AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

If you ever need some shop space while in my neck of the woods you're welcome to it.

I've already got your brake lines in the shop why not have the entire truck.

send me a DM I may be able to help you locate a specific tree house you're looking for. It's been many years but my grandpa took me all over San Juan.

 

Playing it Safe | Other Side #3
Part of the The Other Side (May 2024) trip.

Having spent a bit of time dealing with the rear e-locker, we were running about two hours "behind schedule" as we barreled west along UT-163 towards Monument Valley. In reality, I'd somehow significantly underestimated the number of miles between Comb Ridge and the Muddy Mountains where we planned to setup camp for the night, so we were running more like five hours later than planned.

That meant we'd need to alter our itinerary a bit - eating dinner rather than lunch in St. George, as well as finding a nearby spot to camp so we could complete our final hike in the morning before heading into Las Vegas - but at least we weren't going to be driving the Tacoma back to Washington. Still, none of this meant that we couldn't take a few minutes to marvel at Monument Valley and chuckle at the throngs of people sitting, laying, and otherwise hamming it up for the 'gram at Forrest Gump Point.

The typical view.​

A little more focus on the monuments.​

The route from Mexican Hat to St. George is anything but efficient. Following a series of highways through nowheresville Utah and outheretown Arizona, we seemed to spend as much time going north and south as we did going west. Eventually - just before 4:30pm - we reached Kanab, the jumping off point for the first of our detours on the way back.


The Great Chamber
Located at Cutler Point, the Great Chamber is a sandstone alcove with its own personal sand dune. I forget how I learned of its existence, but this place - like Forrest Gump Point - is obviously instafabulous, and all the vanlifers and hipstalanders seem to have strikingly similar guides on how to get there (with the requisite warnings about sand and heat), what to eat when you're in the area, where to stay, and of course, how to use your drone to take the most outrageous selfie that will result in a lifechanging number of likes and follows.

We didn't have time for all that nonsense, but we were happy to follow the "beware of 17 miles of deep sand" route that they provided in order to reach the parking lot.

There was certainly some sand, but a bit of throttle - even as we were fully aired up - and we had no trouble in 4WD.​

Even from a distance, we could see the chamber for much of the approach.​

Either we arrived too late in the day for the best lighting, or we got lucky.​

It'd taken us 40 minutes to get from Kanab to the trailhead, and as we headed up the sandy trail towards the chamber, I was sure we'd snap a couple quick photos and be back on our way. Naturally, that plan went out the door - even before we reached the main opening - as colorfully striped sandstone glowed warmly in perfectly reflected light.

Off we go!​

Fire.​

As we arrived at the chamber, we both realized that this was going to be both an incredible and nearly intolerable experience at the same time. On the one hand, the visuals of this place are sensational. On the other, the 25 mph winds that have created a 30-foot tall dune in the middle of the chamber are relentless, and we each consumed several ounces of sand as we were sand-blasted for much of the time we were there. Eating sand; always a pleasure.

Still, even as our teeth and electronic devices were bombarded, we couldn't help but to keep calling to each other to "come check this out." Here's a bit of what we found...

Texture and light.​

Particle accelerator.​

Sand scales.​

Chamber view.​

The dune.​

Grand Chamber sunstar.​

I wasn't the only one taking photos as we wandered around in the warm light trying to find the perfect angle to capture the contrast between sand, rock, and sky. @mrs.turbodb was also pointing her lens here and there, and got a couple photos of me that really help to show the scale of this place!

Need. Wider. Lens.​

Silhouette.​

Eventually - having spent what turned out to be nearly 40 minutes in the cave, but felt like only five - we tore ourselves away from taking the same pictures over and over and headed back down the sandy trail toward the truck. There, with our inner ears feeling like sandpaper and our teeth full of grit, it was a relief to rinse out our mouths and empty our socks before speeding our way back toward pavement and a meal - now dinner - we'd both been looking forward to in St. George.

Golden glow.​

The last time we'd been through St. George, @mrs.turbodb had found a place - Tacos Plaza - where we both enjoyed tasty burritos on our way back from the Arizona Backcountry Discovery Route. Thing was, as we'd been savoring every bite, we'd noticed another customer who'd ordered the nachos. Stacked high with chips and toppings, she'd only been able to eat a quarter of the mountain of food before packing the rest up to take home. And that's when we realized what we wanted to eat next time.

We never thought that next time would be so soon. Next time was now!

Yes, please.​

Turns out that two hungry hikers are - barely - able to finish a single order of nachos. The chips were thick and crispy, the toppings were tasty, and the ratio of chips to toppings was spot on. Our bellies full, we rolled ourselves back into the Tacoma and by 9:00pm, we found ourselves in a private little slice of BLM land a few miles outside of town.


The Da Vinci Panel
With our flight leaving Las Vegas at 11:30am, we were up just before the sun for the two-hour hike and two-hour drive we had on the docket for the morning.

St. George sunrise.​

While most of the hikes we find ourselves on require a bit of meandering on dirt roads in order to get to the trailhead, this one demanded nothing more than pulling to the side of I-15 as it wound its way through the Virgin River Gorge. Not only that, but we were lucky. Heading south on I-15 we'd have a more direct route to the rock art; if we'd been heading north, we'd have been forced to ford the Virgin River - an exercise that might be "refreshing" in the fall, but seemed to be more "folly" at this time of year!

Right away, the mesas rising up behind the Yellow Knolls were captivating.​

Working our way around a barbed wire fence, we were quickly distracted by the wildflowers along the faintly-trailed route. Most impressive, initially, were the cholla. We've seen these in bloom before - usually with bright pink flowers - but here on the edge of the Beaver Dam Mountain Wilderness, we nearly missed the spring display.

Green flowers!​

This cute little yucca was a fantastic find as well.​

What have we here? This little bug-eyed, spiky-haired cactus was right along the side of the trail.​

I thought these rocks looked a whole lot like a fine walnut, but I'm not sure they'd have machined well in the table saw. ​

Surprisingly, on the inside, they were some sort of crystalline formation.​

Following the route up and over a ridge, we checked out a couple of small, abstract petroglyph sites before heading down the other side towards the rushing sound of the Virgin River.

Even when there wasn't a trail, it was easy to find a route that just "felt right."​

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We weren't sure exactly what this depicted, but it reminded me of the Falling Man in Gold Butte National Monument, which made sense given that this glyph, too, was at the top of the ridge.​

Ranchers left their mark as well, as they moved livestock along the Virgin River.​

The hike to the Da Vinci panel isn't long, but when you're easily distracted like the two of us, even short hikes can take more time than anticipated. Still, even with our constant stops to admire the world around us, we made it to the first major panel - a Newspaper Rock - 30 minutes after pulling off the highway. It was 6:31am Pacific Time.

With plenty of time to check out the rock art and still be back on the road around 7:30am, we slowed down a bit as we admired Newspaper Rock.

Newspaper Rock sunrise.​

A popular place.​

Not far away, I decided to show off my manly strength to @mrs.turbodb by cracking this rock into three pieces. For good reason, she wasn't even mildly impressed.​

Having left the best for last, we eventually made our way closer to the river as we searched for the rock art panel that gives this site its name. We spotted it - from a distance - a ledge or two below us, and as I @mrs.turbodb pulled out her binoculars for a better look, I threw caution to the wind and started looking for a way down.

Naturally, my way wasn't as graceful as the one who spent a little more time evaluating the approach, but in the end, we both ended up in front of a towering slab of sandstone that @mrs.turbodb remarked, "looks a lot like a canvas."

The Da Vinci Panel.​

The main attraction.​

Even though the Da Vinci man was cool, I found myself drawn to the wavy-line double-spiral immediately above it.​

Lichen growing over the bottom spiral.​

And with that, we spent a few minutes looking down at the river before heading back the way we'd come. The return trip was - as always seems to be the case - faster than the first half of our hike, which meant that we'd have plenty of time to pick up a couple breakfast burritos before dropping the Tacoma off at the storage facility and hopping on a Spirit Airlines flight home.

And yeah, Spirit may not have the best reputation, but I can tell you this with confidence - it's a whole heck of a lot better than driving 27 hours to get home!

 

Worth More Than Gold | Inyo West #1
Part of the Inyo West (May 2024) trip.

I've done a lot of exploring in and around Death Valley National Park, and have spent many a morning watching the sun illuminate the Inyo Mountains from the east. But, I've spent almost no time exploring the Inyo Mountains from the west - Owen's Valley - side.

I'm not sure exactly why this has been the case - there's a ton to experience - but I suppose it's due to the fact that it's nestled between the dramatic Sierra Nevada and my favorite National Park.

Regardless, I've wanted to drive the Swansea to Cerro Gordo Road - up past the apex of the Saline Valley Salt Tram - ever since we visited the lower towers back in 2019. I've heard amazing things about the network of roads that run up to and through Papoose Flats and Mazourka Peak. And recently I caught wind of a couple mesas worth exploring at the extreme southern reaches of the range.

And so, with three and a half days to explore, I'm leaving the heat of the valley behind and climbing into the still-not-cool mountain air. Surely, I'll love what I find, and if it's anything like I expect, I'll only be left wanting for more. More time to explore the Inyo West.

The First Afternoon...

I picked up the Tacoma in Las Vegas just after 1:00pm and made a beeline for my first food of the day at In-N-Out. I seem to get the same cashier every time, but they still don't recognize me, so obviously I'm not going on enough trips.

After scarfing down my burgers, fries, and a soda in what felt like sweltering shade, I took care of a few provisioning tasks before heading west. First through Pahrump, then along CA-190 through Furnace Creek, the A/C seemed to be working harder than usual; I found out why as I made a quick stop at the Visitor Center for a bathroom break.

Even though I happened to visit during "unseasonably warm temperatures" according to the National Weather Service, my valley floor days are definitely over until things cool down in the fall.​

I'd planned for my trip to start in Swansea, following the loop road to Cerro Gordo, but my early arrival - and a last-minute change of plans from Mike @mk5 - left me wondering if I could squeeze in a little something more as I continued west. Even as I continued west - a strange feeling to enter and exit the park without stopping for a single hike - I wasn't sure until I saw the fields of Orange Globe Mallow.

As I climbed out of Panamint Valley, I spotted the cutest little kit fox den.​

Yes. Yes, you are welcome to come home with me!​

As I reached the head of what we all call Saline Valley Road - though which I've recently learned is Saline Valley Alt Rd - I couldn't believe my eyes. I've never witnessed a super bloom in Death Valley - and I don't think this was technically a super bloom - but I didn't care. The Orange Globe Mallow were everywhere.

Frankly, it was ridiculous.​

Billions of blooms.​

Right then and there, I decided that I wanted to drive through that orange sea, following a few roads to places I'd never been. I figured I'd head for the furthest one first, completely oblivious to the controversy that I later remembered surrounds it. I was headed to Conglomerate Mesa.

Setting off into the sea.​

Is this even allowed?​

Warm temperatures meant that Telescope Peak had just a dusting of snow.​

It took me 90 minutes to fight my way through the landscape to the end of the road - and the trailless trailhead - at the base of Conglomerate Mesa. Not because the roads were in any way difficult, but because I kept thinking that I'd better get out of the truck to take another photo. The landscape was just so different than I'm used to seeing in these parts; perhaps I need to brave the heat for a few more late-spring excursions to the desert!

After 45 minutes, Conglomerate Mesa rose in the distance.​

OK desert - you impress with orange and then decide to turn purple?​

Not sure what these are (a pea?), but they were prolific at elevations just higher than the Orange Globe Mallow.​

Driving around the base of the Mesa, the road became significantly less travelled.​

A quick stop at Conglomerate Double Arch. Perhaps more accurately a triple!​

End of the road. Still a lot of up to the top.​

Now - for those familiar with the area - Conglomerate Mesa holds some interesting present-day controversy. As seems to be a trend in the desert, companies have always been interested in extracting mineral resources, and Conglomerate Mesa is no exception.

In 2015, Silver Standard US Holdings Inc., a U.S. company held by SSR Mining of Vancouver, B.C, submitted a Plan of Operations for the Perdito Exploration Project - seven exploratory drill holes at seven locations on Conglomerate Mesa - including access via several miles of new road construction across currently roadless areas.

In June 2018, after a campaign by the Protect Conglomerate Mesa Coalition, led by Friends of the Inyo, the BLM Ridgecrest Field Office approves an alternative to Silver Standard’s Perdito Exploration Project Plan. While allowing the drilling of seven exploratory holes, access must be achieved via helicopter to limit disruption to the landscape as much as possible. Silver Standard informs BLM they are withdrawing their plans for the Perdito Exploration Project, marking a temporary win for the Coalition.

By 2020, Canadian mining company K2 Gold - and its local subsidiary, Mojave Precious Metals (MPM) - took over the 2018 Plan approved by the BLM. Using this approved plan, K2 drilled 16 holes on the mesa, leaving behind trenches, flagging, metal plates, spray-painted rocks, and trash on the mesa, none of which has been cleaned up to this day.

In 2021, K2 Gold submitted a new proposal to the BLM asking to drill 120 additional holes and to build roads leading to the drill sites.

During a public comment period in August 2021, the BLM received 23,800 comments, mostly against the project. Many commenters asked the BLM to analyze the project under an Environmental Impact Statement (EIS) and the BLM listened. On March 9, 2022, BLM sent a letter to K2 Gold stating that it would analyze the potential impacts of the exploratory drilling proposal by preparing an EIS. BLM cited a number of reasons for this decision including:

• 
  
  
  • The resource concerns expressed by the public, Tribes, and agencies during scoping;
  • The fact that the Joshua tree is now a candidate species under the California Endangered Species Act;
  • The presence of Red Ochre Clay for which the Timbisha Tribe is named.
  • The largest known population of Inyo thread plant in the Southern Inyo Mountains was observed in the area and is undergoing a California Rare Plant Rank status review;
  • Tribes expressed their concerns that the proposal could impact the holistic value of the area;
  • Conglomerate Mesa is part of the California Desert National Conservation Lands and contains nationally significant cultural, ecological, and scientific values. Additionally, Conglomerate Mesa holds wilderness quality lands (i.e., Lands with Wilderness Characteristics) and has been designated an Area of Critical Environmental Concern to protect its Joshua tree habitat; and
  • Water usage issues.

On March 17th, 2022, K2 Gold announced in a press release an “indefinite suspension of activities at the Mojave Project.”

​

K2 is the 11th company to threaten the Mesa since the 1980s.​

Friends of the Inyo and
Protect Conglomerate Mesa Coalition​

I had heard much of this story years earlier, but it hadn't registered - and I stand by that excuse, because I'm certainly not forgetting things as I get older - as I gathered up my hiking stuff and set about finding a route up to the top of the mesa.

One might argue that - with it being 45 minutes before sunset, no trail to follow, and 900 vertical feet to climb in a little less than three-quarters of a mile - this wasn't my most intelligent decision, but I packed a flashlight, and figured I could at least get to the top before needing to turn it on!

"The trail."​

Picking my way up the most gradual slopes I could find - which ended up averaging 24.9%, with a max of 73.1% - I gained elevation quickly. This elevation gain required frequently stops for photos, because I assure you I was never out of breath.

The light on the Nelson Range and Darwin Plateau was mesmerizing.​

I reached the top as the world around me began to change color. Sure that I'd find a benchmark (BM) or some sort of survey marker, I made my way from one rocky outcropping to the next, not sure exactly which one was the highest. I never found a marker, but when I found the peak log, the numerous "Protect Conglomerate Mesa" entries jogged my memory on why the name of this place seemed so familiar!

As I reached the summit, the Sierra showed off in the distance, while the crazy geology of Conglomerate Mesa fascinated in the foreground.​

A special place to enjoy the evening light show.​

Peak 7707 log book placed in 1981 and less than a third full. (left) | I was the first entry for 2024. (right)​

I didn't even need my flashlight on the way down.

A Move in the Dark

Having thoroughly enjoyed this first, completely unplanned hike of my trip, it was time to figure out where to camp. I could have - and probably should have - taken the obvious choice and camped where I'd parked below Conglomerate Mesa, but for some reason I'd pulled out my phone when I'd been at the top and noticed that I had a single bar of service. Wondering if anyone on my favorite Internet forum had any to say about the area, I'd stumbled upon a post from Ken @DVexile that was but a single line long.

Malpais Mesa is my planned final resting place - or scattering spot to be more accurate.​

That alone would have been enough for me to want to check it out, but after a quick look in Desert Summits, I knew that I'd be driving into the dark, allowing a pre-dawn hike to this special place.

As I made good time down toward my destination, I stopped the truck after hoping that I'd narrowly missed what I thought might have been a snake in the road.​

Well, hello, you. Glad you're still doing fine!​

I arrived two hours after sunset and found a perfectly flat spot to setup the tent. It'd been a long day, capped with an unexpected highlight. For now - my alarm set for 4:00am - it was time for a few hours of shut eye. My hope - to experience the first light on the Sierra - relied on my ability to hike a mile (and up 700 feet) before a 5:27am sunrise.

Darkness Turns to Light

Somehow, I was able to wrestle myself from under the comforters only a few minutes after my alarm sounded. The moon had set several hours earlier, so it was pitch dark as I climbed down the ladder and gathered up my camera gear and donned a lightweight windbreaker to stave off the 20mph breeze and 35mph gusts that'd made for a fitful sleep.

Soon, I was following an old mining road into the Malpais Mesa Wilderness. In the dark, I missed this sign completely, but caught it on the way back down!​

The mining road only got me so far, and soon I was scrambling up the volcanic boulders and scree fields that give these badlands (Malpais) their name. I'm not sure it was as steep as the hike to Conglomerate Mesa the previous evening, but it was certainly reminiscent, and I found it pleasurable to - once again - be on a trailless hike!

Like the previous evening, I found myself pushing faster than I might normally push as I raced the sun. Unlike the previous evening, I was racing it in the opposite direction. I reached the ridge only a few seconds before sunrise, only to realize that sunrise for the Sierra - even though they were slightly further west - was a few minutes earlier, given their much higher elevation. Still, I couldn't help but smile as I caught my first glimpse!

First light on the Sierra.​

A few minutes later, a sunstar on the horizon.​

Reaching the ridge was not the end of my trek - not by a long shot. From here, though, it was an easy going, enjoyable stroll as I slowly climbed through a Joshua tree forest toward the summit, some two miles to the north. The entire time, expansive views west - and the Mount Whitney portion of the Sierra - were nearly enough to distract me from even reaching my destination!

Slowly, sunlight crept down one of Earth's amazing backbones.​

Here too, wildflowers were prolific. It was a special time of year!
This primrose (Oenothera californica) looks strikingly similar to the Eureka Dunes Evening Primrose, but that variant only grows around the dunes, so I'm not entirely sure what these are.​

Looking east wasn't too shabby, either.​

Knowing that I'd already had a full day planned - even before I decided to add a six-mile, early-morning hike to the agenda - I made good time to the summit, 1300 feet higher than where I'd woken up just two hours earlier.

An interesting pile of boards hunkered down in a wind break at the peak.​

Found it!​

I turned around quickly, my belly grumbling from my pre-breakfast exertion. With the wind now at my back, I made even better time on the gentle downhill trek as jagged peaks gleamed brilliantly and Joshua Trees kept me entertained on the way back to camp.

Hey guys, wait for me!​

Morning under Mt. Whitney.​

The clouds were playing nice, too!​

It was 7:30am as I returned to my camp - the truck perched on a waste rock pile at the Santa Rosa Mine. While it's hard to tell today - since nearly nothing is left at the relatively small site - this mine was the eighth largest lead producer in the state, generating more than 12 million pounds of lead, 490,000 pounds of copper, 4,000 pounds of zinc, and 427,000 ounces of silver between 1910 and the 1950s.

Santa Rosa camp.​

Besides the obvious diggings, I could find only a few artifacts as I poked around with the flying camera.​

After a quick breakfast, I packed up and got on my way. A fabulously unexpected way to start the morning!​

Back into the orange.​

Feeling a little behind - but trying to take solace in the knowledge that it was still only 8:30am - as I followed new-to-me dirt roads towards CA-190 and the historic town of Swansea, a gleaming-white waste rock pile along the base of the mesa caught my attention. I contemplated whether I should give it a look, ultimately succumbing to my usual, "I'm already here," the Tacoma nearly steering itself up the short access road to the mine.

The orange never got old.​

Anticipation was high - perhaps there'd be a nice adit to explore!​

The jumble of ladders at the bottom of the vertical shaft suggested that I wasn't going to be headed underground - at least, not here!​

A quick look at the map and I noted that a nearby label - Viking Talc Mine Camp - was probably worth checking out "while I'm already here," so I lengthened my detour again as I wound my way into the foothills. I'll tell you what - this guy sure knows how to blow a schedule!

I was out to enjoy the views, so even if I was getting off schedule, I was doing it in style!​

Two of the three structures at the Viking Talc Mine.​

Priorities seem perfect at the Viking Talc Camp today.​

There wasn't much left at the Viking Talc Mine Camp. Easy access meant that the those-who-can't-leave-nice-things-nice have frequented this place since it shut down, and bullet-riddled walls were the only walls left to see.

Regardless, it was time to get going - to a road I've been wanting to run for years. A road that would transport me back in time, and to views I couldn't yet imagine!

 

It seems that this "mk5" guy bailing at the last minute is becoming a staple of your SoCal trip reports. What a schmuck!

Plus, then he later goes to the same places, just not with you.

Jeez.



Then he photographs the exact same crap you did...





Looks like he's giving you two middle-fingers there. This guy must be a real ass-clown.

 

Those are sweet shots. I think I'll need you to both (a) write my trip reports and (b) take my photos, now, since you're obviously better at both.

I'm a little surprised the crucibles were still there, but also glad that not too many are visiting and destroying! That last photo is fantastic. Did you drop the puck lights or something? Were they unharmed?

I have no idea how you see things, since you clearly get no sleep.

 

They are little LED finger lights... most of them shattered to bits. Spent a while finding all the debris!

Too bad the moon was out, this place would be amazing in proper darkness. Perhaps we'll have to come back someday. Perhaps by then my truck won't still smell like a putrid swamp for driving through that mud puddle further up the road. I just hosed it off... now it smells even worse!

Don't worry, I sleep in during the day. It's why I'm constantly running late.

Gotta run -- late for a meeting!


Editing from the meeting... hey, have you ever been the the Pacific Northwest region? Here's some cool stuff I saw near Seattle -- you should go there some time!

 

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This ^^^

Also, how else you gonna prove you were there? Because surely there are no other photos along the way, hahaha.

 

So if the position may be off by 5', are they gonna dig up the monument and replace it or just update their records?

 

Probably, they should just allow a mining company in to remove the summit.

 

It'd be easier.

 

Swansea to Cerro Gordo | Inyo West #2
Part of the Inyo West (May 2024) trip.

I've been wanting to run the Swansea to Cerro Gordo Road - to visit the uppermost control tower of the Saline Valley Salt Tram - ever since we attempted to hike to the lowest control tower on the Saline Valley side in 2019. While the road itself has its own reputation for a few dangerous and technical sections, it was only a matter of setting aside the time - and figuring out what else to explore in the surrounding area in order to make the trip worthwhile - that'd kept me from visiting.

Today though, that would all change. I'd be running the loop in a clockwise fashion, tackling the hardest and most dangerous obstacles in the apparently more difficult - uphill direction.

Well, I'm definitely getting a shot of that sign!​

Running this route solo wasn't my first choice. Initially, I'd planned to run it with Mike @mk5, but a last minute change of plans kept him from joining. Having already waited five years, I opted to push on rather than reschedule; after all, I figured, if things got too hairy, I could always turn around.

Initially, the road seemed rather mundane as I climbed out of Owens Valley. What was all this hype I'd heard?​

Reasonably quickly - as I gained elevation - the Sierra began to sneak up behind me.​

I was perhaps three miles into the trail when I hit the first rougher section of road. A narrow constriction, heavy rains had been hard at work washing away the gravels and fine material, leaving an uneven, steep, rocky base. This wasn't something that I considered any real trouble - a good line and steady pace, enough to walk the Tacoma through - but it could definitely serve as a nice warning for those who might be worried about what lay ahead.

Looks tame - as always - on the screen.​

At the top of the first rough climb, a perfect spot to soak in the view.​

It was here that I caught one of my first glimpses of the Salt Tram. I don't know why, but while I'd always envisioned it climbing to the top of the Inyo Mountains, I'd never really given any thought - even though I've obviously read plenty on the subject - to the fact that it came all the way down the western slopes and into the Owens Valley.

Caught off guard.​

Noticing these lower towers, my first reaction was, "well, duh, you dummy," before my natural curiosity quickly took over. At that point, I mustered all my willpower to keep myself in the Tacoma - and on the trail - as opposed to hiking to each tower that I saw over the next several miles.

Cresting another steep section of trail, I entered a sea of colorful flowers!​

I really liked the Yellow Mariposa Lily, which I'd not seen to this point on the trip.​

As I turned around to head back to the Tacoma, I glanced up and realized that the colorful flora had distracted me from the real prize.​

Over the next several miles, I steadily - and sometimes very quickly - gained elevation. I'd read several descriptions - prior to my departure - that this would be the case, so I constantly found myself waiting to turn a corner and think, "what have I gotten myself into?"

This loop requires a sturdy four-wheel-drive vehicle with very good clearance. If you are after a challenging ride, drive it clockwise, up the grade from Swansea. But be aware that many four-wheel-drive vehicles just don't have enough power to make it up this nasty bit of road.

This is fun for old timers, but a great recipe for disaster for novices, where, on the ridge, the road is so sheer and slippery with loose rocks that heavy vehicles tend to slip down even with the brakes on! The drainage crossings are the worst, with gauged bedrocks, narrow passages, and steep grades right by unprotected drop-offs.

I once tried it with a brand-new Ford Explorer and failed miserably. You will need the genuine article, a good old jeep designed for performance in the wild rather than for display of affluence in town. If you have limited four-wheeling experience, drive this loop the other way, north from Cerro Gordo; it is still tough, but easier.

Hiking Western Death Valley National Park​

Please note: This trail has extremely steep sections. The grade was so steep it was unsafe to get out of the vehicle or even try to take photos of the group. Proceed with caution and never attempt this trail on wet or snowy days.

Trails Offroad​

In the end, I'd have to say that there were only one or two sections where the combination of a steep grade, rough road, and a long drop - always on the passenger side - caused me to grip the wheel a little tighter. Sure, I'd have liked to have had more than 3/16" of tread on my tires, but picking a good line and keeping a steady pace seemed to be the key to success.

And boy, the views - as I climbed to, and then through, and then above the tree line - just kept getting better. And better. And if possible, better.

Up to the trees.​

Surely, as I head into the trees, I'll lose sight of the snow.​

Nope. Still there.​

The higher I got, the further I could see.​

Slightly after noon, I reached what I'd consider to be the halfway point along the route. Really, this was a pivot point - where I transitioned from a northerly trajectory to a southerly one - and I suspect that most would consider the upper control tower of the Salt Tram to be the midpoint, but for me it held other significance that I had been anticipating for the last hour or so. It wasn't exploring the old Burgess Mine. Nor was getting my first view down into Saline Valley. It wasn't even the hike I had planned to the top of New York Butte at 10,668 feet. Nope, it was the three powdered donettes™ I planned to eat once I hit the pivot.

​

Of course, that other stuff wasn't so bad either. In fact, some of it was a lot more enjoyable as I stuffed three entire servings of the powdered rings into my mouth.

Above the tree line, it was only a mile or two until I reached the Burgess Mine.​

Originally known as the Iron Sides, the Burgess Mine sprawls high on the spine of the Inyos. Established well after most other mines in the Beveridge district closed down, it held out - with mixed fortunes - into the 1940s. It was primarily a gold mine, with a side of silver, lead, zinc, and manganese. Unfortunately, this wealth was disseminated in swarms of dislocated quartz veins and skarns, and it took an army of workings to dig them up. In the 1910s, the Burgess Mine consisted of two shallow inclined tunnels. By 1920, they had been supplemented by a 160-foot shaft, a 700-foot crosscut tunnel, and 2,000 feet of galleries.

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Recently refurbished by the BLM, the cabin is a curious breed of corrugated metal and pine boards, with a large entryway but no windows.
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Today, the mine's 1.5 square-miles are pockmarked with more than 100 workings! The property was reached by a wagon road that closely followed today's road from Swansea. Supplies were brought in by pack train over the shorter Long John Canyon Trail. In its heyday, the ore, hand-sorted and milled in a small arrastre, assayed $20 to $40 per ton. But production figures are too scarce to tell whether it ever paid off.

Hiking Western Death Valley National Park​

The real prize lay behind the cabin, as I looked over the edge towards Saline Valley.​

Already a mile past the pivot point just to visit the Burgess, I pushed north an additional mile to the end of the road, and the head of the Beveridge Trail. For anyone familiar with the Inyo, Beveridge is a name full of struggle and mystery, a town that only the heartiest of hikers even attempt. For years, this trail was a major route between Saline and Owens valleys, but today I'd hike only a mile of its length - climbing 800 feet to the summit of New York Butte.

As I set out on the trail, the shores of Owens Lake - fuller than I've ever seen it - gleamed below.​

And of course, the Sierra loomed high above across the valley.​

As I plodded along at just over 10,000 feet, I found a small piece of obsidian. Clearly, I'm not the first to travel this route.​

"Get off my mountain."
(I saw several of these very dark, blue belly lizards on this trip. Is this just a dark Western Fence Lizard?)​

I reached the summit - a rocky outcropping - just after 2:15pm. Here, an impressive 360-degree view easily made up for any lack of oxygen that I'd certainly not been feeling as I climbed the steep trail. To the east, the ground drops quickly between sharp spires - into the gaping void of Hunter Canyon - with Saline Valley beyond, tucked against the chocolate swells of the Last Chance Range. The western horizon - of course - is framed by 60 miles of majestic Sierra Nevada escarpment.

If you look closely, you can even see the Saline Valley Warm Springs as Hunter Canyon races down toward the valley.​

Even with as many photos as I already had of this view, I couldn't help but admire it from each new vantage point.​

After signing the summit log, it was time to get back to the primary reason I was at the top of the Inyo.​

As I hiked back to the Tacoma, a pair of jets screamed by overhead as they exited Saline Valley. Unfortunately, even my additional 10,000 feet of elevation didn't make them seem any closer.​

Back on the road, I found myself following the ridge of the Inyo range as I made my way south towards Cerro Gordo. This was an exhilarating experience - having spent so many days staring up at these mountains from the Saline Valley side, never realizing or expecting that there was a road here I could be exploring.

The going was easy up here on top, a bit of snow still melting from last winter.​

Riding along the top of the world. (As long as you don't look west toward the Sierra .)​

With smooth roads, the upper control terminal of the Saline Valley Salt Tram soon came into view.​

Of the entire Death Valley region, Saline Valley witnessed what was one of the grandest and perhaps most unusual mining ventures. Unlike most, it was not concerned with precious metals but with a dirt-cheap commodity known as halite - table salt. The main driving force behind this effort was White Smith, an attorney who first came to Saline Valley to work as a teamster for local borax mines. Smith became fascinated by the vast salt deposits surrounding the lake. Discovered as early as 1864, they were worked superficially in 1903 and 1904, but full-blown exploitation did not start until around 1911, when Smith organized the Saline Valley Salt Company. Although a rough road led up the valley to Big Pine, the company contracted the construction of a 13.5-mile aerial tramway clear across the Inyos. It would climb some 7,700 feet across the deep chasm of Daisy Canyon to a control station at the 8,740-foot crest of the mountains, then drop 5,100 feet on the far side to a railroad terminal on the shore of Owens Lake. Crossing one of the highest, steepest, and roughest ranges in the California desert, it was a tremendous engineering challenge. The tramway, powered by electric motors, called for two terminals, four intermediate control towers, 21 rail structures, and 12 anchorage-tension stations. Along lower Daisy Canyon, the terrain was so rough that a temporary tramway had to be erected to transport supplies and water. The project consumed 1.3 million board-feet of lumber, 650 tons of nuts and bolts, and 54 miles of cable. When it was completed in 1913, it became the steepest tramway in the United States - and it remains one of the largest of its kind today.

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Looking over Saline Valley salt fields, dwarfed by the upper control terminal.
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The sheer size and amount of reinforcing structure here was astonishing.
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In July 1913 the first salt was delivered at Tramway, the discharge terminal by Owens Lake. The salt was mined using a system of dikes to flood selected areas of the salt playa with local fresh water. The water was allowed to evaporate, leaving behind nearly pure salt crystals. The salt was shoveled into 2-foot piles, then loaded into special half-ton capacity buggies with foot-wide steel wheels. The buggies were winched back to shore, where wooden cars transported the ore to the tramway terminal. The salt was loaded into one of the tramway's 286 buckets, which were hauled away at a rate of about one bucket per minute. By the end of the year, 5,000 tons of salt had been delivered.

Mining was straightforward, but operating the tramway was another matter. Due to an engineering flaw, the grips that clamped the buckets onto the cable slipped when the buckets were more than two thirds full. During the two years it took to solve this problem, the tramway had to be operated at partial capacity. In spite of a steady delivery of salt, the company ran into financial trouble. It was forced to lease its salt claims and tramway to the Owens Valley Salt Company, with the arrangement that profits were evenly split between them.

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Looking down through the upper terminal, the next control tower - and a mess of fallen cables - was visible on the neighboring ridge.
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A marvelously constructed failure, at least initially.
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By 1916, the grip problem was fixed, and the tramway was running at full capacity. Mining employed 40 men, the mill at Tramway was handling 25 to 30 tons a day, and for a few years a steady stream of salt came out of Saline Valley. However, the resale value of salt being what it is, profits were still insufficient to reimburse the enormous cost of the tramway. In 1920 the company that had erected the tramway repossessed it, and the two salt companies went under.

But Smith did not give up. While salt mining stood idle, he convinced the county to construct a road from Saline Valley to Owens Valley via San Lucas Canyon. The road took two years to complete. In May 1926 the salt fields, then owned by Smith and a partner, George Russell, were reactivated under the newly formed Sierra Salt Company. Trucks hauled 10-ton loads of salt over the new road to the railroad at Tramway. Smith died in 1927 and never saw his tramway come back to life. But it did the following year, when the Sierra Salt Company decided to acquire it, revamp it, and put it to use again. By December 1928, the tramway was delivering 60 to 100 tons every day. It did so until prices plummeted in the Depression and production was discontinued around 1933. Against all odds, Smith's dream had come true: during the 12 years it was in operation, his tramway successfully hauled some 30,000 tons of salt out of Saline Valley.

Hiking Western Death Valley National Park​

By the time I was done wandering around a Salt Tram that I'd been curious about for more than five years, it was time to start thinking about where I was going to spend the night. I'm notoriously bad at predicting where I'll camp more than about three minutes before occupying a site. This is largely because I just have no idea how far I will get in a day, but with temperatures in the valley near 100 °F - something I did not want to endure - I realized that I should have at least done a little scouting before setting off on this loop.

It's not far now, Cerro Gordo is just beyond the right-most peak of the ridge.​

A final section of narrow, off-camber trail.​

And with that, I'd nearly reached Cerro Gordo.​

I pulled into Cerro Gordo at 5:57pm. Parking next to a sign that read, "Tours Daily | 9AM | 5PM," I figured that since I was an hour past the second tour, I'd probably end up showing myself around a few of the streets, taking some photos of the buildings, and then continuing along my way.

Not. So. Fast.

As I grabbed my camera and ate a quick handful of trail mix, Brent (the "new" owner who is restoring the place) came walking down the street. Naturally, he had no idea who I was - or that I recognized him - and after a polite greeting, and my acknowledgement that I'd missed the last tour, he politely-but-firmly let me know that I was "welcome to gather myself in my truck for a few minutes," but then I "needed to skedaddle" because "we're all done for the day and doing our dinner thing."

Dang! On the one hand, it was a bummer, but on the other, I totally understand where Brent is coming from. It's gotta be a lot of work to rehab a ghost town while also trying to accommodate all the folks who come to check it out while he's trying to get real work - and life - accomplished. At any rate, I now needed to figure out what I was going to do about camp!

The heart of Cerro Gordo, with the new hotel starting to really take shape.​

Because of the relation between the usual entrance and exit routes and the old mill at Cerro Gordo, it's hard to find many photos of the mill. It's a substantial structure high above the town!​

At first, I thought I might head back towards the Salt Tram to find a spot to camp, but I'd noticed that there was already a 4Runner parked at the only short spur I'd seen, and I figured that if they were there at this time of day, it was a good bet that they'd be camping there.

Next, I considered descending down the backside of the mine - toward Death Valley - in hopes of finding a little spot to nestle myself into the trees, but so close to the Sierra, I was a little bummed that I'd wake up without a view.

And so, reluctantly, I headed down the Cerro Gordo road towards Owens Valley and Keeler. I knew that after a mile or two, the private property transitioned back to BLM, and I hoped to find somewhere - at a high enough elevation that I wouldn't be sweating all night - that I could call home for a few hours.

And boy, did I ever hit the jackpot! Near 6,750 feet - low enough to be warm, but high enough to be bearable - I found a faint road to an old mine. It'd washed out with the rains from Hillary, so I wasn't able to reach the large, flat waste rock pile that spilled out from the portal of the main adit, but I found a nice little spot near the end of the road with a fabulous view of the Sierra rising behind Owens Lake.

As early as it was, I was pooped. I'd started my day - after only a few hours of sleep - at 4:00am; it was time for dinner, some work with a cool washcloth, and bed.

The Following Morning

I didn't even set an alarm, figuring that I deserved a bit of extra sleep after my long day, so while my tent was still - shaded by the Inyo - nice and cool, the sun was already spilling across the valley floor when I finally climbed down the ladder.

Glad I camped on this side of the mountains!​

As I put away the tent, I realized that in my exhaustion of the previous evening, I'd not even gotten a chance to investigate the adit a few hundred feet from camp. Arming myself with my LED puck lights - but completely forgetting a flashlight, which I was too lazy to go back for once I remembered how forgetful I was - I wandered in that direction.

Adit sunstar.​

Though the waste pile was large, I expected this to be a relatively small working given the location. You can imagine my surprise then as I passed the 100-, 200-, 500-, 900-, and finally a 1,000-foot mark painted on the side of the drift! Straight into the hillside, this mine was much larger than I expected, and it was cool to see some of the veins through which they'd excavated material.

A colorful quartz intrusion.​

Some sort of crystalline precipitate on the ceiling.​

A ghostly rattlesnake passing through a colorful section of tunnel.​

Old timers' signatures, with some recognizable places!​

Adit exploration complete - and the hours ticking away on another full day - I worked my way back to Tacoma to finish up the final few miles of the Swansea to Cerro Gordo loop. All that was left was a 2000-foot descent to the valley floor, but I new it'd be a fun one, with fantastic views the entire time!

Out of camp we go, the sun shining bright on some of my favorite terrain.​

Through the narrows, it's easy to see why this road has washed out a few times in the heavy rains of the last couple of winters.​

And with that, I was back where I started, and in need of fuel. Hopefully I'd have enough to get me to Independence, before I'd head back into the Inyo for another day of adventure!

I never tire of this view - and having the road to myself - as I headed into Lone Pine.​

 

So. When you turned onto the dirt road at Swansea did you second guess yourself as to being on the correct road or driving into that guy's backyard? Made me wonder, but I drove on down to Keeler and did the route counter clockwise.

Also I was hoping you saw the corrugated cabin about a mile or two east (north, that would be north. So much for that Orienteering Merit Badge!) of Cerro Gordo and hiked out to it and the trail beyond. I've been to the cabin twice but never beyond. Crappy cabin, nice view.

 

Mazourka | Inyo West #3
Part of the Inyo West (May 2024) trip.

Having thoroughly enjoyed my time on the Swansea to Cerro Gordo loop, I had two more areas - or at least, access points - in the Inyo Mountains that I wanted to explore. I didn't know much about either of them, but they centered around Mazourka Peak, which I thought would be a nice, high elevation - so cooler - place to spend the night. Getting there required a bit of pavement and a refuel in Independence, before heading up Mazourka Canyon road and my first decision of the morning.

It's always hard for me to drive by Manzanar without visiting, but somehow, I managed to stop for just a single photo this time.
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It was just after 10:00am when I started up Mazourka Canyon. Not knowing how long it would take to follow the canyon to the peak, I was already debating whether or not I'd forego on of the longer side-roads that I'd mapped - to the Betty Jumbo Mine - in favor of leaving enough time to reach the summit before sunset. In typical fashion, I was easily distracted even before I had to make that decision - a much less exciting ore bin - clinging to the side of a small hill - was enough to move my foot to the brake, and have me out for a look.

Did I really stand a chance of reaching the Mazourka Peak before dark? The smart money - clearly - was a resounding nope.

Don't forget to keep an eye out behind you, sometimes that's where the best views can be found!​

The most interesting aspect of the ore bin - I thought - was this old ladder.​

With this small distraction out of the way, I immediately set about a much larger distraction as I turned onto the road leading to the Betty Jumbo Mine. I had no idea what I was getting myself into - in fact, I'd found very little about the Betty Jumbo when I searched online - except for another person asking about road conditions in 2012:

I was wondering if anyone knows the condition of the road to the Betty Jumbo Mine where it narrows past the Black Eagle Mine? I've heard some stories but would like to know more before I commit.

OpenTrackRacer (July 30, 2012)

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Last time I was up there a big boulder came down behind me while heading past where you are talking about. I was within sight of the mine but could go no further in my full-size Blazer. Turned around and found the boulder that had come down. I spent some time nudging it back out of the way so I could pass it but even the dog was scared. I was right on the edge of the cliff with my left tires.

LarryW

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With a description like that, it probably would have been safer had @mrs.turbodb been there to talk me out of the attempt entirely, but left to my own poor judgement, I just couldn't help myself but to find out. At the very least - I convinced myself - I'd be able to enjoy some nice views before I had to turn around. And hopefully, I'd be smart enough to turn around before I found myself in a situation where it was too late; a situation where I needed to back down some sketchy, rocky, narrow, shelf road.

As I started up the road to the Betty Jumbo Mine, I resolved to turn around as soon as I saw something that made me the slightest bit uncomfortable.​

Immediately, the views were out in force.​

The first few miles of the road were much better than I expected. While not graded, they did seem reasonably well travelled, and I enjoyed the terrain as the road followed the folds of the mountain, working its way into - and through - boulder-covered hillsides.

I always love running into terrain like this.​

A wonderland of rocks, with the Sierra peeking through.​

Then, I saw the switchbacks. I was still a mile away, but my brain sent a clear signal to my mouth, because I distinctly remember muttering something like, "don't be stupid, just turn around now."

Looks safe.​

Are you really going up there? Even I don't go up there...​

Predictably, I convinced myself that I should at least see how I felt when I got to the switchbacks, so I continued on. My poor decision was reinforced when the road turned out to be quite reasonable - only one of the turns requiring a 3-point maneuver - and soon I reached the top, where more narrow shelf road unfolded before me!

Looks so flat from above.​

The lupine was out in force at these higher elevations.​

I continued on for another mile or two - only encountering a couple of places where I should have turned around - before rounding an internal bend on a narrow shelf road, only to find a series of basketball-sized rocks placed neatly across my path.

That was too obvious a sign for even me to ignore, so I stopped the Tacoma and hopped out on foot to try and figure out if I could continue on - at least to a turnaround point - or if I was going to be backing down the sketchy, rocky, narrow, shelf road I'd just climbed.

Didn't my cousin tell you to stay down below?​

Definitely not going to be driving that.​

Wondering why someone hadn't blocked the road at a place that would have been a bit more conducive to turning around, I now had another decision to make - hike the remaining half-mile to the Betty Jumbo mine, or tuck tail and start slowly backing down the shelf road to a place where I could turn around.

Hoping to delay the later, I chose the former.

Colorful geology.​

Rounding a corner, the mine sat below a saddle, and it looked like there were "things" to explore!​

An old concrete bunker - perhaps an explosives room - built into the granite along the side of the road.​

I arrived - after what seemed like significantly more than half a mile, probably due to the mid-day sun - to find a pair of dilapidated ore bins and a collared adit that has seen better days. Wondering if I should have saved my time and energy, I hoped that I'd at least be able to wander into the adit a way, even if I had left all my lights, tripod, and flashlight back at the Tacoma!

All that's left at the Betty Jumbo Mine.​

Thank goodness they refrained from installing that last piece of angle. ​

Less than 50 feet into the shaft, an enormous collapse had sealed the workings from any sort of exploration.​

The portals upper (left) and lower (right) of the Betty Jumbo in 1976. Photo Credit Don Deck.​

Feeling a bit behind schedule - for good reason, given the completely avoidable distractions I'd failed to avoid so far in the day - I headed back to the Tacoma and got myself to a spot where I could turn around before speeding my way back down to Mazourka Canyon.

Down we go.​

Nearly back down to the valley, the Sierra only seemed to grow taller.​

Finally - now 1:23pm - I was less than a quarter of the way to my destination for the evening as I headed back uphill and into the road system that I hoped to explore on my way to Mazourka Peak. Not knowing exactly what I would find, I anticipated a series of mines, cabins, and views that would take days to explore properly. I now had a little less than seven hours until sunset.

Back on the main road, finally.​

My first stop turned out to be an old mining cabin - now named for Russell ******* - at the site of an historic talc mine.​

Shaded by a Pinyon Pine.​

Inside, this place is clearly a memorial for Russ, who adopted it for many years before his passing.​

I always enjoy seeing the wood stoves in these cabins, as they often contain the signature of whoever created them. I have a feeling this one was attributed incorrectly. Nyuk, nyuk.​

After sending the flying camera in search of the talc mine, and finding it to be reasonably high up on the mountain and not all that interesting looking - or at least, that's what I convinced myself - I hopped back in the truck to continue my exploration.

Even if these guys never achieved success in their mineral explorations, they certainly had the location nailed from a view perspective!​

Even before I could get back to the main road, this Leopard Lizard caught my eye.​

It's always a special surprise, when exploring a mountain range, to come upon a large open area. Generally referred to as a "flat," I'd planned to spend much of the following day - north of Mazourka Peak - exploring around a place called Papoose Flat, but I didn't realize that a good chunk of the road system I'd mapped out on the way to the summit was through another - Santa Rita - Flat. Here, enormous piles of granitic boulders and eroded hills are nestled below the peaks of the Inyo. Not only did these provide a dramatic change in scenery, they surely provided living spaces and art surfaces for the Paiute who called this place home as late as the 1930s.

Looking down into Santa Rita Flat.​

No shortage of drama in the views here.​

Following a maze of roads to various points in the flat, I didn't find any explorable mines, but there were several camp sites that I marked for future enjoyment!​

After working my way around the flat - a place I'll surely revisit in the future to search the rock wonderlands for some of the secrets they hold - it was time for my final push to the highest point around. As had been the case to this point in the day, I was in no danger of making this push quickly; there were several old mining roads to explore along the way, and I intended to investigate them all!

As I climbed higher, desert shrubs gave way to juniper and pine.​

I stumbled on some spectacular sites.​

Ultimately, I found very little in the way of mining remains, realizing only as I visited the fourth or fifth - or maybe eighth - prospect, that had my usual copilot been along for this trip, she'd surely have informed me that the names of these places revealed all I needed to know. As prospects, these locations never actually developed into mines; the roads that I followed today - and a few small diggings - the only real evidence of historic mining activity.

Eventually - a little more than an hour before sunset - I reached Badger Flat. Here, I had two final spots - at the Mexican Hat Prospect and the Blue Bell Mine - that wanted to check out before settling down for the evening.

At the Blue Bell Mine, I found more evidence of digging that at any of the other sites I'd visited through the afternoon.​

Finally, it was time to head to the summit.

Not knowing at all what to expect, I hoped that there'd be a place - perhaps a little windy, but with a fantastic view - to call home for the evening. I was surprised, then, to discover that Mazourka Peak didn't have just one "summit;" rather, there were three!

This is a popular place, with everyone staking their claim to the high ground.​

The most official of the installations was at the lowest elevation, but was also positioned the furthest west, with line of sight to the entire Owens Valley.​

I got a kick out of these two solar panel installations. On the right, the clean, professional installation of a communications company; on the left, the local ham radio club had been hard at work.​

Unfortunately, the top of Mazourka Peak didn't offer the experience I'd hoped to find at 9,396 feet above sea level and more than a mile above Owens Valley. The communication installations seemed to occupy nearly all of the flat ground, and the constant hum of generators was enough to send me searching for something a little more idyllic.

It didn't take long to find.

Exactly what I was looking for.​

I'd made it, and somehow - even with all my side-trips and detours throughout the day - I'd arrived nearly 30 minutes before sunset. Plenty of time to wash my face, assemble dinner, and - as I stuffed my face with tacorritoes - enjoy my sky-high perch as the sun dropped behind the Sierra.

It'd been a long, full day, and I knew that sunrise would be even better.

The Following Morning

Knowing that I wanted to catch the first light on the Sierra, I'd taken my camera into the tent. Even so, I set my alarm for 5:15am, sure that without it, I'd sleep right through.

Just before sunrise, the Belt of Venus made an appearance.
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After snapping my first pre-sunrise shot, I seriously considered hitting the snooze button and letting whatever light show was going to play out, to do so without me witnessing it. In the end though, I climbed my way down the ladder and wandered a little further uphill so I could capture the alpenglow on the snowy caps of one of my favorite ranges.

Higher than the Inyo, the Sierra saw the sun well before I did, even perched on the ridge.​

A perfect spot to enjoy the morning.​

A few minutes later, light finally hit the tent, the backbone to my west already bathed in light.​

My first trip to the top of Mazourka Peak had been a success, and I knew that after another hour of warmth under the covers, that I had another exciting day in store as I continued north, through the Inyo.

 

Man, the view from the Inyo Mountains across Owens Valley is amazing. I drove through Cerro Gordo a few years ago and the drive down into Keeler was some of my favorite views I've encountered so far. You really captured what it feels like to be there, though. Nice work.

 

Whelp, I sure feel dumb for missing this trip. Epic photos!

 

Thanks! It's amazing up there for sure. For me, somehow, even more than the view down coming down to Keeler, I really love the view - even though it's on pavement - coming into Lone Pine. So crazy to have the Sierra just rising up in front of you like that.

Ehh, don't worry, the best day was the next (last) one. (thanks!)

 

Alaska is like that. You come around the corner and there's a mountain right there! Even the Cascade range feels like that. Exhilarating!

 

The Tetons have a most-glorious prominence, but nothing I've ever seen compares to the sheer wall of the snowcapped Sierras rising above Lone Pine.

Haven't been to Alaska though! I'll add it to the list.

 

Went on a trip up to Dingleberry Lake one year. As you hike up the trail, it kinda just appeard--s little farther up the middle fork of Bishop Creek, it opens up and you get a little of that open wall. The eastern side is easily my favorite backpacking place.