AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

Didn’t mean to imply that was the cause, just that it is a lot of weight to be bouncing around unsecured and worth checking now and then.

 

Totally, I thought that was the cause at first too!

 

Colorful Ore | EMHT Segment 2B Silver Lake to Ivanpah Mountains
Part of the East Mojave Heritage Trail (Nov 2023) trip.

Camped at 2,250 feet above sea level, the entirety of the night was quite a bit warmer than the previous two evenings at more than 5,500 feet, and it was so nice to open up all the windows and doors on the tent so that whenever I'd wake up through the night, I can take a quick glance at the surroundings and admire them under the moonlight.

Morning brought more clouds than on previous mornings, but with a clear eastern horizon, more clouds just meant more color!​

After three days of doing it, getting out of camp early was now a habit, so after making a quick cup of coffee and stuffing tents into their covers, we were on the trail and determined to make up some of the time we'd lost crossing the alluvial fans the previous afternoon.

Next stop, Baker!​

There aren't a lot of places to fuel up in this part of the world, and we'd covered some 160 miles since our thank-goodness-we-got-Mike's-truck-fixed stop in Searchlight, so as we rolled into Baker, his light was on and the supercharged Redhead was hungry for a high-octane breakfast. Zane - despite getting significantly better gas mileage - decided to fill up as well, while I opted to avoid the $6.49/gal bill and rely on the 18 gallons - essentially a full tank - I was carrying in my Scepter jerry cans.

So, while they filled up and also looked for propane refills, I popped over to the old motel to admire some of the graffiti.

The Dude approves. I'm not sure I do, however.​

The motel was crazy. The rooms - all forced open and trashed to various degrees - had been fully appointed when they were abandoned. Not knowing the history, it was a little sad to see how fellow humans had simply destroyed this building that belonged to someone else. Sad, but I suppose not all that surprising.

From the motel, I made a quick stop at the Baker Market for a dozen eggs - Mike @Digiratus having brought potatoes, and Zane @Speedytech7, bacon - so we could enjoy a group breakfast the following morning. And then, I found an empty parking lot and waited for my buddies to find me.

Zane found me first, parked under the world's tallest thermometer, hoping it might warm up.​

Mike - eventually finding a place to refill his water - rolled in a bit later, and after a final stop on the edge of town for propane, we were on our way east toward the Hollow Hills Wilderness and Turquoise Mountain.

Compared to what we'd been on the previous day, the roads - alternately soft-and-sandy and hard-and-smooth - were a welcome change!​

Making our way up the wash, Cree Camp - really just a cabin surrounded by trash at this point - came into view.​

Does anyone ever pick up their casings?​

Classy. Even the barrel under the wood heat stove had been shot up.​

Pushing further north, there were a couple of places that I'd been anticipating since pulling together the route and waypoints that we'd try to visit on our whirlwind tour. The first of these was a "crack" in the crust of the earth at the Wanderer Mine; the other was a turquoise mine high on a hillside. The turquoise mine was especially intriguing as I've never visited such a mine in the past, and because I had a hunch that it was probably the one that Ken @DVexile visited in fall 2022, but that I'd been left wondering as to its location.

Not everything I find on satellite is interesting, and the crack at the Wanderer Mine was exceedingly lame. Sure, it was a trench dug by miners, but it was neither all that deep nor all that long. I took a photo, but it was so underwhelming that I'm certainly not showing it to you, and I'm not even sure I kept it for my own collection.

Though the crack left much to be desired, the views easily made up for it.​

On to the ****** turquoise mine!​

Layer upon layer.​

We continued to make good time as we neared Turquoise Mountain, and after finding the turn towards the ******, we soon found ourselves climbing the flanks of a colorful giant.

The Redhead looked good out in the desert!​

At the base of the mine, we had a commanding view all the way back to our camp site at Silver Lake (and beyond).​

From 1890-1910, the “Great American Turquoise Rush” was on. The “Rush” was given a boost when George Kunz, a special agent for the U.S. Geological Survey, and perhaps more importantly, a Vice-President of world-renowned Tiffany’s, declared - in 1892 - that turquoise mined in the Baker, California area was equal to, or perhaps even superior to, Persian turquoise which to that point had been the world standard. Needless to say, Kunz’s comments stirred an even greater interest in turquoise found in the region. (Tiffany’s was so enamored of turquoise that it became the foundation of the company’s iconic blue box.) It is this legacy which has established the Pacific region as perhaps the finest source of turquoise today.

Miner James Hyten established a claim on Turquoise Mountain in 1896, naming it the Gem (later known as Stone Hammer for the primitive mining tools found there.) Hyten ultimately sold his interest to the Himalaya Mining Company in 1900. By the end of the year, the company would ship $28,000 (more than $400,000 in 2018 dollars) in turquoise to New York. Six years later the mine was sold to the ****** Mining Company. The company also operated the ****** Turquoise Mine which displayed numerous signs of prehistoric mining and which had given the mountain its name.

Explore the Desert​

Sure enough, it was the mine I'd suspected, and now I was excited to check it out!​

With the approach steep and loose, Mike opted to hang out with the trucks while Zane and I headed into the adits in search of some blue-green ore that we could bring back to our buddy. Soon though, we were distracted by the swiss-cheese style mining, with more than a half-dozen adits and a maze of tunnels that often intersected each other or accessed stopes from various directions. It really was insane inside this mountain.

Interior window.​

Curiosity in a warm glow.​

Through it all, we found very little turquoise. I suppose this shouldn't come as much of a surprise - I've never found a big-ole-nugget at a gold mine, either - but we did find a couple very small turquoise veins, and something a bit ... larger.

As though it was painted onto the rock.​

Would you have picked it up?​

Not wanting to leave Mike for too long, we headed back to the Tacomas with the turquoise and did a bit of show-and-tell before firing up the engines and heading back down the hill, our sites set on Valley Wells - the spot I'd planned to camp the previous night!

Soaking in the view a final time.​

Nestled in there was once a very profitable mine.​

As we approached Valley Wells, the Clark Mountains - a familiar sight over the last several days - reached for the sky.​

The smelter at Valley Wells was constructed in 1898 to process ore from the Copper World Mine. As was often the case, the two operations had a symbiotic relationship. Smelters were vital to copper mines, like mills were to gold mines, because they separated the metal from the host rock and greatly reduced shipping costs. The mine supplied the ore that the smelter needed to run, the smelter processed it, and the sale of the copper brought cash to both.

In the simplest implementation of smelting, a carbon-rich fuel like coal is covered with ore and fired up. The combustion is hot enough to melt the ore. When the ore is an oxide, the carbon removes oxygen from it to form carbon dioxide and reduces the oxide to metal. The denser liquid metal sinks to the bottom, while the unwanted fraction, the slag, rises to the surface. After cooling, the vitreous slag is broken off and discarded, leaving behind concentrated copper.

At Valley Wells the ore was first crushed, then ground in a ball mill. Sulfur oxide obtained by roasting pyrite was passed through the ground ore. The ore was washed to get a solution of copper and iron sulfates, which was reduced with iron cans in concrete tanks to precipitate the metal. The resulting copper-iron cake was finally smelted.

Valley Wells operated during the Copper World Mine's first and third periods of activity, from 1899 to early 1904 and from November 1917 through 1918. The coal came from New Mexico, and pyrite from the mines in the Providence Mountains.

Valley Wells had a bit of a town too. Its small population of smelter operators and mule skinners was easily exceeded by the mules that did all the hauling. The town even had a post office, which was moved from the dying town of Ivanpah in April 1899, but lasted only a few more months in Valley Wells, before closing in July 1900.

Hiking the Mojave Desert​

​

Having not really understood the importance of the slag piles the last time I'd visited, they were much more intriguing to me on this visit.​

Recent tests of the slag pile have shown that - given the lack of efficiency of smelting in the early 1900s - the slag contains 2-10% copper, richer than the original ore itself!​

Be careful where you drive when you're looking around!
The "town" at Valley Wells consisted of troglodytic dugouts to combat the sweltering summer temperatures.​

A few years ago, someone came in with a lot of blue paint and defaced a bunch of the old mill foundations. Thankfully, no additional graffiti has appeared since our last visit.​

After wandering around for half an hour or so, we'd completed our exploration of Valley Wells, and we climbed back into our trucks to head east towards the Copper World Mine - from which the vast majority of its copper ore had originated - in the southern folds of the Clark Mountains.

As we worked our way over rough roads, I couldn't wait to show Mike and Zane the dramatic face of @mrs.turbodb's favorite mine.​

On the way to the Copper World site, we could see the ore chute of the Copper Glint Mine, one I've not yet had the pleasure to explore.​

A few minutes later - after picking our way through a quarter mile of virtually roadless wash - we arrived at the base of the Copper World Mine.

The last time I'd visited, I'd parked at the bottom and walked an overgrown mine road the last eighth mile, only discovering a drivable road as @mrs.turbodb hiked back down. Of course, that'd been more than four years earlier, and my memory hasn't gotten any better in that time, so we proceeded to repeat the same error - in exactly the same way - this time around.

This 40-foot tall face of copper ore is the reason this is @mrs.turbodb's favorite mine.​

I particularly like this bit of rock.​

I found this bit of copper ore with some sort of small black inclusions that I've never noticed in the past.​

Some bits of blue azurite were laying around in addition to all the green.​

Having explored the last bit of the Clark Mountains that we'd planned for this adventure, it was finally time to head into the heart of the Mojave National Preserve. From here, our route would take us through the Ivanpah Mountains and then across the Kelso Basin - where I'd hoped to find a low-elevation camp for the night - but given that we only had 90 minutes of daylight remaining, that was clearly out of the question.

I pushed that fact out of my mind as we raced against the sun, hoping that we'd be able to make it to a series of cabins in the Ivanpah Mountains before my cohorts got grumpy about our arrival time.

I hate aerial power lines. Shouldn't we be burying these?​

Even as we were in a rush, I made sure we stopped for a few minutes at one of the most fantastic overlooks of the Ivanpah Valley as the last rays of sunlight raced up the face of the New York Mountains.​

From the overlook at 6,500 feet - where 15mph winds dropped the already cold temperatures to levels I can only refer to as "unpleasant" - our road entered a wash as it began its descent. At that point - and after the fall floods - the road was no longer. With the possible exception of our cross-alluvial-fan traverse the previous afternoon, this was by far the roughest section of trail on our trip.

Our Tacomas - easily up to the task - spit us out into the valley 20 minutes later, the western-facing slopes awash in a blanket of gold.

The terrain here reminded me of Carruther's Canyon prior to the York fire.​

Hard to beat the front profile of a '97 Tacoma.​

It was 4:53pm when we started up the drive to the cabin where I'd hoped to camp. "Ruh roh," I announced over the CB radio, "someone else is already here!"

It wasn't that big a deal, really, since I knew of another - perhaps even nicer - cabin not far away. So, after a quick chat with the occupant - it his first time visiting the cabin - we made the quick jaunt back down the drive and less than a mile further to the hard-to-call-it-a-backup option.

With a view like this, I'm not sure why this wasn't my first choice.​

Note: if you know the location of this cabin - or any of the redacted places in this story - please consider this request I found posted inside the *********************. This is why I've redacted the names, and I'd request that you do the same.

​

Show you care, do not share.​

​

This really is a special place - maintained by descendants of the original owner. Should you find it, enjoy the history covering the walls and leave it better than you found it.​

*************** - 1899-1984​

Somehow, I always end up here at same time of day. Previously, @mrs.turbodb and I were racing to catch sunset at a nearby mine, so I hadn't gotten a chance to look around at all. This time - even a little later in the day - I felt rushed again, the dark interior of the cabin making it hard to see what I was looking at. Still, I did find a fantastic history of the cabin, and a very intriguing letter that I was able to read and capture - a real treat, since so many of these places are a complete mystery.

And then, it was back to camp, where Mike and Zane were already setting up their tents and just finalizing setup of the propane fire ring that would do its best - though, mostly failing - to keep us warm into the chilly night.

Our second wonderland of rocks, this one a little greener than the last.​

The highlight of the evening - which, like so many others, consisted of adventure and truck talk, along with a healthy dose of staring into the flames and rotating our bodies to stay warm - was when Mike offered to make dinner for all three of us. Mike's burritos - like his salsa - are famous, and without hesitation, there was a unanimous chorus of "yes, please," when the offer was made.

Without a doubt, it was the best dinner of the trip, and despite having plenty to eat, I don't think any of us would have complained if we'd been forced to eat another round or two of the tasty rolled treats!

The next day would be our last. And it would be full of firsts for all of us!

 

What do I need to do to get invited on a @turbodb trip? Every trip looks like an amazing time.

 

We were just talking about this, @Digiratus is planning on making a thread open to the community so we can make some new friends on our next group trip. Isn't that right Dan? At least that's how I remember the conversation going

 

Hold your breath. Tell me when you start turning blue.

 

9-1-1 just left. They said don't do that again...

 

if he doesn't, I am..

 

It's going to be kind of awkward if you organize it and then don't show up

 

Maybe it's my way of making Mike meet new people

 

Count me in regardless! Just 1 question, are only 1st gen Taco's allowed? I'm not sure mine is much of a long distance overlander any more. It's so bad I had to turn to the dark side and buy a 4Runner for those long road trips...

 

nah we've never cared about that. Just oddly works out it's usually 1st gens. Not that we are complaining about that ha

 

Go back a few (years) trips in Dan's log, when my Tacoma was down because the frame was a bit rusted out I took the Land cruiser down to death valley. It's more about the people than the vehicle they bring.

 

You can't ever go wrong with a 1st gen! If they weren't the same price as the 4R I bought I would've purchased another one.

 

I agree with that. In the end if everyone is having a good time then that's all that matters! (no fords thogh )

 

You don't like the sound of cam phaser rattle and 10 speed transmissions that have to limp in 5 speed mode after making their own neutrals?

 

Racing the Sun to the Mojave Megaphone | EMHT Segment 2C Ivanpah Mountains to Rocky Ridge
Part of the East Mojave Heritage Trail (Nov 2023) trip.

I don't know if it was the coldest night of the trip from an absolute perspective, but when I climbed out of my tent, it was the only morning I found the rainfly - and the cab of the Tacoma - covered in a layer of frost. Luckily, as the final full day of our trip, we'd decided that no matter where we were, it was where we were going to cook our shared breakfast.

And that meant we'd have a couple extra hours for our tents to defrost.

While I waited for Mike @Digiratus and Zane @Speedytech7 to wake up, I found a spot behind camp from which to get a nice lay of the land.​

This guy was out early too - or, perhaps for him, grabbing a final snack before settling down for the day to sleep.​

Just on the other side of the ridge, the sun was already working its magic on the granite of the Ivanpah Mountains.​

Wandering back into camp, I found my companions awake, coffee in hand, and - to my surprise - standing around the propane fire pit to keep warm until the sun finally climbed high enough in the sky to bathe our camp in its rays. Once it did, we each retreated to our respective kitchens, and before long, a piping hot breakfast of bacon, eggs, and potatoes was spread on Zane's tailgate.

Who says three guys can't eat six portions of breakfast?​

"One" of my servings.​

As we ate, I noticed that a nearby Joshua Tree had camouflaged itself in plain sight - by looking "normal."​

We wrapped up breakfast a little after 9:00am. Later than we'd been getting out of camp, but early enough that I was pretty sure we could get ourselves to the Mojave Megaphone by the time we needed to be in camp for the night. Of course, I'd been wrong every other day of the trip so far, so my certainty was worth as much as the bacon we had left over from breakfast.

Oh, right, there was no leftover bacon.

Pulling out of camp, I noticed the initials carved into this rock. J E + B E.​

With the sun behind us, we made our way to our first stop of the day: the site of the Evening Star Mine. This old copper mine has one of the nicest headframes in the Mojave National Preserve (that I've encountered), and I hoped my buddies would like it as well.

Through the Joshua Trees to the Evening Star Mine.​

The Evening Star Mine had slow beginnings. Its four claims covered a mineralized skarn near the contact between limestone and Jurassic granitic rocks (possibly Striped Mountain Pluton). Tire skarn had a host of metals, but few in sufficient quantities, and it eluded two generations of miners. Sometime between 1900 and 1910 a 740-foot exploratory shaft was sunk on the Rex claim in search of copper. Chalcopyrite was encountered, but showings were poor and no ore was produced. The Evening Star Mine was not revived until years later when tin was discovered, allegedly by John "Riley" Bembry in 1936. A war veteran then in his mid thirties, Bembry had just moved to the Mojave Desert and bought the Evening Star Mine in 1935. Following his tin strike, Bembry sold the mine, and the new owners started tin mining in 1938. Operations were again unsuccessful, and over the next two years the Evening Star Mine changed ownership and operator several times. But there was a lucky one, an Angelino named W. W. Hartman who worked the Bernice claim not for tin but for tungsten. In 1939 and 1940, he shipped 1,000 tons of tungsten ore from a single tunnel - which was not bad for a little mine.

In August 1940 new explorations uncovered an area rich in cassiterite (tin oxide) and instilled new hopes. The Steel Service and Sales Company of Chicago leased the mine and finally made it work. The ore was initially mined from an open cut and a shaft, then from a second shaft in 1943. Crushers installed on the main shaft's 60-foot headframe ground the ore, then the tin and copper ore were separated from waste rock by screening. In 1942 the company shipped 25 tons containing 6% tin by truck to Cima, then by rail to a Texas smelter. To process its ore locally, company owner Carl Wendrick put up a 30-ton mill at Windmill Station, at the north end of Cima Road. From then on the classified ore was trucked to his mill, where it was cleaned and further concentrated. It was a modest operation - eight people worked at the mine and four at the mill - but it did honorably well. Until 1944, 400 tons of classified tin ore were processed at the mill.

In 1944 long-hole drilling at the bottom of shaft No. 2 failed to encounter new ore, and tin mining stopped. A vertical shaft was sunk on a nearby copper vein in 1949, and Hartman's tungsten tunnel was extended to 340 feet in 1951-1952, but no ore was shipped. In the end, the Evening Star Mine did have one good claim to fame - it was the only tin producer in the east Mojave Desert.

Hiking the Mojave Desert​

This headframe pulled ore from a nearly vertical shaft, dumping through a series of hoppers and crushers until it reached the ore chute at the bottom, to be trucked to Valley Wells for processing.​

After chatting with a few folks who we found wandering around the Evening Star Mine - fellow explorers whose association with the NPS (that we never learned the details of) allowed them use of the Valley View Ranch overnight - we were once again on our way - headed south towards the cinder cones and the Cima Cinder Mine.

Not quite as dusty as some of the trails, but I was still lucky to be in front.​

Three quarters of the way there, Mike piped up on the CB radio and asked if we could stop for a few minutes to review the route for the day - just to be sure that he understood where we might end up, and what route we'd each take the following morning when we split up for our respective trips home. That was just fine by me, and we happened to be passing an old ranch (Rock Tank?), so we pulled into the parking area and fired up the technology for a quick review. Then, it was off to check out the structures.

Lonely.​

A sad - yet understandable - note to find in the logbook.​

Routes for the rest of the day - I didn't have the heart to tell Mike we might not make it as far as I hoped - and the following day reviewed, we covered the final few miles to the Cima Cinder Mine in a matter of minutes, and soon we were parked on the flattest surface we could find.

A familiar terrain.​

Apparently we've all done a great job at reducing the weight of our Tacomas - the scale barely moved off of 0 lbs, even with all three on the platform.​

Located in 1948 by Emerson and Fay Ray, the Cima Cinder Mine was a successful family-owned operation. Its only known production of 130,000 tons between 1954 and 1961 likely reflects a mere fraction of its total output.

The life of this mine ended on a very sad note. It was still running in 1994 when this area became a national preserve. Soon after, a coalition of environmental groups threatened to file a lawsuit against the NFS unless the mine was shut down. A main concern was the endangered desert tortoise, which the coalition claimed was threatened by mining activities. To forestall the lawsuit, in August 1999 the NFS evicted the owners, after 50 years of operation - for trespassing...

Hiking the Mojave Desert​

it's not often you park in the cone of a volcano.​

Though the land is now part of the Preserve, the equipment is still private property.​

Looking out from the platform of the cinder cone, the gradual rise and fall of Cima Dome was invisible until you "saw it." Then, it was all you could see!​

I finally caught Zane taking a photo of his truck.​

It was 11:55am when we pulled out of the Cima Cinder Mine, but more importantly, it was time for a route decision: the road to the left would take us to the Aiken Cinder Mine, while the road to the right - and a bit of a hike - might allow us to find another set of petroglyphs that I'd never seen before.

Thank goodness for good friends who are willing to put up with my crap - both of them opted for the rock art route, and Mike even seemed willing to give the hike a try!

The rock as almost as artistic as the etchings.​

Plants and people. Note the brighter colors of several glyphs - perhaps from a more recent artist? (left) | A full panel. (right)​

These folks were thinking right up my alley. I could go for a cool cup of ice water right about now as well!​

After completing the three-quarter mile roundtrip to the petroglyphs, it was a little after noon when we got back to our trucks. Having enjoyed the largest meal of our trip only a couple hours earlier, I helpfully - in the not-helpful-at-all sense - suggested that it was time for lunch, if anyone was hungry.

No one was. At least, I don't think eye rolls and groans mean, "feed me."

Continuing south, we were now in the heart of cinder cone country. Composed of about 40 cinder cones - 100 feet to more than 560 feet tall - most have erupted lava. This has resulted in a complex mosaic of more than 60 lava beds of different ages, compositions, and morphologies that span three periods of volcanism. The earliest started 7.6 million years ago and lasted, off and on, 1.1 million years. The second period - the most intense - occurred from 4.5 to 3.6 million years ago, in the northern half of the field. The third period began about one million years ago, in the southern portion of the field, lasting until 10,000 BC, with lava draining westward, toward Soda Lake.

Volcanoes as far as the eye can see.​

In addition to the cinder cones, a relatively well-known lava tube graces these parts, and while I've visited several times on previous trips - always getting what I thought were reasonably nice photos - I've never been in the tube at the perfect time of day to capture the beam of sunlight that pours through the tube's sky lights. This time, I hoped, would change all that.

Success!​

Turns out that even at 1:18pm, we were a bit early. This surprised me, as I thought I'd heard that noon(ish) was the optimal time to visit. Of course, it very well might be, at other times of year! Regardless, I was quite happy with the composition and Zane got a nice chuckle as well, as he watched me hopping up and down toward the beam of light, freezing in place as the camera clicked away.

By this point, I was cautiously optimistic that we'd actually achieve all the mileage I'd hoped to cover when we'd left camp after breakfast. I'd largely travelled the next sections of trail - though never on the same trip - and knew that while they were always presented in such a way as to instill the fear of death in those who dared venture through such remote sandy places as this, that they were - in actuality - both beautiful and fun. We were on our way through the Devil's Playground to an icon of the desert - the Mojave Megaphone.

Have I mentioned that I hate aerial power lines? The view from Rocky Ridge would be so much nicer without them.​

Layers.​

Into the sun.​

After descending Rocky Ridge, we followed the power lines to Devil's Playground. Embedded deep in the preserve, the Devils Playground is the third largest dune complex in the country spanning nearly 30 miles between Kelso Dunes and Soda Lake. Distances here are deceiving - and hiking through the fine sand is not easy - a fact @mrs.turbodb and I discovered on our previous visit.

They may look like ordinary sand dunes, but these are the dunes of the Devil. Or something. ​

Old Dad Mountain - a sheer slab of dark-brown Mesozoic limestones and dolomites - rises from the sand.​

The soft sand can be problematic for some, but for us, allowed a soft, gentle ride.​

Aired down, equipped with 4WD, and with plenty of skinny pedal, we made it through Devil's Playground in a matter of minutes and picked up the power line road on the western edge of the dune field. We'd follow this road for another 30 miles or so, skirting the northern edge of the Bristol Mountains and racing across the dry, extremely dusty, playa of Crucero Lake.

Not far to go now.​

Some peculiar cabins exist out in this remote corner (it's not a corner at all) of the Mojave, but we had places to be - camp - on this particular afternoon, so I could only describe the elusive Mojave Jackalope to my companions as we sped by the shed that I knew it called home.

Terror of the desert. (Lepus cornutus.)​

The old Tonopah and Tidewater Railroad - the same grade we'd paralleled as we crossed the alluival fan in the Valjean Valley - crosses this lonely stretch of desert as well, much of the old timber slowly fading into history.​

We rolled up on the Mojave Megaphone just before 4:00pm. This was a spot that Mike had been keen to see - having heard of through several different sources. And, while he was glad to see it, I could tell he was a little bummed that it was perched so high above the desert floor, since his knee was bothering him a bit after our earlier trek of the day.

Zane nearly sprinted up to the Megaphone, where he promptly proceeded to enjoy the view.​

Plenty of speculation abounds as to the purpose of the Mojave Megaphone, but for the real purpose, check out this story.​

All alone at the end of the road.​

After spending a few minutes at the top, it was time to find camp. I'd already sent Mike to a nearby location that - while not the most beautiful - would certainly be functional for our final night in the desert. We rolled in, just a few minutes before sunset, and nestled ourselves in amongst the trees, hoping to shelter our tents from any breeze that might pick up overnight.

Just behind camp, a final set of petroglyphs were a fun way to cap the trip.​

Zane and Mike both had long, 16+ hour drives in front of them the following day, so after a quick dinner and a short campfire, we agreed on 7:00am as our target departure time, and climbed into our tents to get a bit of shut eye. Five days had passed in what seemed like only two.

The following morning...

Three amigos.​

We were out of camp a few minutes after sunrise, and well before our 7:00am target. Now with LTE service, Google Maps guided us towards I-15, along a route I was nearly certain did not exist.

For once, I was right.

Luckily, having visited these parts a fair number of times, I knew where I was and more importantly, how to get where we were going, fast. Speeding along the Union Pacific rail grade, I'm sure we travelled at least as fast as the minivan that showed me up along this route last time.

By 7:30am we were airing up at the entrance to I-15.​

After making sure our Tacomas were in pavement mode - and with hugs, handshakes, and reminders to text when we got where we were going complete - we all set off at different speeds toward home.

 

This is exactly what I remember. It was around the campfire too, so it's like it was written in stone.

This is why I'm always so surprised that I was invited on a second trip. Seems to me, anyone is allowed.

Those were some fantastic shots you got in the Sierra! Nice work.

 

I asked a while back about the megaphone. The more I think about it and the people of the mojave, the more I believe it's nothing more than a piece of artwork conceived over a couple of beers and installed under the cover of darkness

 

Yeah, that was the conclusion I came to as well, the first time I visited. What is the Mojave Megaphone? | Mojave #6 Of course, I tried to lead everyone on with the title of the story and the build up to the grand reveal, but that's how you have to do it on the interwebs, isn't it? In the end, here's what I called "the real story."

A little over eight feet long, the construction of the device - along with design papers found in a nearby desert cabin - is what gives away its origin. Constructed of two, essentially mirrored halves, bolted together along a seam in the middle, the cones are simply 32 pieces of 3/32" steel, roughly welded together.

The 3/32" steel is too thin for any industrial application, but reduces weight of the overall device, which is welded only roughly along the outer seams - with plenty of gaps along the lengths of the welds. The inside of each seam is completely unfinished.

The halves enable the device to be easily carried by two people, each half weighing only 143 lbs, eventually bolted together in their current location.

The bars within the cones - suspected to be sights for some sort of aiming - are nothing of the sort. Not only are they constructed of dissimilar materials - rebar, and a random segment of pipe - but they are much too rough, and not at all centered in the opening. Not only would a sight rest on top of the device - similar to a gun sight, but the device itself would - obviously - be adjustable as the sights were used to aim it. Without that adjustability, sights are unnecessary.

The "Mojave Megaphone" is - whether folks like it or not - one of the original metal monoliths, nothing more. It need not be - the ingenuity of its design enabling it to survive when others have not.


​

A few days ago, however, this newspaper article (Mojave Desert Holds Many Mysteries) was shared with me. I have no idea if it's true/real. There are a few things that lead me to believe it is not - there is no date on the paper, the text in the image seems "blacker" than I'd expect from a newspaper scan where the paper is as old as it seems to be, and of course, it's "just another story." But, on the flip side, Bill Mann is a real dude, and knows the area well. Does seem a little strange to be spreading his name around if it's not a real article. Anyway, just another part of the mystery.