AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

Worth the Effort | Third Time #1
Part of the Third Time's the Charm (Nov 2023) trip.

The Pahranagat Valley and its surrounding wilderness' have been my nemesis throughout 2023. I set out in January - nearly a year ago now - to follow the Pahranagat Trail in search of rock art that I'd discovered through the trip reports of other intrepid explorers. Ultimately - and luckily, quickly - I realized that without more information, I was searching for a needle in a haystack, so I headed east and south - to Utah and Arizona - where I discovered some of the most amazing rock art that I was not looking for.

Strike one.

Determined to succeed - or more likely... glutton for punishment - I hit the internets hard upon my return, searching for any additional information I could find. And, in a stroke of genius - or more likely... desperation - I filed my first (and I can only hope last), Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) request.

That request was promptly denied. Apparently, understandably, and thankfully, FOIA requests do not allow our government to "release cultural resource site location information to the general public. This information is protected under National Historic Preservation Act (NHPA), Section 304 (and subsequent DOI regulations and policy)."

I have to say - despite a very small amount of disappointment - I was mostly relieved that finding sensitive rock art wasn't FOIA easy.

Even so, some of my research seemed to lead (me to believe) that I knew were more of the rock art was located, and so once again it was back to the Pahranagat in June where we once again came up empty on the main site I was trying to find. It also turned out to be the trip where the memory card in my camera became corrupted, resulting in the complete loss of all my photos for the entire trip.

The Curse of the Pahranagat was certainly strike two.

And so, just as the year was set to expire, we headed back. This time, I'm armed with more memory cards. And more hints as to the location of a site that I've been trying to see for the better part of a year.

- - - - -

​

Twenty miles from the Big Rocks Wilderness, I suddenly applied the brakes and executed a sweeping u-turn in the middle of The Great Basin Highway (US-93). This - reasonably - caught @mrs.turbodb off guard, and she was suddenly alert in her seat and asking what was wrong.

Nothing was wrong, I'd just spotted something on the road.

Well hello, little lady.​

Aren't you hairy?​

I'm coming to get you!​

By this point, she was well off the road, and I was just creating a scene.​

That little bit of excitement behind us - it was only the second time we've found a tarantula in the wild, the first being a male that wandered into our camp site in the Owlshead Mountains of Death Valley - we began discussing our plans for the remainder of the day. Already nearing 4:00pm - and with sunset just after 6:00pm - we certainly weren't going to have time for the hike that would, hopefully, lead us to the rock art site I'd been searching for all year. However, it did seem as though we had enough time to visit a couple of nearby petroglyph and pictograph sites before heading to camp.

The Big Rocks Wilderness rises up in front of us.​

The clouds were really adding to the landscape this afternoon.​

Already knowing the location of the two sites we were planning to visit - discoveries we'd made by chance with a bit of wandering the last time we were here - it was simply a matter of remembering the correct series of turns in order to see them again.

It's amazing how different this site looks when the plants are all golden as opposed to in the spring when they are green!​

Intricate carvings.​

Wandering amongst the rocks, we could hear the rumble of afterburners overhead, our attention momentarily distracted as we searched the blue sky for the source. Naturally we were hoping for a show similar to the one we'd recently experienced , but alas, these iron eagles were nearly playing in the stars.

Interesting choice. Are these guys trying out for the Blue Angels?​

Back in the moment, we picked our way amongst big rocks and up small hills until we reached the sun cave pictograph. I'm not even sure how I ever found this place the first time, but I definitely remember the excitement of the discovery.

C'mon now A.R., you know better. ​

So interesting how the author painted this sun around an existing hole in the rock.​

After checking out a few more - but not-very-recognizable - pictographs in the cave, as well as some very faint petroglyphs on the outer surface of the stone - we headed back toward the truck and to a camp site we'd found in the Mecca area on our last visit.

"Paper" beats rock.​

Heading into Mecca, named by rock climbers for the plentiful problems that abound.​

As we were pulling into camp, an incessant rattle - that I'd been hearing since my adventure to Montana with Mike @Digiratus and Zane @Speedytech7 in October - was enough to get me out of the truck to try and figure out once and for all what was going on. It sounded like a skid plate, but I'd verified multiple times that all the bolts were in place, so I assured my adventure buddy that it must be something else when she suggested the same.

Of course, it was the skid plate.​

The rear-most passenger bolt must have been loose for quite some time, allowing the skid plate to rattle but appearing OK at a cursory glance for quite some time. Then, at some point on our way to Big Rocks Wilderness, it fell out, finally obvious enough for yours truly to figure out the issue.

This is not the first time I've lost bolts on the skid plate, so a fix was as easy as digging out the last replacement I had in my kit - a reminder even as I write this that I need to pick up a few more - and threading it in. Easy peasy - the best kind of trouble.

My job done, it was time for a reward - dinner! With light fading fast - the sun now below the horizon - tacorittoes with guacamole were on tap and before long, @mrs.turbodb and I were all bundled up and enjoying a warm meal before heading up behind camp to catch the last light of the day.

Camp in the Big Rocks.​

Sunset over the South Pahroc Wilderness.​

Knowing that we had an early morning and a full day ahead, we weren't long for the world once the last of the light faded from the sky. Soon, we were brushing teeth and climbing into cold pajamas, shivering our way to warmth under the down comforters that would ultimately keep us toasty through the night.

It was nearly 8:00pm, and we were asleep.

The following morning...

Excited for what lay ahead, I was up bright and early - before sunrise - despite some seriously cold temperatures. Surprisingly, as I climbed one of the mountains of granite rocks around camp - expecting higher elevations to mean even chillier chills - the air around me started to warm. What is this sorcery, I thought, until I realized that we were probably camped in a small depression, and - we all know - cool air settles, with nowhere to go in this case!

Way to go man, a blurry photo of the alpenglow on camp. ​

To the south, the wilderness unfolded under the warm glow of morning.​

Unlike a lot of mornings where I find myself hunting around for various vantage points, on this particular morning I was content to sit atop the perch I'd found and just watch the colors change. I spent half an hour up there, snapping photos now and then, reveling in how lucky we were to be able to get out and explore these places that so few see.

Which reminded me - I had no idea what the light on the petroglyph panel would be like throughout the day, and getting there required a trailless hike with who-knows-what kind of terrain, so it was probably a good idea to get back to camp and going on our way.

I'm not sure it was my whistling or the commotion I made as I stumbled my way back down the mountain that got @mrs.turbodb out of bed, but soon enough - 45 minutes after sunrise - we were packed up and on our way to the trailhead. It was 7:49am.

After donning our packs, making sure I had an extra battery for the camera, and wondering if we were wearing enough clothes, we parked near a seemingly random wash that seemed to go the same direction we were, and got underway.​

At this point, we had no idea whether we'd find the rock art we were looking for - our track record for this particular panel clearly less than stellar to this point - so one of us was already mentioning how beautiful everything was as in order to lift my spirits should we not find our prize.

I knew she was right, but dang it if I still wanted the win.

As we slowly gained elevation, I noticed this cool overhanging boulder with a tafoni roof!​

The last of the wildflowers before winter really sets in.
Hoary Tansy Aster (Dieteria canescens)​

It's hard to describe the mixed emotions that coursed through our veins a little more than an hour later. As we arrived at the spot where we expected to find the petroglyph panel, a combination of elation - it was there (!) - and disappointment - it was covered in the dappled shadow of a nearby pinon pine, eliminating any chance of a photo - battled for our hearts.

I wanted the elation to win, we just needed to figure out how to change nature. You know, because we humans have done such a great job of changing it to this point.

We discussed several options - coming back the following morning, an even earlier departure allowing us to arrive before the sun peeked over the horizon, or hoping for better luck with a return trip later in the day. Ultimately neither of these were great options given the other places we planned to visit, but as I sat there in front of the panel, nature weighed in with her perfect solution. In those few minutes of quiet - just watching the shadow creep across the glyphs - I realized that given the location of the pine and the path of the sun, we'd only need to wait about an hour for the panel to be in full sunlight.

It was in that moment - before I'd even had a chance to see the result - that elation annihilated disappointment.

With an hour to enjoy, we decided to carry on - deeper into the wilderness - to see what we could find. After all, there were numerous boulders, caves, and ridges that would surely provide us with more to explore than we could ever accomplish in our short stints here on earth.

From a nearby ridge, and amazing view.​

Not another soul in frame.​

Elation.​

An hour later we returned to the rock we'd been searching long and hard to find. And it was glorious.

Third time's the charm.​

In my research, one of the contacts I was the luckiest to have found, was someone who was familiar with the panel, and over the course of several conversations - which lasted many months - they shared this background with me, related to the panel:

• One of the most prominent figures - a large, vertically aligned centipede-like glyph - has 29 horizonal legs on the left and 28 on the right, not including pincers on the top and bottom. Near noon during on the winter solstice, a shadow cast from the nearest southerly boulder aligns with the top of the centipede at about 12:20 PST. As the zenith of the sun rises, it is reasonable to assume that the shadow will align with the centipede legs on dates preceding and following the winter solstice.
• At the same time - around noon on the winter solstice - there are two stick-bodied zoomorphs at the apex of the shadow, and three solid-body zoomorphs along an angle of the shadow, their positions making them appear to be running down a shadowy-mountainside.
• The panel is not a public-facing readily seen display. Rather than facing the wide-open valley - an orientation that would allow it to be noticed by those passing by - it instead faces toward a closed space visible only from a limited area, implying that its purpose was a ritual one.

The centipede-like glyph associated with the winter solstice alignment (left).
A small slab - also covered in glyphs - that broke from the main boulder at some point (right).​

Familiar symbols, their true meaning always a mystery.​

Two deer, a comb, and a dude with earings.​

We wondered what the "U" shaped glyph - which looked rather like fallopian tubes - was meant to represent.​

A private viewing.​

After enjoying the panel for a few more minutes, it was time to head back the way we'd come. As we did, the commotion of a bighorn sheep dashing away to our left - along the base of a rocky ridge - caught our attention as we quickly quieted our steps and hoped to catch a glimpse as we came around the corner. Unfortunately, those bighorns are cut out for this type of terrain, and the one we'd heard was nowhere to be seen.

If you can't see a bighorn, is this the next best thing?​

Tiny house with good airflow.​

As we neared the trailhead, I pulled out my phone to see if we had coverage. Surprised that I did actually have one bar, I made a quick call to ************ to see if he was at work nearby - if he was, I wanted to stop by to meet in person and thank him for the various bits of information he'd shared in my journey to this special place. Alas, he was out, but we did have a pleasant conversation for a few minutes - a call that I think he was a little surprised, but very appreciative, to receive - before agreeing that I should certainly reach out the next time I was in the area so we could meet up then. Super cool dude, that's for sure!

And so, after returning to the trailhead and enjoying a lunch of turkey sandwiches and plain tortilla chips - which always taste better than we think they are going to - it was just after 12:30pm when we climbed into the Tacoma and set our sights on a location south of the Big Rocks Wilderness.

In my three trips to the Big Rocks Wilderness, I've driven fewer than half the roads, and hiked only a couple dozen miles. We will definitely be back!​

But that's another story. One with its own surprises!

 

@turbodb with all your travels, I’m surprised you haven’t seen more tarantulas. Come visit the mountains of the Central Coast or southern Sierra foothills in California in the autumn. They are everywhere.

 

Pahranagat Man | Third Time #2
Part of the Third Time's the Charm (Nov 2023) trip.

Our exit from Big Rocks Wilderness after lunch on Thursday gave us only a few hours in the afternoon -- and a couple hours the following morning - before heading to Las Vegas for our $27 flights home on Spirit Airlines.

How Spirit can provide flights for so little money is beyond me, but it has made the decision to leave the Tacoma in Las Vegas even easier - for the cost of a single tank of gas, both of us can fly roundtrip, saving 40 hours of travel time in the process - on the ends of a trip. And, so far, none of the planes have crashed. So far.

​

Our plan for these last few hours - to revisit several of the rock art sites in the Pahranagat Valley that we'd discovered before I lost all the photos on my memory card earlier in the year - was reasonably straight forward, and soon we were off the highway, heading toward what we consider to be the best camp site in the Pahranagat National Wildlife Refuge.

The view on this fall day wasn't anything to scoff at.​

We were sure we were going to just pull in as we normally do - even as we noticed signs reading "no RV sites available" and "campground full" - given that it wasn't even a weekend, and this place is never crowded.

Today however, was apparently "never." The 15-site campground was filled to the brim - with all manner of tents, trailers, vans, and RVs - reversing the decision we'd made to camp closer to the trailhead but also closer to the highway, instead of occupying a more much quieter dispersed spot in Black Canyon that would require a bit of driving to reach our hiking off point.

Still, we were here, now, and despite a bit of concern about the lighting conditions, we decided it was worthwhile parking at the trailhead and taking a short hike to check out a few of the petroglyphs that were - hopefully - easier to see at this time of day since they wouldn't be in direct sun.

Fall colors as we set out on the trail.​

F.L. Kelsay, Aug 19, 1899.
We'd missed this signature on our previous visit, so were excited to stumble on it this time around.​

Having marked the location of every panel we'd found earlier in the summer, our hike this time was significantly less "wandery" than our previous excursion. Panels covered the hillside, and it was a simple matter of scrambling over, around, and through the jumble of volcanic boulders to find them. It was a lot of fun, though didn't bring with it the excitement of first discovery.

Archaeologists have only been able to paint the Desert Archaic culture that lived here with a very broad brush - dating, deciphering and understanding the meaning of the rock art found here has been elusive at best. The rock art found here ranges in age from the Early Archaic cultures that created mostly abstract rock art (shapes, lines, dots, and circles) with a bit of representational art (“ghost-like” body forms, headdresses, and animals) between 5500 BC to AD 1, to the more contemporary Ancestral Puebloan (Anasazi) and Fremont cultures that leaned much more heavily on representational rock art (a variety of human forms, birds, spirals, bighorn sheep, deer, and elk), between AD 1 to AD 1275.

Uncertain in its age and cultural affiliations is the Pahranagat anthropomorph style, which is only found in the Pahranagat Valley. Traditionally, the style is dated to the late-Middle and early-Late Archaic periods based on associated archaeological remains and the fact that some figures wield atlatls. This style comprises two distinct types of anthropomorphs - Pahranagat Patterned Body Anthropomorph and the Pahranagat Man.

Ken's Photo Gallery​

In addition to the rock art, several stone foundations - on top of a volcanic rise - mark what we suspect was once a habitation site.​

The Pahranagat Patterned Body Anthropomorph (PBA)​

The Pahranagat PBA has many variations but is always represented as a headless rectangular form that is internally decorated with a variety of grids, dots, or geometric motifs. One of the most interesting things about the Pahranagat PBAs is their interior design. In fact, of the 227 known PBAs on sites in the area, only six have no interior markings.

Ken's Photo Gallery​

Six Pahranagat Patterned Body Anthropomorphs (PBAs) - all of them armed - out for a hunt.​

A close up of three of the PBAs.​

A Pahranagat Patterned Body Anthropomorph with a vertically striped body pattern.​

Another PBA; note the negative space of the facial features.​

With the camera on a tripod, we had to do a bit of "shadow casting" to capture this guy in the shade.​

Dotted-body PBA.​

The Pahranagat Man (P-Man)​

Easily recognizable, Pahranagat Man has a solid-pecked ovoid or rectangular body, large eyes (sometimes indicated by using negative space), and a line protruding from its head. Its arms may be straight, angled or down-turned with long digitate fingers. Much fewer in number, these striking figures almost seem somewhat haunting. Could they have been used to represent a shaman or have some other religious significance?

Ken's Photo Gallery​

A haunting Pahranagat Man watching over passers by.​

This P-man couldn't stay still, multiple exposures capturing his arm movements as his "photo" was taken.​

I was a little surprised how intermixed the Pahranagat Man and PBA glyphs were on the panels, but this side-by-side comparison shows the two styles nicely.​

This was one of the clearer Pahranagat Man glyphs, etched in a prime location - visible to anyone, yet seen by few.​

Of course, anthropomorphs were not the only art we found sprinkled across the sun-varnished surfaces. Many panels contained zoomorphs or abstract shapes, several of which were quite striking.

I really liked the clean, clear dot pattern of this glyph.​

Lots of dotted figures. I especially like the dotted bighorn sheep.
(right figure on the second panel up)​

Unfortunately, several of the glyphs had been mistaken for wildlife. Or someone is just an asshole and decided to discharge their shotgun at cultural art. ​

Our exploration for the afternoon complete, it was still reasonably early but a good time to head to camp. After a few days on the road, we had some organizing and cleaning of the Tacoma to do before dropping it off in Las Vegas, and after climbing around on the hot rocks, neither of us was going to complain about a bit of a washcloth bath, either.

We spotted this large - nearly three inches long - strikingly green grasshopper doing a poor job blending in.​

A few miles from the highway, we pulled into a secluded, quiet camp we've used before.​

While I ran around being useless, @mrs.turbodb started organizing what we were leaving behind.​

After washing up - before the sun dropped below the horizon and temperatures really started to fall - and getting the tent setup, bedding shaken out, and all of our bags and boxes sorted in the cab, it was time for our final dinner of the trip. Having brought more than we needed, and with no room - or cold storage - to shuttle it home, it was a feast of tacorittoes and guacamole, our stomachs aching by the time we'd swallowed the last bite.

It was dinner and a show, courtesy of the Nevada sky.​

The following morning...

Given the position of the sun in the sky, we'd known that several of the petroglyph sites we wanted to check out would have been difficult to see - and nearly impossible to photograph - as we'd wandered around in the Black Canyon the previous afternoon. We also knew that with the sun being so far south in the sky at this time of year, we wouldn't have much time in the morning before a mixture of shade-and-sun would throw a wrench into our ability to capture them early on in the day as well.

So, on our last morning, we were up well before sunrise. Perhaps a little too well, we'd discover after putting away camp, eating a quick breakfast, and driving to the trailhead for our last hike of the trip.

Still reasonably dark, we were making our way along the trail when I spotted a horny toad in my peripheral vision. Relieved that it hadn't moved as I'd walked by, I reaching for my tripod - it was still much to dark to handhold a photo - while whispering loudly to @mrs.turbodb to "move slowly," so as to not scare it.

After all that, you can imagine my relief when I was able to get everything setup and a couple good shots without the slightest movement from this rare, nearly black specimen.

Waiting for the warming sun.​

If I don't move, they won't see me.​

As I was taking the second photo, I realized the joke was on us. "What a dope!" I exclaimed, as I looked over at my companion with a sheepish grin. The horny toad was a bronze casting, indistinguishable from the real thing - save for the color - when you're up just a little too well before sunrise.

We got a good chuckle out of that one, each of us poking fun - perhaps more than once - at the other's age and eyesight.

And with that, we set off in search of something a little more real.

A very crisp set of abstract dots.​

This Pahranagat Patterned Body Anthropomorph was nearly four feet tall.​

A prickly intermission, I'd photographed this same cactus in June when it was in full bloom.
​

Fi-fi-fo-fum... this Pahranagat Man was a giant, just look how he dwarfs the fully grown bighorn sheep.​

The final panel we saw was one of my favorites. A dark patina with crisp etchings, it captured all we'd seen in the area - a couple PBAs with dotted shields and atlatls, a P-Man with creepy fingers, and a bighorn sheep.​

Deuling rectangles.​

We'd completed our loop through the canyon only a few minutes before the sun reached our position high up on the circular ridge. Perhaps our timing - though momentarily embarrassing when we set out on this little trek - was better than we thought, or at least that's what we wanted to believe.

The morning had developed into a colorful celebration.​

Making our way back to the Tacoma, we'd finally done it. It'd taken three attempts, but we'd finally found (and photographed) the rock art we'd been looking for. The Curse of the Pahranagat had been tamed. The third time really was the charm.

- - - - -​

 

Needles to Carruthers Canyon - We All Arrive ...Except for Monte ...Again | EMHT Segment 1A
Part of the East Mojave Heritage Trail (Nov 2023) trip.

Prologue

For the first time in five years, the "annual" TacomaWorld trip has morphed into two trips. I suppose, technically, I should call it a trip-and-a-half, given the debacle that became Half a Trip in Montana, but I prefer to see the glass always full (there's always something in there) so we're just going to call it two.

The timing of the second trip - in December - clearly ruled out anything up north, so returning to Montana for redemption would just have to wait until next year. Plus, given the unexpectedly good time that we had in Death Valley a couple years ago, it only made sense to return to the desert. While normally we'd have simply picked up where we left off on our previous visit, Hurricane Hillary - in August - left the road system in shambles and most of Death Valley was still closed to the public.

And so, we're headed even further south in the Mojave Desert - to the East Mojave Heritage Trail (EMHT).

​

Created in the late 1980s by Mojave Desert explorer and historian Dennis Casebier, rather than following an established historical route like the Mojave Road, the EMHT is a comprehensive tour through some of the most remote portions of the East Mojave Desert.

Split into four segments and more than 700 miles long - even without the nearby side-adventures that I added for our enjoyment - that would be a lot of ground to cover in two weeks, so we're going to try to complete it in one!

Segment 1: Needles to Ivanpah - 173 miles
Segment 2: Ivanpah to Rocky Ridge -199 miles
Segment 3: Rocky Ridge to Fenner - 211 miles
Segment 4: Fenner to Needles - 155 miles


And Now, the Story.
Not wanting to repeat the unfortunate attendance situation of our Montana trip, we started coordinating dates immediately upon our return. After a few rounds of messages, we settled on the week after Thanksgiving, and Zane @Speedytech7 and I made sure that Monte @Blackdawg requested the time off before either of us - time off in Zane's case, and flights to/from Las Vegas in mine - finalized our arrangements.

Even best laid plans can come undone quickly - and only hours before we were set to leave - though.

And again, we were three.​

Mike and Zane left promptly after their respective Thanksgiving feasts, caravanning the 1,000+ miles - over the course of three days and what I hear were several very cold nights - to our starting point in Needles, CA.

Luckily for me, the Tacoma was already in Las Vegas after our recent Connecting the Dots in Nevada trip, so I hopped on a flight - if you call Spirit Airlines "flying" - and after provisioning once I landed, rolled into camp just after 8:00pm to a warm fire and good company.

The most important stop when "provisioning."​

With a full moon and warm air, our first campfire was one of our most pleasant!​

Aliens were out in full force, their contrails creating perfectly circular lunar halo.​

The ring is actually an optical illusion. It is caused when the moon light refracts off ice crystals in a thin veil of cirrus clouds. Those crystals create a giant lens 20,000 feet above us. They're positioned perfectly, with respect to our eyes, for the halo to appear. They are easier to see when the moon is full or almost full.

The following morning...

The flying camera was up before sunrise, the desert mountains we'd become familiar with, rising behind camp.​

Unbeknownst to me, my alarm (phone) had updated to whatever incorrect time Arizona uses when I'd filled up in the land of cheap fuel, and hadn't updated again when I'd crossed back into real time in California. That meant that I putzed around camp for an hour wondering why I was the only one up - especially given that we'd talked about leaving early given 4:30pm sunsets - only to find that the joke was on me.

Mike was ready to go by 7:37am. So now we know he can do it. ​

All aired down, we pulled out onto the trail to begin what would become our pattern over the course of the trip. We hadn't moved more than a couple hundred feet and I hopped out of my Tacoma for a photo!

Our entrance to the trail - Eagle Pass.​

Each of us enjoy different aspects of these adventures - a point that can sometimes cause a bit of friction, but that always provides us the ability to rib each other. Certainly, my preferences will impact the story, so let's just get them out in the open.

Mike. Mike enjoys a bit of driving - ideally with nice views but not a ton of stopping - and a lot of sitting around a campfire chatting with friends. He can get a little grumpy if we're not looking for camp... shortly after lunch, having pulled out of camp around 10:30:am. And driving in the dark? That's completely unacceptable. So - as you can tell - Mike's pretty normal in his approach.

Dan. (me, duh) I like getting up when it's still too dark and too cold outside to be awake. I like to drive from sunrise + 30 minutes to sunset - 30 minutes (or perhaps a little later if necessary), stopping at least several times every hour - to explore something along the road or run to some vantage point to snap a photo of my roaming gnome (the Tacoma) in some spectacular landscape. I enjoy campfires, but only have them when others are around. And all my crazy running during the day means I really do like to get to bed by about 9:30pm. Yep, I'm totally not normal.

Zane. I don't even really know how to describe Zane. This dude is so laid back and willing to go with the flow that it makes the rest of us look like total assholes all the time. Seriously. He's fun on the trail and off, happy to drive, stop for photos, or camp. He also knows more about all of our trucks that we do. Saint Zane, really.

Monte. Apparently, Monte doesn't go on trips anymore, so no description for him! Actually, he's pretty much the same as me with one exception: if he can stretch half-a-bundle of wood on a 29°F night into a heatless campfire that lasts past midnight while everyone freezes to death, he will.

Not all who travel the EMHT are fully prepared.​

While we were out looking at some ruins I'd found on satellite, this much more interesting (and dead) cholla trunk caught my eye along the side of the trail.​

The first three hours on the trail were - in my opinion - rather mundane. There are understandable reasons for this - the need to start somewhere that has fuel, the desire to create a loop, etc. - but running along well-graded powerline roads that stretched for miles was a little monotonous. Mostly.

It was a little exciting - in an "oh shit, am I going to die?" way - when I failed to notice a jump-sized hump in the road and flew off it at just over 50mph.

Zane noticed that I'd tweaked my rear brake proportioning lever when I landed. Luckily, bending it back into place was an easy fix.​

Passing through the Piute Mountains, the Providence Mountains rising in the distance.​

Looking north, the mountains and valleys we'd travel for the next 48 hours.​

It was 11:00am when we pulled into Goffs. This is a place I've heard a lot about, but that I've never previously visited. A desert museum, they've collected or recreated many of the cool-but-strange oddities that exist across the Mojave, and it was fun to walk from display to display, familiar with the location of the "real thing."

The original Mojave Cross, now in a new location.​

Originally erected in 1934 by J. Riley Bembry on Sunrise Rock in the Mojave National Preserve, the Mojave Cross was intended to honor the fallen soldiers of WWI, and was later dedicated to veterans of all wars.

In 2010, the cross was stolen by a vandal who claimed to be a veteran himself. He left a letter explaining his motives, but it was not discovered until 2022. The cross was later found abandoned in Half Moon Bay, California, and returned to the original caretakers, Henry and Wanda Sandoz.

In 2012, a replacement cross (which we visited back in 2019) was erected in the location of the original cross, but it was also challenged by lawsuits. Eventually, a land swap deal between the federal government and the Sandoz family, allowed the cross to remain on private property within the preserve.

With the replacement now legally secure, the Sandoz family decided to move the original cross to a safer location, where it would be less likely to be vandalized or stolen again - the Goffs Schoolhouse and Museum. Run by the Mojave Desert Heritage and Cultural Association, it aims to preserve and share the natural and cultural history of the Mojave Desert region.

A dedication ceremony was held on Veterans Day, November 11, 2023 and was attended by the children of J. Riley Bembry. Henry Sandoz, veterans, local officials, and supporters of the cross.

Victorville Daily Press​

​

If you've travelled the Mojave Road, you might find the original frog display.​

​

This display was meant to represent the Desert Training Center along the Bradshaw Trail.​

I'm always looking for ore carts in the mines I visit, but I don't think this one counts.​

While wandering around, one of the caretakers - Andy - approached. Chatting with him for more than 15 minutes, he was extremely welcoming and we probably could have talked for hours. He was excited to give us the lay of the land, let us know that we could use their various facilities, and even swapped our empty propane tank (and a bit of cash) for his full one so we wouldn't have to run all the way to Needles to refill it. Super cool dude!

As we left, I had a whole new appreciation for the entrance sign.​

It was lunch time when we arrived at the Leiser Ray Mine and pulled onto the old concrete pad that once the mill site of this mine that produced silver, copper, gold, lead and vanadium. Between the 1890s and beginning of WWI, 10 shafts and 50 pits were opened in a one-half square mile area. The deepest shaft - at 900 feet - was used to procure water for the operations, the water level currently sitting at about 450 feet below the surface. Over the years, 77 tons of ore were produced, yielding 40 tons of concentrates, including 14,130 lbs of copper, 1,660 lbs of lead, 1,178 oz of silver and 26.69 oz of gold. (Gregg Wilkerson)

How considerate, they constructed a nice parking area just for us!​

Zane settling in to the "oversight" position.​

Our bellies satisfied, we were back in the Tacoma's after 30 minutes or so, and with lots of ground to cover before the day was done. Our next stop was one that I'd visited before - on my first trip to the Mojave - Fort Piute along the old Mojave Road.

Distances in the desert are longer than they appear.​

Even the trucks seemed to enjoy the view from the mouth of Piute Canyon.​

Abundant local rock was used in building the fort and the ruins of at least three structures. The largest - a building of several rooms - is approximately 60 feet long by 25 feet wide, and includes rifle ports in the thick walls, deflecting shields in front of each door to prevent direct fire through the opening, and rock breastworks at Strategic locations immediately outside. It was also the site of a rather interesting battle, if local legend is to be believed.

More interested in snapping pictures of history, or of 1st gen Tacomas? Why not both?​

The Mojave Road no longer - and hasn't for decades - climbs through Piute Canyon, so after visiting the fort, we backtracked a few miles and turned west to climb Piute Pass. While others might take a longer detour - Paiute Pass was significantly impacted by Hurricane Hillary - I'd heard that with the right line and the right trucks, we could inch our way through the rough spots and save nearly 30 minutes.

We might not choose the right line, but we had chosen the right trucks.​

The views into Piute Valley as we gained elevation were stunning.​

Having survived, we soon found ourselves in a Joshua Tree forest.​

Now racing the sun across the Lanfair Valley, our general path followed the Mojave Road at a reasonably good clip. If we were going to see anyone along this entire journey, I figured it'd be here, given the relatively popularity of this route across the Mojave National Preserve. Still, we saw only each other.

Ultimately, our destination for the evening was one that I always look forward to - perhaps my favorite spot in the entire Preserve. This time, however, I knew things would be different - and not in a good way - as the York Fire (2023) swept through Carruthers Canyon only a few months earlier, decimating everything in its path. I had yet to see the aftermath of that event, but I expected it to be similar to the devastation we'd seen from the Dome Fire (2021) just a couple years prior.

Still, we had a few stops to make prior to reaching camp, and for now we had our sights set on the ******************************** petroglyph site - a place I've passed many times without any clue of the treasures to be found.

Clearly a popular destination.​

I really like the concentric shapes that seem to be common in the art of the Chemehuevi and Mojave people who called this area home.​

Always fun to find a sun glyph.​

Some sort of plant?​

Front view of a long-toothed pig?​

The kids won't recognize this computer, but that's a CRT monitor on top of a desktop computer if you look closely. (left) | Settlers made their way to this place as well - J W YOUNG, C. SIELE and B. WESTIR were through on APR. 12, 1912. (right)​

After climbing around for 20 minutes or so, and admiring the 20-foot deep natural granite well - complete with several feet of water at the bottom - that surely attracted travelers from all ages to this location, it was time to get back on the road to something a little... less historic but more "desert."

This may look like a "normal" Joshua Tree (are any of them really normal?), but it hides many secrets.​

Pele Duck (left) and Do-You-Think-Overdid-the-Lipstick Duck (right) have settled in for the long game.​

Yoda Duck and Cool Duck didn't find very comfortable seating.​

The Penny Tree must have been recently "cleaned," by the National Park Service (NPS) because with only two cans and not very many pennies, I don't think Mike and Zane even got out of their trucks as we continued along our way towards our last stop before heading to camp - Rock Spring.

As with many springs across the desert, Rock Spring was once home to an US Army fort, and has seen occupation both before (Indians) and after (Bert Smith and Carl Faber) that time. First though, we had to make our way down a fun little section of road that would get our Tacomas a little flexy.

No three-wheeling for Zane, with a lot of work, he's got the rear end flexing nicely!​

Getting crossed up, Mike wasn't three-wheeling it either. (For the most part. ​

While fighting in Europe during World War I, Bert Smith was exposed to poison gasses used during that war. Returning to the U.S. with scarred lungs, Bert eventually moved to the Mojave Desert in the late 1920s.

When Bert built his Rock House and started living here in 1929, it was a desperate attempt to regain his health. Although he expected to survive only a short time, he lived here until 1954 - 25 years later!

- - - - -​

Artist Carl Faber had already been living rough in the East Mojave for about ten years when he set up his art business at the Rock House in 1981. Four-wheel drive trips had become a popular activity and Carl took advantage of passing traffic to sell his art. After five years. Carl moved to another nearby property and continued his art business there until 2003 when he moved to New Mexico.

Information Sign​

Rock House is a still a cool place to stop, and if you happen to make your way inside, be sure to check out the note over the fireplace mantle. ​

Making our way toward the spring, evidence of the US Army's 4th Infantry was a reminder of their occupation.​

​

Nearly hidden in the brush, I'd missed these petroglyphs on my previous visits.​

Our final stop complete, our race against darkness was going to be a nail-biter, and since I knew that Mike liked to be in camp early, I was a little worried when Zane noticed a red liquid dripping from the front of his Tacoma.

That can't be good.​

Luckily, Zane determined that the leak was from the intercooler on his turbo - an issue that was not at all fatal - rather than from his radiator, so minutes later, we were gaining elevation as we raced our way north to the New York Mountains and Carruthers Canyon.

I was lucky enough to lead this entire adventure. I did not envy the guys following me.​

As I expected, the impact of the York Fire was immediately apparent. The green hills - previously covered in Joshua Trees, Sage, Juniper, Pinyon Pine and countless cacti - were a golden brown, only skeletons remaining. Caused by a lightning fire, it's just part of the cycle, but a part that will require decades - if not centuries - to fully recover, and wiped-out dozens of historic man-made structures that will never return.

It was like someone applied a gold filter to everything around us.​

Rocky outcroppings - once peaking out from the foliage - stood naked over the aftermath.​

Already on the rebound.
Desert Marigold (Baileya multiradiata)​

Parts of the trail into the canyon were in great shape - likely due to fire suppression efforts - but lack of living vegetation, and record amounts of runoff from Hurricane Hillary - meant that there were a few tricky sections as well. Still, we navigated them with a combination of skill and good equipment and soon - only minutes after sunset - we found ourselves at a site I've always wanted to camp at but where the opportunity has never presented itself: Easter Island Rock.

Steeper and deeper than it looks, with an even steeper climb to get out.​

Zane snuck into a perfectly flat spot while Mike and I were left to level our trucks as best we could.​

​

A very different view of an iconic rock.​

With light fading fast, we got camp deployed and the propane fire ring flickering away. At 5,500 feet and with a brisk breeze blowing air down the canyon and through our camp, we bundled up for a cold evening. Soon, a bowl of guacamole appeared from Mike's kitchen, the three of us (but mostly Zane and me ... and really mostly just me) making quick work of the spicy treat. It was a little after 5:00pm.

By 9:00pm, neither Zane nor I could feel our feet, and it was time for bed. We'd only made it halfway through the first segment of the EMHT, and before another day was done, we were nearly forced to abandon the entire journey!

That - as usual - is another story.

 

Translation error

 

I think you're the only one reading these.

 

I was just convinced you put them in there for me

 

I've quit worrying about things like that.

 

Now now. All I meant is that most scroll through for the photos and have had enough of my blabbering, hahaha!

And just to be clear - from my POV, that's GREAT. I'm always quite appreciative of anyone who wanders in this way and looks through (however they do it) a trip report. Love the comments, too!

 

The way I see it, a mistake that doesn't take away from the message or readability, meh. Mostly because somethings might be required for some variants of the forum software.

 

Almost the End | EMHT Segment 1B Caruthers Canyon to Clark Mountain
Part of the East Mojave Heritage Trail (Nov 2023) trip.

There aren't many nights that I close up all the windows and doors on my tent, as - especially when there is a full moon as there was on this night - I enjoy being able to gaze out on the surroundings if I wake up in the middle of the night.

But parked under the watchful gaze of Easter Island Rock, with temperatures in the my-feet-are-numb range and a 10mph breeze blowing through camp, I zipped everything up tight, inserted my earplugs, and hoped for the best.

It worked, and I was nice and toasty when my alarm - now explicitly set to real time, and not stuck on whatever weird time Arizona uses - gently woke me at 6:05am, about 20 minutes before sunrise.

The moon was still high overhead as I wandered around the scarred landscape.​

I've always loved this wonderland of rocks, and they're still beautiful as they tower above the blackened bark of the juniper and pinyon pine that once filled the canyon.​

Above camp, Easter Island Rock.​

Someone put a lot of work into this place.​

Climbing from one boulder to another, I tried to be quiet but either Mike @Digiratus and Zane @Speedytech7 had set their alarms for a similar time or I failed in my noise abatement attempt. And so, as the sun peaked over the eastern wall of the canyon, we all began our morning rituals - Mike making coffee, Zane tearing down camp, and me - still futzing around with the camera.

I love the early morning light on the granite.​

Almost ready to hit the trail.​

We didn't get far before I blocked forward progress for a final shot.​

Carruthers Canyon has always been my favorite place in the Preserve, but with all the damage from the York fire, I found myself wondering if I will favor other desert places, rather than be reminded of what once was in this special canyon.

Soon though, I had other - more immediate - matters on my mind. Headed east across the Lanfair Valley, we were surrounded by alien Joshua Trees and the Castle Mountains - their escarpments scared by strip mining - rose in the distance.

We'd soon find ourselves climbing into the Castle Mountains.​

Castle Mountain is an open-pit heap leach gold mine that produced more than 1.2 million ounces of gold from 1991 to 2004, at which point the mine was closed due to low gold prices.

Equinox Gold acquired the mine in December 2017 and completed a feasibility study in 2018 with the intention of restarting operations. The study outlined a two-phase development plan, with annual average gold production of approximately 30,000 ounces during Phase 1 using existing operating permits, and a Phase 2 expansion to more than 200,000 ounces of gold per year.

Phase 1 activities began in October 2019 and commercial production was achieved in November 2020. Primarily using stockpiled ore from previous operations, this phase is - essentially - a small-scale pilot plant for the planned Phase 2 expansion.

Production at Castle Mountain in 2023 is forecast at 25,000 to 30,000 ounces of gold with all-in sustaining costs between $1,865 to $1,950 per ounce.

Equinox Gold​

(AdventureTaco Note: gold prices as of this writing are in the $1,950 oz range, so this isn't a very profitable mine.)


​

As we crossed the valley, the road passed by pile of volcanic rocks with a deep desert varnish. The perfect spot for some rock art, my right foot quickly moved to the brake as I pulled the Tacoma out of gear and grabbed @mrs.turbodb's binoculars from the rear seat.

Usually in situations like this - or I suppose I should say "always," before this particular incident - there's nothing to see. This time, however, I hit the jackpot!

Are we stopping, again?!​

Split rock glyphs.​

Doodles.​

Ancient Chemehuevi Indian puzzle design.​

This barrel cactus was just showing off in what was otherwise a sea of green.​

For the second time in fewer than four hours, I found myself bouldering through the desert, this time being careful to avoid the plentiful petroglyphs. We were there for a good 15 minutes or so - long enough for Mike to excuse himself for a little seat time on his Lug-a-Loo - before wrapping up our investigation and beginning our ascent into the Castle Mountains.

As the Joshua Trees transitioned to Yucca, we rounded a rise to a fabulous view.​

As we reached the base of the mountains, I turned left, hoping the road would lead us to the ruins of the Valley View Mine that I'd seen in satellite imagery as I researched the route. Within a quarter mile, it was clear that this was not a road that would get us there, but as we endeavored to turn around, Mike's truck stalled and wouldn't restart.

Immediately, it was Zane-to-the-rescue. To be clear, this is always the case whenever anyone has a truck problem and Zane is along, but in this particular situation, it was extra nice to have him there because the problem seemed to be with an aftermarket ECU (the computer that controls the whole Tacoma) that Mike and Zane had installed over the course of the last year.

Laptop in hand, Zane hooked up to the ECU and began debugging. Figuring that it might be a minute, I set out to explore the maze of roads - leading to dozens of historic mines sprinkled amongst the mountainous terrain - to find the one that would carry us to the mine we were after.

Ultimately, I could see the road at the ruins, but I couldn't find a way to get there.​

After rolling back the latest update to Mike's snazzy new computer, the Redhead - that's Mike's truck - fired up and Zane declared the problem "fixed enough." We were back underway.

In hindsight, perhaps we shouldn't have left Mike in the tail-gunner position... ​

Winding our way towards the Nevada state line, this cool ridge near Lewis Holes popped into view.​

By now, Mike wasn't just worried about his truck, but he was also in need of fuel. We'd covered a bit more than 150 miles since he and Zane had gassed up in Mojave Valley, and with a 6,000lb supercharged beast, he was getting on the order of 10 mpg through the rough terrain.

As I think is only natural, Zane and I (minus Zane, who's not a total jerk) decided that low fuel was his problem and that we should continue as though nothing were amiss and that we all had tanks that were half full. Because, Zane (for real this time) and my tanks actually were half full.

Which is when we stumbled on the first EMHT Mailbox.

Numero Uno.​

This was just too good an opportunity to pass up. Where you at @Blackdawg?​

After a quick stop for lunch as we overlooked the Piute Valley, we made the 10-mile run to Searchlight without further issue. It was there - after filling up with gas - that things would really get interesting.

After playing with Mike's computer a bit more, Zane determined that it was sporadically sending the 5VZFE engine into a lean state (not enough fuel). In this state, Zane wasn't comfortable with Mike continuing, but after a bit more investigation, it seemed that the lean state was the computer reacting to what it sensed was a rich state (too much fuel). Suspecting a spark plug or ignition coil, we tore into the engine to inspect - and regap if necessary - the plugs.

The speed at which Zane had all the plugs out - and in again - really made me wonder what the heck my problem was when I replaced the plugs in my Tacoma.​

Ultimately, the plugs looked bad - but still, good enough - and Zane decided that next step should be rolling back the latest firmware update that he'd recently installed into Mike's ECU.

This is why you don't update software that's already working.​

After rolling back, things were immediately back to normal for the Redhead. This, I assure you, relieved all of us. None of us mentioned it at the time - we're too superstitious for that - but the thought that we might have to call the trip after just a single day was not something we were keen to entertain.

And with that, we headed back into the desert, and into the eastern edge of the York fire.

Sad barrel cactus and his yucca buddies.​

A few hours later - having worked our way into the northern tip of the New York Mountains - we crested the pass and began our descent towards the old town of Nipton. First though, we took a minute to "admire" of the sun-worshiping towers of the Ivanpah Solar Power Plant.

​

I remember seeing these towers for the first time, and my reaction was pretty similar to Mike and Zane on this trip. "What the are those?"​

Built between 2010-2014, the Ivanpah Power Station is a solar thermal power plant that uses nearly 175,000 mirrors to focus sunlight on three boiler towers to generate steam and power special turbines that generate electricity. Capable of producing 392 megawatts, it was built on public land as a joint project between California and the U.S. Government - at a cost of $2.2 billion. Ironically, despite being a solar thermal plant, it burns natural gas for several hours each morning to warm up the boiler towers, emitting nearly twice the pollution that California allows for power plants and factories.

And, to add insult to injury, in September 2016, federal biologists reported that approximately 6,000 birds die annually from collisions with the towers or by immolation (being burned) while chasing flying insects through the superheated air reflected by the mirrors.

wikipedia​

"Sun mother, we love you."​

So much light is reflected toward the towers that the air through which it is focused is actually visible.​

After a bit of admiration-turned-bewilderment, we headed into the Ivanpah valley toward Nipton. I'd related Nipton as an "artsy little town," since that's how @mrs.turbodb and I had found it as we passed through on the Nevada Backcountry Discovery Route (NVBDR), but it turned out to be nothing of the sort this time. All the art - and frankly, color - was gone from this historic little town, and we almost passed through without stopping at all. Only as we were pulling away did I notice the rocky crags of Castle Peaks in the New York Mountains to our south, and after a quick photo, we were gone.

Am I the only one who thinks it's confusing that Castle Peaks are in the New York Mountains and not the (adjacent) Castle Mountains?
Note: I am easily confused.​

It was 4:25pm as we reached the base of the Ivanpah Valley. With less than 30 minutes until sunset, we wrapped up Segment 1 of the EMHT at the old Ivanpah Con Mill at the base of the Clark Mountains. There's little worth seeing there today, and anyway, I had my sights set on a camp that I knew Mike and Zane would enjoy - if only we could get there before the sun dropped below the horizon.

Sunglasses on - and windshield visors lowered - to battle the blinding sun, we climbed the steep road toward the Coloseum Mine. We wouldn't visit the mine till morning, but even from the road, this place is imposing. Cresting the saddle I voiced relief over the CB Radio when we finally turned south - into the Shadow of Clark Mountain - and we were able to remove our sunglasses and see again!

Nearly there.​

As we pulled into camp, it was smiles all around. Plenty of flat space - both on the edge for Zane and me, and a little further away for Mike; a fire ring, that we'd forego in favor of propane. but nice nonetheless; views - all around - that we could enjoy as we chatted into the darkness; and no wind.

Yes, life was good.​

It'd been another long day, and with the real possibility of it being the last, we lasted only an hour or two after moonrise. Then, the call of soft, horizontal surfaces was too much to bear - at least for Zane and me - and we were off to one of the most pleasant nights of sleep of the entire adventure.

The next day, we'd head west. To places none of us had ever travelled. On roads that no longer exist. At speeds so slow, we might as well have walked.

 

Mine Hopping | EMHT Segment 2A Clark Mountain to Silver Lake
Part of the East Mojave Heritage Trail (Nov 2023) trip.

We lucked out with a windless night along our ridge on the eastern edge of the Clark Mountains. Hoping that out orientation would allow for some nice color at sunrise, I was up early to try and find the best angle from which to capture the splendor we were lucky enough to call home for a night.

Framed by Clark Mountain, there was just a hint of color in the sky.​

Mike @Digiratus and Zane @Speedytech7 weren't far behind, and as I was wrapping up the morning photo session of their best-gen trucks, they were boiling water for coffee and beginning the process of packing up camp.

Our plan for the day was ambitious. We'd start - not far from camp - at the Coloseum Mine, make our way through the Kingston Range Wilderness, explore a couple of old mines and cabins along the old Tonopah and Tidewater rail grade, and then work our way back towards the Clark Mountains, to camp amongst the troglodyte village at the old Valley Wells Smelter site.

Turns out, given the road - or roadless, as we'd discover - conditions, it was too ambitious, but we were blissfully unaware of what lay ahead as we set out for the Coloseum Mine.

We could soon make out the mountain (literally) of material that had been moved in search of a shiny yellow metal.​

Worked for many decades, the most profitable years for this mine were 1987-1993 when more than $100 million in gold was blasted out of the pit. During this time, it produced nearly 7000 oz. of gold per month, moving over 800,000 tons of material per month to accomplish the task. The operation ran 24 hours a day, and produced more than all the Mojave Preserve's other historic mines combined!

Hiking the Mojave Desert​

The last time I'd visited this mine, it'd been abandoned. Today, however, a few shipping containers dotted the upper level, and as we peered over the side we could just make out a couple of drilling rigs just above the water line. We wondered aloud if there was some possibility of the mine reopening, and if so, whether the mountain of tailing should be the first plan of attack. Easy pickings as it were.

From the top, this is an impressive place.​

Smart miners always drill first.​

As the sun reflected off the stepped walls, the glass-like surface of the pool reflected every detail a second time.​

While it might have been fun to wander down to the equipment, the place was well-signed against doing so - and anyway, we had placed to be - so after a few photos and a lot of "man, that's big," we were back in our Tacomas and headed down Yates Well Road.

This wouldn't be the last time Clark Mountain would come into view.​

Several mines and cabins - including the, "it wasn't tilting before," Green's Cabin - along our descent have seen better days.​

For much of the descent - some 1,500 feet or so - there wasn't much of a view as we were primarily travelling in a wash. As we neared the bottom however - transitioning off of Yates Well Road - we got a glimpse of what we were in for as the trail continued north into the Kingston Range Wilderness.

Yes please!​

Before long, we were speeding along a long-ago-paved section of road toward the Excelsior Mine, a colorful Kingston Peak dazzling in the distance. "That looks like a mountain that must be full of good stuff to mine," Zane mentioned over the CB radio. It's rare that Zane comments on the geology or views - though I'm sure he enjoys them plenty - so I figured a stop was in order so we could all capture the view in our own way.

Which color should we mine today?​

Zane wasn't going to miss this one.​

Either was Mike.​

After a couple dozen high-speed miles - enough that I was wondering if we'd make it even further along the route by the end of the day than I'd initially thought - we bailed off the pavement and back onto dirt, the route passing through one of the beefiest gates I've encountered as it began winding its way through Kingston Wash.

Though this gate was more pleasant to operate than the barbed-wire-and-wood-post variety, it was perhaps a little overkill for a place that sees so little traffic.​

Geology is fascinating. Lava flows over fanglomerate.​

Following tire tracks in the wash - essentially a pick-your-own-adventure as the "road" is frequently obliterated in heavy rains - we did our best to stay on the main route, content in our knowledge that any route we chose would ultimately lead us to the same destination. Except it wasn't quite so easy - at least not at the speeds our Tacoma's could travel - because part way down, I had a pit stop I wanted to make.

EMHT Mailbox #2.​

Working our way around and having a good time doing it! turbodb (AdventureTaco), Digiratus, Speedytech7.
Where is Blackdawg?​

After signing the book, I flipped to the front and found a nice intro describing what we're a part of.​

Now, it turns out that I'd missed the turn to the mailbox - by about 50 feet - as we'd barreled down the wash. I'd flipped around as soon as I realized my mistake, and mentioned over the radio to Mike and Zane that I was headed off along a side road in search of the mailbox. When they hadn't shown up by the time I was done signing the register, I simply followed the sideroad downstream until it rejoined the main route.

Where were my buddies? I was all alone, and couldn't raise them on the radio!​

After a quick horn honk - they must have been out of their trucks talking - I could hear the roar of engines and soon saw clouds of dust working their way toward me.​

Once again we were three, and though I'd stopped several times to snap a photo of this or that along the way, we were still making very good time. Our false sense of security was growing strong!

It was 11:00am when we pulled into the parking area at Kingston Spring. With our daily schedule starting much earlier than normal for these trips, we'd eaten at about this time the previous morning, so I checked around to see if we should do the same today, mentioning, "The other option is that we wait half-an-hour or maybe forty-five minutes and eat at a couple of cabins that aren't too much further along the route."

Into the canyons at Kingston Spring. Looks like a nice hike for a future visit.​

With a sales pitch like that - and more likely, given that they'd both been snacking a bit already - it was no wonder that both Zane and Mike were keen to wait until we reached Riggs Cabin before breaking out the sandwhich fixings. Back in the trucks, we continued our trek to the west.

It was in the Valjean Valley that our descent down the alluvial fan was abruptly interrupted by a left-hand turn. The direction of this turn isn't all that important, only the fact that our travel was now across the alluvial fan matters. As @mrs.turbodb and I had learned when we were hiking Military Canyon in the Owlshead Mountains of Death Valley, cross-fan travel may seem like a shorter or more direct route, but it is never a good idea.

Years of rain - no doubt capped by the epic flooding from Hurricane Hillary a few months before our visit - made the 7 miles of "road" between our current location and Riggs Cabin an utter nightmare. Slowly crawling alongside old rail grade - the grade itself washed out in so many places as to be impassable as a means of travel - we found ourselves in 4-Lo as we climbed and fell through the 28-24" channels of rock and debris that scared the landscape.

The Tonopah and Tidewater Railroad once raced across a bridge here. If only we could have done the same.​

Eventually we turned towards the cabin, the road slightly more defined in certain places, but completely obliterated in others.​

Made it!​

It took us more than two hours to travel the seven miles between Valjean and Riggs Cabin. No longer was there a question of whether it was time for lunch, rather it was a question of whether we could prepare lunch before we starved to death. To death, I say.

Of course, I'm prone to risk all sorts of injury and apparently even death in situations like this, so while Mike and Zane pulled ingredients out of their fridges for hearty sandwiches, I headed into the cabin to check out the digs.

Pretty nice place!​

I especially liked this sign.​

Then, it was time for a big old bowl of Wheat Chex - a cereal I bemoaned as a kid, but that is one of my favorites now - and some enormous, firm, red grapes as desert. I could tell that neither Zane nor Mike were jealous.

Given the time of day, it was clear at this point that our slow traverse of the alluvial fan - an exercise we'd need to continue along the next segment of our route - meant that we were not going to make it to Valley Wells. Reevaluating the situation, I hoped we'd be able to make it to the Silver Lake Mine, a mere seven miles further along the trail and some 49 miles short of our original camping destination!

After a quick pow-wow regarding the new plan, I let the guys know that I was going to run over to an old mill site and workings just around the corner from the cabin, since we'd exerted quite a bit of effort to get here and I didn't want to leave without seeing as much as I could, even if we weren't going to do a multi-hour, full-site exploration.

I don't know for sure that these foundations were part of a mill, but they sure seemed to fit the profile for some sort of concentration apparatus.​

This cool crackled mud was just outside the adit entrance.​

It was quite a bit warmer in here, out of the wind!​

Back on the road, there was only one stop - another cabin - between us and the Silver Lake Mine, and we had a choice to make as to our approach. The sure method - and the one we'd agreed to take as we'd reevaluated over lunch - was to head back the way we'd come, suffering through the alluvial fan a second time. The other option was to take a more direct route, following a road that was no longer visible on the ground at Riggs Cabin, but that - if we could find it along the way - would cut the distance by 75%.

We probably should have stuck with the original plan, but as I'd wandered up and around the hill to the mine, I thought I spotted a short section of the shorter road in the distance. Relaying that to the guys over the radio, and as the leader of this rag-tag bunch, I set off across the roughest terrain yet, hoping for the best.

In the distance, our Jake's Place was nestled into the base of the Silurian Hills.​

We lost the road to Jake's Place about halfway between the EMHT and the cabin, instead following the wash - as apparently others had done before us - to a secondary approach to the cabin via a rickety flight of stairs leading from the wash, which have somehow survived the flooding events that pummeled everything else in sight.

Not everyone could have made it up this narrow rocky route, but for us it was just a bit of slow fun.​

Compared to most, this one looked built to last.​

I loved the welcome on this door. For me, it really exemplifies the proper mindset for these special places in the desert.​

Nicely kept place on the inside too. Very little evidence of rodent activity, no small feat in these parts!​

R.I.P Jake.​

Never found this at a cabin before. A recent note in the guest book related the finding of them scattered around outside on the ground. "Give 'em a shot," it urged.​

With Mike having opted to stay with the trucks - his knee had been giving him some grief, and so a flight of rickety stairs wasn't something he wanted to tackle - Zane and I didn't spend long at Jake's place before heading back down to find our companion. He as a little way back down the wash, waiting for us - camera ready - at one of the obstacles we'd navigated on the way up. Hopefully he got a good shot or two!

And with that, we were on to the place we'd call home for the night. It was only 3:15pm, but getting to camp a little early was certainly better than arriving at our previously planned camp several hours after sunset. Plus, an early arrival would allow Mike an opportunity for a camp shower, and would also permit - for anyone interested - a more leisurely investigation of the structures and workings that I'd seen in satellite imagery as I'd planned the route through the Silver Lake Mine.

The clouds were looking strange - it must have been windy up there - as we made our approach.​

We'd been driving through dramatic backdrops all day.​

Once we found the road to the Silver Lake Mine, the going got quite a bit easier, though the terrain around it stayed the same. It's always surprising to me how much of an art road building can be, and the folks of the Silver Lake Mine had mastered their trade.

The first ore bin we came to emptied right into the wash.​

Remnants of a railway, constructed with a base of the crushed talc ore that was being mined on site.​

Approximately 7 miles northeast of the Silver Lake playa there are several old mine sites. The Silver Lake mine, first worked in 1916, is the oldest and largest operation. The other two mines have been operated continuously since the early 1940s. The combined output of the three totaled between 15,000 and 20,000 tons of talc in 1950.

Deposits of commercial talc in the vicinity of Silver Lake, were almost continuously mined from 1915 to the mid-1970s. They yielded an estimated 300,000 tons of metamorphosed sedimentary rocks. These deposits consist of mixtures of magnesian silicate minerals – mostly tremolite but also various proportions of talc, chlorite(?), serpentine, and forsterite. The products sold as commercial talc were used as a ceramic raw material and a paint ingredient. The talc-rich rock was also marketed as a lubricant in the manufacture of rubber goods.

academia.edu​

This portal had been sealed recently, but many of the adits and shafts on the site were still open.​

After driving much of the site with me, Zane headed into the sun to find wherever it was that Mike had setup camp.​

After exploring what we could by truck, there was one thing nagging at me. The keen observer may have noticed it in a previous photo as well. At any rate, I knew I had to return for one more look.

If that's not an invitation to "come on in," I don't know what is.​

Now, this adit had obviously been sealed up for what someone - likely someone who knew more than any of us - determined to be a good reason. And, as an upstanding citizen, I was in no position to bypass this elaborate barricade, even if said barricade contained an opening the perfect size for me to fold myself into.

So, I definitely didn't go in.

In fact, the following photos are - obviously, as anyone familiar with his LED-lit underground work will know - from Mike @mk5. I don't know when he visited, and he'd certainly never admit to remembering photographing this mine if he were asked, but I can confirm that the LED lights are his. I also have no idea how his photos ended up on my camera.

Just one of life's little mysteries, I guess.

There's no pot of gold at the end of this rainbow. A bit of talc, maybe.​

The adit extended quite a way into the mountain, several branches and shafts running in various directions in an effort to follow the highest grade material. Along the way, the names of many miners who once worked this mine were painted onto the wall with axle grease, the oldest from 1906!

H.R. HEATH, CHELSEA, OKLA. (left) | Fred Hormell (right)​

Larry Mulcahy 1906 Long Beach​

As I returned to the portal, the light outside was turning orange.​

With the sun only moments from dropping below the horizon, it was time to get back to camp. Surely by now, Mike and Zane would be ready to light the fire. Though, our elevation - 3,500 feet lower than the previous evening - meant that we'd likely keep the propane on low, using it mostly for the pleasant atmosphere it provided for "truck talk."

Perfect timing.​

We'd end up chatting into the night, the moon rising and climbing high overhead before two of us couldn't take it anymore and excused ourselves for bed. As I'm prone to do, I'd found the highest spot around camp to call home for the night, so as I picked my way from the camp fire to my Tacoma, I found my mind wandering to the following day, and how far "behind schedule" today's roads had put us.

Because you know, when you're out here enjoying the desert, the "schedule" is the most important thing. Ha! That, and the knowledge that there were some amazing places in store for tomorrow, was enough to push any worry out of my mind, and before long, I drifted off to sleep.

 

Based on the last go round, I have some notes Just kidding. When I read the log entry about building the cabin and porches and passing of Jake, oh boy. We think so much about those who built these cabins so many years ago yet here is one rebuilt just yesterday. Cheers to Jake.

 

Talc is the best flavor of gold. Just keep it away from your perineum!

And sorry if this is a duplicate post... I swear I wrote this response yesterday but I don't see it here. The important thing though... protect the perineum!

ACKSHUALLY... air is invisible.

Except for when it is blue and we call it the sky. Then I guess you can see the air.

But this air in particular is not the sky, look at how there's a whole mountain between this air and the sky. Mountains are notorious for not being part of the sky--airplanes hate this!

So what could make this air visible to you? Well, air is 25% CO2 and 75% argon, which is 100% invisible.

So probably here you are seeing the chemtrails. Better hold your breath!!!


Final edit: See? This is what happens when you tag me in a post.

 

So true. For all these cabins that are maintained, there’s a ton of work that goes into that maintenance. Not just keeping the desert rodents and animals out, but fixing up after the real destructive vermin - us humans - has to be soooo much work.

Good on the guys who do it; it’s part of the reason we have to be so careful about disclosing specific cabin names/locatiins.

So you’re saying that all I have to do to get some first class writing in my thread is to tag you? If I’d known that, all my posts would be the same. “Was gonna write a story, but mine are boring. @mk5”

 

Hmm, I didn’t expect that to fail…

 

Whoops! That's a lot of weight bouncing on the mount. I try to remember to torque the lugs now and then but still, a wheel and tire are heavy! On my name-that-shall-not-be-mentioned bumper, the area around the pivot was cracked. So I guess the message is be sure and check the swingout and tire mount for cracks and be sure the latches are properly adjusted.

 

Time for the buzz box haha, lotta miles bouncing around, hard weld on a thin flexy plate. It did pretty well lasting as long as it did.

 

yeah, my lugs and tire were perfectly tight. I thought that was the problem at first, but then noticed the whole mount was moving when I jiggled the tire.

About 15” of CBI weld failed. Looks like they got it too hot, because it failed right along the puddle of the weld in a wavy pattern.

Interestingly, this was one of the pieces that I welded on to reduce weight when I did weight loss several years ago, and all of my welds seem just fine. Go figure.

Seems like this piece will be coming home with me on the plane for a little TLC. Glad it’s not something bigger. Lol