into view.​

About 60 feet above the wash, the wooden ore bin and chute cling precariously to the hillside. Active from 1939 to 1941, the mine produced about 70 tons of high-grade Antimony ore before operations were suspended during World War II. It was opened again in 1949, but there wasn't enough high grade material to sustain more than a few months of operation.

An old road still circles up to the platform and workings, allowing us easy access to the site. Unfortunately, both adits have collapsed, leaving only the deteriorating wooden structure and a Buda generator for us to admire.

As we followed the old mining road, we got a nice view back down the canyon.​

I'd never heard of the Buda company before, but I'd seen a steel press with the same name at the Smith and Polson Camp earlier in the day.​

Just above the Old Dependable Mine we had a choice to make - we could either head up the old mining road, or we could take the more adventurous route, up the

Trail Canyon Canyon Trail

​

Having loved the canyon trail to the Keane Wonder Mine, we opted for the latter, knowing that the old mine road would likely provide grand views on the return leg of our route.

I was in the lead for much of this segment of our hike.​

It was amazing how quickly the terrain changed once we passed the mining road that shot steeply up the mountains. The Trail Canyon Canyon Trail narrowed considerably - in places, the walls only an arms length apart - and the grade increased dramatically. Our previously reasonable pace slowed as we negotiated dry falls, bushwacked through pinion pine, and clawed our way up fields of scree that threatened to send us sliding back down to the canyon floor.

Colorful polished chutes were a joy to encounter and most were relatively easy to climb.​

Bedrock had been carved into cascades of falls, basins, and whirlpools.​

Many of the pools were still wet from the rains a few days prior.​

Now and again, we encountered taller, slightly more technical falls. Normally boulderers of the indoor variety, these were fun problems that put our skills to the test.​

Your turn!​

There was only one fall that we found impassable, requiring us to climb out of the canyon to bypass it to the southeast. Luckily, this task - made more difficult given the steep scree field we had to negotiate - was assisted by the old tramway cable that lay on ground, allowing us to stabilize ourselves across the treacherous terrain.

Our scramble brought us as close as we'd get to the aerial tramway's towers, a special treat for all the hard work!​

This pulley once suspended the tramway cable above the center of the canyon, where even the miners couldn't fashion a tower.​

The reward for all this work - and let me tell you, the progress was slow at well under one mile per hour - was worth it. All along the way - especially where the tramway had crossed the canyon - we'd seen quartz laced with deep blues and greens. I don't generally associate these with Tungsten mining - the focus of the Morning Glory Mine - but they must have been, and they were beautiful.

Malachite and azurite? And I have no idea what the red material is...​

Alas, rockhounding is not allowed in National Parks.​

And then, as we climbed the final dry fall, we spotted the mine itself, nestled into the steep ravine. An ore cart rusted below a pile of waste rock that was carved out of the hillside. Above it, a short section of track, an adit, and of course the shed where the miners ate, slept, and sought shelter from the elements.

I'm a sucker for ore carts, and the door on this one still functioned.​

A pinion pine now blocks the track from the adit beyond.​

A little elbow grease and we could have a bucket of ore!​

Still in reasonable shape...​

...except for that boulder that came through the wall!​

By now, it was three hours after we'd set out and with the canyon trail being the more direct route, we had an even longer descent in order to return to the Tacoma. Our hope - that the road would be easier to navigate than the trail-less canyon - played out in the end, and additionally allowed us to enjoy views that stretched all the way across Death Valley as we shed elevation.

There are those stripes again, now from a much higher vantage point!​

It took less than half the time to reach the Old Dependable Antimony Mine as we completed the loop.​

Still, we didn't reach the trailhead until nearly sunset. We'd spent the entire day in Trail Canyon - much longer than I'd anticipated for such (relatively) short hikes - a reality that I hadn't planned, but that felt rewarding, nonetheless.

Now in the Tacoma, we worked our way back to through the confluence to the mouth of the canyon as darkness blanketed the Panamints. By the time we found a site - out of the main wash given the last forecast we'd seen a few days prior - we were both exhausted and it was time for bed.

We'd completed only two of the three hikes, but it was time to go. As with many places we visit, we left behind a reason to return.​

At the mouth of Trail Canyon.​

With one more full day of exploring - and having explored only one of five canyons on my itinerary - I found myself wondering as to the best path forward. I had no idea at the time, but nature would make that decision for us.

 

Rainy Day | Left Behind #3
Part of the Left Behind (Jan 2023) trip.

Good morning, Trail Canyon!​

We awoke to a morning much like most winter mornings in Death Valley - a smattering of clouds and temperatures in the mid-40s. We assumed - incorrectly, in hindsight - that the day would unfold much like our previous two, though I have to admit that I hoped that we could get through a few more miles of hiking than we'd achieved in Tail Canyon.

Even I knew that my hope was more akin to a dream, but with any luck we'd still be able to get to the hike I'd been anticipating the most on this visit to our largest National Park: Hungry Bill's Ranch in Johnson Canyon. It's not that I'd heard of amazing cabins or mines - in fact, I'd heard quite the opposite - rather, I was curious to see the place where some entrepreneurial man had decided to grow fresh veggies to haul over Panamint Pass and sell to the residents of Panamint City.

But I'm getting way ahead of myself. Like, an entire trip, it turns out!

Hanaupah Canyon
Before even thinking about Johnson Canyon, our itinerary had us driving up Hanaupah Canyon for a hike to check out Shorty Borden's Camp as well as a few sets of narrows and falls a little further on. I was already a bit bummed - but fully on board - with this plan, since Hanaupah is the route from Badwater Basin to Telescope Peak, but even I wasn't so crazy as to think that we could make such a hike in a single day, especially with snow blanketing the upper Panamints.

Long rays of morning sun streamed in under the clouds as we headed south towards our next trek.​

What we didn't count on was the condition of the road into Hanaupah Canyon. Where Trail Canyon had been slow-going, Hanaupah had us moving at a crawl. In places, the road had been entirely washed out, and we'd only pick it up again as we navigated our way through boulders in the wash.

Starting up towards Hanaupah from Badwater Road, Telescope Peak rose into the clouds.​

Into the wide mouth of the canyon, we made good time for the first few miles.​

There is a road. Somewhere.​

It was nearly 10:00am when we finally set off on foot. With a wide wash and gently sloping hillsides even several miles into the canyon, hiking was easy - if trail-less - for the first mile. Winding our way up the meandering forks of the wash, we stopped now and again to admire the local geology and plant life, not always knowing what we were looking at, but full of wonder nonetheless.

I didn't even notice the colorful scree behind @mrs.turbodb when I took this photo of her hiking up behind me.​

Spikey sentinels.​

Doing the wave. ​

We had no idea what this conglomerate was, but wondered if it could be fossils of some sort.
(Probably not.)​

By 10:30am we'd covered the mile from the end of the road to the location of Shorty Borden's Camp.

Alexander "Shorty" Borden was a prospector who came to Death Valley in 1887, reportedly to search for the Lost Breyfogle Lode. Failing to find it, he prospected far and wide in the Panamint Mountains.

In September 1932 he began constructing the present canyon road to a small silver deposit in Hanaupah Canyon's south fork, which he wanted to develop. Shorty was a great walker, familiar with the hardships of the desert. Using hand tools, burros, and a little dynamite, he completed this amazing 10-mile road in only six months, reportedly at the age of 66!

Hiking Death Valley​

Despite his futile search for gold and silver, he gained an intimate knowledge of the area, and a bit of fame when he located a water well just off the Westside Road. That site would become known on maps as "Shorty's Well," no small recognition since water can be as valuable as gold in the desert.

All that was left at Borden's camp were some metal scraps.​

Above the camp, an old, wood-framed adit burrowed into the hillside.​

Haphazard bracing.​

Having neglected, again, to bring my tripod, it was as I was bumbling around with my camera - trying to keep it still for a long enough period of time to get a decent exposure in the low-light of the adit - that @mrs.turbodb so kindly mentioned that it was starting to rain.

Well, damn.

Looking up at Telescope Peak - or at least, where it should have been - we knew that the intermittent drops were about to become a whole lot more frequent.​

"If there's one thing that makes a good explorer, it's stubbornness," is probably not true. If it were, we'd certainly be in the running for a podium spot. Despite the imminent deluge, we were determined to get to the first narrows before turning around.

There was just one problem: we'd lost the trail, and there didn't seem to be a straightforward route through the thick vegetation that blankets the next mile of wash. Navigation was made even more difficult by a stream - flowing at nearly 200 gallons per minute - that plunges over boulders, bubbles into watercress- and algae-covered pools, and generally makes progress difficult.

Actually, our stubbornness created a second problem as well: we misread the description of how to most easily proceed up the canyon, and found ourselves climbing a several-hundred-foot hillside in an attempt to bypass the worst of the jungle below.

Naturally, by this time, it'd really started raining, and - as stubborn as we are - it was time to admit defeat. Neither of us was wearing a waterproof jacket, and our pants were already soaking through.

It was a left behind canyon, once again.

On our way down the wet wash, I found it rather appropriate to notice this rock covered in petrified ripples of prehistoric rains.​

I'd noticed this sign on the way up, but at the time, I'd hoped the clouds would clear on Telescope Peak (in the background) by the time we got back down, resulting in a better photo. Nope.​

Tail between our legs, we rolled out of Hanaupah Canyon.​

Now What?
The long, slow trail into the canyon was only slightly faster in the downhill direction, giving us plenty of time to blast the heat in an attempt to dry our now thoroughly soaked gear. We also used the time to discuss our next steps - really only coming up with two options: continue on with our planned route - and the Johnson Canyon hike I'd been looking forward to - or turn tail and run.

Like the sign, I'd noticed this wind-carved rock as we'd climbed Hanaupah's alluvial fan, and hoped to get a "better" photo on the way down. Instead, I got a "wetter" photo.​

Rushed composition.​

Initially - embracing our stubbornness - we turned toward Johnson Canyon, determined. But, as we sped south along West Side Road, it became abundantly clear that the rain to the south was even heavier, and it wasn't going to blow over anytime soon.

And so, with five canyons planned - and having completed a sum total of zero of them - I flipped the Tacoma around and we headed towards Furnace Creek to get a weather report and regroup.

One thing is for sure - rain in the desert makes the colors pop.​

One of the nice things about the Furnace Creek Visitor Center is that the parking lot has covers to protect visitors from the blazing sun of summer. These covers aren't entirely leak-free, but they mostly keep people seeking shelter from rain while eating lunch dry as well.

Got any lunch for me? -Death Valley Coyote Kyle.​

Our bellies full and a bit of talk-to-the-information-officer-reconnaissance into the weather, it sounded like the rain would carry on through the evening, stopping only around midnight. That sounded good to us, since it alleviated our major concern - putting the tent away wet on the final morning of our trip - but by this time we knew that heading back out to West Side Road was a non-starter.

Hoping that we could get a camp site a little closer, I inquired about a one of the free, in-person only, first come first serve permits for the Hole in the Wall. Naturally they were gone, but the nearby Echo Canyon (same system) had a few spots available - as long as I was willing to fill out a form that included more personal information that a government background check and convince an "information officer" that, "yes, I really do want to camp in a canyon even though it's been raining."

Slit Canyon
The reason I'd wanted the Hole in the Wall permit was so that we could hike Slit Canyon and then not have to worry about driving too far to set up camp for the night. After talking it over with @mrs.turbodb, we decided that we should still give the hike a shot, since a little night driving has never stopped us before. And so, with light rain still pelting the windshield, and daylight waning, we raced east.

Despite the rain, it was nice to have a little drama in the sky as we drove through Hole in the Wall.​

It was 3:15pm when we donned our raincoats - stubbornness doesn't mean we can't learn - and headed toward the mouth of Slit Canyon. As with many hikes in the desert, the distance to reach the canyon was longer than the distance we planned to hike in the canyon, though with a longer hike, Slit Canyon can actually connect Hole in the Wall to the upper end of Echo Canyon (north).

This (very) little guy was taking a shower in the middle of the trail, so I moved him out of the way for a bit of privacy.​

Looking back as we entered the mouth of Slit Canyon.​

Almost immediately after entering the mouth, the walls of Slit Canyon narrow and three falls present themselves in quick succession. The first - 10-15 feet tall - has two parallel, deeply notched chutes in light gray dolomite. The second fall, banded with black, is around 18 feet high. It is moderately difficult to climb up, worse to climb down as usual, but it gives access to a 25 foot tall, deeply recessed grotto that is entirely smooth and impossible (for these humans) to climb.

Even the first fall was a bit difficult to climb, the wet dolomite offering no traction at all.​

After wasting a bit of time climbing the first fall, we decided that we probably ought to find a bypass around the group of three falls, in the hopes of reaching the first narrows - and the slit for which the canyon is named - before it got too dark "for our return trip." (I definitely wasn't worried about light for photographs. Definitely.)

This barrel cactus on the bypass was looking happy.​

Soon, the bypass behind us, we found ourselves entering the mile-long first narrows.​

The darkness added some really nice saturation.​

Even under cloudy skies, the orange walls, glowed as the walls narrowed.​

A quarter mile into the narrows, we came to the slit. A straight and narrow corridor, it is a slanted, water-worn trench, cutting a path through the dolomite that is no more than 2 feet wide and 40 to 50 feet deep. Beginning with a pile of chockstones, it goes on for about 70 feet, ending at a 15-foot fall that - in dry weather - can be climbed in order to continue up canyon.

Unfortunately for us, the weather was anything but dry.

Entrance to The Slit.​

A tight squeeze.​

After a bit of hemming and hawing about trying to climb out the top of the slit - including a couple of slippery fails by yours truly - and realizing that we had less than ten minutes until sunset - we ultimately decided that this was another canyon that we wouldn't complete on this excursion.

Yep, that meant that we'd planned five canyons, attempted only two of them, added one more, and finished... none. If that's not success, I don't know what is!

​

Headed back out of The Slit, a perfect record of unfinished business.​

We Left What Behind?
As forecast, the rain stopped around midnight and the tent was - thankfully - dry by the time we work up in the morning. This was a bit different morning than most, as - rather than drive 1,000 miles home - I'd arranged to leave the Tacoma at an indoor storage facility in Las Vegas. Doing so would allow us to hop on a 3-hour flight home (and back), hopefully making these trips more about enjoying the desert, rather than enduring a 20+ hour drive to get there.

And so, a few hours later, we were handing over the keys and hoping for the best.

A new era.​

 

I would say your truck is in good company!

 

The Narrows of Arrow Canyon | Not the Rock Art #1
Part of the Not the Rock Art I Was Looking For (Jan 2023) trip.

It was with the best of intentions that I planned a trip to explore the Pahranagat Trail in southeast Nevada. The very first trip where I'd be flying - rather than driving - to make the trek south, I'd work my way north from Las Vegas to explore three wilderness' that were once home to Native American Indians: Arrow Canyon Wilderness, South Pahroc Wilderness, and Big Rocks Wilderness.

It was a classic example of counting chickens before they hatch, but we'll get to that part of the story in good time. At the beginning, things were going quite well.

Leaving Washington, Mt. St. Helen's was all wintered up!​

Hey, I recognize that place! Just a dusting on the top of Telescope Peak.​

This being my first time flying in to pick up the Tacoma, I spent a few minutes unpacking - and stowing - my clothes and the few things I'd brought along, and then headed to the grocery story to provision the fridge and In-N-Out to provision my stomach. An hour later, I was headed northeast out of Las Vegas.

Having landed just before 1:00pm, and with a couple hours worth of driving to Pahranagat Wash and the Moapa Valley, I knew that I wasn't going to get any exploring in on the first day, but I wasn't complaining - it was a whole lot better than a 22-hour drive!

As the sun's rays got long, the Virgin Mountains lit up in the distance.​

Making my way up the lower Pahranagat Wash, Moapa Peak caught my eye.​

On fire!​

It was just before 5:00pm - and just moments after sunset - when I reached my camp site. At the edge of the Arrow Canyon Wilderness, the striped walls of the wash rising up around me as I set up the tent and settled into my book. As usual, I didn't last long before dreaming of what was to come.

Usually I search for camp sites with distant views, but I was pretty happy to call this place home for the night.​

The Following Morning...

Knowing I had a long day ahead, I set my alarm for a few minutes before sunrise. The first order of the day was a five-mile hike through the narrows of Arrow Canyon, so after eating a bit of breakfast and putting away the tent, I left the truck right where I'd parked it the evening before and covered the final few hundred yards to the trailhead on foot.

A teeny bit of sun, just kissing the top of the mountains.​

Never one to be burdened by the need to do first things, first, I was delighted to stumble on some petroglyphs before I even made it to the narrows. I'd known that there was rock art in the area, but I'd only hoped that my constant poking around would allow me to discover some of it while I was here.

Low designs.​

Upper panel.​

Six fingers spatchcocks the sheep.​

A study of feet.​

Getting a little crowded.​

My spirits raised by the early discovery, it was time to get back to first things... second, and start my hike through Arrow Canyon. The inclined strata - mostly limestone - that encloses the lower end of Pahranagat Wash is deep and narrow for nearly a mile. Towering cliffs - up to 300 feet tall - transported me back through time, the narrow passageway a constant reminder of the tremendous flash floods that carved the channel.

After a little more than half a mile of hiking, I reached the entrance to the narrows.​

Into the narrows.​

Reflected light.​

Orange and gray.​

My eyes constantly drawn upward, I had to continually remind myself to turn my gaze down - towards the base of the wall - in search of evidence of those who'd come before me.

​

Lizard-people were - allegedly - some of the first inhabitants.​

I really liked the designs on this panel.​

Some say that this is a fake, but it looks reasonably authentic to me.​

​

This - on the other hand - probably isn't real, given Ponce de Leon died in 1521.​

...or did he?​

For a mile or so I hiked through the narrows. Beneath my feet, softball-sized rocks lined the wash, and with no real established path - I'm sure everyone simply wanders between the walls - I found myself wondering if the entire hike was going to be so laborious.

Little did I know just how much I'd be wishing for this uneven surface, shortly.

Inclined curves.​

Light and dark.​

Evaporation.​

Halfway through the canyon, and just after passing a similarly narrow - but much shorter - side canyon (named, cunningly, Side Canyon) that entered from the south, the terrain changed dramatically. Gone were the rocks, replaced by the slickest, slimiest mud one can imagine and sections of wash still covered by 12 inches of standing water. Where the first half of the hike had taken only 40 minutes, the second half would require more than two hours and significant cussing.

There were no photos.

Ultimately, this gauntlet of gunk led to a dam built by the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) in the 1930s, passage further made impossible by the moat of muck between me and the dam.

Only stubbornness got me this far.​

Glad to have reached the end, I radioed my starship to transport me back to the rocky narrows, but the deep canyon walls must have blocked my signal. As such, I retraced the wet, muddy trail as carefully as I could, my arms, legs, and torso bombarded by the Catclaw Acacia (Senegalia greggii) as I bushwacked my way through.

Eventually, I reached the entrance of Side Canyon and thanked my lucky stars for a surface that - while I'd considered it uncomfortable the first time through - was, at least, not trying to kill me with every step. The reason for this - I realized later - was that nearly all the water that flows down Arrow Canyon from seasonal rains is via this Side Canyon drainage; the CCC dam has effectively stopped flow down the Pahranagat Wash above this point.

Once again, it was time to enjoy the narrows.

With the sun a little higher now, light was reaching further down the walls.​

Just around the corner.​

Into the glow.​

I was surprised to find that the real gem of this hike was the terrain, not the rock art (for me).​

Even though the hike through Arrow Canyon had taken much longer than I'd expected - thanks to the muddy conditions - I decided that I still might as well head around to the top of the CCC Dam in order to check it out from the other side. I knew this too could add quite a bit of time - unlike the lower route, my research suggested that the road above the dam ended "when the ground got too muddy to continue" - but I decided that I'd eat lunch upon my arrival, and then just enjoy myself rather than worrying that I was losing daylight.

Slowing down isn't always easy.

Heading down through Deadman Wash to the upper end of Arrow Canyon.​

When there are only rocks in the desert, rockfalls spill over the canyon walls.​

My belly full, it was 1:00pm - about four hours of daylight left - when I set off on foot for the upper side of the dam. With the ground soggy enough that I'd had to stop a mile before the end of the road, it wasn't a long hike, but I knew that round-trip was going to take an hour or so by the time I stopped for photos, admired the views, and did my best to clean all the slop off my shoes.

The CCC dam has backed up so much silt since it was built during the Great Depression that this dugout - a quarter mile upstream - is now half-full.​

The CCC dam from the other side.​

An old, fixed rope hung from the dam, and probably would have held my weight well enough to climb 30-40 feet down the front side, but even if there hadn't been several feet of mud and water down there, I certainly wasn't dumb enough to risk it. Never mind injuries, a broken rope would mean walking through the mess I'd just endured a third time!

On the way to and from the dam, I ran into some more shield-like rock art along the wash.

These shields are part of why the specimen I'd found earlier in the day seems like it could be authentic.​

Living shields.​

Nine sheep and an archer.​

Two on two. I found it interesting that this petroglyph appeared to have been traced with red pigment.​

Big buck.​

I'm sure I didn't see all the petroglyphs in this section of the Pahranagat Wash, but I did discover an alcove with one of the most mortero-covered stones I've ever encountered.

A kitchen workspace?​

After leaving the Arrow Canyon Wilderness, I followed Pahranagat Wash to the north - pavement making quick work of the miles. I can't count the number of times I've passed Coyote Spring Valley on US-93, wondering what all the palm trees are about, and hoped that this time - coming from the east - I'd get a better sense. Unfortunately, all roads leading into the area were closed, leaving me as curious as ever as to what this place was.

Eventually, I turned off the highway, following a side road into Eightmile Valley on my way to the South Pahroc Range Wilderness. This is where I planned to spend the next 24 hours - or so - poking around the plethora of roads and glassing the hillsides for rock art.

Joshua Trees and snow made their first appearance as I gained elevation.​

With no better time to start the search, my progress was slow as I investigated each spur road in search of petroglyphs.​

Even as the sun set and the horizon took on a signature desert glow, I was still at it.​

Eventually - and having climbed to elevations with significantly more snow - I called off the search. I'd failed to find the petroglyphs somewhere in Eightmile Valley, but with three more full days of poking around, surely there was enough time - for even the blindest of us - to stumble upon something of interest.

For now, it was time to find camp.

Nestled into the rocky landscape, the moon was all the headlamp I needed.​

Climbing into bed, a little voice in the back of my head nagged at me as I drifted off to sleep: if I couldn't find petroglyphs - that I knew existed - in the 2-or-so square miles of Eightmile I'd traversed, how the heck would I find any in the South Pahroc Wilderness, that I planned to explore the following day.

It was a good question.

 

Needle in a Haystack | Not the Rock Art #2
Part of the Not the Rock Art I Was Looking For (Jan 2023) trip.

Having gone to bed at a little over 6,000 feet above sea level and surrounded by snow, I was a little worried that I'd be freezing cold and that the tent would be covered in frost when I woke up in the morning. To my delight, neither came to pass, and as I climbed around on the rocks behind camp - looking for rock art - just before sunrise, I found myself hopeful for the day ahead.

Good morning, sun!​

After watching the sun crest the horizon, I hopped from stone to stone on my way back to camp. Cereal - with extremely cold milk, my favorite - and a few minutes putting away the tent, and I was ready to start my search for the petroglyphs I knew were out there. Somewhere.

In my research, I'd found several references - and photographs - of the petroglyphs along this, the Pahranagat Trail. Unfortunately, none of them gave specific locations, instead using phrases like "facing east" or "in Black Canyon."

Given that I was in Basin and Range country - where countless ranges run north-to-south, their walls separated by vast basins - not to mention BLM land, where roads are (more) plentiful than other public lands, I had my work cut out for me.

With my binoculars in hand, I hugged the hillsides as much as possible, and stopped frequently whenever desert varnish-covered boulders presented themselves.

The terrain - in all directions - was spectacular.​

Upon following my second spur, I ran into this carsonite stake. "I'm on the right track," I assumed.​

Looks promising.​

For several hours, I climbed spur road boulder fields on the edge of the wilderness. Sometimes I'd climb the same field several times, trying my best to cover the ground in a grid pattern so as not to miss any etchings in the stone. Several times, I tried to "line up" the orientation of the carsonite post, hoping that whoever had placed it was thoughtful enough to use it as a sort of "rock art gun sight."

Alas, I at each location, I was unsuccessful. It was quite literally like searching for a few needles in a 40 square mile haystack.

On to the next site.​

I even searched the tops of rocks. I was stoked to find this frozen tinaja on one of them.​

Travelling every road I encountered - especially the ones that weren't on my maps - I found myself hugging the wilderness boundary, snow covering the ground at higher elevations. It was - despite my growing frustration - beautiful.

Oh, how I'd have loved to photograph rock work with snow on the ground.​

While most roads were primarily at low enough elevations that snow was intermittent - at least on the road itself - things started to change as I worked my way up the eastern side of the wilderness. Climbing through 5,000, then 5,500 feet - and even as the road traversed sun-drenched southern-facing slopes - the route was completely snow covered.

Passing through 5,500 feet.​

At 6,000 feet, I was plowing through untouched snow more than a foot deep. Taking a look at my topo maps, I was within a couple hundred feet of the highest point of the route, but with the remainder dropping down the north side of the mountain, I made the call to backtrack the way I'd come. It wasn't like I was going to be searching for petroglyphs when I was just focused on keeping the truck on the road!

By now, I'd searched for much of the day and had - at least as far as rock art was concerned - nothing to show for it.

Pausing as a view of the Delamar Mountains swung into view, I had a decision to make.​

Ultimately, I was forced to come to terms with something that others who know me probably consider obvious: For me, as much as I love exploring the outdoors, my favorite part of the adventure is the actual finding, seeing, and accomplishing of those things I set out to find, see, and do. Be they grand vistas from a hard-to-reach summit, rock art etched into varnished sandstone, or the ruins of a failed gold mine, it's the act of actually achieving them that I enjoy.

ō′vər-lănd-er
one who engages in self-reliant travel to remote destinations where the journey is the principal goal.​

So yeah, I'm not a real overlander. And that's just fine by me.​

This realization - that it's not the journey/search that brings me joy - was a nice feeling. And, along with the knowledge that future roads in the Pahroc and Big Rocks Wilderness would only take me to higher elevations than I'd already explored, I decided it was time for a change of plans.

Luckily, I'd mapped more than twice as much stuff as I had time to see, so rather than spend the last two days of the trip searching for unknown needles in this vast haystack, I pointed the Tacoma east, towards ruins and rock art that I knew where to find. Mostly.


The Widowmaker

My first destination turned out to be just across the valley. Having mapped - but never visited - a loop route to-and-from the ghost town of Delamar for a trip we'd taken a couple years earlier, I soon found myself bumping along a worn-out road, crisscrossed with washes.

Found full droop.​

In the distance, the main shaft, which has been blasted "closed" for safety.​

In 1889, prospectors John Ferguson and Joseph Sharp discovered gold around Monkeywrench Wash. A mining camp was established and in April 1894, Captain Joseph Raphael De Lamar bought most of the important mines in the area for $150,000, renaming it Delamar. At the same time, a newspaper called the Delamar Lode began publication and the Delamar post office was opened.

From 1895 to 1900, Delamar was the primary ore producer in Nevada. Buildings here were made of native rock and by 1896, the Delamar mill was handling up to 260 tons of ore daily. Such production required manpower, and by 1897, more than 3,000 residents called this place home - a hospital, opera house, churches, a school, several businesses, and saloons supporting those who worked in the mines.

In the early days, rocks, plucked from the surrounding hillsides, were dry-laid to form two-, three-, and four-story buildings.​

Later structures still used the same rocks, but also used more traditional construction (mortar).​

Cornerstones decorated many of the buildings.​

The town was almost entirely destroyed by fire in the spring of 1900 and, in 1902, De Lamar sold his mines which had produced $8.5 million in gold to new owners. After installing a new 400-ton mill in 1903, they continued production until 1909, outproducing all other mines in the state and bringing in another $4 million in ore.

Only foundations still remain where the old mill and loading ramps once produced millions of dollars of valuable ore.​

Unfortunately, the gold in the Delamar mines was embedded in quartzite, which created a fine silica dust when crushed. Because water was scarce - piped in from more than 12 miles away - the crusher in the mill was run almost dry and the deadly dust was inhaled by the miners, causing silicosis and an ultimately death. So many men died working these mines that the town itself became known as "The Widowmaker."

Under the mill, the dust that ruined so many lives, remains.​

Looking over the Delamar Valley, badlands of deadly silica dust stretch across the hillside.​

Today's residents are of the four-legged variety.​

Here's an article on Delamar from the June 1970 issue of Desert Magazine: Hidden Gold of the Piautes | Desert Magazine

On my way out of town - along a much more nicely graded route than the one I'd come in on - I passed the Helene Cemetery. A ghost town even at the time of Delamar, I stopped in for a quick visit and to pay my respects.

Etta E. Frank | 1873-1896​

Fred A. Horn | August 3, 1893 - March 25th, 1912 | Dearest Fred, thou hast left us here, thy lost we deeply feel, But tis God that hath bereft, he can all our sorrows heal.​

I Don't Have Access to that Information

From Delamar, my plan was to continue east - this time in search of rock art in Rainbow Canyon. Another place I'd marked on the map the last time we'd visited the Pahranagat Valley, we'd simply prioritized it lower than some of the more dramatic rock art of Mt. Irish, the White River Narrows, and the Shooting Gallery.

It was, as I passed through Caliente, that I noticed the BLM Field Office along the side of the road. Thinking that there might be a way to get my original plan back on track, I stopped in to see if the information officer could share any more specific information about rock art in the South Pahroc and Big Rocks Wilderness'.

Initially, she seemed hopeful. Coming out from behind her desk, she quickly walked over to the Lincoln County Rock Art guide that I'm sure everyone who's visited the area has already seen.

In the nicest way possible, I let her know that I'd already visited all of the sites covered in that guide, and that I was looking for information on the lesser-known sites, specifically, those that were on the border or within the two wilderness areas.

Again, she seemed hopeful, heading to the back office to pull out the Wilderness Management Plan and Environmental Assessment for the Big Rocks, Mt. Irish, and South Pahroc wilderness areas. Unfortunately, I'd already read that report as well, and though it contains photos of some of the sites, and mentioned the existence of others, it didn't give any clues to their actual locations.

After pressing a bit, she somewhat reluctantly let me know that "This is all I can give out. Only the geologists have access to the actual locations of the lesser-known rock art."

Though a little disappointing - I'd hoped that by showing up in person, I might get a bit more information than is available on the internet - it's completely understandable given the sensitive nature of these sites, so I thanked her for helping as much as she could, and then continued on my way.


Rainbow Canyon

Ancient people inhabited Rainbow Canyon starting about 10,000 years ago. Several cultures have come and gone, including nomadic hunter-gathers, ancient farmers, and - in more modern times - railroad men. Several sites exist along the north-south corridor that runs along the Meadow Valley Wash.

The first site is accessed via a short trestle of the Union Pacific.​

Though sunny, it wasn't all that warm.​

On the other side of the tracks, the wash - constrained between volcanic cliffs on the west and a berm that protects the railroad tracks from flooding on the east - funneled me towards a tunnel through the ridge. Dug by railroad workers to direct flash flood away from train traffic, it now served as a secret passage to my first pictograph site.

The secret passage.​

Anticipation high, I reached the far end.​

The Tan Wall site.​

I don't know what these actually represent, but to me they look like people standing on stepped cliffs.​

Clouds added visual interest to the sky above.​

Not that views of the landscape were anything to scoff at.​

Near the ridge, the twin Etna Caves were once used for habitation.​

Pretty great views out the kitchen, bedroom, and living room window.​

Knowing I still had several more sites to visit - and with limited daylight - I made my way back to the Tacoma and continued south on NV-317. This highway - between Caliente and Elgen - was a pleasure in itself. Continually crossing over - and through during times of high water - the Meadow Valley Wash, it is crossed by several steel train bridges that carry freight along this route.

Red, white, and blue.​

No need to worry about speed limits here; go slowly and enjoy.​

Still not warm.​

A second site - this one containing both pictographs and petroglyphs - came up quickly. Here, a short spur led off the highway to a camp site that's been used for thousands of years, nestled into a side canyon.

As with the previous panel, this sure looks like people hiking basin-and-range country to me.​

I'm always intrigued when there are both pictographs and petroglyphs on the same panel.​

Protected from the elements, this pigment was still very bright.​

I had less than an hour - after visiting the second site - before sunset as I slowly made my way south. Unsure what I should do about dinner and camp, I pushed those small details out of my mind as I pulled up to the location of the next set of petroglyphs.

Oh, how I was hoping a train would appear at the far end of this tunnel.​

A little worse for wear.​

A more typical set of glyphs. All facing towards the views, of course.​

A warning perhaps, given the rattlesnakes common in these parts?​

Headed to the final site - only a couple miles north of Elgin - I decided that I ought to first check out Elgin itself, before hitting the rock art on my way back towards Caliente.

Elgin was a siding on the San Pedro, Los Angeles and Salt Lake Railroad (now part of the Union Pacific). Homesteaded as early as 1880, it became an important watering stop and even had its own post office from 1913 until 1966. A school - built in 1922 and operated until 1967 - educated first through eighth grades in the single room.​

An old caboose sits next to the restored schoolhouse.​

More interesting to me, this train crane was parked nearby!​

After visiting Elgin, I made a quick stop at the final petroglyph site.

Rainbow Canyon boulder.​

My day hadn't gone at all as I'd planned, but as is often the case, everything worked out. After making a quick dinner at the train tunnel I'd visited earlier - still hoping that a train would materialize on the other side - I continued north through Caliente where I fueled up and made a plan for the remaining two days of my trip.

I had no idea at the time, but I'd end up wandering through colorful cathedrals, searching for some of the most unique petroglyphs I've ever seen, hiking to a pictograph taller than me, and spelunking through caves in search of vibrant hues of red and yellow.

Looking back now, my change of plans was totally the right call!

 

It troubles me that public lands and the information about them is restricted. She had an opportunity to educate and missed it.

 

I think she was being honest when she said that she didn't have the info I was looking for; that only the geologists have it. I mean, she was enthusiastically trying to help with the various booklets she brought me (that I'd already known about).

Interestingly, I had an idea when I got home, and now I have a FOIA request submitted. Could take up to a year to hear back (it sounds like), but who knows... maybe I'll get the info yet!

Here's the request (which is shockingly scant on information, perhaps understandably): FOIAonline Submission Details and here's what I asked for:

I am requesting the locations of known Rock Art (primarily petroglyphs, but also pictographs) in and around the South Pahroc Range Wilderness and the Big Rocks Wilderness. I'd like either GPS coordinates of the known locations, or reasonable descriptions/directions of how to get to the locations via a combination of roads/hikes in/around these locations.

I've stopped in at the Caliente BLM Field Office, and was informed that this information exists, but is not generally handed out by the information officer there.

I have seen the following two relevant documents (among others, but these are the two most commonly referenced):
*1* http://www.npshistory.com/publications/blm/basin-and-range/rock-art-guide.pdf - this is a great guide and I've visited the locations that it covers. As such, I am not looking for any of these locations.
*2* https://archive.org/details/bigrockswilderne00unit/mode/1up - this document shows photos of some of the places I'm looking for, and covers the two wilderness areas, but does not give any locations within those wilderness areas. It also covers the Mt. Irish Wilderness area, which I am not interested in.

Lastly - I have attached a GPX file (remove the .txt extension, which was required for upload) and JPG which shows the roads/areas I am interested in information on. This is not an exhaustive list of the roads, but demonstrates the boundaries in which I'm looking. Also, the majority of these roads are outside the Wilderness areas (obviously, given their wilderness designation), but as I mentioned, I'm interested in known Rock Art on these surrounding BLM lands in addition to wilderness lands. Hiking - even significant distances - is fine in either case.​

 

So. Many. Images. Lol.

Might write up a site suggestion to force manually acceptance of image loading when a certain threshold is hit. PITA in low connectivity scenarios. #firstwordproblems

Great write up, as usual.

 

Thanks!

Just need more comments after each post so that new ones end up on new pages .