AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

This isn't 100% perfect, and I can't measure since the Tacoma is in Las Vegas at the moment, but it's close to 70". When I installed the "new" SPC UCAs and did my at-home alignment, I got this photo (below). That board across the outside of the tire is mirrored on the other side of the truck and is 2.5" wide, so with a measurement of 72.5" showing, it'd be 72.5 - 2.5 = 70". Pretty sure that was before the 1/2" wheel spacers though, so might be 71" now.

 

Thank you. This will allow us to make it easier to decide on when following your tracks on some more of theses adventures. So far, so good, but some of the pinch points and shelf road widths in your posts had me scratchin' my head wondering if ours would make it. We've kept ours narrow just for this reason. Now I'll just have to go measure.

 

Sometimes, the less popular places are the best.

 

Hiking the Big Bell Extension | Blacks #4
Part of the Backside of the Blacks (Feb 2025) trip.

Just out of the park.​

Setup on an old mining road just east of Furnace Creek, our flight home was a little later than usual, so we planned to get a hike in before heading back to Las Vegas. This meant a third morning in a row of awake-before-sunrise, but with early sunsets and bedtimes around 7:30pm, we were still getting more sleep we generally get at home!

It'd been a windy night, but our spot - between a hillside and a road berm - had been chosen carefully to reduce wind noise on the tent, and as we shoveled spoonfuls of Wheat Chex into our mouths, we remarked on how well we'd slept. Best night of the trip, it seemed!

While technically our 7 - or more probably 8, by the time switchbacks and side trips were taken into account - mile hike to the Big Bell Extension Mine was the major plan for the day, I'd also been in communication with Steve Hall - who was in town for the Death Valley Dark Sky Festival - and having availed myself of many of the resources he's shared for exploring my favorite National Park, I was hopeful that we'd be able to meet up for a few minutes to say hello.

And that meant we needed to get going!

View from the trailhead.​

The hike to the Big Bell Extension Mine starts from the same parking lot as much more popular - for good reason - Keane Wonder Mine in the northern Funeral Mountains. We'd hiked the Keane Wonder in 2021 - after it reopened from years of stabilization and restoration work - but at the time we either hadn't known about, or had confused the Big Bell Extension with another similarly named mine in the area. At any rate, we were glad to be back, and it was the perfect morning to set out across the alluvial fan.

On our way, with the sun in the perfect place - our backs!​

Following a web of old mining trails and roads, the walk across the alluvial fan was far easier than other cross-fan treks we've suffered through in the desert. Disjoint pipe along the way - remains of the pipeline that delivered water from Keane Wonder Springs to the Kean Wonder Mill - was a constant reminder of how hard it must have been to mine in a place like this, where a necessity such as water is so hard to find.

The springs - consisting of two small creeks and quite a few smaller seeps - flow out of a ravine just uphill of the trail. Trickling through shallow flows, colorful algae and carpets of salt grass crowd the wet ground before it fans out onto the travertine bench below the trail to disappear over an abrupt edge. At one time this spring was considerably larger, its grand staircase of travertine terraces climbing several hundred feet up the side of the Funeral Mountains before spilling out onto the alluvial fan for more than a mile. If it ever was all active simultaneously, it might have looked like Yellowstone's Mammoth Hot Springs, on much a grander scale.

Death Valley floor from the Keane Wonder Spring.​

A few wells - still open and surprisingly clear - had been sunk to consolidate water for the mining operations in the area.​

Cyty's Cabin and Mill, conveniently located next to the spring. Never mind the water is poisonous.​

History: Johnnie-Behind-the-Gun

The intertwined stories of the Big Bell and Big Bell Extension mines revolve around Johnnie Cyty, an eccentric, trigger-happy character nicknamed "Johnnie-Behind-the-Gun." Cyty had been prospecting and mining in the California desert for several years when he arrived in the Funeral Mountains in 1904, drawn by the Keane Wonder strike. In June, he and a partner, Mike Sullivan, found gold above the Keane Wonder and located the ten claims that became the Big Bell Mine. Cyty also filed nearby claims that he called the Big Bell Extension. He optioned the Big Bell property to two successive parties. The first one essentially did not touch it. The second party went through the customary steps of incorporating a company, selling stock to raise cash, bringing in equipment, and exposing some good ore. Encouraged by these results, Cyty and another partner, L. D. Porter, started to work on the Big Bell Extension. Over the next few months, they exposed some valuable ore too. But when the deadline came around in 1906, the Big Bell management and Cyty failed to reach an agreement, and the claims returned to their owners.

Cyty temporarily left the Big Bell Extension to become involved in the Big Bell's new management. Work continued through 1907, but by the beginning of 1908 funds had run out and work slowed down to a crawl. The fate of the Big Bell took a Hollywood twist in April, when Cyty lost his 250,000 shares in the company in a night-long roulette game in Rhyolite. The property was purchased in the fall as additional ore reserves by Homer Wilson, superintendent of the Keane Wonder Mine, although for some reason he never exploited it.

Soon after losing the Big Bell Mine, Cyty returned to the Big Bell Extension. In the interim, Kyle Smith, recorder of the South Bullfrog Mining District, had filed claims on some of Cyty's sites, thinking Cyty had relinquished them. In the fall, after several months of dispute, Smith found Cyty working on the contested site. The two men resorted to their guns, and Smith was shot dead. Cyty was convicted of manslaughter in April 1909, and sentenced to 10 years in San Quentin. The California court overturned this conviction and ordered a new trial. Cyty went to court again in March 1910. This time he was acquitted, on the grounds that he was defending his property, and that Smith may have fired first.

A year later, Cyty returned again to the Big Bell Extension. After a few weeks, enough valuable ore was in sight that he purchased a second-hand, three-stamp mill for a modest price. In April the mill was hauled to its new home near Keane Wonder Springs, below the mine. Unfortunately, in spite of all this work, Cyty's hopes did not materialize. The mill was fired up in October, and a shipment of unknown value was made in November, but the Big Bell Extension was never heard of again.

Cyty lived most of the rest of his life in the Rhyolite-Beatty area, following the fortunes of the time. He built a small hotel in Beatty during the Leadfield boom, worked as a watchman at the Keane Wonder Mill, and was convicted again for assault with a deadly weapon, retried and, yes, acquitted once more. He lived to be an old man, cherishing until the end the grand delusion that the gold mine he once had in the Funeral Mountains "was richer than the Keane Wonder ever dreamed of being."

Hiking Death Valley​

A short commute. (To the mill anyway, the mine was a whole different story!)​

The cabin looked to be in reasonable shape as we approached, and I was sure we'd find a log with a couple dozen entries by Jeremy Stoltzfus.​

My favorite part of the cabin. Gutters, critical infrastructure in a place that gets no rain.​

Alas, the interior of the cabin was in rough shape, and there was no visitor log to be found.​

Ore chutes with a view.​

Though the Big Bell Extension never produced much, the real value was in the view!​

After shedding most of our layers and leaving them on the front porch of the cabin, it was time for the real hiking to being. From here we'd be climbing just over 2,200 feet in 2 miles. It was a lot of up, and then it would get steep.

Up we go.​

Following the old mining trail.​

Gaining elevation, we found ourselves climbing the travertine terraces left by the spring, views getting wider and wider as we climbed.​

In the distance, Mesquite Dunes.​

One foot in front of the other, we climbed to a wide bench above the mill before crossing a small wash and tackling a series of switchbacks that led up a steep talus slope. Gaining another quick 220 feet, we soon found ourselves winded, and standing on a second bench overlooking the valley. Here, the trail passed alongside travertine layers - stacked more than 30 feet tall - colorful and delicate in the reflected canyon light.

Travertine shelf trail.​

Travertine twirls.​

Travertine cavern.​

Sweeping layers.​

Such a brilliant green. I've only ever seen one other instance of Pygmy Cedar, also in DVNP. (Peucephyllum schottii)​

After a mile-and-a-half, we finally reached a saddle along the ridge between the canyon in which Cyty had built his mill, and the one where he'd built his mine. Sometimes it's more scenic and exciting to climb to these places via canyon routes, but looking down, we patted ourselves on the back for choosing the steep miners trail. This canyon seemed rather dull, no dry falls for excitement and rubble talus walls with little visual interest. Plus, from this point on, though our trail became narrower, it climbed much more gently along the canyon's abrupt rim.

Saddle view.​

An easier grade.​

With less than half a mile to the main workings of the Big Bell Extension Mine, it wasn't long before we came upon some smaller prospects nestled along the side of the trail. These were largely uninteresting, though the deepest adit contained a couple bed frames, likely to supplement the sleeping capabilities of two cabins a little further up the trail.

Much of the hike was covered with this sparkly material. @mrs.turbodb thought it might be Bauxite, but decided upon our return that it likely was not. (What is it? Mica schist?)​

Still in use, just not by the intended species.​

Correction, no longer in use.​

Not long after the second cabin - and after navigating a few sections of trail that would have benefited from poles - our path finally terminated in the wash. Here, the main mining area fanned out into the steep, U-shaped escarpment, a narrow-gauge rail stretching out of the mouth of the main tunnel.

What treasures might be hidden inside?​

Perhaps something that may have require rail?​

Alas, there was an ore cart, but it lacked the ability to roll. ​

None of the adits seemed deep enough to require much mechanical ventilation, so perhaps Cyty was just planning ahead.​

Higher on the hillside, several more - mostly shallower - adits plunged into the quartz-laden walls. Protected by their poor accessibility, old mining trails were faint and scrambling up the waste rock piles seemed the best option in some cases. A few neat discoveries kept us motivated to search each adit in turn.

Waiting for the next load.​

I think this was the first tobacco tin I've found in an adit. Remember kids, like it says on the tin, "delightful and wholesome."
​

An old stone oven, used for fashioning the implements used around the site.​

After poking around - and eating a bit of lunch - it was just after noon when we headed back down the trail. Generally, I'm a fan of hiking up rather than down - since it's easier on my knees - but I have to say that in this case, down was a whole lot easier. Plus, it was so much easier to enjoy the views!

Around the bend.​

We made great time back to Cyty's Cabin and Mill, grabbing our sweatshirts and windbreakers less than 90 minutes after leaving the mine. A couple miles across the alluvial fan - taking advantage of the old mining road - were all that stood between us and burgers at In-N-Out.

Well, and a bit of driving. And meeting up with Steve.

This guy scrambled out of our path, a rare sight in my experience. (Zebra tailed lizard)​

Check out those toes!​

A much more commonly seen resident, with a nice blue tail. (Western Side-blotched lizard)​

By 2:15pm, we were rolling south. We didn't know it as we walked in, but we were just in time for our opportunistic meet-up with Steve. Volunteering at the Furnace Creek Visitor Center, his shift ended at 3:00pm, and who knows where he'd have gone after that.

After following this Death Valley Giant around the park for years, it was nice to finally meet him!​

We chatted for a while until Steve politely excused himself to help the plethora of visitors who needed his guidance more than we did, and with smiles on our faces we climbed into the Tacoma. It'd been another great trip, but as always seems to be the case, our todo list as we left was longer than when we arrived.

 

In Search of a Rabbit | Blacks #3
Part of the Backside of the Blacks (Feb 2025) trip.

Having discovered the existence of a few rock art sites in the Greenwater Valley area, I put on my best Sherlock Holmes hat (note: it is strikingly similar to the Cal Poly baseball cap I always wear) to scour the interwebs for clues. Of the three sites, I was able to pinpoint one reasonably quickly, and reached out to a few fellow rock art enthusiasts for hints on another. The third - somewhere on the hike up Funeral Peak - was out of the question on this particular trip, though I'll surely return to find those in the future.

Mostly, I was hoping to find an out-of-the-way cave full of polychromatic pictographs - a rarity in these parts of the Mojave - until I stumbled upon a photo of a rabbit petroglyph that really got my attention.

Probably a more modern pecking, but sooo cute, I just had to see it!
(photo credit Jim ****)​

Wanting to get an early start to the day - by the time we were done, we would cover more than 15 miles on foot - we decided the best chance for success was to camp somewhere near to the trailhead so we could get a pre-sunrise start in the morning.

Searching for a camp site.​

The spot we found was a little closer to the road than we would have preferred, but having seen no other people in Greenwater Valley, we figured our chances of getting dusted overnight were slim to none.

Staged.​

A "pro" tip for all of us that use rocks to level our trucks. If you can't find a stack that is the perfect height, drive part way up onto a stack that is too tall, and then cradle the tire by shoving another rock under the opposite side. Using this technique, you can get nearly any height you desire.​

Prior to drifting off to sleep, I'd alerted @mrs.turbodb to the fact that I hoped we could get up a little earlier than usual. Our first search of the day was for petroglyphs, and they - really, most rock art - are easier to photograph when there aren't harsh shadows getting in the way. With a little more than a mile of hiking, I hoped we could arrive 30 minutes before the sun crested the eastern horizon, allowing me to scurry around in search of a rabbit in the soft morning light.

Not only was she agreeable, but she also seemed supportive! Lucky me!

The search begins...

My alarm went off 90 minutes before sunrise. It was 5:00am, and it was still dark outside as we climbed down the ladder, bundled up, and grabbed our headlamps. We must have done a few other things as well, but by 5:30am we were headed down the wash and were hoping for the best!

As we approached the site - or what I hoped was the site at the time - I was worried that we might have gotten too early of a start. With no tripod in tow, it was looking like there might not be enough light to hand-hold photos!

A beautiful morning.​

I knew the first set of symbols would be both easy to recognize and obviously not the work of those we were mostly here to see. It's common to find relatively recent petroglyphs intermingled with those from Native Americans, and though I'm never quite sure how to feel, those that are done tastefully and without intent to detract from the originals don't tend to bother me all that much.

Dated signatures of mid-century pioneers, names of old mining towns and their inhabitants, and ornate names of militiamen all seem fair game. This particular work seemed right on the edge to me.

From miners searching for copper, silver, or gold? Or from someone much more recent? With this image, it was hard to tell. Still, at least we knew we were in the right place.​

Immediately, more of what we were looking for was visible from the wash. Binoculars in hand, my spotter headed down the wash as I climbed into the varnished rocks on the best Easter-egg hunt I could imagine.

Behind the bush.​

Line after line.​

Chain links.​

Symbols.​

Honeycomb.​

Two suns.​

Anthropomorphs and their tools.​

Basket panel.​

Snakes and water.​

For nearly an hour - well past sunrise - we scoured the rocks for any sign of the rabbit, the cute little guy evading us no matter where we looked. Hoping that a different perspective would reveal his position, I descended from my position and met @mrs.turbodb on the opposite bank of the narrows. Perhaps there, with two of us alternating use of the binoculars, we'd spot the little guy before he scurried away.

​

From this angle, we got a great sense of how prolific the rock art really was.​

Unable to spot the rascally rabbit, our search did turn up a few more panels we'd missed on our first couple passes through the area, and I dutifully set off to capture them.

I really liked this hooked atlatl and globe that were off by themselves.​

Petroglyph sampler.​

All in a line for some corn.​

Soon, another 45 minutes had passed, and though my companion did her best to highlight how much we'd discovered - and how cool some of the glyphs were - I wasn't satisfied. It's funny how that works - when we have our sights set on a single aspect of a place - but ultimately, we called off the search and started back to camp. We had a much longer hike ahead of us, and though we'd gotten an early start, our extended search left both of us hungrier than we'd have preferred.

Irony at its best. Where's your likeness my friend?​

Act two...

After filling our faces - and as a result, our bellies - with our favorite cereals and several servings of milk, I happened to get just enough service on my cell phone to find and load the rabbit photo that'd gotten my knickers in a bunch to begin with. Being able to see it - and the other photos "around" it in the trip report - I was sure I knew where to find it... if only we went back to look again.

Of course, only someone certifiably insane would undertake the same hike twice in the same morning, so @mrs.turbodb settled in with her Kindle while I raced back to the wash.

Once there, I quickly found the position of each photo, paying special attention to the photos immediately before and after the rabbit. Surely, I convinced myself, the rabbit must be between these two points.

It was not. Or, if it was, my eyesight has become even worse than I've feared. After another hour of searching, I tucked tail and headed back to camp. It was time to get on with our day.

Update: As I write this story, I now believe that I have a better sense for where the rabbit is, and it was not where I was looking. Obviously. The key, I believe, is that it was created at a different - more modern - time than the other glyphs, somewhere... a little more convenient for the artist.
​

Let's find a cave...

The second worst part of not finding the rabbit was my inability to claim success when I got back to the Tacoma. Flush with my failure, but knowing that we had another search to focus on, we loaded up and found our way to our next jumping off point. There, after setting up the solar panels, we once again wandered off into the desert, hoping the afternoon would prove more successful than our morning.

Here we go again! Wish we had some horses.​

Not long after we set off, I happened to glance up just as this guy turned on the afterburners.​

Our hike to the pictograph cave was significantly longer than our morning hike - or at least, than doing the morning hike one time - and as we walked down the wash, we remarked as to how much elevation we seemed to be dropping. That would all be "up" on the way back, but sometimes up is easier than down - at least on the knees - so we hoped that would be the case this time.

The wash was full of these geometric plants that are extremely difficult to photograph. (perhaps a buckwheat?)​

Not the cave we were looking for.​

After trapsing a few miles down the main wash, we finally reached the side canyon rumored to hold the cave. To our surprise, it contained a series of potholes that were filled with water. Some of them nearly two feet deep - after more than a week of no rain and warm temperatures - they offered a clue as to why people may have once called this particular side canyon, "home."

We didn't have to climb this fall, but boy was it fun. (left) | Could use a bit more water and pool at the bottom. (right)​

Even with a reasonable idea of where the cave was, we didn't find it quickly. The GPS point I'd placed wasn't in quite the right spot, kicking off a search of all the caves in the area. By the time we were done, we found pictographs - and a few petroglyphs - in three additional caves sprinkled around the wash!

High cave.​

Red sheep.​

Sun and a half.​

We weren't sure what the detailed figure on the right was, but we both thought the one on the left looked like a fish!​

In addition to pictographs, we also found this bedrock mortero (left), grinding slick, and obsidian flakes (right).


In another cave, faint black bighorn sheep - only a few inches off the ground - were fading from centuries of splashed water.​

As we roamed from cave to cave, eliminating one after another as the one we were looking for, I found a little voice in the back of my mind starting to wonder if our fate on this search would mirror that of our petroglyph hunt earlier in the day. I did my best to push it away, sure that we had to be close given the proliferation of evidence we were seeing around us.

On a small bench, circular rock alignment outlined what were once surely habitations.​

Sun, moon, and water.​

And then, nestled into the walls of the wash, hidden from our initial approach, we spotted the cave!

Found it!​

Lots to see in there.​

This spot right here.​

The Red Man.​

Black sheep.​

Vivid stripes.​

Eyelashes.​

Family tree.​

We spent quite a while nosing around in the cave, discovering new glyphs and curious figures with every passing minute. Eventually - as always happens - it was time to go, lest we find ourselves in the middle of the desert and miles from camp when the sun dropped below the horizon. It was 3:30pm in the afternoon, and our search had been a success!

Bat Mountain view on the way back from the pictograph cave.​

We can make it if we race...

Turns out we made fantastic time back to the Tacoma, and with just under and hour until sunset, we headed north - to position ourselves for another early morning start - toward the pavement of CA-190.

Before reaching the highway, Greenwater Valley Road (aka Furnace Creek Wash Road) joins up with Dante's View Road, and as we slowed to let the train of cars returning from the summit pass in front of us, @mrs.turbodb reminded me that she'd never been to Dante's View.

Having myself visited only once - almost exactly one year earlier - to see Lake Manly at sunrise, we decided that heading up for sunset might be a great way to end the day. It would mean getting to camp - and making dinner - in the dark, but there's no better way to maximize your exploration time than to eek out ever last minute of daylight. Heck, we'd started the morning before the sun rose, we might as well end our evening after it set!

We arrived just as the shadows of the Panamints were set to climb the western flank of the Black Mountains.​

I know that Dante's View is a popular destination for the typical Death Valley tourist, but it's never been all that compelling of a destination to me, the views mostly washed out and hazy during daylight hours.

Sunset, it turned out - was a different story. Mostly in shadow, the dusty haze that so often blankets Death Valley was less noticeable, and the bright white of Badwater offset the orange glow and silhouetted skyline spectacularly.

Panamint sunstar.​

So small.​

We hung out for about half an hour after the sun dropped below the Panamint Mountains, knowing that it wouldn't be until it hit the horizon that colors would play across the sky. Then, it was back down the mountain, both of us ready for dinner and bed.

Go figure, the graceful arc of the railing turned out to be my favorite part of this photo.​

To camp we go.​

An hour later, we'd find ourselves in a little spot we've called home on several previous adventures. Just outside the park, it's a convenient place for Furnace Creek area attractions, given the lack of dispersed camping in that part of the valley.

Our routine well practiced, we nestled the Tacoma behind a wind break before dinner and our sleeping arrangements were quickly deployed and consumed. The next would be our last day on this adventure, and - we hoped - one where we'd meet a Death Valley Giant.

 

Hey Dan, nice write up! Oddly enough although the valley doesn’t get much rain it has on occasion as you know gives you more than you need. I suspect that even smaller, brief virga events will net you some moisture which is always welcome in the valley until you get too much…..
We used to camp in most of the canyons off of the west side road during the summers, and would get some light showers overnight, made sleeping out in the back the pickup a cooling adventure. And yes it is a delicious irony about gutters in the desert to be sure.
I do have a question for you, how did you mount your battery isolating switch on your rig? I’m looking at some mounting options and my searching prowess is sorely lacking.

I can tell it has been way too long since I have been to the valley- looks like some substantial upgrades have happened to the overlook at Dante’s view. I remember plowing snow up there a time or two back in the late 80s.

Thanks again for incentive to get back down to the valley, a few more tweaks and I should be ready. Too many trucks and too thin a wallet.

 

Sorry for the slow reply, have been in civilization but without internet or cell/LTE coverage over the last several days. What a weird feeling.

To cut right to the chase - I've got my battery isolating switch (a Blue Sea ML-ACR) mounted in the cab, "next to" my house battery. I've got some pretty beefy cable running between it and the two batteries - 1/0, I believe, with the black running the entire distance and the red hooked to each terminal of the ML-ACR.

Install with pics: MOAR Power, More Redundancy – Dual AGM Battery Install

A bit of modification to placement of the ML-ACR and other components when I added solar; you can see the ML-ACR is now mounted to the underside of the cabinet top, freeing up room in the drawer for more activities: Infinite Free Power – Adding Solar to the Tacoma

​

 

Seeing this, reminds me of how many trails I may have potentially lost due to the recent updates to my truck, as I'm currently at 90". So many high alpine, above treeline trails here in Colorado get pretty narrow, so I'm really going to have to research my routes ahead of time from now on.

 

If You Look Long Enough | Finding the Juniper Tree Ruin
Part of the If You Look Long Enough (Mar 2025) trip.

Comb Ridge. There, somewhere, is a ruin that I've been searching for over the course of several years. While not unknown, this ruin - with walls supported by a Juniper Tree trunk - is infrequently visited and photographed, and the location is kept well under wraps by those who have been lucky enough to visit.

And I'm fine with that. I appreciate it and understand why. Still, even as I've failed to find it on several previous occasions, I knew I'd have to keep searching until I found it.

This would be our third full day with feet on the ground, and after looking through the - relatively little - material I have been able to collect on the ruin, I'd stumbled on a note I'd either missed or not deemed relevant in my previous research. It gave me a new idea, so it was with high hopes that we hit the dirt and headed for a 10-mile stretch of cliff walls that I'd marked on the map.

Perhaps, finally, we'd find the Juniper Tree Ruin!

- - - - -​

Our flight to Las Vegas touched down at 3:30pm, and after a quick provisioning, we were on our way east. We had a long drive ahead of us - Las Vegas is certainly closer than Seattle, but it's still a long way from Comb Ridge - but we were looking forward to a fabulous plate of nachos (and a carne asada burrito) at Tacos Plaza in St. George to tide us over.

We always tend eat at the same places. We don't mind, since there's usually a good reason!​

From there, we queued up the podcasts and pointed ourselves into the headwinds sweeping across the Arizona Strip and drove into the dark. It was right around 2:00am when we pulled into camp site at the end of a spur road we'd explored on a previous mission to find the Juniper Tree Ruin, and after quickly deploying the tent, we were fast asleep.

Nestled into a small drainage under a half-moon.​

Having no idea how long we'd need to search for the single ruin we were looking for, I'd normally have suggested that we break camp at the crack of dawn. However, after a long drive and having lost an hour on our way east, we decided to sleep in until shortly after 8:00am in the hopes that the extra recharge would bode well for our hunt. And so, when we finally climbed out of the tent, the sun and moon were sharing the sky, and Comb Ridge was gleaming across Butler Wash.

What a beautiful way to start the day!​

With a bit of a late start, we broke down camp but decided to hold off on breakfast for an hour or so, allowing us to explore a couple miles of mesa wall before taking a break. Not only that, but I knew that while we weren't going to find the Juniper Tree Ruin in the first spot I wanted to poke around, there was another smaller rock art panel to enjoy, which and I thought that could be a great way to kick off the day.

Of all the geological formations I've seen, Comb Ridge - the backbone of the earth - is always one of my favorites. More to come on this later.​

Pulling the Tacoma into a small camp site at the end of a spur, we hopped out and surveyed the landscape. There looked like a couple good possibilities for rock art canvas to our north and south, each about half a mile away, so we set out across the tundra to investigate.

Finding nothing to the south, we turned north. Here, we got our first slickrock scampering - always so fun given how sticky the rock is - of the day, but as we headed back toward the Tacoma, we'd come up empty. This was a little disconcerting, given that I knew there were petroglyphs here, which was more than I could say for the ruin search that would consume most of our time.

Wondering if we'd missed something obvious, I wandered over to a point as @mrs.turbodb poured us a couple bowls of cereal.

Found it!​

I thought this was a neat feather - or grass - or roots - along the crack.​

Selection of spirals.​

Relieved to have found something that we knew existed, we enjoyed our cereal in the sun - it was a chilly morning even though the sun was out - and then set of towards the first spot that looked promising for an elusive ruin.

And then the second. And third.

With only so many places to look, and the hours of the day ticking by, I was starting to wonder if - this time - the third time wouldn't be the charm. Still, it's not as though we weren't in beautiful country.

Through a colorful landscape.​

We spotted this interesting arch cairn along the side of the road.​

This was a cool hoodoo along the way.​

Getting a little flexy along the way.​

Stopping at one spot - where we decided to have lunch - I wandered off in search of ruins as sandwiches were assembled on the tailgate. As with the previous spots, I didn't find what I was looking for, but there above the wash I did spot something totally unexpected.

Well, what have we here?​

Not sure if ominous or intriguing.​

Heading inside, I was surprised at how deep this adit of the ************* Mine burrowed into the mountain. I wasn't sure what these folks were after, but the ground was unlike the usual adits we see in the Mojave, and my guess - confirmed once we returned home - was that these guys were after Uranium.

Reverse handprint.​

Current resident.​

The light was really nice as I headed back to the entrance.​

After lunch, the search continued. One thing that wasn't quite so obvious to me on satellite imagery - as I scoped out possible locations - was just how many levels, nooks, and crannies there were to the mesa along Butler Wash. Of course, multiple levels and all manner of ledges and alcoves are totally normal; they are exactly what makes this area so perfect for the structures dot the landscape. The issue - obviously - was that it added a lot more ground for us to cover in our search!

Even as we were unsuccessful, there was no reason to complain about climbing around in a landscape like this all day!​

The monocline of Comb Ridge rising up in the near distance.​

It was right around 3:00pm when I spotted a ruin on a high ledge. I could tell immediately that it wasn't the one we were after - it was a much-too-small granary - but having found nothing else through the course of the day, we headed toward the slickrock base of the mesa to check it out.

That's when I glanced a different direction and saw it!

This is the ruin we've been looking for.​

The 10-year old in me - generally dominant - wanted to immediately abandon our current course and head toward the Juniper Tree Ruin, but the 48-year-old-that-I-am (shhh) knew that a little more anticipation would only add to the greatness. Plus, it looked like we needed to be find our way up to the same slickrock level in either case; so, that's what we did!

Self-storage units with a view.​

I always love how water can't help but to create its own abstract art on the colorful canvas.​

After poking around the granarys for a bit, we let our excitement get the better of us, and headed for the subject of our three-trip search.​

A closer view.​

The most interesting aspect of these ruins are the use of a Juniper Tree trunk in the construction.​

Mixed media.​

A couple small access holes gave those inside a way to vet visitors.​

Our curiosity finally satisfied, we worked our way off the ledges and back across the slickrock to the Tacoma. Our first search for this ruin had taken place in 2021, and four years later - and after a day that seemed as though it might end in another defeat - we'd done it!

Plus, we had a few more hours of daylight - maybe just enough to position ourselves for the next leg of our adventure - and plenty of time to distract ourselves with other nearby attractions!

The main thing I knew I wanted to do was to send the flying camera up into the sky over Comb Ridge. As I mentioned earlier, I really love this formation, and I've always found it hard to photograph from ground - or even ridge-top - level. The scale just doesn't come through, and so I hoped that there was some way for me to capture this beast from the air that would really do it justice.

Naturally however, as we worked our way to the roadcut that would shuttle us through the sandstone monocline, I couldn't help but to suggest we stop for one of the more popular petroglyphs in the area. We'd seen it on our first trip to Butler Wash back in 2021, but I can assure you that the memory of 48-year-old me isn't what it once was, so a second visit would be a welcome refresher.

The Wolfman.​

My favorite glyph at the Wolfman site continues to be the plant-in-a-bowl. The alien head and shield are pretty nice too. Not sure why one dude is pushing the other off a cliff though; that doesn't seem too nice.​

Perhaps the two wolf prints are what give the panel-with-a-man on it, the name.​

The Wolfman Panel isn't hard to get to, so within half an hour or so of disembarking the cab, we were back in our seats and on our way. We'd have only one more stop before finding camp along the edge of Grand Gulch, but a lot of ground to cover before then.

Comb Ridge from the air.​

Turns out, altitude limits on flying cameras are only a fraction of what's really needed to get the most dramatic views, but it was still nice to watch Comb Ridge stretch into the distance.​

Where we're headed.​

After depleting a battery in an attempt to get just the right angle on the backbone of the earth, I realized that my love for this place could keep me there until sunset, and that if we wanted to find a spot to camp while there was still a bit of daylight, we needed to get a move-on.

Plus, driving almost due west, we'd get to enjoy driving into the blinding sun the entire time! Still, it's hard to complain when you've just found a ruin you've been searching four years to find!

Watching this unfold in the windshield, I couldn't help but hop out of the truck for one last photo.​

.​

 

Love it. Comb Ridge is a wonderful place to spend time.

Glad you finally found that elusive ruin!

 

So glad you found it and I'm a little disappointed i wasn't able to help.

Sure makes me miss hiking out there with my Grandpa.

I need to get my hands on some of his old photos of rock art to send you on even more Easter eggs hunts

 

One Day, Twenty-Four Miles; Hiking Shangri-la Canyon | Grand Gulch #1
Part of the Beginnings-ish: A Grand Goal (Mar 2025) trip.

​

Every time I go to Utah's Cedar Mesa, I find myself wondering why I don't visit more often. When I really think about it, the answer is a combination of factors, with the largest being:

• Distance - It's a 24-hour drive from home. Anything over 19 hours is a slog - even for the younger me, who could conquer long drives and still hike the next day. Even when the Tacoma is stored in Las Vegas, it's a 9-hour trek - nearly a full day of driving - just to get there!
• Death Valley - Much of the time I'd want to be exploring Cedar Mesa - in the spring and fall shoulder seasons - I also want to be soaking in the sights at my favorite National Park. Only 2 hours away from Vegas, it's almost too good to be true.

Still, I can't let a little thing like distance keep me from seeing some of the most beautiful sights - and coolest history - this country has to offer. And yet, Cedar Mesa is a big place. Like Death Valley, I could spend my entire life exploring nothing but this place and still only scratch the surface. And so, I need a plan.

I'll start small. Or, small-ish. Meandering along the western edge, Grand Gulch is a serpentine canyon entrenched into the otherwise gently sloping surface. My plan is to hike nearly the whole thing. I'll do it a bit at a time, working my way in from various access points to enjoy the sandstone walls and Native American (Ancestral Puebloan) history that hides within.

And where better to start* than with Shangri-la?

* sort of. We hiked the Bullet-to-Sheiks Canyon loop a few years ago.

- - - - -

​

Having finally found the Juniper Tree Ruin, we weren't far from Grand Gulch - at least, compared to usual - and after soaking in the late afternoon views along Comb Ridge, we soon found ourselves headed past the Government Trail trailhead under the watchful silhouette of Bears Ears National Monument.

Bears Ears Buttes.​

It'd be another half hour - just as the sun dropped below the horizon - before we'd reach camp. In the middle of a large flat, it was boring, dusty, and completely unsheltered. Still, it was the closest we could get to Shangri-la Canyon, so hoping for a calm night, we set up the tent and got to dinner preparations.

Unremarkable.​

The following morning...

With a long day ahead, we were up before dawn.

At 4 miles, the hike through Shangri-la Canyon to Grand Gulch is not - itself - long. However, accessing the canyon from the nearest trailhead adds another 3 miles, making for a minimum 14-mile day. This doesn't even take into account navigation mistakes, the meandering of the trail through the canyon, or the search for cultural resources along the way - elements that easily add 20-30% to the total.

And it's always important to keep in mind my insanity. We'll get to that in due time; for now, we prepped ourselves and the Tacoma for a full day of separation before setting off across the tundra in search of the hard-to-find entrance to Shangri-la Canyon.

Juniper Tree in search of a ruin.​

Keeping our bearing was easy - we just walked directly toward Navajo Mountain.​

As we finally reached the edge of the Shangri-la complex, the sun spilled colorfully across the landscape.​

Lion King Rock.​

Searching for a deer trail heading into the lower canyon - beginning 100m southwest of point 5017 on the Slickhorn West 7 1/2' quad - we first wandered into the wrong feeder for a half mile or so, our pride at finding the entrance "right off the bat" abruptly tempered as we peeked over the edge of a 60-foot dry fall.

We were doing so well, until there was no "there" there. (left) | After we found the actual correct route into the canyon, looking back up at our first attempt. (right)
​

Backtracking, we eventually found our way to the actual drop-in location, and then through a is-this-really-the-way crack that was a lot of fun.

Crack conquered, c'mon down!​

Tafoni alcove.​

Still a little worried that we'd run into another dry fall, we refrained from celebrating our success until we could see a trail along the sandy bottom of the canyon, and it became obvious that we'd found the way.

A spectacular introduction to Shangri-la.​

From there, we headed downcanyon. Confined between towering walls, the views were consistent - consistently wowing - as we ticked away the miles between the head of the canyon and Grand Gulch. It's amazing how much variation can exist in a place like this, and yet how similar that variation can be.

Reflected corner.​

First footprints (at least, since the last rain).​

Spring green.​

Tiny buds. (Cottonwood)​

Big wall.​

Towering pillars.​

Having left camp just before 7:00am, it was a few minutes before noon when we reached the junction of Shangri-la Canyon with Grand Gulch. We'd only covered 7 trail miles in those five hours, but we'd spent more time route finding than we'd expected, and - as usual - one of us was endlessly stopping for photos.

What comes after Shangri-la?​

These things - combined with the fact that we still had 7½ hours until sunset - meant that we were feeling pretty good on time, something I'd been worried about when I suggested the hike. In fact, we were doing so well on time that my excitement got the better of me and I asked @mrs.turbodb if she minded that I wander another 4 miles up Grand Gulch to Shaw Arch (previously, Grand Arch) in order to check it - and some rock art around it - out before we headed back to the trailhead.

She had no interest in going herself, but had no problem with me wandering off by myself and leaving her alone in the middle of nowhere, so after a few quick mental maths, I made my biggest mistake of the day:

"I'll be back in 2½ hours."
"If I'm not," I added, "feel free to start back without me."
​

Now, I know exactly how I came up with that number - there's a 6-mile loop around our neighborhood that I frequently walk, and I can easily do that loop in 1:45 minutes. Adding two more miles and 45 more minutes seemed totally reasonable to me when I made my estimate.

Surely though, most have already realized that a 6-mile walk along paved sidewalks with no pictures to take or new views to photograph is a smidge different than 8 miles on uneven, sandy terrain that is full of amazing views, rock art, and arches. And of course, I realized it too, about 10 minutes into my 8-mile trek. By that time, I had no way to communicate with @mrs.turbodb and it was too late to turn around. And that left only one solution: jog.

Into the Grandest of Gulches.​

Not so different than the Mojave. Keep an eye on your birthday balloons, Molly.​

Twin towers.​

OK, so there was another - clearly smarter - solution than jogging, but turning around and admitting defeat just isn't in my nature. Plus, having eaten the turkey sandwich and chips that @mrs.turbodb had packed up prior to our departure - and having my first bit of water - during the first 10-minutes of my solo push, I was feeling refreshed, and my Mountainsmith Tour hip pack was lighter than ever. I could do this.

Note: I could not do this.

​

Future rincon.​

Water line.​

I admitted to myself that I could not do this well before I reached Shaw Arch. Even as I hustled through the sandy wash and jumped as quickly as I could from rock to rock, I resigned myself to the fact that I was going to be late. Still, I pushed along as quickly as I could manage, and after one hour and thirty-one minutes, I could see blue sky through the sandstone. I'd made it!

Through Shaw Arch.​

Knowing that every minute I spent poking around the base of the arch was a minute later I'd be on my return, I rushed to take in as much as I could in as little time as possible. I had no idea what I was missing at the time, though I know now - after flipping through photos from others who've visited before me - that there were at least a few panels and glyphs that I'll be returning to see in the future!

Wall of hands.​

Stick-em up!​

Multi-color prints.​

My favorite handprints were these swirls.​

​

I'm not sure what this comb represented, but we saw another similar glyph the next day at the Red, White, and Blue Panel.​

There were a few metate and mano slotted neatly into the sandstone, which I thought was extra neat.​

Nearby twins.​

After twelve minutes of madly snapping photos - and hoping I didn't miss anything amazing - I was headed back down the canyon. I had 47 minutes to cover a distance that twelve minutes earlier had taken 91.

There was no photography on the 4-mile race back to the mouth of Shangri-la Canyon. In fact, I looked for every trail shortcut I could find along the way down Grand Gulch, shaving off precious fractional distances on each bend in the wash. Technically downhill, I did everything I could to stay out of the soft sand, each step there more effort - and slower - than harder ground and rock-hopping.

Two-and-a-half hours came and went, but I still had about a mile of ground to cover. Wondering if @mrs.turbodb would head back exactly at 2:30pm - to give herself five hours for the return trip upcanyon - or if she would wait a while in the hopes that I was just a few minutes late, I pushed on, the afternoon sun beating down as I neared the last bend in the canyon.

"Hello!" I bellowed at the top of my lungs. Then, again, "Helloooooo!"

Echoing down the canyon, I had no idea if she heard me, but there was no arguing the magestic, acoustics of the canyon.

Ten minutes later, I trotted into the mouth of Shangri-la. There, waiting for me - having heard my shouts a few minutes after starting back toward the trailhead - was @mrs.turbodb!

After a short rest and consumption of an apple, we were back into the amazing light of Shangri-la Canyon.​

Maidenhair fern.​

Sandstone staircase under the watchful eye of the Shangri-la snail.​

A closer look at the snail.​

As we'd hiked down Shangri-la in the morning, both of us had been a little surprised at the lack of ruins and rock art contained within the canyon. As we returned, we pondered the name of the canyon, wondering why a place named for utopia wasn't more populated. We had no idea at the time - we hadn't yet hiked the adjacent Water Canyon - but it could have been for the experience of hiking the canyon itself. It was truly pleasurable.

Carved out.​

Knowing we had a long way back to the Tacoma, I did my best to refrain from too many photos, but this Mourning Cloak butterfly (Nymphalis antiopa) (left), and Common Side-Blotched Lizard (Uta stansburiana) (right) got me to slow down.


Higher in the canyon, more light and a broader base allowed colorful vegetation to gain a foothold.​

It was 4:52pm - only two hours after I'd arrived back from my crazy race up-and-back through Grand Gulch - when we arrived at the crack that would lead us out of Shangri-la. We'd been worried about having enough time in the day to complete this 14- (or in my case, 24-) mile foray into lower Grand Gulch, but with more than two-and-a-half hours before sunset, it was clear that we would have plenty of daylight.

Into the crack. (left) | Out of the crack. (right)


Lion King Rock looking good on our way back, sun streaming in under now-cloudy skies.​

By 7:00pm - twelve hours after setting out - we reveled in the combination of Advil and seats as we started up the Tacoma for a short drive to a camp site near the following day's trailhead. Soon, we were on our way, the last of the light streaming in from the western horizon, its yellow rays accentuating the colorful rock under dark skies.

On our way to Water Canyon.​

Exquisite evening light.​

Soon enough we found a little spot in which we could nestle the Tacoma, with fantastic views of majestic mesas rising up in the distance. Over the next hour, we'd deploy camp, prep and eat dinner (chicken strip wraps with avocado), and get ourselves ready for bed. And then, horizontal bliss.

Water Canyon camp.​

We had no idea at the time, but the next day - on a hike through Water Canyon, which my research suggested would be relatively easy - we'd get a tough lesson on why today's canyon had warranted the name "Shangri-la."

 

Great trip and a great area, I hope to see you in Utah more!

 

The next 10? stories will be in Utah, I think. Another for this current trip, then five more for a bunch more Grand Gulch hiking, and then I'm headed back for another week with some TW peeps for time around the campfire and on four wheels. Nice to be on the red dirt for an extended period this spring.

 

This is a great image to end this on. Look at that vista! I haven't spent any time there and I wish I had.

 

Nice! I'll be waiting patiently for your trip reports. Great area and a great time of year.
There's a pretty cool carving my grandfather did in some rocks many years ago, maybe you'll stumble across it. Many people may have some mix feelings about the modern rock art including myself but it's still kinda cool, he definitely spent a lot of time out there hiking by himself with his camera. We almost took a trip back to Blanding to see some family over Easter

 

What Have We Done? Hiking Water Canyon | Grand Gulch #2
Part of the Beginnings-ish: A Grand Goal (Mar 2025) trip.

After hiking 24 miles through Shangri-la Canyon - a few more miles of Grand Gulch than a sane person should in a day - cool temperatures made for one of the best night's sleep we've had in a long time. And, even waking up an hour before sunrise to "do it all over again, only in Water Canyon," we were well-rested, having fallen asleep just after 8:00pm, and only a few minutes after climbing up our ladder.

All ready to go, no shadows yet playing across the land.​

From the little I'd been able to find about Water Canyon, it seemed as though today's hike would be easier than the near marathon we'd wrapped up during the Earth's previous rotation. Part of this was due to the fact that there was no 3-mile slog across open tundra before even reaching the spillover into the head of the canyon, but mostly it was due to the rather pedestrian description offered by our guidebook:

From [the] parking place, walk west to the north side of the main drainage of [the Middle Fork of Water Canyon]; there's a dry fall part way down that [main drainage], so look for a way into a little north branch below a Little Butte. Once in, it's easy going past a wall collapse (WC), then maybe a little bushwhacking in a boulder field below that.

Non-Technical Canyon Hiking Guide to the Colorado Plateau​

That seemed easy enough, and so we set out from the trailhead confident that we'd once again be wandering our way into Grand Gulch, well before lunchtime.

Pastel landscape.​

It didn't take us long to realize that the unassuming description for the entrance to the Middle Fork of Water Canyon left a lot to be desired. Firstly, there was no "obvious" main drainage for the Middle Fork. Rather, there seemed to be about a dozen ways into a dozen different drainages. Secondly, trying to find a "Little Butte" in a land that is - essentially - comprised of many thousands of "little buttes" is laughable, especially when those looking - like us - aren't already familiar with the landmark in question.

And so, hoping we choose the correct "north branch," we followed a drainage into some part of Water Canyon.

Just as we descended below the white sandstone rim, the sun lit up the Clay Hills mesas in the distance.​

Naturally, we'd chosen the wrong drainage. We wouldn't fully realize our mistake until a half mile or so of congratulating ourselves on our navigation skills. As we found ourselves looking over "a dry fall part way down that [main drainage]," we knew that the little butte we'd found was obviously not the one we were supposed to find.

With no other choice - and already an hour into our day - we retraced our steps and headed further north, hoping that something would catch our eye. Luckily, 30 minutes later, something did.

If you're hiking the Middle Fork of Water Canyon, this is the 'Little Butte' you are looking for.​

Hoping we'd found the butte, we worked our way down the slickrock and into the canyon, noting the spillover that had cliffed us out earlier. This time, it turned out, we'd done it!

Sandstone channel.​

I thought this little real-life-bonzai juniper growing in the wash was so cute.​

The first mile of Water Canyon was spectacular. Working our way between towering sandstone walls, we followed the curvature of the drainage as we scampered down sandstone falls and hopped across glassy pools of water, reflecting the blue sky above. Things were looking great as we kept our eyes out for the wall collapse - surely a fun bit of scrambling!

Easy going.​

Water-stained wall.​

The tafoni here - as it'd been in Shangri-la - was delightfully delicate.​

The wall collapse - smaller than we'd envisioned - was easy to bypass and didn't offer much in the way of bouldering interest.​

Wandering and wondering what is around the gentle bend.​

It turns out that we'd been lulled into a false sense of serenity. Likely the result of the reasonable-easy hike once we'd found our way into Shangri-la, and the similarly straight-forwardness of the upper mile of Water Canyon's Middle Fork, we were caught completely off-guard as we ran into the "boulder field" that would be "maybe a little bushwacking," in order to reach Grand Gulch.

Instead of "maybe a little bushwacking," I think it would be safest to describe the lower two miles of Water Canyon as "torturous trail finding." Here, it was clear that millenia of erosion had peeled many layers of sandstone off of the canyon walls, depositing them in an "I'll clean up those Legos later," jumble on the canyon floor.

What wasn't covered in house-sized boulders was overgrown - to the point of impenetrability - with willow.

Though I'd think it had something to do with the steepness of the descent or distance between the canyon walls, I don't actually know what causes these stretches of canyon to be completely choked with obstacles while other - seemingly similar - parts are free and clear. Whatever the reason, it sure would be nice if someone would go in and clean it all up before we get there, next time.

And so, after wasting time trying to find our way in, we were unable to make any of that time up - in fact, quite the opposite - as we worked our way to Grand Gulch. Our pace - as we picked our way along faint trails through rocks along the northern wall of the canyon - wasn't more than a single mile per hour. Our "easier" hike was turning into anything but.

Impenetrable maze.​

Eventually - and fully realizing that every step down-canyon would result in a similarly difficult route back - we made to the confluence of the middle and south forks of Water Canyon. Relieved, we embarked on a short detour to find "a kiva, the signature Billings, Feb. 22, 1894, and some suspicious-looking, perhaps paleface-made rock art." (Kelsey)

I suppose that this might have once passed for a kiva, but with so many better examples in the Grand Gulch, this was rather underwhelming.​

I thought these two spiral petroglyphs were quite nice, and they seemed authentic to me.​

Beginning of a bowling lane. (left) | Various men. (top right) | Waves over an arch. (bottom right)
​

Though we looked for quite a while - making several passes along the section of sandstone where we expected to find it, we never found Billings' signature from 1894. I felt a little better about that after looking around online after our return; I could only find a single photo - so there probably aren't many who have found it, and the signature itself is very faint.

Billings, Feb. 22, 1894 (photo WJP2015)​

​

Ahh, there's that pale-faced pecking we were looking for! Not a bad job, really.​

Now just before 11:00am, we pushed our way through the last of the undergrowth in Water Canyon as we worked our way to Grand Gulch. It was later than we'd hoped to reach this spot, and we had a decision to make: head south to Shaw Arch - to cover the ground between it and Water Canyon that I'd not covered the previous afternoon - or north to the Red, White, and Blue Panel, which I'd really been looking forward to seeing; we didn't have time - or the legs - for both.

Water Canyon wall.​

As much as I'd have liked to push south to Shaw Arch, such an endeavor would have been entirely to claim coverage of the short stretch of Grand Gulch I'd not covered the day before. While that's something I'll probably try to accomplish in the future - especially given that I missed some of the rock art at the arch - we had no desire to cover 9 additional miles "just to say we'd done it," after our struggle - and impending struggle - just to get through Water Canyon.

And so, our decision was made - head to one of the premier rock art sites in the gulch, for lunch!

The reflected light was fantastic as we headed up the much-easier-going trail in Grand Gulch.​

Not sure where exactly where we'd find the panel - or even which side of the drainage it would be on - our heads swiveled back and forth as we worked our way up the canyon. As small side trails forked off the main route, one of us would follow them to ensure that we weren't missing anything.

And then - in a large alcove high on the canyon wall - I spotted it! Immediately, the question shifted from, "will we find it?" to "will we find the way up?" Others have - so surely we would - and with a little sleuthing, @mrs.turbodb noticed a foot trail that could only have existed for one purpose. We headed that direction.

Collin, a Common Side-Blotched Lizard (Uta stansburiana), was kind enough to let us know we were headed the right way, "as long as we didn't eat him."
​

As we worked our way along the trail, I noticed a pile of stacked rocks a quarter mile away. Chuckling, I pointed at them and suggested to my hiking companion that, "there must be something else over there, maybe we'll have to check that out after lunch."

I'm sure you can see where this was going. A few minutes later the trail we were on made it obvious that those were our rocks, something @mrs.turbodb had known as soon as I'd cockily pointed them out, but was too polite to correct.

Up we go! Surely Ancestral Puebloans had a more graceful route than the brute force of the modern, more "advanced," human.​

Like a kid let off their leash upon entering a candy store, I was immediately off to see the rock art. Meanwhile, @mrs.turbodb found a nice spot to lay down, resting her feet after the torture they'd endured on the way down Water Canyon, and waited patiently to dig into the turkey sandwiches she'd prepared before we left.

All in a line.​

Coyote.​

Red, ...​

White, ...​

... and Blue.​

Birds of the Red, White, and Blue Panel.
​

The Red, White, and Blue Panel - also known as the Grand Gallery - is an amazing panel for both the size and quantity of pictographs and petroglyphs it contains. This must have been a special place - somewhere to hang out in the shade - for those who came before us. The longer I looked at the panel, the more amazing images I discovered. Only knowing that we had a long trek back to the truck pulled me away from the wall and to lunch on the floor of the alcove.

Two dudes and their atatls.​

Long neck jazz hands. (left) | Hi there! (right)


Sheep parade.​

Lone figure.​

As I made my way over to the lunch spot, I noticed a small, unnatural-looking recess in the floor. It wasn't too deep - perhaps a few feet at most - and peering inside, I noticed a singular corn cob. Only after I hopped down did I notice that two of the walls were made of stone and mortar - a small granary, perhaps?

Small wall. (left) | Ancient candy bar. (right)
​

Lunch never tasted better. Pepper turkey sandwiches, Nacho Cheese Dorritos, and the first water I'd had all day - no one's fault but my own - were music to my body as we enjoyed the view from our alcove, the shape of the canyon perfect for some sort of lunch-time-show to unfold below us.

Lower Grand Gulch lunch view.​

Unfortunately, we didn't have time for a show. In fact, both of us were a little worried about our return trip. Not because there was a risk we wouldn't be able to make it - there was nothing technically difficult - but because we needed to be on the road back to Las Vegas by evening, in order to make our way-too-early-flight-home the following morning (if you can even call 3:00am morning).

That's right - after a full day of hiking, we had an I-know-your're-envious 9-hour drive through the night to look forward to!

Graceful bend in the canyon.​

The easy part, in soft reflected light.​

Ultimately, the experience we'd gained on our way down Water Canyon made the return trip up significantly easier. We no longer had to wonder if we were on the correct path, or whether we should be trying to bushwack our way through the bottom of the wash. There were footprints - our own - to follow. What had taken us four hours in the morning took us just two in the afternoon.

As we neared the top of the north branch of the Middle Fork of Water Canyon, we could see the "Little Butte" standing not-tall-enough-to-be-easily-noticeable above the rim.​

It was just before 4:00pm when we reached the Tacoma at the trailhead. While our day had - technically - been shorter in both time and distance than the day before, we were in absolute agreement that it had been much harder. Water Canyon had kicked our butts, and there was no doubt in either of our minds that a few hours on those butts while the Tacoma whisked us across Utah would be quite pleasurable.

After two days, we'd only just begun to scratch the surface of Grand Gulch, but there was no doubt in our minds that we'd be back. Even so, we had no idea how soon that would be, nor that it would include a third hiker and overnight gear for Her First Backpack!

As we sped west through Navajo Nation, Agathla Peak was looking spectacular as the sun fell toward the horizon.​

 

There's a little knows Banzai out that way called Oli's Oak I've been meaning to check and see if it's still around but it's in an area not easily accessible during the months I usually visit.
I really need to get ahold of my grandfather's old photography hard drive that's got several award winning photos in the mix. He wrote a column in the San Juan Record for many years. A poem he wrote about how some of the landmarks got their names and another called San Juan Rain come to my mind every time I see you out enjoying the areas he loves so dearly