AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

I look forward to see your amazing photos every time I come here. Spectacular job

 

I always look forward to your posts on FB. They are awesome and you definitely have a lot of fun. Great photos!

 

Thanks all, nice to hear that you're enjoying the stories, and I hope everyone's having a Merry Christmas / Happy Holiday season. Hoping to get the last day of the Panamints trip posted this afternoon!

 

Highest Peak in the Park - Panamints 3
Part of the Highest Peak in the Park - aka Pushing into the Panamints (Nov 2021) trip.

On a ridge at 8,133 feet above sea level, Mahogany Flats campground is reasonably well-known for cold, windy conditions. Luckily for us, the wind wasn't too bad, but temps did drop down into the 30s for much of the night - a nice change, actually, given that we we'd brought along two down comforters and had been rather warm on the first couple nights of this trip.

We'd camped here - unusual for us, given that it is a campground and we generally prefer a more secluded setting - the night before in order to set ourselves up well for what I hoped would be the highlight of our trip: a hike to the top of Telescope Peak - the highest peak in the park - at 11,049 feet above sea level and an additional 282 feet above the base of the Panamints in Badwater Basin.

With 15 miles of hiking ahead of us - we planned to add a couple extra miles by summitting Rogers Peak (9,980') at the same time - we were both up with the sun; making breakfast and lunch, applying sunscreen, and making sure that we had the various batteries, cameras, water, etc. for our jaunt.

Nearly ready to go as the sun's rays were starting to spill over the Black Mountains to our west.​

A full moon was just setting to the east.​

One of the highest summits in the California desert, the 6.4 mile trail from Mahogany Flats has a total elevation change of 3,480 feet - each way - with two ~1700' climbs separated by a reasonably level hike along the ridge between Rogers Peak and the final climb up Telescope.

Knowing this hike could take us the better part of the day, we left the Tacoma setup in camp for easy occupation on our return.​

The trail starts just south of the camp ground, and after signing in at the register - with the wrong date - we started up the trail in high spirits. I, for one - and I would later find, @mrs.turbodb as well - was wondering if we were crazy. After all, we'd hiked the lowest peak in the park just two weeks earlier and with only a 1,900-foot elevation change and 4-mile roundtrip, it had sort of kicked our butts.

Looking excited and ready to go!​

Immediately, the trail begins to climb up through the Juniper and Pinion Pine forest. Here and there the trees thin, and the first - of what turned out to be nearly endless - views opened up to our east. Both still full of energy, we'd soon removed our sweatshirts, the warm sun and cool morning air creating the perfect conditions to start the day.

Basin and Range extending over 100 miles into Nevada.​

Into the light.​

After a little more than two miles, we reached the end of the first major climb and found ourselves in an alpine meadow along the ridge between Rogers and Telescope Peaks. We'd skirted along the west side of Rogers peak for the first part of the journey, a bypass that we'd forgo on the return leg of the hike. This area - now mostly out of the trees - gave us our first views to the west, Panamint Valley stretching out below us, the Nadeau Trail - which we'd travelled exactly one year earlier - just visible in the distance.

Our first look at the Telescope Peak summit as we gained the ridge for the first time. Not too much now up there, luckily!​

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Far in the distance to the south, reflecting off the desert floor between the ridges of the Owlshead Mountains we could make out Lost Lake, which we'd hiked a couple weeks earlier.​

Panamint Valley and the Argus Range. And in the distance, the Sierras.​

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Cutting through the haze, the white splash at the base of the Argus Range is the Panamint Valley Limestone Quary at the mouth of Revenue Canyon.​

We continued on, the trail along the ridge, skirting to the west of Bennett Peak, and saving us from an additional several hundred feet of elevation gain. At this point, we were hovering right around 9.500 feet above sea level and making good time - it was still before 9:00am.

A @mrs.turbodb sunstar.​

Looking back as we navigated the ridge, we could now see the summit of Rogers Peak - still above us - the only high peak in the park that is not in a wilderness area.​

Below the peak, the trail we'd climbed.​

Just as we started to climb again, an ammo box geocache and flat camp spot caught our attention. Curious as to why there'd be a cache here - rather than at the top - we made a quick detour to check it out. Turns out, it was primarily a first aid kit, and we realized that the flat spot was a primo camp spot, with fantastic views of the valley.

Sheltered from the westerly winds, this would be a great place to setup a tent for the evening.​

As our elevation increased, the effects of the weather on the landscape became apparent. Ancient bristlecone pines, twisted and tortured by the wind, no longer adding rings to their trunks.​

Still, others continue to survive.​

An hour or so later - as we reached 10,000 feet above sea level and the base of the switchbacks that marked the steepest section of trail, we decided that this would be the perfect spot to eat lunch. Doing so would ensure that we were fresh for the final push, and would reduce weight from our packs - not that they weighed all that much to begin with.

Plus, who doesn't want to eat potato chips with an infinite view?

Tuna at 10,000.​

In the distance, Lost Lake continued to gleam.​

Twenty minutes later, we were back underway. The Telescope Peak trail is one of the few maintained foot trails in the park, and the last couple of miles is where we noticed the care that's been put in to keep it in great shape. Here, a series of 6 - or 12 depending on how you count - switchbacks climb to the peak. Each one is built up with natural rock walls - expertly pieced together - that surely help to keep the trail in better shape through harsh weather as well as reduce the amount of corner cutting that hikers might otherwise attempt.

Some of the rocks in these walls must have weighed two hundred pounds.​

Weathered giant.​

Finally above Rogers Peak, the Grapevine Mountains rising in the distance.​

It took us approximately 45 minutes to traverse the switchbacks, ultimately reaching the final ridge that led to the summit. We weren't sure at this point whether there was more beyond what we could see - the hike so far hadn't seemed all that difficult - but I'm sure we were both hoping that we'd made it!

The final few hundred feet.​

And with that, we reached the summit! The views - as one can imagine - were beautiful. Stretching for a hundred miles in every direction we could see well into Nevada to the east and across Panamint and Owens Valley to the Sierras to the west. For a while, we just soaked it all in.

What a tourist. Geeze.​

I thought this survey marker was interesting because it contains no identifying mark.​

In case you weren't sure where you were, someone had left a reminder.​

The view to the east, across Death Valley.​

Looking west, over the Argus Range, you can make out a sliver of Owens Lake, with the Sierras - and Horseshoe Meadows Road - rising up behind it.​

We spent half an hour at the top of the world - or, at least, at the highest peak in the park - before starting back down just before noon. It'd taken us just under five hours to make it this far, and while we figured that the hike down would be faster than the trek up, we did have that little detail of a second peak that we wanted to work into the mix.

Headed back down, glad to have our sweatshirts at these high elevations.​

The views going down were perhaps even better than those going up, since we didn't have to turn around to see them!​

The smells. Oh, the smells.​

A reminder that the weather up here can be brutal, and that lightning can make for a terrible day.​

As the sun worked its way across the sky, the view of Panamint Dunes - at the extreme north end of the valley - seemed to get better.​

Ninety minutes later, we were nearing the base of Rogers Peak. A short spur off of the Telescope Peak trail indicated the way up, but quickly petered out after about 100 feet. I'm not sure if this was due to everyone choosing their own route to the top, or because not many folks are itching to "go back up" after having just hiked Telescope, but we figured that the 300-foot climb from here was way better than a 1900-foot elevation gain at some future date!

Skirting around Bennett Peak, with the radio towers marking our next destination.​

Second peak of the day.​

Layers of views into the distance, through the Rogers Peak NOAA weather station.​

A new, 28-foot-diameter radome built by the US Navy in 2020 contains a radar telemetry antenna. The paneling of the radome was quite intriguing and certainly adds a new look to the summit.​

We didn't spend more than a couple minutes at the summit of Rogers Peak - there's really not all that much to look at - before starting back down towards Mahogany Flats. It was right around 1:30pm at this point, and we decided to take the service road - despite it being a bit longer - down the mountain, just to we'd have a different view than our hike up.

The colorful Funeral Mountains have surely distracted you from finding the Tacoma and deployed roof top tent in this photo.​

With a bit of zoom and a little recentering.​

We arrived in camp an hour later. While we were both ready to get off our feet, we also agreed that the highest peak in the park had most certainly been an easier hike than the lowest peak in the park a couple weeks earlier. Whether this was due to the nine-mile hike to Crystal Hills we'd done prior to summiting Owl Peak, or with the well-trodden trail (vs. a cross-country trek), we may never know. But, given that it was only 2:30pm in the afternoon, we figured that we might as well start heading north in order to split the 20-hour drive home across a couple of days, rather than spending another night at Mahogany Flats and setting out the next day.

So, forty-five minutes later - our tent packed up, our tires aired up, and our feet happy to transfer the weight of our bodies to our butts - we pulled out of camp and covered the few miles down to the Charcoal Kilns. One of the wonders of Death Valley's early mining history, these unique ovens were used in the 1870s to manufacture charcoal for the Modoc Mine - on the far side of Panamint Valley - that we'd visited as part of our Nadeau Trail adventure.

Amazingly well preserved after 150 years!​

And with that, we rode off into the sunset. Well, the late afternoon sun, anyway.​

It'd been another fun trip - one where we'd accomplished everything we'd set out to achieve, and more. And now, just two weeks after proving that we could underachieve with the best of them - tackling the lowest peak in the park, we'd proven that - when push comes to shove - we can tackle the highest peak in the park as well.

Even if it is... easier.

 

fantastic pictures! Thank you and merry christmas and to a grand new years!!

 

Thank you so much for this Christmas treat!

 

Wonderful story along with pictures. I hope you have many more epic adventures in 20222.

 

Inspiring...I definitely need to do this hike soon.
The perspective looking down on Mahogany Flat shows that it's not so much a flat and more of a subtle finger of the Panamint Mountains with enough room for a few campsites.

 

Maybe not soon, given the weather that’s come in. But seriously, is Spring a good time to do this without encountering too much snow, or is late Fall better? I suspect even Summer is not too hot but otherwise there’s not much motivating me to drive 400 miles to DV in Summer. I hiked up from the Surprise Canyon side just a few miles, a few years ago in February, and there were some pretty icy bits even well below Panamint City (which we didn’t reach due to impending darkness and general lack of planning).

 

No not soon. I'll wait for late spring or fall.

 

Favorite Photos - 2021 Edition

In what is becoming a tradition, I've combed through my photos from 2021 to find my favorites. In doing so, I realized that some are photos that I think are really good compositions, some are ones that have - to me - interesting coloring, and some are photos that recall a special - again, to me - memory or accomplishment.

Trips: 20 | Tent nights: 87 | Total photos: 4361​

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I hope everyone enjoys them, and please - feel free to share your favorite below, or if you think I've overlooked one of my photos - of which I know there are a lot - that should be a favorite!

Some of these also appear in the 2022 AdventureTaco Calendar, which you're welcome to pick up. Every calendar ordered contributes a single gallon of gas to my tank. The rest goes to the calendar people.

Order this time, is chronological. I think it gives a neat view of the weather and light as experienced through the course of the year.

January

Here, I like the colors and background compression. The Sierras, from Owens Valley, always seem so striking to me.
(Trip: Tragedy in the Tablelands; Post: same)​

My first time to Alabama Hills, the Mobius Arch - with the Sierras visible in the distance - was one of the first things I photographed with my new setup.
(Trip: Right Back to the Owens Valley; Post: It's True What They Say About Alabama Hills)​

Perhaps getting a bit old, but I loved the shape of Sharks Fin rising up in front of the Sierras.
(Trip: Right Back to the Owens Valley; Post: It's True What They Say About Alabama Hills)​

Driving into the mountains. A surreal experience.
(Trip: Right Back to the Owens Valley; Post: Plunging into Darkness)​

The Wave. I first saw this formation when Eric @ETAV8R posted a photo of it, and it is what got me to think of Owens Valley as a destination. He'll never really know how grateful I am.
(Trip: Right Back to the Owens Valley; Post: So We Meet Again, Tablelands)​

I just really like colors and composition of this photo. A winter wonderland.
(Trip: Right Back to the Owens Valley; Post: Winter is Coming)​

February

Was this etched this way, or did the rock crumble around it? One of nature's mysteries.
(Trip: Mid-Winter Mojave; Post: It's a Bird, It's a Plane, It's Pahranagat Man)​

Pictographs are a rare find, the pigments more susceptible to time than the etchings of petroglyphs. To find one with so many colors was a highlight of the year!
(Trip: Mid-Winter Mojave; Post:Multi-Colored Pictographs and a Bowl of Fire)​

@mrs.turbodb sitting high up in the crevices of a slot canyon.
(Trip: Mid-Winter Mojave; Post:Multi-Colored Pictographs and a Bowl of Fire)​

Little Finland sunstar.
(Trip: Mid-Winter Mojave; Post: Camping on a Cliff)​

A sense of scale. I always like photos that show how small we really are in the grandeur of nature.
(Trip: Mid-Winter Mojave; Post: Camping on a Cliff)​

Composure. This is a favorite of mine simply because... it's so predictable.
(Trip: An Island in the Sky at the Top of the World; Post: To the Top)​

When I saw this - just as the sun was rising, I realized why they call it White Rim.
(Trip: An Island in the Sky at the Top of the World; Post: Winding Our Way Around)​

Just imagine the possibilities.
(Trip: An Island in the Sky at the Top of the World; Post: Winding Our Way Around)​

Chocolate shavings? No, slot canyon mud. Whenever I see undisturbed mud, I smile. No one else has been this way in a while.
(Trip: An Island in the Sky at the Top of the World; Post: Winding Our Way Around)​

Layers of awesome.
(Trip: An Island in the Sky at the Top of the World; Post: Artifacts to Arches)​

March

How often do you catch sunset on a three-fingered volcano?
(Trip: Owyhee Outback; Post: Mud and Solitude)​

April

A big drop. So rarely do photos capture the height/incline of some of the roads. In this case, there's no question.
(Trip: Utah, Re-Ruined; Post: Stymied Again by Lewis Lodge)​

I felt like a king standing in Cathedral Arch, looking out over the land.
(Trip: Utah, Re-Ruined; Post: All Alone in Arch Canyon)​

Ever since this trip to Comb Ridge - the first where I really noticed it - I have this feeling in my gut like it's the backbone of the earth, and I think that's pretty cool.
(Trip: Utah, Re-Ruined; Post: Following Comb Ridge to Moonhouse)​

This is just amazing. Each gooseneck is called a meander, and I love them!
(Trip: Utah, Re-Ruined; Post: Repeat Failure, and Finally Redemption)​

Rolling up on this excavator blocking the road, we had no idea that it would load itself onto a rail car. Mad skillz!
(Trip: Scouting Black Rock Desert; Post: Burning Man Center Camp)​

It's amazing where you find art, and I was a huge fan of this work. I was later told it was part of Burning Man.
(Trip: Scouting Black Rock Desert; Post: Our First Day Scouting)​

The glow in the sky as the sun sets across a playa is always one of my favorites. The halo/silhouette it created in this case was magical.
(Trip: Scouting Black Rock Desert; Post: Burning Man Center Camp)​

Just a few minutes after the halo/silhouette, the sun was entirely off the Black Rock Desert, and I was reminded - again - how small we are in this world. I love it.
(Trip: Scouting Black Rock Desert; Post: Burning Man Center Camp)​

This is a great shot of the Milky Way, made even more special to me because it is my first shot of the Milky Way.
(Trip: Scouting Black Rock Desert; Post: Milky Way, Murder, and High Rock Canyon)​

The proudest lizard in the world? I also really liked the pronounced blue on his neck, in addition to the belly.
(Trip: Scouting Black Rock Desert; Post: Milky Way, Murder, and High Rock Canyon)​

May

Boom!
(Trip: Owyhee West; Post: Wandering into the Unknown)​

The fanciest lizard in the world?
(Trip: Forty-One Miles of Mesa; Post: Would You Like Another?)​

The joy of nature. It was like the clouds were highlighting this mesa - emanating as rays from its glory.
(Trip: Forty-One Miles of Mesa; Post: Make it a Loop)​

A new perspective. This was me playing around with angles, and I really liked how it came out.
(Trip: Forty-One Miles of Mesa; Post: Epilogue)​

Looking back in time.
(Trip: Forty-One Miles of Mesa; Post: Epilogue)​

June

Reflection. Deep in an underground cavern, this formation reflected from a pool.
(Trip: NMBDR; Post: Headed South, We Dive Deep into the Past)​

I sense a lizard theme this year. I give you, the grumpiest lizard in the world.
(Trip: NMBDR; Post: Out of Fuel)​

Beautiful bones.
(Trip: NMBDR; Post: Out of Fuel)​

The drama of a stormy afternoon, with the green grass of spring and orange highlights of Corkscrew Gulch. Colorful Colorado at its best.
(Trip: Wet and Bumpy through the Alpine Loop; Post: same)​

July

I don't get many shots of myself, but I really like this one with the local mountain.
(Trip: One Night at Mt. Rainier; Post: same)​

September

Smoke from wildfires all over the west made for a soft, yet colorful, morning at Lavina Lookout.
(Trip: Rady Can’t Wait; Post: Into Canada and Up to Lavina Lookout)​

I always like overlooks, and this one is one of my favorites of the year.
(Trip: Rady Can’t Wait; Post: Lunch with a View)​

This view was one of the most spectacular I found at Rady Creek. The fact that the trail is scheduled for closure as soon as the snow melts makes it all the more special.
(Trip: Rady Can’t Wait; Post: This Trail May Be Closed Forever)​

The colors, as I crested Pettipiece Pass were some of the most vivid I'd seen all year.
(Trip: Rady Can’t Wait; Post: Poor Planning Over Pettipiece Pass)​

After two years of devastating wildfires in California, I had a chance to return to a favorite location. Smoke was still thick, but not everything was lost.
(Trip: Aftermath; Post: Up the Mountain)​

The flag flying behind a 1st gen Tacoma destroyed in the Dixie Fire. Resilience.
(Trip: Aftermath; Post: Through Land Ravaged by Dixie)​

October

Nothing special about this location, I just liked the composition with the unique camp shades.
(Trip: Last Minute Rush; Post: In Search of Warm Water)​

The light, bright colors in this photo make me smile. It's light an airy, in a way that I usually don't associate with fall.
(Trip: Last Minute Rush; Post: Into the Mountains)​

I've come to enjoy the first few moments that sun hits the mountains almost as much as the colorful skies.
(Trip: Last Minute Rush; Post: Unexpected Success)​

I had no idea what to expect as I visited the ghost town of Bodie, and I certainly didn't expect what I found. The light on the Standard Mill - still standing so proud - was perfect.
(Trip: Last Minute Rush; Post: The Town of Bodie)​

November

I'm not usually a fan of weird edits, but these burros feel like they jump out of the photo to me. It's so surreal, that it became a favorite.
(Trip: Into the Owlsheads; Post: Wandering Rocks and Lost Lake)​

There's nothing all that special about this Milky Way shot except that it looks cool and I haven't taken many - I think this is my third attempt - so I'm still intrigued by them.
(Trip: Into the Owlsheads; Post: Lowest Peak in the Park)​

December

At Death Valley's Racetrack Playa, Mike took a different approach - walking around The Grandstand - than everyone, who seem to be drawn to climbing on the rock island.
(Trip: Back for More; Post: Buzzed by a C-17 Transport)​

Thanks for reading, and I hope you've enjoyed. Onward to - hopefully - another fun year!

 

What a great look back at the year! It's almost like a whole new adventure.

 

Damn your lizard photography is amazing. The other stuff too of course, but damn, those lizards! I can't even get a good shot of the one that lives in my garage.

Anyway, just wanted to drop this photo from a few hours ago -- seems I'm always following your footsteps, one way or another...

 

Looks like a great year!
Glad I could inspire a trip and explorations.

 

You're both welcome! I hope you had Merry days, and that the new year flips over with joy!

Oh man, I hope I have epic adventures in space by then. Just imagine - travelling at warp speed, eating steak and ice cream on a trip from a replicator - fab.u.lous!

It's a fun hike and not nearly as difficult as one might imagine given the elevation. The CCC did an amazing job on the trail, and whoever maintains it now (I assume NPS or some volunteers) continue to keep it in good shape. As I'm sure you'd try to make happen anyway, I'd recommend the hike on a weekday; it can get busy up there.

More like an entire new valley. Seriously, thank you. It's gotta look great down there right now with snow everywhere. I need to head that direction in a week or two.

Thanks Ian; I do always appreciate your enjoyment of the trips!

Damn right man, I may have a lot to learn about photography in general, but mini-dinosaurs, those are my jam.

Congrats on the 200K; just don't follow too closely in my footsteps. Putting in a new transfer case - in the snow - isn't all it's cracked up to be.

 

Welcome to Death Valley, Boys - Back for More #1
Part of the Back for More (Dec 2021) trip.

I'm one lucky dude. Having just gotten back from two trips to Death Valley - (Lowest Peak in the Park) (Highest Peak in the Park) - over a three-week period, I'm now headed back for my third trip in a month!

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But, frequency isn't the only reason I'm excited. Every year, a few buddies get together for an annual outing - usually in early fall - to explore and hang out. For me, it all started when I tagged along on my first major trip - The De-Tour - and I've been hooked ever since. This year, truck problems and smoky conditions cancelled our trip - a huge bummer - until now!

Finally, I get to play tour-guide for a spot I've come to love. It will be the first visit to Death Valley - in more than 10 years of exploration - for a couple of the guys, and our route will take us to lots of iconic places. With a little luck, I'll get them hooked on the desert too, and before long, we'll all be Back for More.

Where are we going? Just a few places - you know, Titus Canyon, Ubehebe Crater, Teakettle Junction, Racetrack Playa, Hidden Valley, the Lost Burro Mine, Lippincott Pass, Ballarat, Pleasant Valley, Gohler Wash, Mengal Pass, the Barker Ranch, Butte Valley, Warm Springs Rd, Saratoga Springs and the Ibex Dunes, Badwater Basin, Devils Playground, Zabrinski Point, Echo Canyon and the Inyo Mine, Crankshaft Junction, Eureka Valley and Dunes, Dedeckera Canyon, Steel Pass, and finally Saline Valley and its Warm Springs.

Well, that was the plan anyway. We had a great time, but it surely didn't go all to plan. And as usual, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Day 1
It all started with us meeting after dark just outside of Beatty, Nevada. I'd been driving for nearly 20 hours by the time I pulled into camp to greet Mike @Digiratus and Zane @Speedytech7 who'd arrived a few hours earlier. As we all climbed into our tents, Monte @Blackdawg texted that he was going to drive through the night and show up the following morning!

Camping under the Beatty "B" - convenient, but not glamorous.​

Day 2
We were up at the crack of late morning - something around 8:00am - a couple hours after sunrise, and certainly later than we'd need to get going for the remainder of the trip. Being December, we had fewer than 10 hours of light each day, and our itinerary meant that we were going to need to make the most of it.

Still, Monte wasn't due for a few more hours, so we each placed our bet on how late he'd be as we got camp packed up and headed into Beatty to top off our fuel tanks. With guesses between 11:30am and 1:00pm, I suggested that we check out the Goldwell Open Air Museum while we waited.

A desert artist.​

Just outside the early 1900s ghost town of Rhyolite, the museum is a funky - but perhaps expected - find in the desert. Created by Albert Szukalski and a group of Belgian artists, it is a self-described "art situation," consisting of several outdoor sculptures that seem both out of place and right at home in the desert.

A colossal couch.​

Comfy? No, not really. But Mike and Zane were watching and at least they got a good chuckle as I became one with the art.​

This frame was new the last time I was here, and Mike seemed to enjoy exploring it from various angles with his lens.​

We spend 45 minutes or so looking around before we were all ready to go, and hoping that it was nearly time for Monte to show up. A quick text and we learned that he had a little over 90 minutes to go - so we headed up the hill to Rhyolite for a bit more looking around.

We started at the top of the hill and the south end of town, near the rail station, only because there were several other folks already looking around the other structures.​

Of the two legitimate mining towns that sprung up in Death Valley during the early 1900s, Rhyolite had only Skidoo to compete with from a size perspective. With a population of over 10,000 at one time, Rhyolite - founded in 1904 - was the larger of the two towns and sported a train station, school, and at least four banks. But, like many towns of its day, Rhyolite was a prime example of "counting your chickens before they're hatched" The rich strike of gold by Eddie Cross and a "Shorty" Harris in 1904 was enough to get the town going, but not enough to sustain it through the financial panic of 1907 when businesses started to shut down. By 1916 the power and light company had shut down and the people had moved on.

One of four banks in Rhyolite, the Cook Bank Building was by far the finest. Three stories tall, it had a basement that housed the Post Office. The interior was finished with marble staircases and mahogany accents. It also boasted modern conveniences such as electric lights and indoor plumbing. It was open less than two years.​

The Overbury Building was meant to be two stories tall; however, after John Cook began constructing a three-story building just up the street, Overbury quickly changed his mind, and his building became three stories tall. At its height, the building housed a stock brokerage firm, the First National Bank of Rhyolite, a dentist, and attorneys' offices.​

Construction of the Porter Brothers Store began in 1906. It used local stone and took four months at a cost of $70,000. The largest employer of people in Rhyolite aside from the mines, the store was said to house amazing displays that rivalled hose of the department stores in major cities.​

Finally, we visited the bottle house. This one - unlike the other ruins we'd visited - isn't original as it's been restored/rebuilt twice, but it's still a cool structure to check out. In the last several years, a fence has been constructed around it in order to preserve it for future generations, so unlike my first visit, we weren't able to peer in the few windows that exist.

Just a few bottles.​

A wall of bottles.​

A house of bottles.​

Our exploration of Rhyolite complete, I texted Monte as we drove the final few miles to our first trailhead. It was there - just east of the entrance to Death Valley National Park - that we would air down and wait. It was there - at the Titus Canyon trailhead - where our real journey would begin.

Everything is always so clean before you hit the dirt trails.​

Well, well, look who's still tearing around corners after driving all night!​

Finally, we were four!​

Monte showed up right on time, for him. Actually, at only 45 minutes late, he was technically early! Having not seen each other for more than a year, we all shared warm greetings and chatted for a few minutes before I shushed everyone into their trucks so we could get a move on - it was nearly noon, and I wanted to get us to a spot where I knew we'd have fantastic views before settling down for lunch.

Not more than a few miles in, the views began.​

Everyone was glad to be on dirt, though we could have done with a little less dust - which would plague us much of the trip - as we sped along.​

Having run Titus Canyon a few times, I think of it as having two distinct sections. The first is a desert traverse that winds up into the Grapevine Mountains and terminates at Red Pass. This section - while not the namesake of the trail - might be my favorite. Certainly, the experience of reaching Red Pass and seeing the canyon open up below - that is my favorite part of the trail.

I'll never tire of this view.​

At first, I thought I wasn't the only one who thought it was a pretty snazzy spot...​

...until I realized Mike was just proud of his new *overland* tent. ( , j/k)​

We spent a good hour at Red Pass, with the entire place to ourselves - surprisingly, not a single vehicle passing while we ate lunch - as we caught each other up on recent happenings, truck maintenance, and all the things we'd somehow forgotten to mention to each other over the course of more than 10,000 posts on TacomaWorld. It was fantastic.

Finally, a little after 1:00pm, we got back on the trail.​

It's the second half of the Titus Canyon trail that is the highlight for nearly everyone who takes this route into Death Valley. Personally, I think it's the second-best route in from the east - after the much more difficult Echo Canyon - but it's definitely the route I'd recommend taking on anyone's first visit to the park.

Four miles long and hundreds of feet deep, Titus Canyon's narrows are as tight as 15 feet and rank among the longest and deepest - sometimes rising 500' to the rim - in the park. Filled with bulging walls, overhangs, undercuts, and colorful mosaics, they are a glorious introduction to the wonderous geology of the region, and I have yet to see the visitor who passes through unfazed. This time was no exception.

Approaching and entering the upper narrows of Titus Canyon, the rock "wave"-ing a welcome to all who pass by.​

All these layers, bent by pressure and time, eventually to be eroded by water and gravel.​

Where our stops had been rare in the upper canyon, we found ourselves hopping out of the trucks much more often over the last several miles.​

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Contrasting colors and textures are part of what make this place so exciting.​

Winding our way through tight turns, the midday sun rarely reached the bottom of the canyon. Instead, reflective glows lit the walls around us.​

Even for me, the anticipation about what was around each bend was exhilarating.​

As we neared the end of the narrows, there's a section of wall that I'm sure I've seen before, but that really caught my attention this time through - both sides of the canyon decorated with giant polished mosaics.

Mosaic masterpiece.​

These are breccia made of large, dark, and angular blocks of limestone - some several feet across - cemented by white calcite. The limestone probably shattered into blocks thousands of feet underground, where hot water dissolved some of it and redeposited it as calcite in the gaps between blocks. The blocks were displaced very little with respect to each other after shattering, as shown by the matching orientation of cracks in adjacent blocks. (Hiking Death Valley)

Just beyond the wash-level mosaics, a large undercut was decorated with more of the jagged - yet smooth - formation.​

That light on the canyon wall was a sure indicator that we were close to the mouth.​

It was 2:15pm when I exited the mouth of Titus Canyon and started down the alluvial fan that leads to the floor of Death Valley. Like the canyon itself, this entrance - into the wide-open space that shares the same name as the entire park - is dramatic, and I fired up the CB radio, "Welcome to Death Valley, boys!"

A grand entrance.​

Having all spent many hours driving to get here, I hadn't planned much for this first day of our trip. In fact, we had only a couple more spots before we'd be finding camp - and the first was a few miles to the north on Scotty's Castle Road: Ubehebe Crater.

A few miles of pavement were a nice respite from the dust.​

Ubehebe Crater is the largest of more than a dozen craters clustered within a single square mile at the northern end of Death Valley. Although some of these craters emitted lava, all of them are maars: they erupted when magma encountered an aquifer and/or surface water, creating a pressurized head of superheated steam that blew up the ground above it. A column - consisting of water droplets, ash, and pulverized rock - was blasted high into the atmosphere, before collapsing downward to the ground. This collapse caused a ring-shaped cloud to spread radially outward at high velocity, blanketing the surrounding terrain and filling every drainage with volcanic tuff.

I always feel that taken in its entirety, Ubehebe Crater is somewhat underwhelming. Perhaps it is simply too large, or too plain compared to the landscape that surrounds it.​

However, upon closer inspection of the crater walls, the intricate complexity is immediately apparent.​

The Grapevine Mountains, rising up behind the crater wall as it erodes into a steep, fractal, badland.​

As I knew would be the case, we didn't spend long at Ubehebe Crater. There are hikes here - to narrow canyons, to the base of the crater, to desiccated playas, and through petrified ash dunes - for anyone wanting to spend a day exploring; I highly recommend it.

A caravan in search of camp; we were all more than a little tired.​

From Ubehebe Crater, we headed south on Racetrack Valley Road in search of camp. With just over an hour until sunset, we kept the skinny pedals pressed firmly down - hoping to cover the 30 miles or so as quickly as possible, so we'd reach camp with a bit of daylight still remaining.

In the late afternoon light, and with dry roads, we weren't sneaking up on anyone; billowing trails of dust, announcing our presence.​

Zane found some of the ash that had been flung from Ubehebe or one of its brethren.​

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As we made our way south, Joshua Trees began to dot the landscape. This trip was Monte's introduction to the strange Seussian shapes, and I couldn't wait to show him the larger specimens I knew were coming later in the trip.

With almost no wind, the dust just hung in the air.​

Layers upon layers.​

After half an hour, we'd nearly reached the location I planned to find camp, and we stopped for a few minutes to admire the current collection at Teakettle Junction. A strange - yet somehow appropriate in the desert - place, we each poked around, pointing out this kettle or that one, noting the dates - the oldest of which was less than three weeks old - and laughing at some of the stickers.

If only someone had left some tea. Or water.​

I liked this kettle the most.​

Our path the following day would take us further down Racetrack Valley Road, but this evening we were turning left and heading into Hidden Valley via Lost Burro Gap. It was there - away from the hustle and bustle of the much more popular playa - that I knew we could find a nice, sheltered camp site. A place where we could all enjoy a nice campfire before turning in for a good night sleep.

This is the way.​

A few minutes later, off the side of the road, we were settled. For a while, our own routines kept us busy - deploying tents, setting up camp - though the conversation continued through it all. Eventually, Mike got to a point where his propane fire ring was ready to be set up, and I grabbed my 20lb bottle of propane to fire it up.

Then, I wandered off. Having been in this area before, I knew that not far away was the Lost Burro Mine. I wouldn't have much time to explore it this evening, but I hoped to catch it as sunset lit the sky around the hillsides it inhabited. And - as it turns out, and perhaps surprisingly - that's exactly what happened!

The Lost Burro Mine Camp cabin, still standing but a little worse for wear.​

Sunset from the Lost Burro Mine.​

With light fading fast, I made my way back down through the hills and along the road to camp. The fire was burning bright as I arrived - the time now just after 5:00pm - as it would for the next 5 hours as we sat around catching up on the last 14 months. Even though we were all tired - some of us with less than 4 hours sleep in the prior 48 hours - none of us really wanted to go to bed. There was too much to say, too many jokes to tell, too much fun to be had.

But eventually it was time. Luckily for us, this was just the beginning. The beginning of a trip that would end unexpectedly... but not before more memories would be made.

 

Needs a quick edit to fix a broken link for this image https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51750029966_efb838a9a7_h.jpg.

This is easily one of my favorite places in the park. Maybe it's because it was one of the first places I remember visiting as a kid. Especially, the bottles.

 

Just fascinating! I just love all the rock formations. Maybe, just maybe someday I’d be lucky enough to see it in person. Safe travels, keep posting!

 

Buzzed by a C-17 Transport - Back for More #2
Part of the Back for More (Dec 2021) trip.

We were all pretty tired after our long drives south, so once we finally headed to bed - some six hours or so after firing up Mike @Digiratus propane fire ring - I think we all slept quite well through the night; our little spot in Hidden Valley out of the way enough that no one passed by while we were there.

As usual, I set my alarm for too-early-o'clock in the morning and made my way back up and into the Lost Burro Mine site to capture the color as it crept into the sky. It would be our only real sunrise of the trip - other mornings being overcast or our camp sites limiting the views to the east, so I really enjoyed the sunrise this morning.

The most saturated colors are before the sun ever breaks the horizon.​

I would later tell the rest of the crew, "I've never followed that road before."​

Looking light a beautiful day; blue skies and not too hazy.​

The light on the spokes of this belt-driven wheel caught my eye as I poked around the old mill at the Lost Burro Mine.​

Just before the sun crested the horizon, light pinks filled the sky behind the mill.​

After poking around, I headed back to camp for a bit - to make sure that Monte @Blackdawg, Zane @Speedytech7, and Mike were all making their way out of bed - and poured myself a big bowl of cereal as I watched the sun creep quickly over the horizon. I don't know why, but both the sun and moon always seems to move faster when in their first few - and final - minutes, probably just due to the frame of reference that the foreground provides.

After finishing breakfast and packing up camp, it looked like I'd have a few more minutes, so I was right back to the mine site to poke around with a bit more light. Zane - always the first ready to go - also looked around a bit while the rest of camp was stowed by our companions.

The old cabin, slowly deteriorating over time; now supported by diagonal bracing.​

An original chair, or one brought by a more recent visitor?​

A dugout, originally used for cool storage.​

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Up the hillside a way, I found an old shaft that I didn't recall being open the last time I'd visited the Lost Burro Mine.​

A maze of passageways; none too deep.​

Zane and I didn't linger long - Mike and Monte weren't that far from being packed, and we had enough ground to cover that I'd already forced everyone out of bed earlier than they'd have preferred - before heading back to camp. There, we found Mike ready to go, and Monte on his back under his truck. As is often the case, he'd been working feverishly on his rig prior to departure, and though he assured us that he'd tightened the bolts securing the gas tank skid, it was hanging by fewer than half when it'd been noticed by Zane.

Need a little room to work under a truck? You too can own a one-post rock lift.​

Looks factory. (To be fair, this fix held the entire trip.)​

A couple of seriously-beefy-zip ties later, and we were ready to roll out of camp and into the morning sun; it was 8:50am. Early compared to our usual trips, but a little later than I'd hoped to leave given the 10 hours of light we were limited to each day.

There's that road again. The one I've never been on. Will need to change that ASAP (but not this trip).​

We made good time through Lost Burro Gap as we headed towards Teakettle Junction, the amazing geology of Death Valley reminding us once again why we were here.​

There was no hiding where we'd come from, extremely light winds failing to clear much of the dust - even as we spaced ourselves out along the road.​

Ten miles and only twenty minutes later, we were at all parked again - this time at the north end of The Racetrack Playa. A curious dry lake - almost a perfect oval in shape - the playa resembles the course for which it was named. The illusion is heightened by the fact that an extraordinary rock formation near it appears to be a grandstand for spectators, though thankfully no vehicles are permitted on its nearly level surface.

Our first excursion onto the smooth surface.​

Walking out onto the playa - whether you've done it before, or it is your first time - is always a surreal experience. Distances here - as they are throughout the park - are deceiving, and with only two inches of elevation change over the entire length of the playa, it seems that you could walk forever and never make any progress. Eventually of course, you do - and before long we craned our necks at The Grandstand, as it rose up out of the silty surface.

Mike, contemplating the 73-foot-high outcrop of bedrock.​

Scale.​

It was fun to watch how everyone approached the rocky outcropping. Zane and Monte went straight to the top - in search of the view from high ground; Mike started a trek around - perhaps curious to capture the rock from various angles; I headed out towards the center of the playa before joining Zane and Monte - hoping to capture the big picture but knowing that it's nearly impossible to do.

King of the hill.​

A solitary stroll.​

Walking around The Grandstand doesn't take nearly as long as one might imagine, and as Mike rounded the far end, we all climbed down to meet him out on the cracked surface of the playa. Like an endless tray of perfectly-cooked brownies, the playa stretched into the distance, each of the cracks connecting to the next, on into infinity.

Looking south.​

As the surface dries, it first cracks along several large lines. Each section then cracks further. Smaller sections continue cracking as the mud dries, resulting in one of the coolest fractal patterns I've ever seen.​

Our exploration of the north end of the playa complete, I let it slip - not that I was keeping it a secret - that we were headed to the southern end of the playa in search of the sailing stones. We'd be driving of course, given that it was a couple miles away - or infinitely far if one attempted to walk over the outstretched playa.

Racing along the Racetrack.​

For a long time, it was unknown how these rocks moved across the surface. It turns out that they are pushed by wind when The Racetrack is slick with ice, and the trails left by these rocks are eerie. They move in different directions, sometimes 180° to each other, and often with curves in their path.

Where are you going little rock?​

Over the course of the next half hour, we wandered - sometimes together, sometimes alone - from rock to rock, each of us discovering the trails and capturing them in our own ways. And, as seems to happen, we eventually all found ourselves together - talking of what we'd seen; looking forward to where we'd go.

And where we'd go was Lippincott Pass. It was 10:45am when we pulled up to the warning sign, and I gave my usual speech: it'd be the most technical trail we'd done so far, but technical was probably a bit of an exaggeration. Lippincott - I've always felt - is more like a bumpy forest service road, especially when headed downhill.

Who needs tow service when you are your own tow service? ​

All morning we'd heard jets passing by overhead. As we chatted at the top of Lippincott, Mike happened to look up and catch an F-117 as it streaked north!​

I was pretty jazzed to see the F-117, as I've seen plenty of F-18 and F-15s, but never a wedge-shaped silhouette roaring across the sky. And so, a smile on our faces, we started down the pass.

The best part of Lippincott Pass - in my opinion - isn't the road itself, but are the views of Saline Valley that open up as you make your way down the trail. There are few really nice spots to get out an enjoy these views, and we certainly did.

The almost complete lack of wind made for one of the clearest days I've experienced in Death Valley, and for spectacular views.​

Back to our trucks, and the windy road out of the mountains.​

I always love the red on these barrel cactus. And, peering in past the tangle of spikes, I'm always surprised by the bright green!​

Switchbacks and short rocky sections continued as we descended toward the southern end of Saline Valley, and everyone had a great time as we made our way to the valley below. It was here - perhaps more than anywhere else so far - that I realized how much I like to be the last truck in the group rather than the first - stopping frequently for photos, never in any sort of rush to stay out ahead.

Although, with all the dust this time, being out ahead had its advantages as well!

New views around every corner.​

A few rocks here and there added a bit of interest, but no real difficulty for any of our vehicles.​

Lippincott Pass Road drops just over 2,000 feet in just under 5 miles, helped by a series of switchbacks that follow the folds of the Last Chance Range.​

My routes have always meant that I've run Lippincott Pass in a downhill direction; eventually, I'd like to drive up, so I approach this cool old National Monument sign from the "correct" direction.​

Nearing the bottom.​

By the time we reached the bottom and traversed the valley floor on one of the worst sections of road in the park - a straight shot full of football-sized rocks - we were all starting to get a bit hungry. Hoping that the winds remained calm and that we'd get a nicer view, I suggested that we stop in 45 minutes or so, eating lunch at South Pass, overlooking the north end of Panamint Valley.

Zane and his nearly-stock Land Cruiser had the most comfortable ride of the group as we climbed South Pass.​

We never made it that 45 minutes - at least, not uneventfully. It was just as we were exiting Saline Valley - and starting the climb toward South Pass - that I heard Mike over the radio, "Oh awesome, look at that!" I had no idea what he was talking about, but figured that it must have been something to do with his - or Monte's - truck. But then, I heard it - just as Monte exclaimed, "Holy shit!" - and seconds later, a C-17 Transport when tearing by overhead, less than 1,000 feet off the ground.


Buzzed by a C-17!

After seeing the F-117 Stealth Fighter earlier in the day, it was a huge treat to be buzzed by the transport, and something we all continued to talk about on our radios - hoping another would come flying through - as we covered the last several miles to the saddle at South Pass. There, with a fantastic view of the Panamint Valley and dunes, we assembled sandwiches and pulled up our chairs in the shelter of Zane's truck - the wind at the saddle just enough to add a bit of a chill - to fill our bellies with food and partake in the good company of our friends.

Lunch with a view.​

It was a little after 1:15pm when we finally wrapped up lunch and got back onto the trail. In that time, several cars had passed us there on the saddle, all of them headed up Hunter Mountain, none of them paying any attention to the sign warning of waist deep silt and the handful cars that had been rescued over the course of 2021. Hopefully, none of them would suffer a similar fate.

We, on the other hand, were headed the opposite direction - southwest and then south on Saline Valley Road, first to Lee Flat, and ultimately to Panamint Valley, some 4,500' below where we'd eaten lunch. I was looking forward to this section of trail because Monte had mentioned seeing his first Joshua Trees as he made his way south from Montana, and Lee Flat has some of the nicest specimens in the park.

Dramatic Joshua Trees under overcast skies.​

Though we could have done with fewer clouds, the wind that blew them over the landscape was a welcome change.​

Joshua trees are relatively fast growers, with new trees growing as fast as 3 inches per year during their first 10 years, then slowing to about half that rate - 1.5 inches per year - after that. As the trunk consists of thousands of small fibers rather than annual growth rings, age determination can be difficult, but they tend to live for hundreds to more than a thousand years old, the tallest trees reaching nearly 50 feet in height.

An ancient specimen.​

The afternoon getting on - and with fewer than three hours of daylight left - we didn't linger long on Lee Flat, opting instead to press our skinny pedals a few more miles to a funky little cabin just off the side of the main road. Known as the Boxcar cabin, it wasn't ever actually a box car, but its long narrow shape surely contributes to its name. Being our first cabin of the trip, we all hopped out to take a closer look.

One of several "Friends of the..." cabins sprinkled throughout the park.​

A welcoming entrance, cognizant of the surrounding vegetation.​

Inside, the cabin was well appointed. A radio, board games, and plenty of reading material to keep any visitors occupied for the duration of their stay.​

Beautiful painted glass rendition of the cabin.​

The cabin explored, we didn't stop again until we reached the first of two fuel stops we had planned for the trip - at Panamint Springs Resort. Fuel prices here - as always - were costly, but without much choice, we all filled up our tanks and continued south toward camp.

While it may be costly, I'm extremely glad that PSR has remained in operation through the difficulties presented by Covid-19.​

Still a couple bucks cheaper than fuel in Furnace Creek!​

Patiently waiting.​

I'd planned for us to camp on a road I'd noticed winding into the Panamint Mountains on my previous trip to the park; at a little over 7,000', it would be our highest elevation camp of the trip. With the sun setting, we had one final stop before setting up camp - a quick visit to the Charcoal Kilns.

Heading up Wildrose Road as the sun - hidden behind clouds most of the day - streamed underneath them an onto the fanglomerate formations that lined the road.​

The beehive-shaped kilns are always a sight to behold.​

Built in 1877, these kilns supplied fuel for the Modoc mine smelter located 25 miles to the west - a location we'd visited as part of our retracing of the Nadeau Trail almost exactly one year earlier. Each kiln would be loaded with up to 35 cords of wood from the surrounding forests and then lighted. Then, the wood was allowed to burn slowly for at least a week until it turned to charcoal. This charcoal was then shipped to nearby smelters where it would burn hotter and more slowly than wood, powering boilers and smelters that rarely made a return on their investment. It was for this reason - plus the fact that the kilns appetite for wood quickly devastated the surrounding pinyon pine forest - that the kilns operated for less than three years, shutting down in 1890. By that point, the Modoc Mine - which they had supplied - was one of the most successful in the region, delivering more than $1.9M in silver to its owners.

The vents along the lower wall allowed air to flow through the kiln, cooking the wood into charcoal.​

On a day I thought we'd be to camp early, our trucks were still lined up at the kilns three minutes after sunset.​

Though we were later than I thought we'd be, camp was only a few minutes away, and before long we were all set up with a nice view to the west and plenty of shelter for the cool night ahead. We'd covered a lot of ground - just over 100 miles, through three valleys - and we were well positioned for the next day - a day that I hoped would be a highlight of our trip!

Little did we know - while it would surely be a highlight, it would also signal the beginning of the end.

Light fading from the sky, we'd soon find ourselves seated around a propane campfire - chatting with good friends - late into the night.​

 

I and the internets disagree with your assessment. It was a boxcar but instead of cargo it was purpose built to house workers. I'm not an expert and only a passing interest but I have seen other boxcars built in the same manner. 2, maybe 3? A caboose, while serving additional purposes, is built very similar.

I don't know, maybe somebody just copied a boxcar design and it never had trucks under it.