AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

I held my tongue on the FOIA request knowing they are kind of a PITA. But the fact she knew this information was being withheld is what is so frustrating. That said, I understand why they don't want people to visit.

 

Narrow Caves, a Gap, & a Broad Wash | Not the Rock Art #3
Part of the Not the Rock Art I Was Looking For (Jan 2023) trip.

From Rainbow Canyon, I'd planned to drive a couple hours east - through the darkness - to a fantastic petroglyph site that I could enjoy when the sun crested the horizon the following morning. But, as is often the case, I was easily distracted as I set up the navigation system and noticed that my route would take me right by Cathedral Gorge State Park.

We'd briefly stopped at Cathedral Gorge for breakfast on a previous trip south to explore the eastern Mojave, but we hadn't spent much time there and I knew that what we'd seen at Miller's Point was just the tip of the iceberg. Plus, rather than a two-hour drive east, I had just a 20-minute drive to a little slice of BLM land just outside the park boundary - no need to pay the $35/night fee in the campground - before I could settle in for what I assumed would be a chilly-but-dry night.

Chilly - yes. Dry - apparently not.​

Finding the entire tent - both inside and out - covered in a thick layer of frost when my alarm went off about an hour before sunrise, I wondered what my best course of action would be. I'd purposefully gotten up early so I could enjoy sunrise at Cathedral Gorge, but I didn't want to put the tent away in this condition, either.

Ultimately - with enough frost on the outside that it looked like snow - I decided that I'd better pull all my bedding out of the tent, close it up wet, and then - hopefully - dry it out in the sun while I poked into the muddy slot canyons just a few minutes away.


Cathedral Gorge
I pulled into the park to pay my day use fee just as the sun was cresting the horizon. This was slightly later than I'd hoped, but turned out to be a blessing in disguise as it meant that I could more easily find a location to park that would be in full sun. Even with temperatures in the mid-20s °F, I hoped that a few hours would be enough to sublimate off all of the moisture.

With the tent oriented optimally towards the sun, I headed to the Moon Caves to start what would be one of the most surreal experiences of the entire trip!

Given the tall, narrow nature of these narrow slot canyons, lots of the photos here are in portrait mode. For those of you on phones, enjoy; for those on computers, apologies!

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Ghosts of Cathedral Gorge.​

There was nice, reflected light in the first slot canyon I hiked into.​

Darkness to light.​

A hint of green.​

Narrow passages.​

Curvaceous walls.​

Towering pillars.​

A natural bridge!​

Shadows and light.​

With the light streaming in at a low angle, and the Moon Caves more elaborate than I'd expected, I ended up spending more than an hour wandering through the narrow passageways before pulling myself onward to the Canyon Caves - mere steps to the north.

Frosty morning.​

Sliver of light.​

Textured walls.​

Knowing that I had more to do during this day than simply exploring one fascinating mud slot canyon after another, I pulled myself away from the Canyon Caves more quickly than I'd been able to at the Moon brethren. I still had one more set to investigate - the Cathedral Caves - but first I wanted to check out an old Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) water tower that was built in the early 1930s. Alongside a picnic area and restroom, these allowed visitors to one of Nevada's first four state parks to enjoy the area in much the same way I was enjoying it today!

Texture and light.​

Water tower sunstar.​

Looking up from inside the Cathedral.​

While I had no misconceptions that this would be a quick stop on my way to the first petroglyphs of the day, the slot canyons were so much more interesting than I'd expected that I spent nearly twice as long exploring this area than I thought I would. It was worth every minute. I highly recommend stopping to enjoy this little park just after sunrise or just before sunset to wander through these gorges, craning your neck to the sky.


Parowan Gap
After a fantastic morning at Cathedral Gorge, I packed up the - now dry - tent and had a quick breakfast before heading east to the petroglyph site I'd thought was going to be my first stop for the day - Parowan Gap.

"A little chilly" seemed to be a theme for this trip.​

Arriving a little after noon, I was surprised to find myself alone at what I knew to be some amazing rock art - perhaps an indicator that 12-year-old @mini.turbodb is right: I'm not normal.

Whatever the reason, after parking in the nearby lot, I made a beeline for the gap, and one glyph in particular.

The zipper glyph.​

A migration story.​

Of course, there is plenty more to see here, and after admiring the zipper glyph, I continued through the gap - down one side and up the other - to soak in the hundreds of petroglyphs that line this narrow channel carved by an ancient river.

Snake glyph and Bug Man.​

Snake man, or Mouse man with a snake?​

Many of the petroglyphs at the gap appear to depict wildlife. On the boulder before you, for example, four cross shaped images angle up the rock face. Might they be bird tracks? Or birds in flight? This landscape is filled with birds that could have inspired such carvings. Golden eagles regularly nest in the cliffs around you. Many other birds of prey including peregrine falcon, prairie falcon, red-tailed hawk, and great-horned owl live here as well. What other wildlife images do you see among the petroglyphs? (BLM information sign)

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Parowan Gap boulder.​

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High on the wall, I spotted these designs.​

In 1849, the Legislative Assembly in Salt Lake City commissioned Parley P. Pratt to lead the Southern Exploring Expedition and scout for new Mormon settlement sites. Expedition members recorded Parowan Gap in their journals, several members noting that the Ute leader, Chief Wakara, referred to it as "God's own house." (BLM information sign)

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Inscriptions made by early settlers have become, in a sense, part of this site's historic record. But now that people understand just how remarkable and irreplaceable the petroglyphs are, this site protects that heritage. Any writing on the rocks today is vandalism, punishable by law.​

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South alcove petroglyphs.​

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These angular patterns reminded me of the petroglyphs we'd seen just outside of Las Vegas.​

Two more fascinating panels.​

Native Americans say that petroglyphs are their written language based on the Indian sign language which was universal among all tribes and can be read by any tribe throughout North America. This is why you see many symbol similarities throughout Utah and the southwest.​

I'd considered eating lunch at the gap, but with a brisk breeze and plenty left to do in the daylight I had remaining, I decided to put on. My next stop wasn't far away - less than a mile - where I hoped to check out my first set of fossilized dinosaur tracks for the day!

My first order of business upon arriving at the dino track site was to help this mom and her three kids out of a sticky situation they'd gotten themselves into! I think the kids - who loved every minute of it - tried to livestream it to their social medias.​

Unfortunately, someone broke off the middle toe of this dino track sometime between 2010 and 2011. This is why we can't have nice things.
Probably an UTVer. (j/k ... OrAmI?)​

Wrapping Up My Day in Warner Valley
From Parowan Gap, it was time to head south. I'd spend the rest of my trip popping back and forth across the Utah-Arizona border, checking out a few spots in the Arizona Strip that I'd been meaning to visit for quite some time. First though, I had a couple hours of driving in front of me, and that meant I was going to be cutting it close as the sun raced towards the horizon.

UTVs on public roads? I must be in Utah.​

Making my way along the base of red cliffs towards my first destination.​

It's not every day that you get to visit two dinosaur track sites, but today was one of those days for me. Whereas the first had been a series of molds - essentially, the sediments that once filled the tracks and later turned to stone - the second set was the actual tracks themselves!

Megapnosaurus. 6-8 ft. long; 3 ft. high at the hips; 50 lbs.​

Dilophosaurus. 20 ft. long; 6-7 ft. high at the hips; 1,000 lbs.​

Anyone who knows me, knows I love a good lizard chase (and catch). Obviously I wasn't going to be catching any of these, but that didn't stop me from tracking around, snapping photos from various angles and generally looking way too interested in a few dimpled rocks. Luckily, no one else was around to give me any grief.

By the time I'd had my fill, it was nearly 4:00pm; only an hour of daylight remaining for my final excursion of the day. Nearby, the trailhead of the 5-mile hike would lead me down the Fort Pearce Wash to the site of the Red Man Pictograph... assuming I could find it before it was too late (literally).

Knowing I was cutting it close, I opted to postpone my exploration of Fort Pearce itself until I returned. Instead, I grabbed my small, ultra-bright flashlight and hoped that I could at least make the trek to the Red Man before the sun went down. After all - I figured - I could always hike back in the moonlight!

Along the way, some old pioneer signatures. Goates was through more than once, apparently!​

1757 seems a little early for these folks to have visited.​

William needs to work on his "S"s, and on finding his own rock, rather than carving over petroglyphs. Shame on you William.​

As I proceeded down the wash, I made reasonably good time. I'd been worried that I'd find myself bushwacking through more of the thorny the Catclaw Acacia (Senegalia greggii) that I'd encountered in Arrow Canyon a couple days earlier, but luckily the I faced no such obstacles and soon the trail opened up into a much broader wash.

Fort Pearce Wash boulder.​

High on the cliffs, I didn't have time to climb to the panels that ruled over the landscape. Luckily, I'd brought along my 240mm "climbing lens."​

The sun nearing the horizon, shadows got longer and colors more vibrant. I was nearly jogging at this point, since I still had half a mile to go.​

With only a few minutes until sunset, I glanced up in the general direction I hoped to see the Red Man, and to my delight - or dumb luck - I spotted it high on the cliff. There was no way that I was going to let my climbing lens get all the glory, so after snapping a quick photo, I began clawing my way over the jumble of boulders that stood between me and this man-sized work of art.

I see you Red Man, you can't hide from me!​

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Easily distracted by tafoni.​

Back on track.​

Success!​

As I stood there, admiring one of the largest pictographs I've seen - it reminded me of this Shaman - I basked in the pink glow that spilled across the valley. It'd taken me only an hour to cover the 2.5 miles, and at much lower elevations than I'd experienced the rest of the trip, temperatures were still pleasant as I slowed down to soak in the sunset.

Layers.​

Time to head back.​

With the moon lighting my way, it was just after 6:00pm when I arrived at the trailhead. Figuring that I'd spend an hour or so transferring photos from my camera to my laptop and then go take a couple night photos of Fort Pearce, I got everything setup and inserted my microSD card.

And then, boom! Adobe Lightroom decided that it hadn't communicated with its authentication servers recently enough for me to use the product that I pay a significant amount of money for every single month. Having worked on subscription software myself (that gets the auth bit right), this really irks me. I'd been connected to the internet less than 24 hours earlier - was there really no way that Adobe could say... cache the fact that I had a valid subscription for a couple days? Or maybe give a warning that I'd need to connect and verify the subscription in the next few days in order to prevent the software from going into lockdown mode? Seriously, just locking down immediately - that's just dumb.

Unable to waste time with technology - perhaps this was a blessing in disguise - I donned my headlamp and set about making dinner. I wasn't sure this would take long enough the light on the horizon to fade enough for a night shot, but I figured that a belly full of taco-rritoes would at least put me in a slightly better mood. Because I do love guacamole.

After dinner, I headed out to try my hand at a bit of foreground lighting.

Fort Pearce and some weird stripe in the sky.​

The small structure at the Fort Pearce Historic Site is one of only three remaining stone guard posts built during Utah’s Black Hawk War. This “war” was actually period of intermittent raiding between 1865 and 1870, during which the Ute Tribe, led by Chief Black Hawk (Antonga), and other Native Americans allies attempted to drive the Mormons from the Ute traditional homelands. Mounted Ute raiding parties, often joined by Navajos, stole Mormon livestock, attacked outlying ranches and settlements, and killed settlers who interfered with the raids. More than 100 Native Americans and at least 70 Mormons were killed during the raiding.

To protect their herds and homes, local Mormon militia constructed a series of protected guard or sentry posts, called ‘forts’, along major trails and travel corridors in central and southern Utah. Four to six armed men with horses were stationed at each post, to attack and delay the Indian raiding parties, while a rider raced to the nearest settlements with a warning. Horses were stabled at night in the guard posts, to ensure that the early warning ride could be made without delay.

Fort Pearce Wash was one of the primary routes along which Ute-Navajo horsemen traveled to raid the livestock herds and settlements of the St. George Basin. A site was selected in the spring of 1866, on a high bluff overlooking a narrow, steep-sided canyon, just above the only natural spring for miles, for a guard post along Fort Pearce Wash. A small number of armed men could easily defend this location and water from the spring would support the defenders and their stock.

A work party of 20 men began construction on that guard post on December 4, 1866, working for nearly a month to quarry enough local sandstone to construct the dry-laid or mud-mortared defensive structure and a stock corral. No armed conflicts are known to have taken place at Fort Pearce, but the guard post was manned, at least intermittently, from 1866 until 1873, when peace negotiations and U.S. Army actions ended the raiding that was known in Utah as the Black Hawk War. Bureau of Land Management​

I'd also bypassed a few petroglyphs that were in impossible-to-photograph light when I'd initially set out for the Red Man pictograph, so I hiked back down the trail a touch in order to capture the slab under the moonlight.

Fort Pearce Petroglyphs.​

A closer look at the petroglyphs on the slanted boulder.​

As with the previous night, I'd used up every last minute of daylight. As I walked back to the Tacoma, I decided that I'd spend another 90 minutes or so driving through the dark to the Little Black Mountain petroglyph site. Having already poked around in Nevada and Utah, jumping over the border and into the Arizona Strip would mean that I'd have covered three states in a single day!

Of course, I'd have to wait till morning to resume my search for some fo the most unique rock art I've ever encountered. Hopefully, this time, with less frost to clean off my tent!

 

‘Arriving a little after noon, I was surprised to find myself alone at what I knew to be some amazing rock art - perhaps an indicator that 12-year-old@mini.turbodb is right: I'm not normal.’

Amen brother, amen

 

Little Black Mountain, Caanan Gap, and Paiute Cave | Not the Rock Art #4
Part of the Not the Rock Art I Was Looking For (Jan 2023) trip.

I'd pulled into my camp site just south of the Utah - Arizona border a little after 10:00pm. At an elevation of 2,700 feet, even with a little breeze, it was balmy compared to what I'd experienced the last couple nights in Nevada. Orienting the truck so the morning sun would act as a natural alarm - spilling into the tent as I slept - I soon drifted off to sleep, excited for the easter-egg-like hunt that I envisioned when I awoke.


Little Black Mountain

My wake-up plans were foiled when I awoke naturally before sunrise.​

Knowing that I'd have trouble finding petroglyphs in the dark, I read my Kindle for a while before rousing myself out of bed and loading myself with all manner of electronic and viewing devices, meant to help discover and track the plethora of rock art I was sure to find as I explored the sandstone chunks that lay at the base of the 500 foot tall mesa known as Little Black Mountain.

I'd chosen a nice place - mostly by accident - in the dark.​

The half-hour before sunrise is always such a special time.​

One of the first glyphs I found, as the sun spilled over the horizon.​

I've heard that there are 44 boulders with petroglyphs, and initially I had my heart set on finding them all. Or, at least, most of them. Reality set in after an hour, as my count was reaching the number of digits on which I can count - I'd already seen so many, there was just no way I was going to get to them all. Still, through it all, I loved the variety - both in style and age - and even as I wound down my time walking around random boulders in the desert, I'd get excited when a new glyph would present itself.

Uh-oh, that snake got him!​

This rock was interesting - it's not often that the tops are the canvas.​

Whimsical spiral.​

Dang, the deer and wolf got this guy too!​

Two more interesting panels.​

Invisible sheep.​

Sentry of the morning light.​

Sun (and sunstar).​

Climbing the mountain.​

Stay the trail.​

Fat sheep. Sorry, horizontally endowed.​

Eventually - after walking around the site at least twice - I headed back to the truck to eat a quick breakfast and put away the tent. Everything had been completely dry when I'd climbed down the ladder, so I was a little surprised to find a few damp spots on the shady parts tent, now a couple hours later. It was - I realized - a function of temperature, more than anything else. Like a glass of ice water, the parts of the tent that were colder than the ambient air caused condensation to collect. An easy fix - simply reorienting the Tacoma so that the shady bits of tent were in the sun - while I ate breakfast, and soon I was bidding farewell to what had been a very pleasant camp site.

Whoops, someone needs a diet. Or maybe just some pants that aren't old enough to vote.​

By the time I was leaving, the clouds were adding a nice bit of interest to the sky.​

Back into Utah - and Canaan Gap
Usually, I try to take relatively efficient routes when I'm out exploring - so I don't find myself backtracking, wasting fuel, and most importantly, wasting time. However, on this trip I'd had to optimize for the amount of remaining daylight, and so for the next couple of hours, I retraced some of the path I'd travelled the previous evening. Through St. George, I skirted the north side of Warner Valley before passing through Hurricane. My ultimate goal for the day lay just over the border in the Arizona Strip - near the town of Colorado City - but before reaching the border, I turned off onto a dirt road that I hoped would take me to some unique petroglyphs - if I could find them!

Gooseberry Mesa (I think?) was looking fantastic.​

Almost immediately the dirt road I was traveling turned to muck. It wasn't deep enough that I was worried about getting stuck - that would come later - but it was soggy enough that chunks of mud were being flung in every direction, and I tried to moderate my speed in order to keep the truck as clean as I could.

The red clay roads were sticky as I made my way through a mixture of snow, mud, and rocks.​

On the prowl, hunting for petroglyphs.​

After a few miles of relatively slow going, I found myself at the top of a mesa, right on top of the waypoint I'd marked on my GPS. Others had parked here as well, and I recognized some of the surrounding landscape, so I knew I was on the right track.

The hunt was on.

A view I knew.​

I searched and searched, checking all sides of the nearby boulders, working my way farther and farther from the location of the petroglyphs that I'd marked on my map. There was no certainty in this point - I'd gleaned it from scouring the interwebs; the person who'd posted it in 2011 adding the caveat to the group he shared it with, "This is the spot I've marked, but I've never been there. If anyone goes, let us know if you find them."

A little worried that the same slow trainwreck that'd pushed me out of the Pahranagat Valley was happening again, I decided to check out one final area that looked promising to me. This meant working my way off the mesa, but after 20 minutes, I found myself rounding a promising point of rocks. There - in front of me - that which I'd been seeking.

Panel in a band of varnish.​

The thing that makes the Canaan Gap petroglyphs unique is the depth to which they've been sunk into the sandstone. Whether this was the original depth to which they were carved, or whether erosion of the varnished surface and exposed sandstone has happened at different rates, the effect is striking. I took my time meandering between the panels, examining the figures and marveling in their relief.

The carvings are so deep that shadows are cast by the edges of the desert varnish.​

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This sheep panel reminded me of The Great Hunt in Nine Mile Canyon.​

Long lines on a mostly blank canvas.​

Such variety: a two headed sheep, a bear, Cave Valley anthropomorphs, and more!​

Pretty jazzed to have found this site after thinking that I might have struck out, I made my way back to the Tacoma and navigated my way back to UT-59.

Even after only a few miles, I'd need to spend some serious coin at a local self-service car wash before I could deliver the truck back to storage.​

More Mud to Paiute Cave
Passing through Colorado City, I once again found myself in the Arizona Strip, this time headed towards the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. I wouldn't be going that far today - though I have in the past - but I still had a good number of miles between me and my final destination.

Normally a reasonably graded road, the problem today was the snow that had fallen - and was now melting - over the course of the last week. If I'd thought Canaan Gap had been a mess, this road was in a whole different class!

Apologies, future explorers. ​

If I'd been the first to drive this slippery slop, I'd probably have turned around, hesitant to leave the road rutted - a real pain in the rear when everything dries out with summer. However, given that many vehicles had made the trek ahead of me, I did my best to stay the course as fist-sized hunks of mud were flung twenty feet in the air, only to land squarely on the roof. Or tent. Or even in the bed of the truck.

That car wash was going to hate me.

After much spinning of tires and slow going, I found myself entering a land of cinder cones dusted with powdered sugar.​

It wasn't just the mud that was like Canaan Gap. The location of Paiute Cave was also one where I wasn't quite sure that I was actually going to the correct location. My anxiety increased as I followed a series of spur roads - each one snowier than the last - deeper and deeper into the backcountry. At one point I even considered getting out an walking the final few miles - since I was pretty sure it was harder to get stuck hiking as opposed to driving.

Then - in the corner of my windshield - I noticed a register! You know the ones - a metal post with a box on the top - used by agencies the world over to track who, and how many, people visit sensitive sites.

I must be in the right spot!

Sweet, sweet, relief.​

Parking the Tacoma in a dry a spot as I could find, I was in such a rush to check out the treasure I knew existed in Paiute Cave that I completely forgot to bring my tripod, flashlight, and the correct lens. This of course meant two more gingerly-made trips across the spongy slop that currently passed for high desert grasslands, by which point my shoes looked as disgusting as my tires.

Still, as I headed into the cinder cave, I didn't care. Not one bit. I could see what I'd been searching for, and they were spectacular.

Vibrant rainbow.​

Set deep far back from the entrance - and completely shielded from the sunlight that so often fades pictographs in more common locations - the red and yellow pictographs were some of the most vivid I've seen. I was like a kid in a candy store, checking out one after the other, and then back again.

Diversity of design.​

The largest panel.​

Man on the grass.​

Man with three feet. | Man with white hair.​

Man over the rainbow.​

I thought this spiral was interesting as it was one of the few shapes in the cave, and as the area above it was in constant shadow, algae grew right up to the shadow line.​

Eventually, it was time to go. Climbing out of the cave and heading back to the truck, it was nearly 3:00pm when I started back through the red clay that - even after I spent 34 minutes at the local Red Dirt Car Wash - will cling to the truck for years to come.

Secret passage.​

Trusty steed under the shadow of a cinder code.​

Headed home.​

By the time I reached Colorado City, clouds had moved in, and long rays of light streamed in beneath them, illuminating the Canaan Mountain Wilderness. For the next few hours, I'd clean up the truck, rearrange my belongings, and make the trek to Las Vegas - where I could restock my stomach - before hopping on a flight back home.

With rain in the forecast, I was glad to be back on pavement.​

On the one hand, the trip had been an absolute failure - not only had I botched the search for the petroglyphs I was after, but I gave up even looking. On the other, I wouldn't have had it any other way.

Well, except for the small detail of forgetting to clean out the fridge when I left. That's not going to be a fun situation when I return!

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Better to be Lucky | Left, Again #1
Part of the Left Behind, Again (Feb 2023) trip.

With the Tacoma stored in Las Vegas and a 6:00am flight, we headed out the door a little after 4:00am for a 45-minute light rail ride to the airport. In high spirits - the trip south would only take two-and-a-half hours - our discussion focused on what hike we should tackle when we arrived in Death Valley a few minutes after lunchtime.

Train tickets purchased, we headed to the platform to wait for the next train. Unfortunately, we'd neglected to research when the trains started running, and only as we were waiting did we discover that the first train wouldn't depart until 5:30am, getting us to the airport a few minutes after our flight was airborne.

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Now in a mad dash, we decided that the most expedient option was to walk 10 minutes to get home, and then find some off-airport parking as we drove to the airport. Ultimately that all worked out, but we learned that the earliest flights - which seem great because they allow for more exploration on the first day - aren't really the most convenient. Rather, 8:00am flights allow for both running trains and more sleep.

Into the park.​

Entering the park via a new-to-us route - CA-178 - we marveled at the clear skies and vibrant landscape as we descended Jubilee Pass and almost immediately left pavement on West Side Road.

A new view into the park. Not as dramatic as Daylight Pass, but nothing to scoff at!​

The hillsides were dramatic as always.​

I think we hit dirt more quickly than I've ever done before - at least in Death Valley proper.​

Previously on Left Behind, we'd started at the north end of West Side Road and worked our way south, heading up into the Panamints at each drivable canyon. This time we decided to start at the south end, and soon we found ourselves once again climbing the alluvial fans towards the Queen of Sheba Lead Mine.

Straight and narrow. The Black Mountains rose dramatically behind us.​

Not wanting to waste time on turns, this was one of - if not the - straightest roads up an alluvial fan that we've ever driven. However, straight didn't mean smooth, and our pace slowed significantly - at least until we aired down - for the 5-mile ascent.

At the top, we were both a little surprised to see quite a bit of old mining paraphernalia still strewn about. A couple of cabins - neither in great shape, but also not dilapidated - two large ore bins, mill and separating tanks, dozens of tunnels, and a long ore chute decorated the hillside. We'd only left home nine hours earlier and we were already exploring!

Simple but functional.​

Make sure to sign in if you visit.​

Two gigantic ore bins very close to each other. I wasn't sure if they were once connected, or if they served different purposes.​

Grizzly bars - fashioned out of old rail - on the upper ore bin were still as good as new.​

Serious cribbing.​

One of the most productive lead mines in the park, the Queen of Sheba produced about 5,000,000 lbs of lead, 100,000 oz of silver, 1,500 oz of gold, and 146,000 lbs of copper. It was first discovered in the late 1800s by prospectors who were looking for gold in the area. The mine was operated intermittently until the 1970s, when it was finally abandoned. The mine is named after the Queen of Sheba, a legendary ruler of the ancient kingdom of Saba (or Sheba) in southwestern Arabia, who was famous for her wealth and trade with King Solomon of Israel.

"What is the history of the Queen of Sheba Lead Mine near galena canyon?"
as answered by ChatGPT via Bing​

Just below the ore bins, the foundation of an old mill didn't seem all that interesting, so we headed up the hill to investigate the many workings that punched their way into the mountain. In fact, there were so many, that we each chose the ones that seemed most interesting to us, and passed each other somewhere in the middle of our explorations.

This adit didn't get too far. Probably on purpose - a storage room, perhaps.​

This vertical shaft seems... safe-ish?​

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A few hundred feet inside the mountain, a couple 4x6s totally made me feel good about my decision to wander in this far.​

Up to the next level.​

Going into the adits wasn't the only great thing about the Queen of Sheba Mine. The views across the valley floor - to the Black Mountains - every time I left the darkness for light, were amazing. I'm sure the miners didn't enjoy them quite as much given the hard labor that they endured while on site, but as someone who was just visiting, I couldn't help but catch my breath each time I looked east.

What a view towards the south over the Amargosa River and Salt Pan.​

To the north was no less dramatic.​

Eventually having investigated the most interesting diggings on the immediate hillside, we regrouped and - showing a little restraint this time - headed off together to check out a neat looking ore chute that clung to the hillside a quarter mile to our north.

We arrived about 30 seconds too late - shadows creeping up the weathered wood - the sun dropping quickly now behind the Panamint Range.​

"This is close enough for me." -@mrs.turbodb​

"One stick seems like plenty." -old miner guy​

Knowing that we still had a ways to go before finding camp, and with only an hour of daylight remaining, we pulled ourselves away from what could have kept us entertained well into the evening and headed back towards the truck. Of course, we couldn't help ourselves but to stop a few times to wonder about this or that piece of equipment, or ogle an interesting bit of geology.

An old sluice box of some sort, with mechanical riffles.​

Close up of the riffles.​

An old sedan with rear coil springs - not something we see frequently.​

Cracked under pressure.​

Heading back down the Queen of Sheba road - no steering required - we had only 50-feet or so of West Side Road to traverse before turning back up the alluvial fan towards Galena Canyon. Surely - at one time - there must have been a road between these two clusters of mines, given their proximity on the edge of the Panamints. Alas, there's nothing on the Death Valley National Park maps connecting them today, and since staying the trail is important if we want to retain access to these historic sites, a 10-mile round trip is necessary to cover the mile of distance between the two sites.

Not that we were in any huge rush. Or at least - no more than usual!

Galena Canyon, it turns out, is home to many mines. Initially - from looking at satellite imagery before we headed out - I was under the impression that they were simply several workings of the same mine. But - upon researching a bit more on our return - I learned that there were a series of operations here, all of them racing to pull as much talc out of the ground as possible.

The Bonny Talc Mine waste dumps are glaringly visible from anywhere below Badwater.​

The [Bonny Mine] claims were originally owned by Southern California Minerals Company of Los Angeles, whose only mining operations here occurred during 1954 to 1955, yielding approximately 2,300 tons of talc. The area was mined by dozer cuts on the surface and through adits and drifts underground. The Bonny claims were subsequently acquired and patented by Pfizer, Inc., in the 1960s and 1970s.

Since 1970 these pit and stripping operations have produced about 30,000 tons of talc, for a total value of over $1,600,000. Although there is no record of ore production for 1975, the site was being worked by dozers in 1977 and 1978. In January 1978, Pfizer began removing waste rock overburden in order to expose additional talc, increasing production to 9,000 tons annually. Underground development was proposed to begin near the time of completion of the pit operations (1981), with 25-ton trucks hauling the ore to the company stockpile and mill at Victorville, California.

Death Valley Historic Research Study​

Not realizing that it was a completely separate mine, we ended up skipping the Bonny Mine entirely as we headed up a series of steep switchbacks to a pair of large steel talc ore tanks and a large adit of the Mammoth Talc Mine, only a few minutes away.

Truck-sized opening.​

Intriguing. Unfortunately, steel cable prevented further investigation.​

Sunset has arrived.​

The Mammoth Claim Group was patented July 9, 1963, though the first underground exploratory activity took place in the late 1950s. Underground mining operations were initiated by Kennedy Minerals Company and C. K. Williams and Company and consisted of more than 1,600 feet of underground workings associated with a main shaft and raises connecting several sublevels.

A lower adit was projected below the main one in hopes of intersecting the ore body, but it failed to locate any talc. A few other smaller exploratory openings were also made, with total production during the 1960s reaching about 5,000 tons. From 1970 to 1974 the mine was idle, and then, in mid-1975 and early 1976 Pfizer, Inc., which had gained control of the property, sporadically activated the mine by mining and shipping small test loads procured in the vicinity of the old main adit by means of an open cut or pit. About 200 tons of ore have been produced since, with a resulting total surface disturbance to the entire area of 3.75 acres.

Death Valley Historic Research Study​

The most interesting artifacts left at the Mammoth Mine are two large ore tanks standing guard on the hillside.​

Or are they overlooking the valley?​

Continuing up the canyon - now feeling a bit of pressure to find a place to call home for the night - we passed a couple of cabins. Unable to keep my eye on the proverbial ball, I hopped out for a quick look-around.

A nice view from the Mammoth Talc Mine cabin window.​

"Knowing"* that we'd spend more time here the next day - and given that it's always nicer to find camp when it's still light out - I ducked through the lower panel of the screenless screen door and jumped into the truck. The road up the canyon forked at this point, and we had a decision to make.

* I'm always saying to anyone who will listen that it's always a good idea to take pictures, even if you think that they will be "better" later - when you're coming back the other direction on a hike, or whatever - because you really just never know. The weather can change, you could find a different route back, or it might just take a lot longer to return, and it could be dark.

Why I can't follow my own advice is just beyond me.

​

For no reason other than luck, we decided to make our way up the left fork of the road. At the next fork, we picked the right. Somehow, we ended up at what I now know to be the White Eagle Claim of the Death Valley Mine. At the time, it was just a bad-ass mining operation that I couldn't wait to explore the following morning.

Sometimes, it's better to be lucky than good.​

Happy to have found a spot that was both interesting as well as sheltered from any winds - and also at the end of the road, which would afford us privacy, though we never saw another person on our entire time in the Panamints - it was time to level out the truck and fill our bellies with dinner.

Together, these are usually a 30 minute operation for us.

Today, not so much.

For some reason, it took us more than half-an-hour just to build the piles of rocks that would level the truck. Sure, the wash was a little more inclined than most of our sites - so the rock piles had to be a bit taller - but it wasn't anything extraordinary. In the end though, we got it functionally perfect and rewarded ourselves with a no-cook meal of Jimmy John's sandwiches and a couple little madeline-brownie cakes that @mrs.turbodb had picked up at the grocery store when we'd provisioned in Las Vegas.

Anyway, it was too dark to take photos of the leveling carnage, but I snapped a few the next morning. Please, feast your eyes on our years of experience.

Perfection.​

Surely this guy is a professional.​

Damn, real skillz.​

Our bellies happier, it was still a little early to call it a night, so we spent an hour or so reading while I waited for it to get a bit darker so that I could set up a shot of the surroundings.

Every headlamp, phone, and flashlight I'd brought - pressed into service.​

In the end, I think the shot came out nice, but I clearly need to up my game given some of what I've seen Mike @mk5 put together. That, and I need one more headlamp, so I'm not tripping over old mining debris as I move from one light to the other, for minor adjustments.

It was 9:00pm when we climbed up into the tent, temperatures in the mid-40s °F and no wind to speak of. It'd been a fabulous first day - so much nicer than our usual 20-hour slog. Yet - as cool as it'd been - it was the plan for the next day that I'd been looking forward to for three months; now, mere hours away.

 

My wife got me one of these for x-mas, really liking it: https://liteband.com/

 

That looks pretty nice. I still use a "traditional" headlamp - this one in particular - as I like that it uses AAA batteries (which I have in all sorts of things, so I just carry a bunch of rechargable AAAs). Really though, it wouldn't matter if I had 3 more (better) headlamps. I would have distributed them all around the site to light various things and I'd have found myself in the same stumbling situation. I blame Mike @mk5 for taking all his cool, LED-lit night shots and making me want to do the same.

 

Finally Hiking Hungry Bill's | Left, Again #2
Part of the Left Behind, Again (Feb 2023) trip.

Except for the burro that decided to "eee-aww, eee-aww, eee-aww" in the middle of the night a little ways up canyon from our camp site, Galena Canyon was one of the most pleasant nights I've experienced in Death Valley in recent memory. The level of the tent was just right; there was just the tiniest bit of a breeze to keep air moving; and temperatures were extremely pleasant in the low 40s °F. I was well rested when my alarm went off just before sunrise, and soon I was poking around the mining area that we'd discovered the previous evening.

I've never found gold at the end of a rainbow, but I've found plenty of treasure at the end of many a road.​

Weathered giant.​

Gleaming bright and speeding toward the horizon.​

My first order of business - obviously - as far as investigating the White Eagle Claim of the Death Valley Talc Mine was concerned, was to check out the platform at the top of the ore bins. I could tell from the ground that it was an elaborate structure, but it wasn't until I hoofed it up the access road that I really got a sense of how cool it was.

Reminded me of the rail and platform at another mine I'd visited recently.​

The Death Valley Mine was originally incorporated on March 15, 1927 as the American-Italian Talc Company with headquarters at Tonopah, Nevada. The company boasted stock of 5,000,000 shares, with each share having a value of $1. Once acquiring only $1,000 in capital, the company proceeded to acquire claims in the Panamint Range and in the Black Mountains west of Tecopa.

In the fall of 1929, the company began assembling a work crew and preparing to make shipments from its mine in Galena Canyon. The vice-president of the company stated that it had several orders to fill, one of them for 1,000 tons of ore. As usual, output was not as good as expected and while the exact production level reached by the Death Valley Mine at this time is unknown, it was probably not more than a few hundred tons.

For the next few years operations were suspended, during which time the American-Italian Company went defunct, eventually emerging again in the summer of 1933 as the Death Valley Talc Company. $500,000 of newly authorized stock was divided into 500,000 shares and S. D. Pipin - former president of the American-Italian Company - continued in this position in the new organization.

A 1933 letter from the vice-president of the new Death Valley Talc Company to Superintendent White at Sequoia National Park (Death Valley at this time being administered under a joint superintendency with Sequoia National Park) informed him of the company's takeover of the American-Italian Company assets and of the new company's intention to ship some ore to the east within a few days' time. A camp had been established in the vicinity of the mine consisting of "four frame buildings fully equipped with cooking utensils, beds, stoves, mattresses, outhouse, blacksmith shop, tools, storage cellar, loading platforms, etc."

​

The usual camp detritus.
​

By 1938 the company's property in Galena Canyon included ten claims. Eight men ran a grinding plant where material ran through a "40-ton bin, to a steel chute about 100 ft. long. Then through a hammer mill, elevator, and air separator where minus 200 product is taken out to two other (minus 400 and minus 700) air separators. Remaining oversized product is processed by a 6-by-5 pebble mill before being discharged back to air separation system. Products are sacked by hand and a 60HP Venn-Severn oil engine supplies the power. Total capacity is 36 tons per day."

From 1937-to 1942 the mine yielded about 7,500 tons of talc, some of which was mined by the Pomona Tile Company which leased the property from 1940 to 1942. The mine was then either idle or only sporadically worked until 1953 when the eleven claims were sold to the Kennedy Minerals Company, which began active and continuous operation of the mine, producing another 55,500 tons of commercial talc by 1959.

Today, the mines are owned by the Minerals, Pigments, and Metals Division of Pfizer, Inc.

Death Valley Historic Research Study​

I originally thought this was an adit, but it proved to be just a small cabinet built into the hillside.​

The main adit behind the platform, now only partially accessible.​

Dusty in here.​

After checking out the various levels of adits (most of them collapsed) and ore chutes (most of them disintegrating down the hillside), I whistled down to @mrs.turbodb and picked my way down the old mining trails to the fabulous ore bins that I'd admired earlier.

The single chute on the left was appeared to have been constructed first, with the double chute on the right added as production increased.​

As I put away the tent, @mrs.turbodb took a few minutes to wander around the site herself, scolding me for suggesting that it "wasn't all that interesting." We also enjoyed a couple more of the madeline-brownie cakes before setting off for the day - because - it's never too early for cake.

Heading up another fork of Galena Canyon.​

Winding our way up the bumpy road, it was clear that not many have been this way in more modern times. A couple of spur roads have been completely washed out, and even the road we were travelling was trackless and difficult to follow in places. Still, after another mile or so, we came on the White Chief Claim of the Death Valley Talc Mine. Only a single inclined shaft with a wooden collar is still accessible, and as I wandered over to take a look, I asked my companion to grab the flashlight.

Inconspicuous.​

Down it goes!​

Somehow - and I don't know how, exactly, which is unfortunate because it means I can't replicate the result in the future - I managed to convince @mrs.turbodb to head down the shaft with me. Probably, it had to do with the fact that it was relatively large, and seemed to be well-supported by the large wooden beams.

Some nice light filtered in through the shaft opening.​

In the end, it turned out to be only about 150 feet deep, the rail lines stopping at a solid wall of talc. This was a bit of a bummer - to one of us - but did mean that we didn't spend too much time investigating this particular relic; probably a good thing, given all we had planned for the day!

Soon, we were back in the Tacoma and on our way out of Galena Canyon. Sort of. Well, not really. You see, we'd skipped a cabin and the workings of the Mammoth Talc Mine on our way in the previous evening, so we weren't going to miss that again on our way out!

These cabins looked nice from the outside, but aren't much to speak of on the interior.​

Fixer-upper.​

Is this is the guy who stopped calling it "car camping?" Ironic, given his choice in vehicle.​

A really well-defined burro trail led up to the workings, and we soon discovered why.​

Having traversed several switchbacks in the Tacoma as we climbed to the pit mine, we retraced our path and made one final stop as we exited the canyon. @mrs.turbodb had spotted a cave with her binoculars, and it sure looked like a wall and entrance had been built in the opening!

Definitely not natural.​

Why live in the perfectly good cabins across the wash when you could suffer here?​

Now a little after 10:00am, we pointed the truck downhill and - except for a couple quick photos - made our way back to West Side Road. There, we'd turn north towards Johnson Canyon - a place I'd been wanting to visit since my trip to Panamint City when I'd learned about the "Fresh Vegetable Route."

Down we go, the Black Mountains looking sharp on another beautiful morning!​

The Mongolian Mine Group, consisting of six contiguous claims, is located on the south side of Galena Canyon about one mile west from its mouth at an elevation of 1,800 feet. The claim group consists of the Mongolian lode mining claim (located 12 April 1928; patented 9 July 1963), the unpatented Mongolian No. 2, and Nos. 3 and 4 lode mining claims (located 10 and 30 October 1973), and the unpatented Mongolian Millsite Nos. 1-2 (located 13 March and 16 July 1976).

​

Apparently, we'd completely missed visiting the Mongolian Talc Mine, but it looked a lot like the open pits of the Bonny and Mammoth, so we didn't worry too much.
​

The original claim was located in 1928, but not until the 1960s was a cut opened and the ore determined to be of sufficient quality and quantity to warrant a patent. Little progress in development and lack yet of a strong market for the talc impeded production for the next decade. Pfizer, Inc., began exploratory drilling operations in 1973 and a downdip stripping operation in 1974. This later phase had to be enlarged in late fall and early winter of 1975 because the more easily mined surface talc of the surrounding Galena Canyon mines had played out. The multiple-bench open-pit operation that exists today is the result of an accelerated stripping program that was begun and completed before the moratorium period decreed by Public Law 94-429 had been instituted.

Death Valley Historic Research Study​

We'd noticed these "ET" trail markers as we'd poked around in Galena Canyon, and a few more along West Side Road. Apparently, they were placed by Leonard Collard as part of an memorial along the old pioneer trail that eventually worked its way over Rogers Pass.
​

West Side Road was in great shape, and we covered the 5-miles to Johnson Canyon in record time. Heading up the alluvial fan, I couldn't help but admire the desert pavement that stretched out in all directions. Even @mrs.turbodb hopped out of the truck at this point - to do a bit of yoga - while I wandered off for a photo.

This has to be one of the most unexpected surfaces to walk on.
​

By this point - and even though it was still before 11:00am, I was getting hungry. Luckily for me, it wasn't difficult to convince my co-pilot that we should stop for lunch somewhere near the canyon mouth, and twenty minutes later I was hopping around trying to take photos of a rusty old jalopy while the most fabulous turkey sandwiches were being assembled by the chef.

Two rusty beasts.​

Not often that I see the front axle supported by leaf springs.​

Incline sunstar.​

Soon enough - our bellies much happier for the sustenance (and cake) - we were back on the trail, headed four miles up canyon to Wilson Spring.

As always, the trail got a bit rougher once we entered the canyon.​

Drawing us in.​

Cottonwoods at Wilson Spring.​

From Wilson Spring, we had only two miles - and 1,000 vertical feet - to reach Hungry Bill's Ranch; a cakewalk as far as most Death Valley hikes are concerned. Usually.

As always, the devil is in the details, and for this particular hike, we had conflicting information from two trusted sources.

... For the next 2 miles, you will be crossing one of the lushest and wettest springs in Death Valley.

There is only one problem, difficult to reconcile with sparsely-vegetated Death Valley: the oasis is so dense that it is almost impenetrable. Unless you like trekking through jungles, you will want to avoid the wash and follow the higher trails along the gorge's rims. These trails are not the most well behaved. Steep and rocky, they tend to split or to sneak back to the creek while you are not paying attention and disappear in a hopeless tangle of brush. It can be a pain; you may even forget you are supposed to be having a good time. To minimize frustration, stay on the south side, which has the most continuous trail system. The exception is the sharp jog in the canyon, where the creek must be crossed twice in close succession. Also, do not take the cairns too seriously: they indiscriminately point to good and bad trails. Even with these pointers in mind it will be slow going.

Hiking Death Valley​

I must say that it was a very enjoyable hike from [Wilson Spring] on. One thing I liked about it is that there is a well-defined trail to follow the entire way. This trail appears to be visitor maintained, and quite a bit of effort has been made by others to help you stay on the correct path. So, I would like to offer my thanks to anybody who has ever contributed to this trail in the past. The trail leads you up from Wilson Spring through the narrows of Johnson Canyon. It crosses back and forth over the flowing spring once in a while, and helps you avoid the thick brush of the canyon by taking you up high on the hillside, which also means you have great views.

Steve Hall, Hungry Bill's Ranch​

Not that any description would have stopped us - I was most definitely going to see the orchards that fed the fresh vegetable route - but both of us were hoping that our experience would be closer to Steve Hall's as we wound our way up the canyon.

A little way up the canyon, we ran into this amazing little arrastra.​

The canyon narrows.​

So far, the trail was quite reasonable.​

We found this rock-lined water trough that seemed to be collecting water off the face of a large rock - for what purpose, we couldn't tell.​

This little guy picked a pretty spectacular spot.​

The gurgling of water as it coursed down the canyon added such a nice soundtrack.
Have a listen.
​

Ultimately, it took us about two hours to cover the two miles to Hungry Bill's Ranch - about average for us when some bozo is always stopping to take pictures of this cactus or that stream. As far as the trail went, I think we'd both agree that it was as easy to follow as any trail through a canyon, and in places where we got slightly off-track, it was easy to pick up the trail again. We saw almost no cairns - which is a good thing, as NPS prefers that they not be constructed to mark the trails.

We've arrived!​

Hungry Bill's Ranch, once a green pocket of terraced gardens and orchards, is tied to the discovery of silver in Surprise Canyon, just on the west side of the Panamints from Johnson Canyon. The boom gave birth to Panamint City, a roaring camp that quickly swelled to a population of over 1,000. To satisfy the town's growing need for fresh produce, William Johnson started a ranch a few miles to the east, in the well-watered canyon that now bears his name. In the mid-1870s, Johnson moved in on the Shoshone Indians who then lived in the canyon, built terraces and irrigation channels, and planted gardens of beans, squash, melons, and corn, and a fruit and nut orchard. His harvest was hauled on what is now known as the fresh vegetable route, over the rugged pass to Panamint City. He made a profit on the vegetables, but the trees hardly had a chance to mature before the boom was over. By the spring of 1876 the most promising mines had started to run out. Less than a year later many of the mines had closed down and the population moved out, and Johnson took his business elsewhere.

Some years later, a Shoshone named Hungry Bill took over the abandoned ranch. Hungry Bill was a quiet, 6-foot 4 giant with an insatiable appetite. It has been said that either he, his father, or both, witnessed the struggle of the first white men across Death Valley in 1849. In their younger years, he and his brother Panamint Tom made headlines by making periodic raids as far as Los Angeles to steal horses and provide meat for their tribe. As waves of miners later swamped Death Valley, they established a peaceful relationship with the immigrants. During the glory days of borax mining, they were hired to gather mesquite wood near Furnace Creek to fuel the boiler at Harmony Borax Works. Hungry Bill and Panamint Tom also helped build the road across the salt pan for the 20-mule-team wagons.

The ranch was abandoned soon after Hungry Bill passed away, probably in 1919. Until at least the 1950s his grandson made seasonal trips to the ranch to harvest fruits for his family, who then lived in the valley. Now, after decades of neglect, the few trees that still bear fruit only feed the coyotes.

Hiking Death Valley​

I really liked this old gate and spent several minutes getting the perfect framing. Of course, in doing so, I forgot to focus. ​

An old walnut tree, slowly being crowded out by the willows.​

Higher on the hill, the foundation of an old residence or perhaps workshop.​

Hard to push around without handles or a wheel.​

After looking around - and failing to find any fruit or veggies to snack on - it was nearing 3:00pm when we pointed ourselves down canyon for the return trip to the Tacoma. This time - as usually seems to be the case - we covered the two miles much more quickly. In just over an hour we were snacking on the cakes that @mrs.turbodb had so cunningly purchased, and discussing where to find camp for the evening.

A final look up to Panamint Pass - the route Johnson would have taken with his fresh veggies.​

High clouds were starting to move in, and a soft afternoon light streamed across the hillsides as we reached the truck.​

On our way back down the canyon, I spotted these large slabs of petrified ripples. I think they are the largest slabs we've ever found.​

Not quite sure if we'd head south or north on West Side Road in the morning - we had options in each direction - we decided that the safest bet would be to camp on the alluvial fan overlooking Badwater Basin. That meant that we could reach camp early and bum around for an hour or so before making dinner.

Because who wants to make dinner when it's light, if you can wait until it's dark?

One thing I love about Death Valley - even completely out in the open, the solitude is complete.​

Two days - out of three - in the bag, everything seemed to be going to plan. Of course, we hadn't attempted any of the dangerous stuff, yet.

 

why is this called an arrastre?



Maybe there are probably multiple definitions, but in Spanish arrastre is used in reference to dragging something.

 

Because "rock sombrero" didn't sound deserty enough

 

So, I probably misspelled it in the story (it's arrastra), which I'll need to go correct, but you're right on track with the dragging. The way an arrastra worked (originally) is that the miners would use mules - usually tied to a center post - to drag rocks around the circle, crushing the ore into powder, from which the valuables (gold, etc.) would be separated from the waste rock. Over time of course, they were modified to use engines/machinery to rotate a central wheel with spokes that would drag the rocks. Essentially, they are a low-tech mill.

We (you) actually saw one of these on the DV trip in Warm Springs, but I don't know if we really talked about it at the time. It was one of the newer, mechanized ones. You can see the drag stones still in this one.



Here are a couple more that were engine powered, and of different styles; both of these are in Joshua Tree (and I haven't posted the stories for them, yet):

 

Ah, yes. Now it makes sense. And I do recall seeing these (or similar) before but didn't know their purpose.

 

Finishing Slit Canyon | Left, Again #3
Part of the Left Behind, Again (Feb 2023) trip.

Camped at the mouth of Johnson Canyon on the alluvial fan, we were a little worried that the wind would pick up overnight, but thankfully it was a very calm, and temperatures were once again quite pleasant.

There were a few more clouds in the sky this morning, but they'd burn off by 8:30am.​

I wandered around on the desert pavement waiting for sunrise, while my companion snuggled down under the covers for a few more minutes of warmth- her favorite time of the "night," I think.

Spring is coming.​

First of the flowers.​

Silly creosote, still decorated for Christmas - a situation that was remedied.​

The previous evening, we'd postponed the decision on whether to go north or south on West Side Road, but as we'd discussed it during the tear-down of camp, we decided that heading north - towards a place we'd left behind on our last trip to the park - was probably the right call for the amount of time we had to explore on this, our last day of the trip.

Goodbye Panamints, you were wonderful once again!​

Even speeding along at 50mph it took us more than an hour to reign in the remainder of West Side Road and the few miles of pavement along Badwater before we reached Furnace Creek. It's always amazing how big this place is - and it's something that those who don't spend time here have a hard time getting their head around.

Climbing out of the valley on CA-190, @mrs.turbodb commented that she'd never been to Zabriskie Point, though we've driven past it a couple times, at least. So, with plenty of time to take a short detour, we turned off the highway and took a stroll into the badlands. Or at least, onto their edge.

Colorful palette.​

Telescope Peak wasn't quite done with us yet.​

Layers.​

As always, Zabriskie Point delivered mightily on the "wow" factor, and we made a mental note that these badlands - and the peaks above Artist Palette - are some that we need to make time for on a future visit. For now, though, it was time to head up Hole in the Wall - for the second time in as many weeks - in an attempt to hike the three narrows of Slit Canyon.

Still aired down from our forays along West Side Road, we made quick work of the three miles to Hole in the Wall, and as is so often the case, we were easily distracted by the fact that the road continues past the hole - to somewhere.

The view from the end of the road.​

In this case, somewhere, seems to be near - but not actually to - a place called "Red Ampitheater," which we knew nothing about. As such, we added a second mental note - and with only two of us present, reached our mental note capacity - to consider this one for a future hike as well.

A few minutes later we returned to Hole in the Wall and found a nice shady spot to park the Tacoma while we trekked seven - or if you believe Gaia, twelve - miles up and down Slit Canyon.

@mrs.turbodb heads up a familiar wash.​

From the trailhead to the mouth of the canyon is about a mile, and it was fun to watch as the background compressed behind Hole in the Wall as the distance increased.

From 500 feet.​

From a quarter mile.​

From half a mile.​

Finally, at three-quarters of a mile.​

As always, I was hungry well before noon. As we neared the mouth of the canyon - and much like previous day in Johnson Canyon - I suggested that we eat lunch before we go too much farther. In fact, I suggested, "we could eat at the first set of dry falls that we had trouble climbing because they were too wet last time."

"You want me to climb that in order to eat lunch?" -@mrs.turbodb​

Taking our own routes up - or around in the case of the one actually carrying our lunches - the first falls, we found a nice little spot in the shade and once again enjoyed delicious turkey sandwiches and did our duty as good Americans to polish off the remainder of the 8-serving bag of Lays that we'd opened for lunch the previous day. Then, we pushed on through the first narrows.

​

The dry falls were a lot of fun!​

I'd noticed this chute - carved deep and smooth by water and rocks over the course of centuries - last time, but I hadn't snapped a photo. I was glad to get a second chance.​

Soon, we reached the slit - the formation for which the canyon is named. Slanted and 70-feet long, this water-worn trench slices through a plug of smooth dolomite. No more than 4-to-5 feet wide and 50 feet deep, it's a tight squeeze, bounded on each end by relatively easy - if you're tall enough - 10-foot climbs.

Today, the lower entrance was guarded by a miniature dinogater.

Who goes there?​

Looking back down the slit.​

Unlike our previous attempt at the top of the slit - when rain slickened the rock, and just as the sun was setting - this time it was dry and just before noon when we quickly scaled the moderately-tricky dry fall in order to continue up through the first narrows.

Just less than a quarter mile later, the wash dead ended against one of the most fantastically-majestic dry fall chutes I've ever seen, a deep recessed channel polished to a brilliant shine and rising 50 vertical feet above the wash.

She can already see it as I snap the photo. (left) | Look at this! (right)​

We weren't going to be climbing this one! (At least, not up; I hear coming down is a lot faster.)​

I was reminded a bit of a dry fall I'd encountered in Saline Valley as I searched for the Marble Tub, but this one was much larger. It also reminded me of the Cathedral Caves at Cathedral Gorge State Park that I'd visited just a few weeks earlier. It really was a magical place.

I started inside the chute itself.​

Then I thought it might be nice to get some of the reflected light.​

Then I wondered: "why not both?"​

Obviously getting around this fall was going to require a bypass, and soon enough we were scrambling up a steep talus slope - something my hiking companion was less than thrilled about - that would drop us off just above the fall.

Above the dry fall, the canyon walls were aglow as they rose gradually out of the wash.​

It'd taken us a couple hours to reach this point - the narrows and dry falls slowing our progress dramatically as I tried to snap photos, and the talus bypass a slow nail-biter for @mrs.turbodb - so I was getting a bit worried that we might not have enough time to finish the second and third narrows, some two miles further upstream.

There was only one thing to do - turn on the hiking afterburners.

Go - go - go!​

The remainder of the first - and the entirety of the second - narrows, were not particularly tight or knock-your-socks-off impressive, but even with the mid-day sun casting harsh shadows over many stretches of the canyon, there were still spots where light and rocks played well together.

Colors and light.​

Cascading bedrock.​

The third narrows - some 3.2 miles from the trailhead - once again upped the interest factor. At 12- to 18-feet tall, each of them required a bit of work to climb, but none were so difficult as to turn me around as I raced ahead of @mrs.turbodb in an attempt to reach the head of the canyon.

Cheater rocks always seem strange to me - the hard part is never at the bottom of the climb.​

Light and dark.​

Where the first mile of narrows had taken nearly two hours - including lunch, I suppose - we knocked out the final two miles in just under an hour. With two-and-a-half hours to get back - plenty of time - we were both able to relax as we headed back into the canyon to see it all again!

This brilliant green plant was growing out of the rock face.​

I don't know what this cute cactus is, but I'd not seen one like it before.​

Tactile.​

One of the great things about canyons - they are never the same when you're going the other direction!​

Travelling more than twice the speed of our upward journey, we zipped down the canyon at record speed. Downclimbing dry falls - no problem; talus bypasses - pfft, we got this. Of course, I took a whole lot fewer photos as well.

Now a couple hours later, light played off different walls than it had on our way up.​

Back to the slit - we're almost done!​

One last bypass around the grotto near the mouth of the canyon and we were back out on the alluvial fan - a mere mile between us and our ride to the airport.

The watchful gaze of Telescope Peak seemed to tag along for this entire trip!​

It'd been a great trip - one where we'd actually managed to tick off several things that we'd left behind on previous trips to the park - made even more pleasurable by the airborne mode of travel that whisked us between Seattle and Las Vegas.

Of course, we'd also added several new destinations to our mental lists, so it's only a matter of time before we find ourselves in our home-away-from-home, again!

 

Loved catching up, as usual. I'm not sure if I could have climbed that dryfall -- looks pretty intimidating in your photos! I just hope you're being safe out there, and not doing dangerous things, such as recklessly exploring abandoned mines with random idiots you met on a truck forum.

 

1,350 Feet Underground | Mine Mania #1
Part of the Mine Mania - The Dale Mining District (Feb 2023) trip.

So. Many. Mines.

I must admit to not really understanding what I was getting myself into when I started looking into a trip to the Dale Mining District, just east of Joshua Tree National Park. I mean sure, I knew there were a handful - or two handfuls - or maybe three - of mines, but nothing really prepared me for the sheer number of sites until I was driving around on the roads. Hundreds - perhaps even thousands - of tailings piles dotted the landscape. #overwhelmingmuch?

After flying down to Las Vegas - which is so much better than driving - I'd arranged to meet Mike @mk5 at a point on the map where he thought he'd have cell signal for some last-minute work meetings that he had to attend prior to our little adventure.

So a late-day meetup in Old Dale sounds great. I'll take my morning meeting at home, then head out there so as to be in cell service for the afternoon call. That would put me up on Doberman Mountain around sunset and into the evening, for a good cell signal.

The mountain ridgelines will probably be cold and windswept, but you seem to prefer epic views over natural shelter, so perhaps this west-facing (and cell-tower-facing) overlook would make a good camp site.

Assuming the road is passable to get up there.

Should the weather be too unfavorable up high, or you suddenly embrace the natural human tendency to favor shelter over exposure, we could camp nearer the base of the mountain. There is a nice dune area to the left, just as the road heads up from the valley floor. And some massive (yet tragically littered) tailing fields with excellent wind shelter as one approaches the saddle. Both are excellent camping sites that I would normally favor over the mountaintop exposure... although truth be told, I haven't tried to camp up on the mountain... maybe it's great up there, too.

Mike​

Of course, by the time evening rolled around, we were both running late. Initially I thought this was perfect - since Mike happened to catch up with me along as I was headed east through Yucca Valley and Twentynine Palms on CA-62 - as it meant that he could lead the way to camp. It wasn't until just now that I realized his early arrival would have allowed him to have dinner waiting for me when I got there.

Lesson learned - I need to be even later next time.

Mike's camps are a bit more elaborate than my usual "park somewhere" set ups.​

We caught up on this and that as Mike prepped his - famous, he assures me - dutch-oven-chicken-stew-pot-pie-thing that - he also assured me - his "wife makes better." Needless to say, it was quite tasty, and we did our best to eat the entirety of the 12 servings he'd created before finally heading off to bed somewhere around midnight.

Exploring into mine adits, shafts, etc. is not safe. I joke around about that a bit in this story, but I just want to be clear: Stay out, stay alive.​

​

The Following Morning (at the Supply Mine)

Given our late arrival, we'd opted for one of the sheltered, lower elevation camps that Mike knew about, rather than working our way up Doberman Mountain in the dark. So, knowing that I'd be the only one awake for the next hour or so, I wandered off to explore the Supply Mine that climbed from the wash where we'd parked to a mid-level saddle above us.

Looks like it's going to be a beautiful morning!​

The first of many eroding tailings piles we'd see on this trip.​

The first of many wildflowers I'd see on the trip.​

In fact, I hadn't planned to get all the way to the saddle, but every time I investigated something a little further up the hillside, there was something else just a short distance away. Eventually, I was looking down on the foundation of the old mill - or at least one placement of the old mill.

Mill foundations.​

Heading back to camp, I encountered this "decorated" foundation nearby.​

I always knew funr was a word.
"It is funr to explore a place like this with a buddy."​

Arriving back in camp a wee bit after 8:00am, I found Mike huddled above his propane fire ring trying to warm up and mumbling about breakfast. He'd brought eggs and other fixings - pancakes I think he mentioned. Whatever it was - and despite my pestering that he had a gourmet reputation to uphold from the previous evening - it never got made, and I had to settle for Cheerios. Not that I was complaining - or even planned to mention it - until someone referred to them as Kibble.

While Mike put away camp, I poked around under his hood.​

All Day at the Carlyle Mine

Rolling out of camp just after 9:00am, Mike proposed that we head up Doberman Mountain - past the location he'd suggested we camp had we arrived as planned the previous afternoon - to an old mine on the back side of the mountain. It was one that we could access either from the top or bottom, and even without discussing it, we'd both looked at the elevations involved and decided that we could check out the top bits from the top, the bottom bits from the bottom, and leave the middle unexplored.

It was a good idea, until we tried to implement it.

Those silver Tacomas always have nice contrast with their surroundings.​

Climbing away from the Supply Mine.​

Somehow Mike - the one of us who'd been here before and knew where we were going - got me to lead the way up to the Carlyle, a steep, narrow, loose-and-rocky road that I've since seen referred to as "the most dangerous road in Dale."

I don't think it really was the most dangerous, but there were a few blind corners with precipitous drops, and I was glad to be in the narrower of our two trucks!

Nearing the top.​

Having climbed more than 1,000 feet in a little less than a mile, we worked our way along the ridge until we reached an overlook above the upper workings of the Carlyle Mine. There was no real good place to turn around, so Mike made sure to box me in at this point, and then laugh and point. Or something.

The end of the road, above Wonder Valley.​

Enjoying the view.​

The upper workings of the Carlysle were visible some 300 feet below.​

The Carlyle mine, also known as the Carlysle or Carlisle mine, was first discovered in 1902 but extensive development of the mine didn’t start until 1911 when a mill was built sometime in the 1910s.

In 1936, the Carlyle Mining Corporation was incorporated and brought in a well-known mining engineer from Grass Valley, California, Ernest Ellis who oversaw the installation of a new modern ball mill and a new powerplant consisting of a 250 horsepower Fairbanks-Morse diesel engine connected to a 150 KVA electric motor.

Opening the lower adit to more than 1,500 ft and the upper adit a similar distance into the mountain, the miners followed a vein of silver and gold with more than 5,000 ft of crosscuts, drifts, and raises. A two-bucket aerial tramway carried the material down to the mill where water was pumped in via a three-inch pipe from Dale Lake.

The mine’s heyday only lasted a few short years though. On October 10, 1940, the mill, buildings, and all equipment were disposed of by on-site auction, though the mine was still being worked part-time by a lessee. With no mill, ore was being shipped to the Gold Crown Mill for processing until WWII closed the mine for good in 1941.

It produced more than $125,000 in gold, silver, copper, and lead over its life.

Guy Starbuck​

Having picked our way down the hillside, we soon found ourselves face-to-face with our first adit of the trip.​

Not really knowing what to expect - and most definitely not ready for what we found - we pulled out our flashlights and plunged into the darkness. Somehow - slow to learn my lesson from only moments earlier on the trail - I was in front.

Looking back towards safety.​

I don't know if Mike generally goes as far into mines as we did with the upper adit at the Carlyle, but somehow we just kept pushing deeper and deeper into the mountain. I had no idea how far we'd gone, and I found myself wondering how Mike knew that we were 500-, 600-, 900-feet underground.

Eventually, I realized that each of the stope chutes was labeled with the distance to the entrance, and Mike was just reading them as we went by.

567 feet in.​

860 feet.​

In addition to stope chutes, there were quite a few raises leading both up and down from the adit. None of the ladders seemed all that inviting though.​

Many of the raises were doubled, with the non-ladder side used as a chute for ore, and a little worse for the wear.​

We'd eventually get to more than 1,350-feet underground before turning around, probably only a good 1,300-feet deeper than I generally venture into human mouse traps such as this. Really though, the most interesting bits were a bit closer to the entrance, and we definitely wanted to investigate those a bit more closely.

Mike investigating an inclined shaft closer to the entrance as I "stayed safe" on the main level.​

Mike got this shot as he came back up the inclined shaft.​

Oh, you noticed that skeleton silhouette in the last photo? Meet Twiggy, the mine dog.​

By the time we completed our "entirely safe" poking around underground, more than two hours had passed. About one hour and fifty-six minutes longer than my usual adit explorations, I was ready for daylight and thrilled to follow an old steel cable down the hillside to one of the - now collapsed - aerial tramway towers.

The old drive wheel had been pulled from its location at the upper workings when the tramway collapsed.​

After reaching the collapsed tower - just a pile of timbers that didn't photograph well - we had a decision to make: keep hiking down to the middle-level workings (knowing we'd have that much higher to climb back up), or head up now so that we could drive to the bottom of the mine, where we could then hike up to the lower and middle levels.

Mike pulled out his flying camera to help us decided if hiking down was worthwhile.​

Ultimately - given that we were both a bit hungry and that we'd already descended farther than we'd planned - we made the correct decision to head back the way we'd come, allowing us to grab a bite to eat and split up the steep terrain a bit with some seat time in the Tacomas.

Lunch spot with a view. I think this is where Mike would have had us camp the previous evening, which we totally should have done!​

Heading back down...​

Plenty of winching capabilities in this photo.​

After crashing - and then finding - his drone, Mike continued on down the mountain.​

Nearly back to the Supply Mine.​

Despite the fact that old-timers had somehow hauled all kinds of very heavy gear and materials up to the upper workings of the Carlyle Mine, the only way - today - for us to reach the bottom, was to retrace our path to the saddle I'd hiked before sunrise. Then, continuing north - on a bumpy-but-not-technically-difficult road - we bounced our way to JT19-this and eventually JT19-that. Not that those numbers really tell you anything.

As a side note to map makers everywhere - naming all the roads in an area JT#### is a pain in the ass for anyone trying to describe where to go or where they've been. "Hey Mike, have to you been out to the mine at the end of JT1234," is not nearly as useful as asking if he's been out Ironage Rd. Just sayin'.

Good thing I'm not a Wile E. Coyote!​

It was a little after 3:00pm when we pulled up to the Carlyle Mine for the second time in a single day. I'd be holding back if I didn't admit to a wee bit of disappointment - at the time - in our inability to explore more of this vast area over the course of an entire daylight cycle. Still, we were both excited given our earlier totally safe foray into the adit, and I expected that the lower end of the mine - with still-standing tramway towers - would be even more interesting.

Not far from the end of the road, the foundation of the now-auctioned-off mill cascaded down the hillside.​

I don't know what this says, but it's colorful.​

It's cool man, it's cool.
(Actually, grafitti is not cool, kids.)​

Keenly aware that we had less time to explore the lower workings, several aerial tram towers, and the middle workings of this fascinating mine than we'd spent in a single adit in the upper workings, we didn't waste any time at the mill. In fact, Mike mentioned after the fact that he didn't take a single photo, so he must have been really excited to get into the next adit!

Heading up the hillside, we were soon at the lower workings. An even safer adit conveniently presented itself, and in we went.

A bit of colorful ore outside the lower adit might have headed home with one of us.​

Totally safer.​

Yep, this place oozes safety and happiness.​

This time, Mike wasn't able to trick me into going first.​

We didn't wander quite as far into this adit as we had the last. Frankly, it was pretty similar in that it had stopes and shafts leading up and down, and so a mere 1,000 feet or so was far enough for us before turning back to capture a few photos of the more interesting bits.

You can do a lot of stupid stuff in 1,000 feet.​

We found this cool room.​

It was fun watching Mike light up the stopes (and other features) and then snapping my own photos as if I'd done all the work. Later, this would come back to bite me.​

Heading back out of the lower adit, we pointed ourselves up the old mining trail and towards the tramway that'd been teasing us all day with one hour of daylight remaining.

I don't know why, but I'm a sucker for aerial tramways. And dugouts. And ore carts.​

"They'll think I have a drone if I take the shot like this." -Mike
[click] "No, they won't." -Dan​

As much as I love tram towers, we didn't spend much time at this one - there just wasn't much of it left, and what was, was decaying rapidly. Instead, we pushed on to the final - middle - level of workings, hoping to find an adit as we had at the top and bottom.

In fact, there was an adit, but it was different than the other two. Outside, we were distracted for several minutes by a geocache and Mike even traded one invaluable thing for another before heading into the totally safest of all the adits we'd explore throughout the day.

This was a cool find!​

Adding our names to the rarely-updated visitor log.​

The fact that the entrance was almost entirely filled with rubble... that screams "safe," right?​

The coolest thing that we found in this middle adit - in my opinion - was a series of names and writing on the walls from the miners who'd called this their workplace nearly a century ago. I don't know if I've never seen this before, or just never really noticed it, but after seeing these writings, I've noticed several more in mines I've visited since. They add a fun twist - not to mention clues about the workings of the mine - if you know how to read them.

R. E. Schooler (no date).​

Bill Carter, 1935 | V M Toplee | Sump Smith
(and some notes to fix the air system)​

While Mike poked around a bit more - always creating cool compositions with his LEDs - I made my way back out to the adit entrance, hoping to catch the last rays of light as the sun raced towards the horizon.

Lucky me, I happened to catch the tramway backlit by the glowing Sheephole Mountain Wilderness.​

A few minutes later we were headed back down the old miner's trail to our trucks. There were several of these trails, and we'd make the fateful decision to take a different one than we'd followed up the mountain.

The Tacomas are down there somewhere.​

Back at the trucks, we decided to push on through the darkness - back out to a few miles of pavement at CA-62 before heading out the Ironage Road - to camp at one of the largest pit mines in the area. And, it was only as we pulled into camp - an hour later - at the Ironage Mine that Mike realized he'd taken off - and left - his coat on the trail we'd take up (but not down) at the lower Carlyle Mine.

Luckily for him, it was my night to make dinner, allowing him to push his truck to speeds that definitely just as safe as the adits we'd been exploring, making the roundtrip and retrieving his coat in the same time we'd completed the one-way journey just a few minutes earlier.

Dinner of taco-rittoes and a few minutes around the propane fire were all we could muster after a long day of trudging up and down hillsides and breathing totally safe air deep inside Doberman Mountain.

Having arrived in the dark, we had no idea what we'd wake up to in the morning, but one thing was for sure - we already had plans to make it more exciting than the last!

 

In Search of an Ore Cart | Mine Mania #2
Part of the Mine Mania - The Dale Mining District (Feb 2023) trip.

One of the great things about a pit mine is that every step of the mine has plenty of level area to park on - with no rock stacking required. Plus, we'd somehow - accidentally - chosen a spot that was essentially windless, the wall behind us sheltering us from the westerly winds.

Exploring into mine adits, shafts, etc. is not safe. I joke around about that a bit in this story, but I just want to be clear: Stay out, stay alive.
​

The Iron Age Mine

Also - completely by accident, given that it'd been pitch black when we arrived - we'd arranged ourselves to have a nice view once day broke.​

Having gone to bed relatively early, I woke up a few minutes before my alarm and half an hour before sunrise. Not knowing how far we were from the edge of this big hole in the ground, I wanted to be sure to have enough time to find a good place to snap a photo before the sun crested the horizon, casting dark shadows into the pit.

After taking a few shots from vantage points, I ended up liking this one the most, with the sun just dusting the top of the walls.​

There wasn't much in the way of old structures left on site. This concrete ore bin (?) was about all we found.​

It wasn't long after sunrise that Mike @mk5 was up and about as well. Somehow he'd managed to stay warm, comfortable, and cozy in his passenger seat all night - a feat that continues to boggle my mind - soon we were stowing camp in order to get an early start on the day. And our first order of business was to investigate the bottom of the big pit atop which we'd parked.

The Tacomas could only make it so far.​

Consisting of an iron ore deposit that was claimed prior to 1900, patented in 1904, and exploited between the 1930's to the 1960's - before the Surface Mining and Reclamation Act of 1975 - the Iron Age Mine sits on 100 acres of land that is now primarily owned by the Bureau of Land Management (BLM). Thirty-four (34) acres are private.

As of 2022, U.S. Iron confirmed the company’s plans to reopen the mine under Iron Age LLC, and the San Bernardino County Planning Commission has approved a plan to remove un-reclaimed iron ore tailings at the old Iron Age Mine, returning about 70 acres of disturbed land back to natural habitat in about 20 years.

Previous miners only harvested the highest-grade ore, but an estimated 12 million tons - with an average of 62% iron - remains in the tailings that were left on site. Iron Age LLC will be placing a processing plant on site to crush, screen and magnetically separate the rock material, harvesting ore having an iron content higher than 60% and returning the remainder to the mine.

Iron Age Mine owners to pull out ore, close historic site
Jené Estrada, Hi-Desert Star | Jun 29, 2022​

Concentrated iron ore.​

There wasn't really that much at the bottom of this mine, and after a little horsing around with a recalled fire extinguisher that Mike hadn't returned in the recall window, we were back in the trucks and headed west toward the heart of the Dale Mining District. It would be - I realized as the day wore on - a tireless trek from one mine to another.

So. Many. Mines.

Time to explore! (You can see the edge of the Iron Age tailings piles in the lower right.)​

C'mon man, you're holding us up.​

 

The O.K. Mine
With a name like "O.K.," you can't expect much from a mine, and this one delivered on that expectation. This was one of the larger - at least, by land area, and to our untrained eyes - mines that we checked out, since Mike had spotted a headframe on satellite imagery. Standing structures are a relatively rare find in the Dale area given its "free-for-all" status as BLM land.

Of course, first we had to get there. A process that should be easy - given the relatively short distance, certainly no more than 6 miles - between the Iron Age and OK mines, we were the guys you call when you need to stretch those miles into hours. Frankly, this was probably my fault since I'd somehow ended up in the lead again, but Mike was nice enough to humor me as I stopped at claim markers, random rocks on the side of the road, and the odd active claim that still sprinkle the landscape.

One of the more interesting stops along the way was at an active mining claim registered to the 3M Group, according to the paperwork posted on site.​

From the highly technical equipment, it's my guess that this is not the 3M that makes industrial products.​

After covering the first three miles in a blistering 50 minutes, I offered Mike the opportunity to swap positions in our caravan. He did not refuse and soon we were covering ground at a much more reasonable speed. Or at least, he was; I kept falling behind as I stopped to take more photos.

Desert hills.​

​

This section felt a little tippy for both of us. Mike's inclinometer said it was 26.5°. Reminded me of the time I slid sideways down a hill in Anza-Borrego.​

Twenty minutes after changing leaders, we arrived at the O.K. Mine workshop.​

The O.K. Mine was established in 1890 by John Burt and F. J. Botsford who worked the mine until 1899, eventually selling it to the Seal of Gold Mining Company. With the next few years, the mine became one of the most productive gold mines in the Dale district and contributed to the shifting of Old Dale townsite - 10 miles to the north - to New Dale, just a couple miles west of the mine.

At its peak, the mine had a ten-stamp mill and two 800-foot shafts, generating more than $200,000 in gold (worth between $5-7M as of 2023). Water was piped in 10 miles from Dale Lake.

Mining at the site continued up the time of the Second World War when the mine was temporarily closed for the war effort. Since then, mining has occurred on and off until the 1980s when the site was finally abandoned.

Modern visitors haven't been all that respectful of the workshop.​

Chuck Conn, 1984 - likely one of the last to work these veins.​

After poking around the workshop and nearby ore bin for a bit - and chatting with a few guys filming some sort of documentary about the district - it was time to head over to the headframe Mike had found, as well as the main workings of the O.K. Mine in its heyday.

The headframe Mike had marked on the map.​

1950s era headframe.​

Spring is coming!​

At the old mill site, plenty of tailings and waste rock piles covered the hillside and wash. Amazing what folks will do for a bit of the shiny stuff!​

Colorful rockwork.​

Today's residents, as colorful as the ground over which they scurry.​

After a quick lunch - kibble-O's for me, and ham-on-hawaiian rolls for Mike - we poked around to see if we could find an adit to explore but didn't turn anything up and decided that we might as well try to visit one or two - or three or four - more mines before Mike had to take off towards home.

Apparently, a vacation to Hawaii with his wife was just so much more important than exploring some run-down mining remains.

Off we go, on another rocky road.​

Falling behind quickly.​

 

The Gold Rose Mine
With our sights set on the Gold Standard Mine, we headed south. Mike - keeping one eye on the clock, and claiming that "by heading south, I'm technically on my way home," - came over the radio as he passed the remains of the Gold Rose mine, to suggest that we just drive by.

Um, no?

With no truck to park in his path - and recognizing that he was actually in a bit of a rush - I complained loudly in my radioed response and let him know that I'd catch up.

Bye Mike!​

An old, small headframe over the 200-foot vertical shaft at the Gold Rose Mine.​

A couple old concrete buildings and associated rockery were the most interesting artifacts at this site, which was clearly a favorite camping area for today's explorers.​

When your cabin is concrete, you don't even need a wood stove, a hood and a corner will do just fine!​

Don't know what this says, but it's pointing at YOU!​

Behind one of the cabins, a small stash. Strange.​

In the end, it was probably a good call - but don't tell him that I said so - for Mike to just continue on. This place was pretty well picked over, and while sort of neat in that it wasn't the typical collapsed wooden cabin, it was rather sterile from an historic perspective.

 

The Gold Standard Mine

Wait for me, I'm coming!​

The road up to the Gold Standard Mine - at least via the bottom-of-the-wash route that we'd choosen - was really the road up to the Brooklyn Mine, and let me tell you - it was in rough shape. Even having stopped for ten minutes to poke around at the Gold Rose Mine, I saw Mike as he arrived at the tailings pile just a couple miles away.

As we approached the mine, we passed this old truck was probably used to haul ore to a nearby mill, as there didn't appear to be one on site.​

Pretty nice location looking over Pinto Basin.​

Up above the adit, a vertical shaft and rather flimsy frame likely accessed the main ore body.​

Time to check out the adit!​

Watch out for the ghost train.​

I like how Mike captured the glowing outline of my angelic halo. Usually, it's quite difficult to see. ​

After looking around in the adit at the Gold Standard, it was getting on 2:00pm. Having let his wife know that he'd be headed home around noon - a fact that Mike continued to reiterate he was doing since we'd been headed south - Mike starting stowing his gear for the mad dash home and pointed me in the opposite direction to check out the Brooklyn and Los Angeles mines, a little further up the canyon.

It didn't take much more than a hint for him to make a minor, 180 degree, adjustment to his southerly route, in order to follow me up the final mile of road to the Brooklyn.

 

The Brooklyn Mine
It took only a few minutes to reach the Brooklyn, and as soon as we did, Mike knew that it was in his best interest to simply continue on - up and over the ridge and past the Los Angeles mine without stopping - in order to salvage his Hawaiian holiday.

I couldn't blame him. Bye Mike!​

Established in the late 1800s by H.B. Botsford, the mine was sold to the Brooklyn Mining Company in 1899. Consisting of 14 claims, water was piped in from Cottonwood Springs, allowing the onsite mill to operate until the early 1940s, though mining declined after 1916 when the ore body began to run out.

Today, an old rock cabin is clearly the highlight for folks who come through, with dollar bills tacked up around the place, each with a name. I suppose that once there are enough of them, they are conveniently cleaned up by a visitor, keeping the place reasonably clean.

Nylon rope on the hot chimney. Seems safe. (left) | A guest book and some dollar bills round out the decor. (right)​

The front porched offers travelers a shady place to sit in the summer.​

To me though, it was the wooden ore bins a little further up the wash that caught my attention. With light pink tailings spilling out and down the wash - a sure sign that there was once a crushing mill and cyanide leaching operation going on here - I knew there had to be a digging somewhere nearby. The only question was - would it be an adit or a shaft?

These wooden ore bins were pretty cool, and certainly a rare find!​

Open door policy.​

I doubt that poster is original, but this internal head frame, named "Main Street" - used to hoist ore up from a lower level - was a cool find.​

The Los Angeles Mine
Following the loop road for less than a mile - up to the top of the ridge - I was immediately in the midst of the Los Angeles Mine. I don't know much about this mine, except that it seemed to be a mid-sized operation, with a lot of foundations - mostly round, for tanks of some sort - littering the hillside. There were a few shafts - all now sealed by the BLM - on the property, one of which still had the remnants of an old headframe and ore chute rising up from the depths.

Lots of construction for relatively little production.​

Ironically, Mike had been collecting ore at the various mines we'd visited, sure he was going to get rich when he eventually got around to processing it. Over the last few days, he'd picked up a half dozen brightly colored rocks - something that's totally allowed on BLM land - always wishing there'd be more. Should have stopped at the Los Angeles, Mike.

The ground was covered with this sparkly blue stuff. I left it there for Mike.​

​

The most interesting aspect of the Los Angeles Mine for me was the view. I really wanted to call it an afternoon and camp here. Alas, it was only 3:30pm, so I pressed on.​

The Murder Shaft
Before our trip, Mike - who seems to have 28 hours each day to research stuff, and search-fu that I could only dream of possessing - marked a spot with "Murder Shaft." Not wanting to press the issue - and hoping he wasn't secretly planning to acquire a new, 1st gen Tacoma at this location - I'd sort of just ignored it.

Seems safe.​

Of course, the story turned out to be way more sinister. If you're curious then Secrets of a Marine's Wife might be a read that you'd enjoy. Or, for a summary, check out the excerpt of the ordeal.


The Moose Mine
Like the Murder Shaft, I didn't spend long at the Moose Mine, having stopped at it primarily because it was on the way to the next mine I planned to visit. It had a neat ore bin, but the adit was sealed about ten feet in. Plus, with the sun racing toward the horizon I figured it was time to start looking for camp.

It looked like the original ore bin had been in the wrong place or worn out, so they built another one right next to it.​

Don't mind the large rock, these adits are totally safe.​

The Mission Mine
I pulled out of the Moose Mine just after 4:30pm, and made a beeline south. I mean really, Mike could have stuck around a couple more hours, since the entire route to this point would have been on his way home.

As I pulled up to the Mission Mine, it was certainly a more modern operation!​

Discovered in either 1883 or 1887 by E. C. Huff of Los Angeles and George Lane of Mecca, the Mission Mine initially consisted of a 60 foot shaft (and drifts) sunk on the ore vain. A 20-ton ball mill and amalgamation plates were setup on the property, and water was piped in from a 600ft drop well nearby.

By 1930 the mine was leased to Messrs. Henderson, Foulkes, and Ake and the main shaft reached a depth of 570′ (with more than 600' of drifts). Milling was performed using a 10 ft arrastra - seemingly a step back from the original mill.

A decade later, E. C. Huff - still the owner - once again had the property under lease, this time to Mission Gold Mines, Inc. Development consisted of a 600 ft shaft, drifts, and a raise. Ore was being sent to the Gold Crown Mining Company's mill and averaged $43 a ton.

​

Ore was raised using this steel headframe. (left) | Then crushed and processed in the rest of the plant. (right)​

The last major work took place in 1949 when a two-compartment shaft was dug to 600′ (with drifting at the 100-, 300-, 400-, and 600-foot levels) and operated by a 6HP gas engine. By this time, 5,000 - 10,000 tons of ore had been blocked out.

The last work at the Mission pushed the shaft to 650′ in 1981.

It is estimated the mine has over 280,000 ounces of gold in reserve. But even that - some $560M in 2023 - in gold is apparently not enough to overcome the bureaucracy of working underground and cleaning up a toxic site for today's miners.

Linda Greene: Historic Resource Study A history of land use in Joshua Tree National Monument​

Quite the operation.​

Why use one wide belt when you can use ten narrow ones?​

The Sunset Mine
One of the more famously photographed mines in the Dale Mining District, there was a nice fellow from Texas camped at the Sunset Mine when I arrived. His dinner - marinated steaks, some sort of grilled veggies, and who knows what else - smelled fabulous as I apologetically tried to stay out of his way while I snapped a quick photo of the only remaining building on the site.

It's probably obvious why this is a popular place - it's the clouds.​

I'd see Texas guy again the following morning, when I'd get to tell him how great his dinner had smelled. For now though, the sun was already below the horizon and I needed to figure out what I was going to do for the night.

With light like this, it must be time for dinner.​

The Golden Egg Mine
I must admit that my plan had been to head further south at this point - driving through the dark - to a trailhead that would take me to an arrastra and mine cabin when I awoke in the morning. It was only as I was verifying my route on the map that I noticed something I simply couldn't pass up.

Mike had marked a nearby mine as having an ore cart. And - as I've established - I am a sucker for ore carts.

Initially I figured it'd just a be a quick side trip to check out the cart - something I could do in darkness, given that I'd be using flashlights in the adit anyway - and then I'd continue with my southerly plans.

Lights on as I navigated the rock road down to the Golden Egg Mill.​

This was quite the structure, though it was mostly just a shell at this point; the internals of the mill had been removed.​

Knowing I had limited light, I quickly gathered up my camera gear, lights, and tablet and headed toward the dot marked "Ore cart adit." Oh boy, was I excited.

Carefully crafted stairs to a now empty room.​

I was probably 100 feet past the mill when I spotted a carved out section of hillside that seemed to be in the right spot based on my GPS coordinates. Nearly jogging at this point, I reached the collar to find what appeared to be two levels of workings. I thought this a bit strange, but excitedly pressed into the lower workings.

The lower workings.​

And then I stopped. Or rather, I was stopped. The relationship between the upper and lower workings was made clear as I discovered that the upper shaft had collapsed into the lower, completely blocking my path, and a reminder that these adits are totally, 100%, absolutely safe.

The deck and frame that used to be the entrance to the upper workings, the first 30 feet of which are now collapsed.​

I was in shock. Could it be that this super-cool relic was no longer accessible for me to see? Mike had last been to this site some 7 years earlier, definitely long enough for some significant changes to take place in this part of the world known for its high levels of seismic activity.

Losing light quickly, I composed myself and realized that maybe the waypoint was in the wrong place. I'd already noticed that the old miners trail continued past this collar, so I followed it for several hundred more feet to its end - stopping at each small prospect pile along the way. Ultimately, none of the prospects were large enough to even have an adit, and I realized that I'd probably missed my opportunity to see an ore cart.

Sad Day. ​

It was dark as I walked back to the truck. Glad that I'd brought along my headlamp and flashlight, I decided that my parking spot below the mill was a nice one, providing a fantastically framed view of the night sky to my south.

And so, rather than negotiate the narrow, rocky road that I'd descended in twilight an hour before, I opened up the tent and set about dinner preparations and consumption.

​

Mike had left a few of his signature LEDs for me to try out. These things are going to be dangerous.​

After cleaning up, formulating a route for the next day, and transferring the photos I'd taken to my laptop - and with my already late arrival - it was a just after 10:00pm when I turned off the lights and settled down with my Kindle. I think I read about three screenfuls of Mitch Rapp - Oath of Loyalty before falling fast asleep.

I hadn't found the ore cart I was looking for, but I also hadn't left the mine where it allegedly existed.