AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

I feel like Burro Schmidt would be a let down compared to all the traveling Dan has done. It’s cool to see, but the buildings are all collapsed/destroyed with graffiti out there.

Plus, if I can successfully make it there, well it can’t be at all challenging

Err, not sure how you entered, but I went in from 395, and it’s not difficult. They say Redrock Randsburg road is more difficult.

 

I've got to say that Red Rock Randsburg Road is simply a great name. After coming in and out of Trona that way the last time I was in Death Valley, but not setting aside any time to explore, I really need to check that area out.

 

Wandering the West Fork of Johns Canyon | R&R 2
Part of the Three Days of R&R (Apr 2023) trip.

Having thoroughly enjoyed my time at Cedar Point, I figured it'd take me about an hour to make my way north, up the Moki Dugway, and to my next destination along Johns Canyon; this time the West Fork. But, as had been the case earlier in the day, events conspired to distract me as I pulled up behind another stopped truck in the middle of UT-261.

At first I wasn't sure what was going on. Then, I was fumbling to get my zoom lens fitted to the camera.

Mama cow was putting up a good fight to protect her little calf.​

I thought for sure that it'd only be a matter of minutes before this cowboy had his target in ropes, but after shooting a few hundred shots over the course of 15 minutes, I realized that it had to be a little nerve racking for both him and his skittery horse. Even if he had the job done in an hour, that'd be about a week faster than I'd have been able to do it. Plus, it probably didn't help to have an audience, so I moved on.

Heading up the Moki Dugway, the valley greening up for spring.​

The real world step function between the top of Cedar Mesa and the Valley of Gods, the Moke Dugway was built in the 1950s to haul Uranium ore from the Happy Jack Mine on Cedar Mesa to a mill in Halchita, Utah, near Mexican Hat.​

As I summited the series of switchbacks, I realized that I always seem to end up at the Moki as afternoon is turning to evening. I'll have to change that someday to see what it looks like in the morning. For now, I covered the last few miles of pavement - then a few more on dirt - before finding myself all alone in the middle of nowhere, a perfect camp site at the tip of the West Fork of Johns Canyon.

Note: Visiting Johns Canyon (and Cedar Mesa in general) requires a pass. For more information, check out BLM Utah Cedar Mesa Permits and Passes Information.

​

If you look closely, you'll see my prized parking spot. Maybe.​

Here, let me zoom in a bit. There it is!​

Nearing 6:00pm, and with sunset a little less than two hours away, it was decision time - head out for a five-mile roundtrip through the West Fork, or call it an evening and enjoy the evening light playing across the land.

Obviously - as someone with explorers' disease - there was no real choice. I grabbed the camera, a bit of water, my inReach, and a headlamp - since I knew there was a good chance of returning in the dark - and dove off the side of the canyon.

At least, it felt like diving off - the trail was pretty steep - as I followed the cairns that would lead me along the loop I hoped to accomplish.

I'm not generally a fan of cairns, but I did appreciate how someone mimicked the alternating sandstone layers of the surrounding canyon with this one.​

As I made my way down the canyon wall, I ran into this survey marker, which I found... interesting. I'd have expected it along the rim or at the bottom.​

After dropping a little more than 300- of the 550-feet between the trailhead and the apex of my loop, the remaining 250 feet would come as I wound my way along the sandstone bottom of the canyon, enjoying the steps as I gazed upwards, my eyes peeled for the ruins I hoped to find.

Cascading passage.​

Woolly Locoweed - one of the few wildflowers in bloom on this trip.​

I spotted my first ruins - high up on the canyon wall - a mile or so into the canyon.​

Not long after spotting the eroding wall to my east, I headed west. While this might seem unintuitive, I had it on good authority that there were a few ruins - on a couple of different levels - 200 feet above me near the western rim of the canyon. I couldn't see them, and it was nearing sunset, but hey, it's just climbing nearly vertical walls and walking along narrow ledges, right?

After a few minutes of picking my way upward, I ran into my first granary of the trip.​

Only the door - seemingly to me the most fragile part - remains of this specimen.​

With relatively little to offer, I didn't spend much time at the lower level, instead beginning my search for a way to access the upper level of these ruins. Eventually - a few hundred feet away - I found the ladder.

Nature's ladder.​

The granary wasn't any more notable than those below it, though it did have a door stashed nearby.​

On the ground, some of the mortar used to fortify the walls. I was surprised to see how much fiber (a strengthening agent) it contained.​

The upper granary had grand views down the canyon. A half mile downstream, a big pour-off marked the point where the west fork joins the wider main branch of the canyon.​

Happy to have found the first major ruin site, I retraced my steps to the canyon floor just as the last of the sunlight inched its way up the last few feet of canyon wall above me. Without a doubt, I was not on borrowed time as far as light was concerned.

The light situation didn't bother me all that much. My prior research suggested that the second set of ruins was near the top of the canyon rim and - essentially, given that I was making a large loop - on my way back to camp. Still, it's better to have a bit of light for photos, so I hoped I'd find the ruins reasonably quicky.

To my surprise, I hiked for only a few minutes before spotting a granary much lower on the canyon wall than I was expecting. Turns out, this wasn't the second ruin site I was looking for but rather a third site that I'd had no idea existed!

Square-walled granary.​

Inside the granary, some of the wooden roof supports still lay on the floor.​

Nearby, a round structure - perhaps a small kiva - was in much disrepair.​

This site had a few petroglyphs as well.​

Lightning!​

After spending a few minutes at this unexpected discovery, I continued to climb toward the mouth of the tributary canyon in which I now found myself, skirting steep dry falls and working my way along sandstone ledges - an activity I'd find myself repeating over and over in the coming days. Eventually reaching the uppermost bench, I doubled back towards the main canyon in search of the ruins.

Sandstone funnel.​

It wasn't long before I came to a series of granaries - ten or so in all - that lined this level of the canyon. Clearly less visited than the first set, an audible "wow" may have escaped my mouth when I encountered the first one.

The first granary I came to was immaculate.​

Tight-fitting door.​

Decorative construction with small and large stones alternating in the muddy mortar.​

Granary two need a bit of wall work, but its door was still in place.​

Granary three.​

Granary four. Nestled into a corner, the area in front of the granary was obviously used for fires; a thick layer of soot covering the sandstone.​

Granary five. All locked up and still protecting its contents from the local vermin.​

​

Granary six and seven. I've never seen so many doors. Heck, I don't know if I've ever seen a single door before!​

Granary eight. The one with the threshold and rounded door.​

Granary nine. Hanging out on a ledge.​

With dwindling light - and a belly that was beginning to complain about the amount of time that'd passed since lunch - I continued around the bench, hoping to find the very first wall ruin I'd spotted from the wash nearly an hour earlier. Unfortunately, I now found myself above the wall, with no short path to the bench below.

I'd have to settle for an "above" shot of this wall - that once protected the alcove at the southern tip of the divide between the tributary and main canyon - to go with my earlier shot from "below."​

With that, I picked up the pace - as much as one could, given the 16 miles I'd hiked on only five hours of sleep - as I pointed myself towards camp. I was tired, hungry, and 100% ready to do it again, right after a big dinner and ten hours of sleep.

After making burritos for dinner, I snapped a quick shot of the last light of day and the first stars of the night rising up over my camp on the edge of the West Fork.​

It'd been a fantastic first day in Cedar Mesa, and I was even more excited for what I had planned in the days to come. In the end it was so much more hiking than I'd envisioned, and so much more enjoyable than I ever imagined...

 

Beautiful photos, as always.

 

To be fair, I am a bit biased against Redrock Randsburg Road and surrounding area

But it is cool to visit. Jawbone Canyon is hopping the right time of year. Sure there’s lots of cool stuff to explore.

 

Love the composition of that last photo. The "rule of thirds" in action.

 

Road Canyon Three Ways | R&R 3
Part of the Three Days of R&R (Apr 2023) trip.

I was pooped when I climbed into the tent on the edge of the West Fork of Johns Canyon. A full day of hiking (I'd covered more than 16 miles), after only a few hours of sleep (about five), meant that I knocked out a full three minutes of reading before my eyes closed and my thumb stopped "turning pages" of Tom Clancy's Red Winter. Sleep was bliss.

I'm not sure I woke up at all before the soft charm of my alarm - a little diddy that everyone probably knows from YouTube survey ads that play before videos but that I like as an alarm - began playing somewhere under my comforter.

I made sure to set my alarm to a few minutes before sunset so I could witness the morning magic over the West Fork.​

Knowing I had another full day ahead, I got the tent stowed - and a hearty breakfast of donettes consumed - before heading making my way back to UT-261 and my almost-close-enough-to-walk turn off onto Cigarette Springs Road. From there, it was a few well-graded miles to the first of three trailheads that would shuttle me along and through Road Canyon over the course of the next twelve hours.

Note: Visiting Road Canyon (and Cedar Mesa in general) requires a pass, even for day use/hiking. For more information, check out BLM Utah Cedar Mesa Permits and Passes Information.

​

Way One
My primary destination on this first hike was simple: a single, well-known ruin where a several-inch thick layer of the sandstone alcove above the granaries has fallen. Aptly named, the Fallen Roof Ruin is one of the more photographed ruins on Cedar Mesa. With the sun already warming the cool air, I set off on foot.

​

Don't bust the crust.​

Despite the sun, it was a chilly morning, ice encroaching on the pools at the base of the canyon.​

This giant hoodoo let me know I was on the right track.​

Shortly after passing the giant hoodoo, I caught a glimpse of the Fallen Roof Ruins a couple hundred feet above the wash. Scrambling up the slickrock, I eventually found myself on a shelf near the canyon rim. A few minutes later, I'd arrived.

Seems "safe." Ceiling definitely appears "stabilized" now. ​

Note how the fallen chunks of sandstone arranged themselves so perfectly upon landing. Not a single one overlaps another. Nature!​

While the Fallen Roof Ruin is the most well-known in this area - and the reason I'd headed into the canyon at all - it turns out that there are several other sites worth visiting, if you can find them. With no directions it was a bit like hunting for Easter eggs, appropriate given the time of year.

It wasn't long before I found my first (simple) pictograph. I'm still not sure what it represents, but something about it is intriguing to me, and I really like it.

Twelve lines.​

I don't know if my confidence increased, or if I just happened to get lucky with where I looked, or what, but after finding that first pictograph, I soon found several others on a couple different benches above the wash.

Ganary between the layers.​

Reflected light on rocky - or are they? - walls.​

The secret structure, revealed through a door.​

Next door neighbor.​

Horsecollar home with a welcome mat.​

Fading figures.​

Purple-rock shelter.​

Whew, after all that, I bet you're thinking, "Am I just going to see a hundred photos of different old ruins? These things all look the same."

And no, you won't see a hundred. It's going to be more than that. Stop complaining.

Anyway, it wasn't all ruins and rock art in Road Canyon, the local inhabitants were out to play as well!

Soaking up the sun, this Chambers twinpod (Physaria chambersii) was getting ready to put on a show.​

But this cactus was about to win the spring game.
(anyone know the name?)​

Is it safe to come out?​

After another mile or two, I reached what I gathered to be the end - in that the shelf I was traversing dropped precipitously to the bottom of the canyon - of the ruins, and pivoted 180° to begin my upward trek toward the rim. I was quicker in this direction, but only in the relative sense - the rock and sky around me, begging for attention.

So many alcoves to explore, and a usually dry wash, wet!​

Hoodoo sunstar.​

Still, even with all my ogling, I was back to the trailhead - and Tacoma - just after 10:00am. For once, I was way ahead of schedule.

Unacceptable.


Way Two
Riding high on my failure, I wasted only a little time - snacking on donettes - before trying to extend my streak with another foray into Road Canyon. My access this time would be from a different location as I searched for a group of Seven Kivas nestled into an alcove just above the wash.

Heading toward the trailhead, the snow-capped La Sal Mountains were a sight to behold as they rose in the distance.​

Unlike my first descent of the day, the route for my second would send me down a steep talus slope on my way to the bottom of the canyon. While this didn't dissuade me in the slightest, I'm sure the terrain - as well as the difficulty of locating the trailhead - reduces the number of folks who visit this site, which was just fine by me!

The descent begins.​

As with my first hike, there were some unique cairns on along the way.​

I expected the light in the bottom of the canyon to be very harsh since it was nearing mid-day, but I was thrilled with the warm glow that illuminated the water-stained sandstone.​

Perhaps most surprising to me as I reached the wash in the bottom of the canyon, was the sheer amount of water that was coursing over the sandstone. While it wasn't - with a few exceptions - "flowing," there was a lot more than I'm used to, and a real indication of the wet winter that the area experienced this year.

I can only imagine that water was more common when the Ancestral Puebloans called this area home.​

Ancestral toad is not impressed.​

I knew I had a couple of miles to cover before I'd reach the kivas, but with a good trail to follow and the red rock of Cedar Mesa to keep me occupied, it seemed like only a matter of minutes before I spotted the bend in the canyon that was my ultimate destination. To my surprise, two other hikers - the first other people I'd seen in two days - were standing just below the alcove.

The trail meandered below grand benches and glorious clouds.​

At one point I spotted a gigantic cave high up the canyon wall. Surely there would be ruins there, assuming it was accessible.
(Note: I would get a better view later in the day; it was accessible, but there were no ruins.)​

Not wanting to disturb them, and hoping they were on their way "out," we exchanged quick greetings and I headed towards the opposite side of the canyon where I hoped to find a route that would take me to a bench a couple hundred feet above the wash where I could get a nice view of the entire site.

Seven Kivas and two hikers under a massive wall.​

While none of the Seven Kivas are very large, it was a real treat to see so many in such close proximity. Additionally, three of them still had roofs that were mostly intact!

​

One of the intact kivas, the roof was original (unlike the roofs of Perfect Kiva and others, which have been rebuilt).​

The entrance to the only rectangular kiva of the bunch.​

The stories this post could tell.​

Poking around for twenty minutes or so, I was careful to avoid touching any of the ruins or enter any of the interior rooms - an important rule to follow in order to preserve these structures for as long as possible - as I looked for more evidence of those who once called this place their own.

Pre-Monsanto corn cobs - only three inches long.​

A few shards of pottery are all that's left, the rest picked over and hauled away by visitors who don't consider those who come later.​

By 1:00pm, my second exploration of Road Canyon was complete, and I was on my way back to the Tacoma. It was lunch time, and I was looking forward to a turkey sandwich with In-N-Out peppers to offset the ultra-healthy combination of donettes and trail mix that sustained me for the first half of the day.

Oh, and I'd somehow managed to increase my lead on my schedule enough that I even considered a nap - though in the end I just relaxed with my book for a couple hours before going stir-crazy - before my final foray into Road Cayon.


Way Three
I'd originally planned to undertake my third hike of the day just before sunset, making my way back under the cover of twilight. While this may sound crazy, there was a method to my madness - first, I was hoping for some nice light on what I knew to be westerly-facing ruins. Second, I knew that my destination was a popular one, and I hoped that by going later in the day, I would avoid - by the number of cars at the trailhead - a rather crowded situation.

​

I thought this new signage at the trailhead was nicely updated for to address dogs and the posting of GPS coordinates - two of the biggest issues affecting archaeology sites today.​

The biggest problem with my plan - however unlikely - was my unusual position of being both ahead of schedule and unable to sit still. Combined with a bank of high clouds that were blowing in from the west - and looked as though they'd prevent any color from the setting sun - I set off along the rim just before 4:30pm, unconvincingly convincing myself that it would be nicer to cook dinner and clean up with some remaining daylight anyway.

As the trail meandered along the rim, a fantastic horseshoe bend revealed itself. And - as if to rub it in - Bears Ears and the La Sal Mountains reached for the clouds in the distance.​

Whereas my first two Road Canyon hikes had me descend - and then eventually climb - the 500-foot height differential between the rim and wash, this final hike of the day would keep me on a (more) level path as I made my way east - a fact that my feet and legs certainly appreciated.

This little guy brightened up the trail as a bit of sun streamed through a break in the clouds. (Perhaps a Wallflower or Puccoon?)​

Nature's picture frame.​

Known as The Citadel, the most striking feature of the ruin to which I was headed - at least in my opinion - was not the ruin itself, but the final approach to get there. Chosen - as so many cliff dwellings were - for its defensibility, the ruins were nestled into an alcove at the very tip of a long land bridge. I caught my breath as it initially came into view, and then proceeded to take what would have amounted to several rolls of film as I picked my way down the extremely exposed slickrock towards the near end.

Dang, that's cool.​

Even from the beginning, location, location, location.​

As I got closer, the scale really became apparent and it was super neat to see both sides of the S-shaped land bridge at the same time.​

Crossing the bridge and climbing the last bit of sandstone on the island, I was rounding the last large stone when I ran into Denny. A representative of the Friends of Cedar Mesa, I'd noticed him when he'd pulled up in his 2nd gen Tacoma before heading out on the trail, and apparently, he'd noticed me as well, procrastinating my own departure!

Turns out that he was there to help educate folks about archaeological etiquette, and as it was apparent that no education was necessary in my case, we spent a good twenty minutes talking about various hikes in the area as well as the amazing amounts of water that seemed to be everywhere this year.

While Denny was the only other person I saw the entire time, he also mentioned that he'd talked to more than three-dozen people in the last several hours. I didn't say anything, but I took this as an indication that while I may not have had the patience to wait until sunset, I'd definitely could have done a lot worse!

Eventually we parted ways and I rounded the final stone.

Many windows, but no doors.​

Lone white stone.​

Window header, with the center brace still in place.​

The main structure, protected not only by the land bridge, but also by the alcove in which it is nestled.​

The great thing about the "island" on which The Citadel stands is that the entire circumference is accessible on the main bench. Sure, there are some steep, several-hundred foot drops to the canyon below, but that just adds a little excitement to the circumnavigation and the enjoyment of the additional granaries found along the way.

Literally at the end of the road, there was nowhere to go but the way I'd come - perhaps a drawback to the fortification should it have been attacked. Of course, there was no such threat today, as I leisurely headed toward camp and Tacoma.

Looking back one last time as a bit of color began to illuminate the sky. Maybe I should have waited another hour before setting off!​

Finding a nice, secluded spot at the trailhead, I prepped dinner, backed up a few photos from my camera to computer, and settled down with my Kindle as a light breeze blew through the screen door of the tent. Even having covered more than 15 miles of trail, it'd been one of most enjoyable, relaxing days I'd had in a long time.

With one more day of exploration planned, I realized - just as I was nodding off to sleep - that I may have made a rather large mistake in my planning...

 

Finally caught up on your thread. After several days of perusing the past ten or eleven pages I'm up to date and almost a grand poorer. First off your post about the Diode Dynamics lighting convinced me to upgrade from stock fogs and also got new spots. Yikes, even with a 15% off sale that was a pricey purchase. White pro spots and white SS3 fogs. Looking forward to replacing my old school Hella's and fogs. Almost got a set of the yellow lenses for the spots but decided against it. Maybe ignorance is bliss but I've never thought I needed yellow lighting off-road.

I've enjoyed seeing you venture to places I've been in the past and others I hope to venture to one day. Funny story about Berdoo Canyon. It was one of my first off-road trails and I did it solo. Kinda nerve wracking using one of my first "off-road" travel guides. So much learned since 2009. Over the past ten or so pages there have been too many trips to note in particular. I'm sure most of us non-retired people envy your ability to get out so often. Great photos and trip reports as always. Hoping my life settles down a bit within the next year. Keep on truckin!

p.s.
Gotta know what these little "LED" lights are. I always have at least four of the Nitize color changing "lanterns" but they only offer red, green, blue, and white. I use these usb rechargeable lights for most of my camp lighting. The red used the most of course. No yellow colors which seem a bit warmer in your photos.

 

Glad you got caught up! ( and enjoyed )

Sorry about the DD lighting, but I think you'll be pleasantly enamored with the results. I'm a total convert now, and I don't like spending money all that much. For me - at least with the amount I get out - they've been totally worth it. And, glad you got that 15% off sale; still expensive, but at least you saved a bit. As for the yellow - I find it most useful in snow conditions, which I must admit to not encountering as often now that I've parked the Tacoma in Vegas. I also feel like they are a little "nicer" for others on the highway, and I sometimes have the fogs on as running lights, but if that's really true or not...

As for experience - I couldn't have said it better. Amazing how different trails "look" to me now than when I was getting started in 2016. @mrs.turbodb and I still chuckle when we think of the Oregon BDR (one of our first trips) and some of the trails that we got out to walk and move rocks on. We're talking rocks smaller than soccer- and footballs. The places we considered turning around are now the places we say "this is great, we probably won't find anyone else out this way."

As for the LEDs - @mk5 put me onto those by trying to give me a few (which I successfully deflected) the first time we met up, and then actually succeeded at handing some off in our recent trip to the Dale District. I promptly broke one and decided I needed more, but it turns out that the ones he got (on Amzn) are no longer sold. I found the same ones on eBay, but now those are gone too. They are just cheapo pucks though, so while the remote is a bit different, I bet these might have come out of the same factory. Or at the very least, one next door.

Note: I don't know if they are really light enough for camp lights though; the photos are a long exposure and so probably look brighter than if you're just there using them for light.

 

There's a House on Fire in Mule Canyon | R&R 4
Part of the Three Days of R&R (Apr 2023) trip.

Just as I was nodding off after a peaceful day of hiking Road Canyon, I realized that it was Friday night - a fact that was interesting only in that it meant that the following day was Saturday. Now, bear with me because I'm going to spend entirely too much time making this point. You see, Saturday itself wasn't all that interesting, rather, it was the fact that it was a weekend. And even the fact that it was a weekend wasn't very interesting, except for the fact that I'd planned to hike the South Fork of Mule Canyon - in search of the plentiful ruins there, including the popular "House on Fire." Of course, like the weekend, the notability of the South Fork of Mule Canyon wouldn't normally keep me up at night, except for the fact that the trailhead is less than half a mile from the highway. And therein lies the rub: I'd planned a popular trailhead, near the highway, on a weekend.

Dang.

It was a situation I could have easily avoided by rearranging my itinerary in any number of ways. None of my other trails were nearly as accessible or popular, and any of them - with the exception of The Citadel - could have been executed on a Saturday morning with little risk of seeing another human.

There was only one solution that I could see, and that was to set my alarm so early that I could complete the entire 11-mile hike by noon, in the hopes that I'd only run into throngs of people as I was returning.

Of course, I'd planned for the hike to take most of the day, so I wasn't sure what I'd do after lunch, but I could deal with that when the time came, and if I was somehow able to pull it off.

It was a bit dark out when my alarm went off.
​

Less than fully rested - and not all that happy to be climbing out of the tent at 4:30am - I set about my usual morning chores of eating donettes (more enjoyable) and putting away the tent (less enjoyable). With sunrise at 6:00am, and what I estimated to be one hour between my camp site and the trailhead, I pulled out at 5:02am, making my way east on Poison Springs Road towards the pavement of UT-261 and ultimately UT-95.

As I raced east, I was chased by the morning sun.​

Halfway to the trailhead, I had to stop to capture the Belt of Venus over (I think) Moss Back Butte and Tables of the Sun to my west.​

Note: Visiting Mule Canyon (and Cedar Mesa in general) requires a pass, even for day use/hiking. For more information, check out BLM Utah Cedar Mesa Permits and Passes Information.

​

Naturally I'd forgotten to take into account the making of my lunch prior to embarking on my impossible conquest of the South Fork of Mule Canyon, so it wasn't 6:15am that I actually got onto the trail. Still, I was the only one parked at the trailhead, so that was a plus.

Almost immediately I was greeted by water in the usually dry wash. Luckily the trail itself was generally dry.​

As I mentioned, there are a series of ruins and rock art along the 11-mile route, and the first of these is the House on Fire about a mile into the trek. This one is best visited - at least this time of year - around noon, in order to capture the reflected light that sets the ceiling ablaze, which is part of why I hoped to be back here in just a few hours. Still, if I've learned one thing over the years, it is that it's always better to take photos when you can; you never really know what the conditions will be like later or even if some other opportunity will change your plans/route altogether!

And so, I stopped for a few minutes to capture the House (not) on Fire.

Still pretty impressive.​

It was nearly another mile from the House on Fire to the second ruin. Nestled into a long, shallow, curving alcove, it was a small structure with two walls, a window, and a striking, water-stained sandstone cliff towering overhead.

It took a bit of scrambling reach the ruins, but once I did, they were quite enjoyable.​

Like the alcove at House on Fire, the sandstone was flaking from water intrusion and salt deposits.​

By now, the sun had risen off the horizon and given my generally westerly direction, was illuminating the canyon in front of me - without blinding me in the process - a brilliant orange. I continued as quickly as I could, knowing that every minute counted in my race against time.

Water cascaded down the canyon walls, giving a small glimpse into the creation of the water stains that decorate the usually-dry surfaces.​

Before long I arrived at the third major set of ruins. One of the larger sites, I scrambled up the steep slickrock to the bench just below the ruins before reaching an unassailable overhang that prevented entry to the actual site.

Occupying two adjacent alcoves, I can only imagine what treasures lay out of sight and out of reach of those of us who don't pack 40-foot ladders in our day packs.​

The most interesting detail was a set of wooden stairs set into the outer wall of one of the alcoves.​

Below the ruin, I spotted this pottery shard - which I left as it lay - partially buried in the rubble.​

As I spotted the next ruin, even moving as quickly as I was, it was already nearing 8:00am. This was both good and bad news - good in that I was a little more than halfway through the 5.5-mile "out" portion of the trail, bad in that it meant that the masses were likely waking up and wondering what they'd eat for breakfast before heading my direction.

I see you up there, and you look interesting!​

Just past more distinctive vertical black streaks down the sandstone walls, I once again scaled a steep section of slickrock slope to the shelf just below the ruins. Unlike the third ruins, a small pine offered a single point of access up the final cliff face, allowing access to the collapsing kiva and its cracked tower granary above.

Giving tree.​

A circular kiva lined by timbers. All the wood is partially burnt, though it's impossible to tell if the fire was an accident or more modern vandalism.​

A mini-museum of pottery shards. I suppose this is better than taking the shards home, but please people, leave them where they lay.​

After retracing my steps to the wash, I headed upstream. As with the other canyons I'd visited, the South Fork of Mule Canyon was flush with water - pools more than four feet deep contained thousands of gallons and portions of the creek trickled between pools, spilling over usually-dry falls.

Many of the pools were so large that I found myself looking for fish. Of course, as these are seasonal, there were none to be found.​

Colorful rocks carving out their own personal hideaway.​

The manzanita was loving the extra water and was getting ready to show off.​

Set back into an alcove on a bench, only my pre-trip research enabled my discovery of the next set of ruins. Like the rest, this first required a trek to the uppermost Cedar Mesa sandstone layer - a longer and longer climb as I progressed up the canyon - before the final push up a steep, slippery crack to the ruins and a special treat!

The final, 30-foot ascent.​

To the east, a small granary.​

To the west, ruins built right to the edge of the cliff!​

This site turned out to be more extensive than most of the others, the upper level overlooking a second level of ruins below, and each level containing petroglyph panels and mortero.

Unfinished concentric circles.​

Forked thumb.​

Fading sheep.​

There were several of these deep morteros along the upper ledge, all positioned to allow a view of the canyon while grinding.​

it was about this point that I began to get a little anxious about the time.

To the kiva ruin there'd been a reasonably clear - if slightly fading - trail, but beyond that I struggled to follow a well-defined path. Likely this was due to a combination of the early spring flow, which was quite obviously well above the level of the trail - given the detritus piled up against the tree trunks - and the fact that there's always an inverse ratio between the length of a trail and number of people who are willing to continue to any given point.

Unfortunately for me, that meant that my pace slowed dramatically, as I had to pick my way through underbrush and weave my way back and forth across the wet-and-muddy wash. Still, the lure of the next two ruins were enough that I never seriously considered turning back - even if it meant that I'd miss the late morning light at the House on Fire.

Eventually, I peeled out of the main canyon in favor of a half-mile detour up a tributary wash. Here, any semblance of a trail was but a figment of one's imagination, and it was only by following my GPS that I eventually found my way to the base of a nearly vertical wall and one of the most unusual ruins I've ever seen.

The multi-level Wall Ruin.​

By completely filling the ledges on which it is built, the Wall Ruin is well-camouflaged into the sheer sandstone wall.​

Unlike most ruins that are built into reasonably large alcoves, Wall Ruin is built on narrow ledges and amongst fantastic mosaics of tafoni. Posts protrude from the structures - and sandstone wall itself - once the support structure for an elaborate series of scaffolding and ladders that allowed inhabitants access to each of the levels.

Wooden supports and intricate tafoni.​

Today, with the scaffolding gone, only the lower level is accessible, an only via a reasonably tall crack climb. Having gotten this far, I unloaded most of my camera gear and scooted my way up.

Nature's ladder to the lowest door. Remember, up is easier than down.​

This was a very interesting door panel; I've never seen one that had ripples.​

Though only the lowest level was accessible, it was amazing to see how far the rooms of the ruin extended into the wall. Apparently, there are a series of passageways that lead even deeper, but - as we all should - I refrained from entering the inner rooms, as doing so can accelerate their deterioration. Please - if you visit - do the same.

Stone steps led from the outer balcony to the outermost room. (left) | Doors from the outer room led even further into the sandstone. (right)​

As I emerged from the side canyon, it was 10:45am. Having covered nearly five miles from the mouth of the canyon, I'd decided that I needed a little more than an hour - as I wouldn't be stopping to investigate ruins on the way back - to cover the four miles back to House on Fire, which I wanted to reach by noon.

That was all well and good, except for the fact that the final ruin - one I knew I couldn't reach, but that was interesting even from the wash below - was another third of a mile away.

I wouldn't say I was jogging - there were way too many branches and bushes to dodge - but I certainly wasn't dawdling. And then, I spotted it!

Nestled in a large alcove, this inaccessible ruin marked the end of my route!​

Closer. (Well, not really. Just more zoom.)​

This ruin - known as Doorway Ruin - is intriguing for the wooden slats that still hang in its door. These weren't the primary method of closure - a more typical stone is also visible through the opening - but perhaps they provided additional shade in the heat of the afternoon sun, or allowed for airflow as a breeze drafted through the canyon. Whatever their purpose, I found myself glad that this site was inaccessible, as surely the temptation to touch the slats would be too much for most to resist.

A final glance.​

I only spent a few minutes below the Doorway Ruin, but nonetheless I was sure that I'd blown my chance at catching the reflected light of House on Fire. Too stubborn to admit defeat, I pulled the second sandwich from my pack - I'd eaten the first as breakfast as I embarked on this crazy adventure - and consumed it in rapid fashion as stumbled my way down the overgrown wash.

Despite my rush, I couldn't help but pause a couple times to admire the rockwork of Mule Canyon.​

The amount of water continued to amaze.​

I saw only two pairs of hikers in the 62 minutes that it took me to cover the distance between the Doorway and House on Fire. Stopping for a couple minutes each time - to share greetings and marvel at the beauty of our surroundings - both pairs volunteered their displeasure at the crowds they'd encountered - and left behind - at the House on Fire.

I braced myself for the worst, glad that I'd modified my schedule to avoid the mayhem.

And then, I arrived. And I was the only one there.

House on Fire.​

I don't know if I missed the best time of day or if the plethora of people showed up to early, but somehow my timing couldn't have been more perfect.

Smiling as I snapped a few shots, I realized that my good fortune now presented a new problem - what the heck was I going to do with the rest of my Saturday? And with that, my smile grew even larger - because there's no better problem to have when you find yourself in the canyons of Cedar Mesa.

 

Wading through White Canyon | R&R 5
Part of the Three Days of R&R (Apr 2023) trip.

Where was I? Oh right, I'd just completed an 11-mile hike before lunch in order to avoid the weekend crowds that never developed - at least, as far as I could tell. Still, I was left - in one of the most beautiful places in our country - with half a day to explore; the only thing standing in my way was figuring out where to go!

Ultimately, I only seriously considered two options. The first - having just hiked the South Fork of Mule Canyon - was to hike the North Fork. I had almost no info on it except for the trailhead, but at less than a mile away, it would have been an easy choice. In the end though, my second option won out - a half-hour drive to Natural Bridges National Monument in the hopes of finding a single pictograph hidden amongst the folds of White Canyon.

I've been wanting to see this pictograph for quite some time - ever since I'd read Randy's trip report from nearly 15 years earlier. Randy's always really good about giving a few hints while never revealing specific locations, so I'd done a bit of research in order to discover several rock art and ruin sites along the base of the canyon. The only problem was, I had no idea if any of them were the White Man.

Randy's photo that captured piqued my interest.​

Having already eaten lunch, it was a simple matter of pulling into a spot at the trailhead and gathering up my equipment for the 600-foot descent down into the canyon.

Visiting a place like this always feels special.​

I'd hiked up this route several years earlier with several friends, and I have to say that it was even more stunning on the way down. Part of that was probably anticipation of what I hoped to see, but I'm sure that it was mostly due to the fact that I wasn't huffing and puffing up ladders and switchbacks, as is the case on the "up" end of this trip. And oh, that fun would come this time as well.

Before long, I'd covered the six tenths of a mile to the bottom of the canyon, the view of Sipapu Bridge growing more dramatic with each step.

The green is coming, but it's not quite here yet!​

Also growing more pronounced was the sound of rushing water. Of course, that shouldn't have surprised me - given all the water I'd seen in the other canyons I'd explored on this very trip - but as I reached the bottom, I realized that the situation here was significantly different. Here, there wasn't a muddy wash with puddles and pools of standing water. Nope, here, there was a rushing river.

I suddenly found myself wondering if the rock art I was looking for would even be accessible!

Sipapu sunstar.​

Pushing into White Canyon, it was immediately clear that I was one of the first - at least this season - to split from the main loop trail that connects three of the largest bridges in Natural Bridges National Monument. The trail here - if you could call it that - petered out quickly and it wasn't long before I figured out why: water.

I don't know if there's always some water here year-round, or if the wash is generally the trail, but on this particular afternoon, the trail ended abruptly as the canyon walls narrowed and the entire wash was submerged. I obviously had a decision to make - admit defeat and head back to the Tacoma, or push forward into the unknown depths and hope that they never got too deep.

Decision made.​

With daytime temperatures in the mid-50s °F and nighttime lows in the high-20s, the water was not warm. Following the river upstream, I soon realized that the lack of trail and the constant crossings were going to make this little excursion take quite a bit longer than I'd envisioned.

I have to admit, not worrying about getting my shoes wet after the first crossing was liberating. In and out of the water, my shoes alternated between the cleanest and dirtiest they've been in a long time.​

Despite the difficulty of hiking, it was hard not to love this place.​

It took me nearly an hour to cover the distance between Sipapu Bridge and the bend in the canyon where I hoped to find the first ruin site. I decided that continuing past it - at the speed I was going, and already a bit after 3:00pm - was not in the cards on this particular trip. It was a decision I made out loud as I trudged through the mud and sand - perhaps an indication that I'm going a little bonkers. In doing so, I'm sure I mumbled - though I'm not sure it matters when there's no one around to hear - that it sure would be nice if this site was the White Man site!

And then, through the trees, jackpot!

With a little bit of determination, and mostly a lot of luck, there it was.​

Looking back through Randy's trip report upon my return, I smiled at the hints I recognized only after visiting the site. He's a sneaky guy that Randy - I sure hope to meet him one day!

At any rate, as I thrashed my way through underbrush to reach the alcove containing the White Man, I noticed that there were several ruins not too far away. And, if there's one thing I excel at, it's delayed gratification. Well, that or I have the attention span of a squirrel. Whatever the reason, before continuing to that which I'd initially set out to find, I detoured to check out the ruins.

Big Boulder ruin.​

A panel above Big Boulder sported both pictographs and petroglyphs!​

Lightning bolts and a concentric diamond.​

Studio room. Prime location. And with no windows, plenty of privacy.​

There were several groups of deep morteros.​

As it would happen, there were actually two small groups of ruins, and after checking out the first, I mustered up enough willpower and distraction to investigate the second. There, two of the structures sported small, deep holes that looked almost like storage cisterns - for water, perhaps.

At first I thought this might be a chimney or vent for the sunken room, but there was no connection between the two structures.​

One of the holes had a crude screen "X" that wouldn't have kept out much of anything.​

I really liked this door shape, and this ruin even had a small foyer/entryway once inside!​

A few handprints on the wall. Modern - if I had to guess - based on their size and composition (mud rather than pigment).​

Room with a door.​

After building up my anticipation by putting off the White Man as long as I could, it was finally time. There are actually a few pictographs on the panel that contains the anthropomorphic figure, and while I didn't find the "Capital C with Teeth" or the "Bold T" as intriguing as the White Man, I must admit that I wondered exactly what the artist had against an alphabet he didn't even know. I mean, seriously, those are some scary letters.

So symmetric.​

Admiration.​

And then - of course - I did my best to replicate the shot that'd brought me here in the first place. You know, Imitation and flattery and all that. ​

Knowing that I'd only scratched the surface of what Natural Bridges - and even White Canyon - has to offer, there was no question that further exploration would have to wait for a future trip. Perhaps something in the fall - after things had a chance to dry out - or at the very least, on a year where the snowpack hadn't broken a record last set in 1952!

For now, it was time to head home.

Going with the flow.​

My spirits high, the sloshing through the river was much more enjoyable on my return trip, and I even had a nice chuckle as plunged into the rushing water as two hikers pondered that very first river crossing I'd contemplated a few hours earlier.

"It's up above your knees in places, but a lot of fun," I said with a smile as I slipped off my shoes to empty out the few small twigs and branches that had settled out of the water as I'd crossed, before continuing on my way.

Back up we go!​

Climbing the ladders, switchbacks, and stairs, I was halfway up the side of the canyon when I spotted the hikers making their way up behind me. Given their timing, they must have labored over the decision for a full ten minutes before saving their shoes and turning back - likely the same decision I'd have made given the time of day.

Arriving at the trailhead, I quickly shed my wet pants and shoes - shorts and flip-flops a much more comfortable garb in which to kick off my 20-hour drive home. It'd be the first time the Tacoma would make the long journey - since we'd began storing it in Las Vegas - in five months. And it was time for a little maintenance.

Bye-bye Bears Ears; until we meet again!​

 

Rig Review - What worked and what didn't with the Tacoma Stored in Las Vegas?
Part of the My First Time in Joshua Tree (Feb 2023) trip.

April 28, 2023.

The big news on this Rig Review is that the Tacoma has been stored in Las Vegas, largely eliminating the long, 20+ hour slog to get from the PNW to the SW before a winter adventure. While this has definitely reduced the wear and tear on the truck - saving something on the order of 2000 miles per trip - it has also introduced other benefits and drawbacks that I didn't really think about when I decided to go this route.

With that in mind, let's get down to it. This Rig Review covers the following trips:

• Left Behind (Jan)
• Not the Rock Art I Was Looking For (Jan)
• Left Behind, Again (Feb)
• Mine Mania - The Dale Mining District (Feb)
• My First Time in Joshua Tree (Feb)
• Rock Art Three Ways (Mar 2023)
• Three Days of R&R (Apr 2023)

I'm Loving the Truck in Las Vegas (ongoing)
TL;DR - having the Tacoma in Las Vegas and flying back and forth for each trip is one of the best things we've done for the setup in a long time from a quality of life perspective. It doesn't save any money though.

At the beginning of January, I arranged to leave the Tacoma in storage down in Las Vegas between trips. The idea is to keep the Tacoma closer to where it's used for its intended purpose - exploring - rather than using it to drive back-and-forth from the Pacific Northwest every time we want to explore a more accessible terrain during the winter.

This isn't some awesome idea that I came up with. It's based largely on the practice of a fellow explorer, Ken @DVexile. He has been doing this for years after he moved to the east coast but wanted to have a way to explore his favorite getaway - Death Valley.

After three months, here's a quick look at the pros and cons of this situation.


Pros
The beginnings/ends of trips are so much more pleasant. I didn't ever really mind the long, 20+ hour drives - I'd listen to podcasts, watch the scenery, enjoy some Wendy's, and then arrive in the wee hours of the following morning. Sure, I'd only get a few hours of sleep that first night and I'd be tired the next day, but that would mostly work itself out by the end of the trip. I didn't register at all how much nicer it would be to arrive 1000 miles away fully rested and ready to explore on the same afternoon as I'd left home.

@mrs.turbodb is much happier. Where I didn't mind the long drives, she hated them. Flying - only a few hour operation - is much more acceptable to her, and that's made entire trips more pleasurable for both of us.

Less wear and tear on the Tacoma. Obviously by flying, we're saving ~2,000 miles per trip on the odometer of the Tacoma. Even though my engine oil analysis in the last rig review showed that it's generally in great shape even with all those miles, over time, this should make it last a lot longer, and reduce maintenance costs (tires, timing belts, etc.) Just as a quick comparison, we'd driven 13,583 miles by this time last year (2022) over the course of four trips, and we've driven only 3,883 miles so far this year having completed six trips!

Less stress when getting home at the end of a trip. One of the things we always had to deal with when driving was ensuring that we left enough time to get home. There was always a push-pull between "seeing one more thing" and leaving a little extra padding in case something went wrong along the way. Getting home was important because of @mini.turbodb - like many families these days, she's only with us part of the time, and we always prioritize being home when she is with us.


Cons (and how I'm dealing with them)
Minor maintenance on the Tacoma is harder to take care of. Previously, between trips, I'd perform a lot of minor maintenance - oil changes, tire rotations, installation of a new PCV valve or other component when the Tacoma was sitting in the garage at home. Now, with it so far away, that's impossible. As such, a few minor maintenance issues have piled up. Right now, the list sits at the following:

• I need to top off the gear oil in transmission because of the small leak that I haven't fixed yet.
• The wiring for one of my Diode Dynamics SS5 pods on the bumper needs to be soldered (when I installed them, apparently I only crimped the connections and one jiggled loose).
• I've had a new PCV valve on hand for the last six months or so, and just need to install it (preventative maintenance).
• I've had a LutzAuto speedometer/odometer calibration control box on hand since November and just need to install it.
• My hidden spare key fell off of the truck at some point, so I need to get a new one made. Except that the master key is in Las Vegas at the storage facility.
• I've had a Honda windshield wiper sprayer for the passenger nozzle waiting to be installed for about a year now.
• I got a P0120 code on my last trip to Joshua Tree, and while I cleaned the MAF and intake on the trail, this is something that - in the past - I would have waited to do until I got home.

Likely - or at least, my plan for now - is to drive the Tacoma home at oil change intervals. For me, that's about 7,500 miles, and seems like it'll be about 5-6 months. Then, I'll try to have all the various bits on hand that I need to do a few concentrated days of work, before driving the truck back for the next trip, after which it will once again be stores in Las Vegas.

I don't have a vehicle to drive at home. The Tacoma didn't see a lot of driving at home, but I would use it every now and then to run an errand or pick something up at Lowes Depot. Now that we only have one vehicle at home, @mrs.turbodb and I have to do a bit more juggling. Ultimately, I'm not dealing with this at all - for the most part, it's fine, but less convenient.


Facts (neither pros nor cons for me, but they might be one or the other for someone else)
Cost is about the same or a little less to store the Tacoma in Las Vegas. At initial glance, it might seem like storing the truck in Las Vegas would save a lot of money, but it really doesn't. Rather than write everything out, here's a tabular breakdown of how the costs compare over the course of an average month and year. Obviously gas prices and flight prices affect this the most.

Costs pretty much the same.​

It's statistically safer. This isn't one that I think about all that much, given that I consider myself one of the safer/better drivers out there, but statistically, it's much safer for us to fly than it is to drive (mostly due to other drivers).


I Need New Headlights (ongoing-ish)
TL;DR - my headlight housings are getting foggy again. Given their age - original to the Tacoma - it's time to put in some new ones.

A couple years ago, I went through a saga of trying to figure out the best setup for headlights. First, I installed some LEDs. I liked them but they output a lot of radio frequency interference (RFI) so I went back to halogen, and upgraded my wiring to be able to power brighter bulbs, which has been fantastic, and is the route I would recommend going from the start.

Polishing worked OK, but quickly reverted back to the foggy state.​

In combination with polishing the (still original to the Tacoma) headlight housings, the new bulbs worked great for a while, but now they housings are getting foggy again.

This fogginess will happen more and more quickly with each polish, so I'm just going to put in entirely new Toyota OEM headlight housings (left) (right). It's important to get OEM housings for the headlights, as aftermarket do not reflect the light properly, thereby failing to provide more light down the road. They aren't cheap, but they aren't that expensive either, given what they do. Just another thing to add to my minor maintenance list for when the Tacoma finally comes home.

Clear headlight lenses make all the difference when it comes to night driving.​

GPS Navigation Software (resolved for now)
TL;DR - After considering a switch to Gaia, I'm (mostly) sticking with Backcountry Navigator for GPS software because it works better for the things I do.

I mentioned in my last rig review that Gaia seemed to have a lot going for it - and that's still true. It does several things better than BCN (Pro or XE):

• Overlays are fabulous
• Downloading map data for offline use is easy and uses (relatively) little storage space
• The browser-based trip planning/mapping is terrific
• Cross-platform (iOS/Android) support is better than BCN (XE only, there's no Pro for iOS)

However, there are two things that are showstoppers for me, and they are things that BCN handles flawlessly:

1. When out on the trail, creating a waypoint in Gaia requires you to choose a folder every single time for the waypoint, if you want it to end up with the rest of the data for the same "trip." If you don't, it just goes into the top-level workspace and mixes in with anything else that isn't filed, making it impossible to find later. BCN has the concept of "default folder/trip" and any new waypoints, tracks, etc. are automatically deposited into that folder. This makes them easy to find later, export as a group, etc. Given that I create several dozen tracks and waypoints over the course of a trip, this functionality is super important to me... so without it, I can't make the switch.
2. Waypoints and tracks do not have a prefix in Gaia. This might seem like a small issue, but my workflow is one where I mark points of interest as I find them on an adventure and then - when I return home - I manually transfer all of those points back to my master Google Earth file. In BCN, where every waypoint or track is prefixed with the date/time, the ones I added are easy to find (and are stored in chronological order) in the sea of waypoints that already existed for the trip. With Gaia, the new waypoints just get mixed in - alphabetically, since there's no date/time stamp - making it a hunt-and-peck operation to find them all in order to transfer them over.

Lastly - BCN uses less computing power than Gaia, which is a nice benefit for me, on my (admittedly older) tablet. It's just a bit more responsive, which is nice when you just want to have a quick glance at the map and move on.

At any rate, I'll likely continue to use BCN on the trail, but I might start to use Gaia (instead of Google Maps) for pre-trip route planning and track creation.


The ARB Fridge Died (new)
TL;DR - I'm not happy at all that the ARB fridge wouldn't cool on my last trip. I'm going to be reaching out to ARB support to (hopefully) get the issue resolved.

When I showed up in Las Vegas for Three Days of R&R, I followed my usual procedures, picking up the Tacoma from storage, turning on the various systems, and then heading to the grocery store to provision the fridge with a few days' worth of food.

As I was stopped for gas on my way to Utah, I happened to glance at the control panel for the fridge and noticed that it hadn't gotten any cooler than when I'd turned it on a couple hours earlier. No bueno. Thinking that there might just be some electrical glitch, I turned it off for 10 minutes, then turned it back on and continued on my way for another hour. Knowing that I'd need a solution, I pulled over at the last grocery store along my route, and sure enough, the temperature still hadn't dropped. Dang!

My $1000 ARB fridge, now a glorified ice chest.​

I don't know exactly what the issue is at this point, but my hope is that it's something simple and that ARB will stand behind their product even though it's out of warranty. It's been an invaluable bit of gear for our adventures, so I'll be getting this issue resolved quickly - one way or another.

The Floor of My Tent Has Holes in It (new)
TL;DR - The two spots where the ladder rests on the bottom of the tent have developed holes in the aluminum floor.

My Mt. Shasta Pioneer roof top tent (RTT) from Cascadia Vehicle Tents (CVT) has been fantastic since I ordered and picked it up in 2016. Sure, I've had the standard issue of the zipper on the cover getting stuck and wearing out (which I've covered in several rig reviews), but CVT support was fantastic and got a new cover sent out to me free of charge. Combined with an Exped Megamat (acquisition, 1-year review), I really couldn't be happier with a shelter that's provided more than 1000 nights of sleep for @mrs.turbodb and me.

Not too long ago, Mike @Digiratus picked up a new hard-shell tent, and when I asked why he moved away from his CVT, one of the things he mentioned was that there were holes developing in the bottom where the ladder pressed on the aluminum skin as the tent was leveraged open. I'd never really considered that, but I've been keeping an eye on the same location on my tent since then, and recently I noticed that holes were beginning to form on mine as well.

Repeated use has worn through the aluminum skin of the floor.​

I don't think that these holes will cause any real problems - after all, they are on the bottom of the floor, and the aluminum skin isn't structural - but I might as well patch them up just in case. It shouldn't be too hard given that I still have a bit of aluminum hanging around from the roof rack that I built for our family 4Runner.


Seemingly solved from previous Rig Reviews

1. GPS Navigation Software - resolved for now - I'm not making a (complete) switch to Gaia as noted above.

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

1. The Transmission is Leaking - I still need to replace the seal between the transmission and the transfer case input shaft.
2. The Rear Diff is Weeping - this seems to have slowed down even more, and I'll probably just keep an eye on it for now, rather than proactively fix it.
3. Skid plate attachment could be better - While I've got the skids working for now, I'm going to need to work out an attachment solution for the front skid at the LCA tab location for them to work longer term.
4. My Suspension Squeaks - still squeaky. I'm not all that worried about it, so I'm in no rush to fix it.

 

Great overview of the pros/cons of storing vs. driving!

I'll add just a few random comments for others considering the choice, first just on the mechanics of it:

• You really want your build pretty much done before doing storage. It is really hard to fly in and do major modifications. Though I did get my initial build done that way (Flip-Pac and raised floor), as well as a few later things (sliders), the vast majority of the work on my truck (suspension, armor, various interior mods) was done in the year we happened to be living in CA with the truck.
• Greasing is an annoying preventative maintenance to deal with. It isn't practical (at least to me) to carry a full sized grease gun in the truck all the time and you are unlikely to find a shop that will be interested in letting you grease your truck with theirs regardless of the dollars you offer them. I'm looking into the 3 oz cartridges and associated mini-gun at the moment as a potential solution.
• Doing 6 month oil changes on low mileage is a waste of time. When time with your truck is now vacation you don't want to waste it on unnecessary maintenance. Time doesn't matter for oil changes, just go by mileage and occasionally do some oil testing. My oil changes can be as much as two years apart (I'd love them to be closer if that means I've done more trips). If you have a little bit of lift and a Fumato valve it is quite easy to do an oil change "in the field". Don't be an ass and be aware many places do not want you doing such maintenance on their property (because who wants an oil spill on their property). As an alternative there is nothing wrong with dropping it at a place you trust and eating a burger while someone else deals with it, but of course much of TW would never trust a place to do an oil change for them!
• Since I'm too far to really ever drive my truck back I'll have to allocate occasional times for major preventative maintenance (e.g. plug changes, transmission oil, shock rebuilds). I hope some of that might be able to be done when I've taken the truck down to CA to visit family and have built in down time.
• Tire rotation is time consuming and labor intensive so I let Discount Tire do it and then double check their work. Again, I can usually get a rotation done while I eat my lunch nearby so it is of little impact to my schedule.
• Either preemptively replace your battery on a schedule or be aware you might have to replace it when you first take the truck out of storage. In a major city like Vegas this really only adds about 30 or 45 mins max to trip prep when it happens. I always bring a boost pack with me in my carry-on (and I leave the boost pack leads permanently in the truck since inevitably some TSA boob will consider them a threat to national security).
• Southwest has a very liberal cancellation policy. These days I book more dates than I intend to make so that if I have to cancel due to weather, health or some situation at home then I've got back up dates already reserved at reasonable prices.

Some other side benefits:

• Because everything has to live in the truck, and you can't use the truck for any household work that might make you empty it, that means the truck is always ready to go camping at the drop of a hat. Just add food and water and off you go! I usually land at about 8:30 in the morning and am leaving Las Vegas between 11 and noon (having already had an obligatory In & Out meal).
• Honestly, do not underestimate how much at home trip prep (load up the truck with camping gear) and a long drive can take out of you. Especially as you get older. If time is precious to you (e.g. still working or other schedule constraints) long drives and the necessary recovery time can reduce vacation time. Of course, if you have no schedule constraints and you can make the drive to/from part of the journey then flying and storage would have less appeal.
• Related to the above, a plane flight can actually be a calm time to do last minute planning, check lists and such whereas the long drive is for me at least just physically draining.
  
• Psychologically encourages you to actually use the truck. Varies from person to person and is of course just a "head game" that could be addressed other ways, but if you are paying for storage and not using the truck any other way this sort of "forces" you to go use the dang thing or else feel stupid for paying storage fees. I actually visit Death Valley and the desert southwest more now that I live on the east coast than when I actually lived in the southwest.

Cost realities:

• This of course only really works if you can dedicate the truck to be purely a vehicle for recreation. That very much makes it a luxury. I sometimes refer to mine as my "land boat" because the economic concept is similar. That said, anyone who has owned a real boat can tell you how much more awful and costly that is compared to owning a "land boat".
• Some of this cost is reduced if you account for our trucks usually being quite expensive compared to a dedicated commuter vehicle. If you only need the truck for camping access (as opposed to actually using it to carry things for work and such) it can be a cost savings to have the truck last 20 years at low mileage while you use a less expensive vehicle for commuting.
• You sometimes just have to suck up that things will cost a bit more. You'll be buying oil at whatever price it is at when you do your change and not storing up a huge supply in your garage that was purchased on sale with a rebate.
• Airfare of course changes the cost comparison if you've got a family! Me flying myself is a whole lot different than someone flying a family of four.

Anyway, it is probably a relatively "niche" solution for just a few people on the site, but don't overlook it if you find yourself driving long distances to the same area over time. It is also a practical part time solution - maybe store in part of the country for a few months so you can make three or four trips without huge round trip drives and then bring it home afterwards.

As usual, good post @turbodb !

 

I cut a couple of pieces of plastic strip that cover the total area the ladder ends can move. I used an adhesive to stick the plastic to the bottom of the tent. Lasted a couple of season but the cold tends to kill it. It does keep the wear down.

 

A Plane, a Military Mockup, and a Sunken Dozer | Idaho-wyhee #1
Part of the Idaho-whyee (May 2023) trip.

With the warmer weather finally making its way north, and the Tacoma at home for a bit of maintenance after the last several months of living in Las Vegas, @mrs.turbodb and I thought that it would be fitting to mark the anniversary of our very first trip in the Tacoma by visiting the Owyhee.

We wouldn't explore exactly the same spots - we rarely do - but we'd find ourselves in wonderfully similar surroundings, the fleeting green grass of spring welcoming us back. This time we decided to explore the Idaho side of this amazing wilderness, setting off on a warm Wednesday morning for the 12-hour drive south.

I must say - in the six months we've stored the truck in Las Vegas, we've been spoiled. Not long ago, a 12-hour drive would have seemed like child's play to us, a mere footnote on and adventure. But with two-hour flights now the norm, we were both ready for bed when we arrived in pitch darkness and a bit of rain - our first camp site along Sheep Creek, a location we hoped would afford a dramatic view the following morning.

The Owyhee always looks so flat...​

...until you're right up on the edge.​

Luckily the rain didn't last long and by the time we woke up in the morning, the tent was dry. More importantly - as the mud in this area can be notorious - the roads were dry as well, or at least as dry as they could be with all the extra moisture that'd fallen out of the sky as white stuff over the course of the winter.

We took a short stroll to the big bend of Sheep Creek so we could peer down to the bottom.​

Having slept for a couple more hours after my initial pre-sunrise photos, it was nearly 11:00am when we finally rolled out of camp. As much as I am usually an early-morning riser, I have to admit to welcoming our slower pace on this particular morning as I recovered from a head cold that probably should have kept me home anyway.

The clouds were looking fantastic as we headed out across the grassy plains.​

Blackstone Reservoir had plenty of water in it from all the snow melt.​

It was as we were cruising along - at reasonably slow speeds - that I heard the first light screeching noise coming from the front passenger corner of the Tacoma. Pretty sure that the culprit was simply a rock stuck in the brake dust shield, I didn't think much of it. Over the next few minutes, the sound became louder. Eventually, when @mrs.turbodb commented on it, I stopped the truck and backed up a few dozen feet - usually enough to dislodge any debris that's found its way into this annoying location.

Unfortunately - despite several more attempts at dislodging the rock - the noise remained. Not only that, but it got worse. Within a few miles it was worryingly loud, and I began to question my initial diagnosis - could it be that my wheel bearing was going out? That would certainly be a problem.

Resigned, we decided to get to the highway - the direction we were headed already - before digging into the situation any further. That way, if it turned out to require a tow, at least we'd be on pavement and save ourselves a few bucks.

Minor surgery.​

While I jacked up the front of the Tacoma with the Hi-Lift - an easy job given the jack points cleverly built into every @RelentlessFab bumper - my copilot took the opportunity to make turkey sandwiches for lunch on the tailgate. These would have been welcomed under any circumstance, but in this particular case they afforded me a celebratory meal when a small rock fell from the brake dust shield a few moments after I removed the front wheel! My original diagnoses had been correct, and I wasn't going crazy!

Our spirits lifted and bellies full, we crossed the highway towards a series of locations that seemed interesting. It's here that I should note that we owe much of what we experienced on this trip to Kenny - a fellow explorer of the Owyhee region who has spent decades combing the roads and compiling the history of this amazing place. In fact, Kenny and I had tentatively - finally - hoped to meet up on this very trip, until his excursion was delayed a week, resulting in our departure on the day before he arrived!

The stone ruins of the old Sego Place. This family built the first Grasmere station on Duncan Butte Road, then built the new (now abandoned) facility on highway 51​

When the land looks the same all around, the view out the back door is the same as the front - fabulous!​

We're always up for a good homestead ruin - and we'd get plenty of those on this adventure - but what caught our eye as we pulled up to the Sego Place was a compound in the distance. Really, there wouldn't have been anything noteworthy about it, but for the fact that we'd seen another unexplained - at the time - compound less than ten miles away on a previous trip to the area with Mike @Digiratus, Zane @Speedytech7 and Ben @m3bassman, a few years earlier.

Even from a distance, we were pretty sure this wasn't a pig farm.​

A little bolder than we'd been on our last visit, we drove right up to the gate.​

Sure enough, the information we'd been provided as a result of the previous foray proved correct, signage on the fence alerting us to the fact that this was a government facility, and that we'd better not get too close, as the entire place was a laser range used for target practice by the planes that were constantly buzzing us overhead.

I was ready to turn around when @mrs.turbodb pointed out the "windows" to me. Suddenly, I was even more intrigued.​

The air conditioning probably didn't work too well, either.​

"Chimneys." Perhaps these have similar radar signatures to brick-and-mortar construction?​

From one military installation, we set off towards another - more somber - attraction. Somewhere west of Grasmere - out in the middle of the desert - a plane crashed decades earlier. Strewn over a half-mile, several components of the aircraft remain on site, a testament to those who lost their lives in the service of our country.

Follow the green grass road - it's spring out here.​

Streamside bluebells were plentiful along our route. (Mertensia ciliata)​

Not many people visit this site, the road petering out as we arrived.​

The remains here were from an old USAF Phantom II RF-4C, tail number 650889. Falling to the earth on October 02, 1969, both pilots - Major Walter Biolley, and First Lieutenant James E. Coleman - both died in the crash.

geocache at site​

Both turbo-prop engines in their final resting place.​

Just off the edge - and inaccessible due to a steeper-than-it-looks snowbank - of the plateau, the fuselage of the jet lay in a mangled heap.​

Luckily, my longer lens was able to get us a little closer.​

We wandered for a while, trying to gain access to the fuselage, but the snowbank and thicket of trees were enough to keep us from reaching the final piece of wreckage. And, while we noted a road that accessed the area from the opposite direction, we ultimately opted to continue along our planned route, rather than taking a 26-mile detour to end up in approximately the same location.

Instead, our route would take us south - along the edge of the plateau and the never-ending snowbank - as we set our sights on something relatively rare in this neck of the wilderness - rock art!

Before reaching any petroglyphs, we attempted to visit the ruins at Wild Horse Spring, but were turned back by what still remained of winter's 187% snowpack.​

Knowing that we'd be flirting with snow if we got much above 5,600-feet, I'd done my best to keep us at elevations of 5,100-feet and lower throughout the trip, but I'd missed the fact that this part of Owyhee climbed to just over 6,000-feet.

Except for potentially blocking our path, the snow itself wasn't really a problem. Rather, it was the melt - and resulting high-desert Owyhee mud - that had us keeping a sharp eye out as we continued along the road. We've been stuck in the Owyhee muck before, and experienced the mess that it can create more than once; neither of these were situations we wanted to repeat.

​

A quick look on the topo map suggested that one northerly-facing rock art site would likely still be hidden by snow drifts, while the other - facing south - stood a good chance of being exposed. Of course, the roads themselves were anyone's guess.

Natural reservoirs were full as we wound our way through the high desert.​

Colorful wildflowers were making it known that winter was over. Long-leafed phlox (Phlox longifolia).​

It was 3:00pm - and only a few tense sections of trail - when we reached the first site. Sure enough, a snowbank covered many of the rock faces, but we were elated to discover that the petroglyphs themselves were already exposed.

As if anticipating our arrival, the snow retreated in all the right places.​

A close up of dotted circles, which we thought looked like lady bugs.​

More lady bugs.​

The circle around a starburst on the right side of this panel caught both of our attention.​

While there weren't a lot of recognizable figures, the dot motif was evidenced on nearly every patinaed surface.​

Excited that the first set of petroglyphs had been accessible, our spirits were high for the second set. In hindsight, this may have been a bit of chicken counting-before-hatching, but you know what they say about hindsight and all that.

@mrs.turbodb was opening and closing gates the entire trip. 28 gates in all.​

Skirting the snow again, we eventually found ourselves parked along the escarpment between the two levels of the plateau. It was time to start our search.

Several seasonal creeks threatened to make the roads impassable as they carried snowmelt into the valleys.​

Found one, and it's a - rare in this area - anthropomorph!​

I had no idea what this meant, but I like the story that the dots tell, between the two figures.​

Running man.​

So many feet.​

Only recently exposed.​

Needless to say, we were thrilled with the petroglyphs we'd seen at this second site. While there'd been more snow here than we expected, so were the number of glyphs along the boulders of the escarpment. And then - as I made my way around the corner of a protruding rock, I spotted something totally unexpected - a pictograph panel!

I've never seen pictographs in Owyhee - though we have discovered a few a little further west - so I was super excited to see the red pigment still easily visible on the wall. Amazing how something like that can survive for so many years.

Signature of an artist.​

This sun figure was a super cool discovery.​

Strangely, the pictograph panel ended up being just another panel in a long series of petroglyphs, and after calling @mrs.turbodb over to check out the amazing discovery, I continued down the line.

I really liked how this panel wrapped around the corner of the rock.​

I don't know what this panel represents, but it's being invaded by...​

Millions of immature Mormon crickets!​

Flush with success from finding two rock art sites, we threaded our way through the sage to the Tacoma and pointed ourselves east. It was getting on to 5:30pm at this point and we knew that it was going to take us a good couple of hours - along some rather bumpy-and-slow-going roads to reach our final destination of the day.

Not that we'd have anything to do - except set up camp - once we got there, rather this destination would strategically position us at the trailhead to Cave Draw - our first foray of the following day. And so, with the sun at our backs - always the best way to travel - we followed a familiar series of roads that have twice delivered us to Indian Hot Springs.

The combination of a green high desert, deep canyons, snow-capped mountains, and puffy white clouds - there's not much nicer than Owyhee in spring.​

The ultimate Owyhee-lander. Pretty soon, we'll see the vanlifers and insta-tubers rolling around in these land trains.​

This little guy - only about half-grown - looked on curiously as we cruised through Louis S. Eastman's place.​

Having always taken the same route off of Rowland Road to access Indian Hot Springs, we opted for an alternate approach on this fine, sunny evening. This turned out to be both a blessing and a curse. The roads shown on our map had been long reclaimed by the desert - making for a longer detour than we expected, but we also found ourselves reasonably near a big lake, which turned out to be a lot more interesting than we could have imagined.

Actually, what we noticed from a distance wasn't the lake itself, but an old semi-trailer parked along its edge. The trailer turned out to be uninteresting, but as we gazed out across the lake, we realized that the entire thing was a completely dry playa. Not only that, but - out here in the middle of nowhere - there wasn't a track to be seen on the surface. It was like our very own, very private, Alvord Playa.

Wheeeee!​

Technically we weren't the only powered vehicle, but this bulldozer wasn't in any shape to make tracks of its own.​

Still half an hour from our planned destination, we seriously considered setting up for the night right here.​

After contemplating camp, we opted for our original plan - the convenience of camping at the trailhead and being able to get an early start on our hike the following morning - even without breaking down camp - outweighed the opportunity to camp in this unusual place.

After several more miles of "flat," we spotted the signature surprise of the Owyhee - just a hint of something much larger, below us.​

As color splashed across the sky, we set up camp and prepped dinner at one of our favorite places - the very end of a long, lonely road.​

It'd been a fabulous day exploring a new area in a region we love. And, as the 80°F daytime temperature dropped into the low 50s °F with a gentle breeze overnight, we couldn't have asked for better weather.

That's not to say everything would go to plan. By 8:00am the following morning, we'd be scrapping our plans and looking for alternatives.

 

Homesteads | Idaho-wyhee #2
Part of the Idaho-whyee (May 2023) trip.

With daytime temperatures in the high-80s °F, we figured that getting an early start on our six-mile hike to Cave Draw would allow us the most pleasant experience, so I'd set my alarm for 5:30am - enough time to get ready to go just as the sun was peeking over the horizon half an hour later.

A nice golden glow camouflaged the Tacoma nicely.​

Cave Draw, a three-mile long drainage that leads to the Bruneau River, was a place that piqued my interest as I researched the area. Generally accessed by floating the waterway - something that's only possible during the month of May on high water years - one particular photo I found was enticing enough to plan this entire trip around.

​

I hoped we could recreate this composition! (photo by Steve Stuebner)​

The drainage started out as a mere depression of the land, the green grass flowing down the hillsides, our path meandering for a mile or more in a broad wash. Eventually, we reached the first steps of volcanic boulders, the drainage becoming more overgrown and our progress slowing for the second mile of the three-mile "out" segment of our journey.

In the cool morning air, the sun provided some nice warmth.​

Further down the drainage, shade was the name of the game as the temperature started to climb.​

Bushwacking our way through sage, and weaving a pack over boulders, we stumbled on this arrow rock, conveniently pointing the towards our destination.​

After the second mile, canyon walls soared sharply overhead.​

With less than a mile to go, it seemed as though we'd found an alternate - if slightly longer - route to this special place. At the very least, our pace began to quicken as we hadn't run into any insurmountable obstacles. Then - right on cue - I knew we were finished. A couple hundred feet ahead of us, the bottom of the wash dropped out from under our feet - a series of chimney-like 75-foot dry falls plummeting down to the best that Cave Draw had to offer.

The steep narrows, impassable without proper rigging and training.​

There wasn't just one fall - we could see at least three.​

Just out of reach - around the lowest bend - the caves we'd hoped to reach. ​

It was only 7:15am, and we'd been foiled. I suppose we should have expected to find what we did - I've never found any mention of hiking to Cave Draw - but I must admit that we were a little bummed as we picked our way back up the drainage to the Tacoma, our sights now set on the remainder of the day, our hopes high that the remaining foray's into the canyons of the Owyhee would be more successful than the first.

A two-point antler from last year's rut was nestled into the tall grass.​

​

We found three of these buggers during the trip, luckily all of them on the outside of our clothing!​

Back in the high desert, we'd soon retraced our steps from the Bruneau River to Sheep Creek as we approached Louis S Eastman's place.​

Reaching Rowland Road - the main north-south artery of the region - we turned south towards a series of homesteads and overlooks that would take us all the way to the Nevada border.

The first order of business was finding a place to eat lunch, preferably with a bit of shade. Having skipped breakfast - and though it was only 11:00am - our four-mile hike left us both hungry, but not hungry enough to brave the sun that was beating down, already warming the air to the mid-80s °F.

It may come as no surprise to those who know the area, but ultimately our search for a tree was unsuccessful.

Homesteads - like Joe White's old stone cabin - are sprinkled across the Owyhee, much of the history lost to time.​

The grazers were enjoying the all-you-can-eat buffet that is the three-week period of green grass.​

​

Tt or T+? Not sure, and there are several possibilities in the Idaho Brand Book.​

Winding our way down towards Cat Creek.​

After twenty minutes - and a grand total of zero trees to shade us from the sun, we found ourselves crossing the old wooden bridge to the John Cowan Place. Nestled along Cat Creek, only a bit of shade would have made it a more perfect setting to poke around for a few minutes while turkey sandwiches and Cheetos magically materialized on the tailgate of the Tacoma.

Cat Creek was full, necessitating a quick integrity check of the bridge before we gingerly made our way across.​

The main cabin.​

Bedroom view.​

At one time, the cabin had been nicely insulated from the cold winters and driving winds with a diagonal layer of trees sandwiching a thick layer of mud.​

A double ridge beam surely helped to support the snow load through the long winter months.​

A smaller cabin - made fancy with a corner window.​

A bit of old farming equipment lay around the site, I wasn't sure what this piece was for.​

Our bellies full, and the sun directly overhead, we retreated to the cover of the air-conditioned cab as quickly as we could after refilling our water bottles and putting away what little we'd used to make lunch. This lasted just long enough for @mrs.turbodb to cool down and nod off, before we found ourselves at one of the more dramatic overlooks of the day at a spot just above Fred Robertson's Place.

This system of canyons never fails to impress.​

Down along the creek, a few poplar - surely planted by Robertson - are sure to outlive the old structures he once occupied.​

Looking to the south.​

And to the north.​

Having interrupted my companion's prime nap time, it seemed only fitting to allow her a few extra moments before the next stop. As such, I sped past a few places I'd marked and followed the undulating, well-graded road all the way to the Nevada border.

A bit of snow across the border on the Bruneau Mountains (aka The Mahoganies) made for pleasant views.​

As we crossed the border into Nevada we got a view of the distant Jarbidge Mountains and Scotts Table before turning around.​

For a long time, we thought of Owyhee as a region of Southeast Oregon - specifically the area in and around the small town of Jordan Valley - with the Owyhee River serving as a centerpiece to Jordan Craters, Leslie Gulch, and of course, the Succor Creek Natural Area. It is - we now know - a much larger place, spanning a large swath of southwest Idaho, and a good chunk of northern Nevada. And, while we've visited the Idaho slice a couple of times, the Nevada potion remains completely unexplored - only a fleeting visit as part of the Nevada Backcountry Discovery Route (NVBDR) as we passed through Jarbidge.

But now was not the time to change all that - this was a trip to Idaho-wyhee - so after making a u-turn in the middle of the road, we retraced our path under sunny skies and puffy clouds to a few of the places we'd passed in our journey south.

Our first stop was Fred Hall's old homestead. Now, a cattle nursery, all the mama cows and their newborns gathered into a small area, allowing the ranchers to keep a close eye on the next generation.​

​

A quick stop at two of the larger ranches in the area - the TM Ranch and the Tokenbambi - where living off the land continues to this day.​

By now it was nearing 4:00pm and while we had a plan - a place I hoped to be the highlight of our trip - in mind for the evening - it seemed only prudent to visit a nearby overlook of Sheep Creek before we headed back towards the Bruneau River for the remainder of our time.

Soon, we were overlooking one of the deep, winding, gorges that this place is famous for and even in the hot afternoon air, we both spent a good 10 minutes admiring the view.

Part of me wanted to hike the 800 feet down to the river, but then I remembered how old I'm getting.​

Expansive view.​

With that, I knew it was time for something very special. As we once again retraced our path towards Rowland Road, I did my best to prep my co-pilot for what was ahead.

"I think this is going to be similar to the steep road down into Indian Hot Springs," I warned her. "And once we're there, I don't know if there will be a road along the river, or if we're going to have to hike a couple miles."

Knowing that the road to Indian Hot Springs wasn't anywhere near her top-10 list of favorite roads, I was relieved when the only reaction I got was a sideways glance. In the end, I probably deserved a lot more flack for what we were about to do as we went... Over the Edge.

 

Epic as usual but those fu@king tics!

 

Fantastic as usual. Accept this picture as my attempt to bump this thread to a new page

Spoiler

 

Over the Edge to Paradise | Idaho-wyhee #3
Part of the Idaho-whyee (May 2023) trip.

Where were we? Oh yes, we'd just visited an overlook of Sheep Creek and we were on our way towards Bruneau Canyon where it was time for something very special. And I was doing my best to prep my co-pilot for what was ahead.

"I think this is going to be similar to the steep road down into Indian Hot Springs," I warned her.

As always, the approach to the edge gave few clues to the glory were about to witness.​

No matter how many times we find ourselves at a grand vista over one of the canyons that make up the Owyhee, we always find ourselves catching our breaths as the earth drops away in front of us, the distant rushing of white water filtering up from far below. Even so, the view we found on this afternoon was one to rival them all.

Wow.​

It was @mrs.turbodb who noticed the problem first. "Are we going to be able to make it down there?" she asked.

"Road looks OK to me," I replied, hoping that though it was steep, rocky, and overgrown, that there wouldn't be any large rockslides that would require our reversing our way back to the top.

"No, I mean, will we fit?" she said, pointing to the gate that blocked the beginning of our path.

The top of this gate - mangled over time - dipped down to approximately the height of our Tacoma.​

It was a good question, and one that I didn't know the answer to - or a solution for - as I walked over to take a closer look.

Initially, I was pretty sure that we weren't going to fit. It was a lot like the situation we'd found ourselves in a couple months earlier as we were headed into the Mojave National Preserve's Macedonia Canyon, except that this time there was no soft sand that we could extract in order to eke out a few more inches of clearance.

Evaluating the situation, we wondered as to several possible plans. The gate didn't look all that sturdy, but a closer inspection revealed that we weren't going to have any luck bending the top back into its original shape. Perhaps instead we could move the entire thing out of the way. Or, maybe it was time to let significantly more air out of the tires - taking them from 15psi to something closer to 5psi in order to give ourselves a bit of wiggle room.

In the end, I decided that it was worth trying the easiest solution first - pulling the Tacoma closer to understand exactly what we were working with.

Low and behold, we fit - with three whole inches to spare!​

While we were both elated, I must admit that we were also a little worried about what we'd find on the remainder of the road. A road that clearly sees very little vehicular traffic - and seemingly nothing wider than ATVs these days - it had been carved into the canyon walls, descending steeply through the rocky terrain.

In 4-lo, we soldiered on, the views beckoning us forward.​

In several places, I got out and walked the trail - both to ensure that there weren't any rockslides and just to make sure the narrowest-of-all-Tacomas would fit.​

Continuing down into the canyon, we finally caught a glimpse of the Bruneau River.​

It was a surreal experience dropping down amongst the green canyon walls. With every turn, anticipation and apprehension fought an endless battle, neither of us quite sure as to how far we'd make it. Eventually - once it became clear that we'd made it far enough, even if we had to hike the remainder of the way - we both relaxed, excitement and elation winning the day.

Any other time, an overlook near the bottom of the canyon would have made a nice camp site.​

Now, less than 20 feet above and 30 feet away from a Bruneau River that was bursting at its seams, we covered the final - relatively level - mile to the destination that we'd braved the treacherous descent to reach - an old homestead.

The main cabin.​

Originally settled by Manuel ********, a Portuguese immigrant with the name behind the TM brand that is so prevalent in the area, ******** settled in the JP Country [essentially, the Owyhee area] some time before 1880 with his wife, and ran sheep until selling the property in 1900 to retire to California. That same year, the homestead was sold to the Bruneau Sheep Company which would develop the property further, adding buildings, meadows, and a road for access down the 1000-foot descent to the bottom of the canyon. The developed homestead was then traded to Homer ****** in exchange for his homestead on nearby Cat Creek. The land was eventually sold to George Rizzi in 1930, and again in 1946 to the Alzolas.

Owyhee Outpost #48 (2017)​

Wandering around, we soaked in our surroundings. Nestled along the bottom of the canyon, seven structures and several old farming implements dotted the lush lower hillsides. A fire had come through at one point, but with only low grass - and no brush - to burn, it had mercifully spared the wooden structures from harm.

I wonder how many times these steel wheels helped to hay the fields down here?​

An old stable and workshop, constructed with wood once the stone ran out.​

It's not often that roofs are largely intact.​

This homestead wasn't the only one we'd come to visit along the banks of the Bruneau River. Further north, a second homestead was once accessible by a narrow shelf road that climbed halfway up the canyon before dropping down again. Today, the two-mile route is accessible only by foot - something we briefly considered before deciding that we'd much prefer an early afternoon nap in these wonderful surroundings.

Nap time in paradise along the Bruneau River.​

It was 7:30pm when we climbed out of the tent - a warm breeze having lulled us to sleep for a couple of hours - to make dinner and enjoy the fading light in the canyon. We aren't generally ones to stay put when we're out and about, but I mentioned that this was the kind of place where I might be able to spend a day reading and relaxing, looking up at the sheer walls around us.

A new favorite camp site.​

That night...

With sunset only a few minutes before 9:00pm - and a dinner time nap - we went to bed relatively late for a couple of folks who are usually vertical immediately after dinner. Even so, it wasn't dark-dark when we zipped up the tent for the last time.

With such a dramatic landscape - and not knowing what phase of the moon we were in - I'd setup the camera for a series of night photos, hoping that when my alarm went off at 12:30am, there'd be a bit of moonlight to illuminate the canyon.

Turns out - as I looked up at the sky - there was no moon at all. Not only that, but I couldn't see the Milky Way, either. Still, not wanting to have awoken in vain, I turned setup the intervalometer on my camera and let it click away for the next four hours.

It was a perfect example of my rule: If You Take Enough Photos, Some Are Bound to be Decent.

Half an hour after starting the series - and for the next four hours - the Milky Way started it's trek across the southern sky.​

<p id="photoContainer96" class="full-width-container">https://www.youtube.com/embed/uY-2zsNFMLM</p>

Owyhee - Camp Under the Milky Way.​

The next morning...

If it was possible to be even greener in the morning light, our personal slice of paradise, was.​

Naturally, I had no idea of what'd transpired above our heads until we woke up the following morning, 30 minutes before sunrise. As we had the previous day, we'd decided that our hike downstream would be much more pleasant with cooler temperatures, so after a new battery and a quick scroll through the photos - and then a whoop of joy at what I saw - we gathered up our water and a few snacks before starting up the old road behind our camp.

Some parts of the road were still passable, but many were off-camber and only a few feet wide.​

As we climbed higher, the rushing of the Bruneau River thundered up from below.​

As the sun crested the horizon, we looked back along a road that - like many in the old west - must have taken enormous effort to construct.​

Two miles and 400 vertical feet later we found ourselves at the end of the road, on the northern edge of a large pasture. Our destination - along the river - still hidden from view by the sides of a steep ravine. From here, we'd be bushwacking our way down, following game trails down to the Bruneau.

Along the edge of the pasture, building materials that were never utilized.​

Down there, our final destination.​

Losing elevation quickly, we followed a series of switchbacks toward the river. It seemed strange, really, given the road that'd traversed this far, but eventually we spotted a few structures across the river.

"Bad news," said @mrs.turbodb as she looked at the map on her phone, "The homestead is on the other side."

I kept quiet, keeping my pre-trip Google Earth exploration of this area to myself. But I knew otherwise.

Across the Bruneau River, you can just make out the first ruins that we saw from the hillside.​

A little closer.​

The most interesting structure of all - unexplorable given current water levels.​

Frank ******** immigrated from Portugal in 1900 to work for his brother, Manuel. In 1903, Frank filed for a homestead in the canyon. He later moved to a larger homestead at lower Black Rock and continued to buy up other property, amassing a substantial cattle operation in JP Country. [JP Country is essentially Owyhee]

Frank was blessed with many talents as he was a natural builder. He also possessed the proverbial green thumb and raised the finest garden, orchard, and hay crops in the area. Other accomplishments were his unique irrigation system with diversion dams, cement ditches, and flumes that were very efficient.

One can but wonder how he managed to do what he did when you consider that there was no other access to his property than a pack horse trail that zigzagged over 1,000 feet down to the floor of the canyon. Everything he needed from the basic necessities for living, farm equipment, cement, lumber, tools, and all the many items required to run a ranch had to be packed in by animals. One must see this old canyon homestead to appreciate this good man's work.

In later years, Frank took in Ray and Dorrana Rizzi as partners until eventually selling the land to George in 1929.

Owyhee Outpost #16 (1985)​

After admiring the distant structures via binocular for a few minutes, we continued down - around the final bend in the ravine - until several more buildings came into view, this time on our side of the river! @mrs.turbodb - now in the lead - looked back up at me with knowing eyes; I'd been holding out on her.

Three more structures belonging to the homestead.​

Unlike the first homestead we'd visited, this one had clearly been impacted by the fire that swept through the region. Though the building walls were constructed of stone, the roofs had been flammable, their spans supported by large wooden beams. Charred and collapsed, we found ourselves wishing we'd visited a few years earlier - to see this place in its full grandeur.

Little was left of the original roof structure.​

A center cabin was constructed of large chalk blocks, similar to the building across the river.​

Lighter and significantly less dense than the more plentiful volcanic stone, numerous nails were driven directly into the stone walls.​

The main cabin, with a once-elegant plaster interior.​

A six burner range.​

Thick walls and an amazing view down river.​

As with the homestead upstream, ranching and agriculture were the staples along this section of the Bruneau River. Overgrown with 8-foot tall grass, several rusty old implements sat idle along the riverbank - each of them seemingly ready to go with a little oil and a moment's notice.

Some sort of cutting implement?​

Perhaps used to turn hay while it is drying?​

After spending a good half an hour poking our heads in and out of the cabins on our side of the river - and wondering if there was any way to get across - we set our sights on the long climb to the high road that had delivered us to this place. Putting one foot in front of the other, we were thankful for our early departure - the sun not yet high enough to chase away the shadows that were keeping us cool.

Eventually, in the distance, we could see the Tacoma, now bathed in mid-morning sun.​

Though it was still early, @mrs.turbodb set about prepping our last lunch of the trip, and I climbed into the tent - once again relishing a view that I'd have been happy to enjoy for another day - to get it packed away, ready for the next adventure. From there, we headed back upriver and then along the steep, narrow, rocky road to the top of the canyon, our heads on swivels the entire time in order to soak in the last few moments of this paradise we'd found over the edge.

We'll definitely need to come back to enjoy this a bit more.​

A quick stop with different light; it was already getting warm enough that we didn't linger long.​

On our final ascent, the local ptarmigan clucked their farewells.​

Up and out, the gate closed behind us.​

Behold Owyhee - the land of grand, hidden canyons.​

Before we head home...

After airing up and pointing the Tacoma northwest, we had a final stop to make before the ten-hour grind that would deliver us to our own bed just after 9:00pm that evening. Located out the aptly named Missile Base Road, an old Titan I Missile launch site.

I can only imagine the tension that must have permeated this place in the early 1960s.​

Peace Through Deterrence: the Titan ICBM Program

At the height of the Cold War, Mountain Home AFB served as an alert base for the Strategic Air Command. With tensions rising between the U.S. and the U.S.S.R., the base gained a new mission. In October 1960, construction began on three Titan I missile complexes near Bruneau, Oreana, and Boise. The initial construction cost was $28.9 million, but the budget swelled dramatically to over $51 million due to labor shortages, material shipping costs, extreme weather, and extensive design modifications. Water wells used in the construction varied in depth from 950 to 3,030 feet and the water required special filtration. Three workers died in accidents and several labor strikes delayed the work. Despite these problems, construction ended before the deadline of 1 April 1962. These sites were not a secret back then, even to the Russians. Peace through Deterrence was the goal, with the mutual understanding that instant retaliation would occur should either side strike first.

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Two of the caps on the old silos.​

Each of the three sites in Idaho had a short-lived existence. In May of 1964, Defense Secretary McNamara directed the accelerated phase-out of the Titan I weapons, replacing them with the more efficient Titan II. As a result, the 569th Strategic Missile Squadrons sites in Idaho closed down and the personnel moved to join two Titan squadrons at Lowry AFB, Colorado. All Titan I squadrons were deactivated in June 1965. The missiles, most of the equipment, classified information, wiring, and salvageable metals were removed from the sites. These and some of the other sites around the country are privately owned, with the occupants living above ground or in the refurbished command centers.

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Three small buildings cover ventilation shafts for the underground complexes.​

The sites themselves are engineering marvels, buried deep in the dry Idaho dirt and designed to withstand earthquakes and nuclear missile impacts. The silos are 160 feet in depth, built in groups of three, and supported by propellant and equipment terminals, a powerhouse, control center, and antenna terminals. Reinforced concrete 3 to 4 feet thick protects the sites from impact. Shock absorbers built into important areas protect delicate wiring and instruments from vibration. Self-contained, the sites were on alert 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Launch crews conducted exercises constantly and were able to raise each missile into position in 15 minutes. If launched, a missile could reach its target 5,500 miles away in just 33 minutes. There were several instances in which the only thing holding the nation back from full-scale nuclear war was a launch order from the Pentagon. Fortunately, none of the 3,800-pound warheads were unleashed.

Idaho Architecture Project - Titan I Missile Silos in Idaho​

And with that, we were headed home.

 

Yes, that implement is a grass cutter with the blade in the raised, or travel, position. When the blade was lowered into the cutting position it connected to a gear and shaft that was connected to the wheels. By pulling the cutter the wheels would drive the blade in a sawing motion. The second one is a rake to gather up the cut grass. My grandfather had both and made some modifications so he could use his tractor with them.

That's about all I know as I only observed my grandfather use them and I've forgotten the in depth lesson of their use I'm sure grandpa gave me.