AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

It’s really called Dingleberry Lake? Lol

 

It is.

 

When you stop on the side of the trail for some lunch and this is the view....... Yeah, the Sierras are quite awesome. This is just West of Pearsonville off the 395 last Saturday. No snow though.

 

Papoose Flat | Inyo West #4
Part of the Inyo West (May 2024) trip.

After thoroughly enjoying the sunrise from the shoulder of Mazourka Peak, everything was packed up and I was on the road by 7:00am. Headed back to the summit and through Badger Flat, it didn't take long to discover that I was headed the right direction.

Let's go ... there!​

Located just a few miles east - if you're coming from town - from the town of Big Pine - and nestled into the northern end of the Inyos off of Death Valley Road, is Papoose Flat. The Paiute occupied this area and most of the Inyo Mountains into the 1930’s. They called this region Tovo-Wa-Ha and spent the warmer months gathering Tuva (Piñon nuts) to help the tribe survive the harsh winter.

Here, steep, off-camber grades can be daunting, but the vistas offer the ultimate reward in the form of high Sierra views and beautiful granite magma formations, unique to this pluton.

The first of several steep hill climbs of the day.​

Cresting the first - or was it the third - ridge as I wound my way north, I caught my first glimpse of the granite that Papoose is known for. This wasn't - I'd realize later - Papoose itself, but geology is rarely clean, and as with the Sierra, granite underlies much of the Inyo-White range that I was currently enjoying.

I could tell - even from up here - that I was in for something special.​

In the distance, White Mountain rose high above the rest of the range, snow still limiting access for the time being.​

Down into an adjacent valley, one step closer to Papoose Flat.​

Trees shrouded the view as I made my final descent into the flat. This was a blessing and a curse, though at the time it felt more like the latter as I strained to get a good view of the mountains of granite sprinkled across the land. Ultimately - of course - the magnificence of the big picture was worth the initial frustration as I popped out into the flat, and a world that was so different than where I'd come.

Winding through a wonderland.​

Arriving so early in the morning, I was at a bit of a loss as to what my next steps should be. As with the previous day, I'd mapped out an entire system of roads that formed - essentially - a hub and spoke, with Papoose Flat serving as the destination of the large loop. Not knowing how long the loop would take, I was forced to decide not only which direction to tackle it, but how long I should spend enjoying this magical place I'd found before pushing onward.

Ultimately my decision was irrelevant. With 12 hours of daylight still remaining, I ended up having enough time to do it all. Or at least, to see everything enough to know what I wanted to come back for!

My first order of business was to drive right up to some of the granite outcroppings and scramble into the rocks. In one case, I even scrambled through!​

Moving from one pile to the next, even the clouds were playing nice.​

The best view, to the west.​

There was no doubt where I was, the backdrop a familiar one.​

Before long, I'd followed all of two-track in and around the flats; it was time to get out of the Tacoma and closer to nature. As my starting point, I chose a spot near the center of the Papoose Flat, next to a sign placed by the BLM to close the road leading toward several of the granite piles. Here - the sign explained - Paiute occupied the land as recently as 100 years ago, hunting, gathering, and living through the summer and fall months.

Parked in the middle of paradise.​

Granite waves.​

As I pushed my way through the sage, a double arch rose into view.​

I thought this formation looked a bit like an F-18 screaming out of the ground.​

In spite of the 80°F temperatures, I had to remind myself to look down; to enjoy spring!​

Moving further from the road, I walked a route that snaked its way between boulders, along trails traveled by four-legged friends, in between towering igneous formations and through a forest of 4′ sagebrush. It smelled amazing.​

And always, the Sierra.​

Two hours later I found my way back to the Tacoma. I'd discovered no rock art and happened upon no dwellings. My search for arrowheads and morteros came up empty. Still, in stepping out of the Tacoma and slowly wandering my way through this hallowed land, I felt rejuvenated. It was the most enjoyable experience I'd had all week; an experience I aim to repeat in the future.

Time to get going.​

The loop I'd mapped from Lone Pine-Death Valley Road - of which Papoose Flat was the apex - could be experienced in either the clockwise or counterclockwise direction, and I had no idea if one way was better than the other. I decided, then, to head counterclockwise, following the 36E404 road downhill towards The Narrows before looping back up via Papoose Flat Rd (09S15). I had no idea if I'd find anything technical along the way, but I wanted to experience the "main route" that most take up, and I figured this was the best way to do it.

In the end, I don't think it made much of a difference, though I'd say that entering Papoose Flat from the east via Road 36E404 would afford the most dramatic light in the morning, and entering via the west on Papoose Flat Rd would situate the sun ideally to illuminate the granite outcroppings in the afternoon.

Leaving the flat, the road became sandy and soft as the sagebrush whipped along the sides of the truck.​

Into another snaking plain...​

...where a narrow road climbed steeply to the saddle.​

This narrow road was nearly more than I'd bargained for. Travelled primarily by ATVs, off-camber ledges and tight turns through the Pinyon Pine had my palms sweating by the time I reached the top. I'd not expected such excitement on this leg of the journey, but escaping unscathed, I continued towards The Narrows.

An old cabin at The Narrows won't stand the test of time much longer.​

Into the Narrows themselves, I wandered between towering walls of orange and gray.​

Six silver mines once decorated these steep slopes.​

King of the rock. (What am I?)​

Gazing up as I wound my way through The Narrows was enjoyable, but incomparable to the sense of centered calm that I felt when wandering on the flat. As such, I spent less time here, opting instead to avail myself of a few donettes™ as I returned to the Tacoma, and then continued on my way down the mountain.

In the distance, a snow-covered White Mountain rose behind Big Pine-Death Valley Road.​

Through a final, rocky narrows before hitting the pavement that would be my turnaround point.​

Reaching Big Pine-Death Valley Road just after 1:00pm, a part of me wanted to high tail it into town for a cold soda and bit of bar-be-que, rather than drive back up to the spot I'd just been, simply so I could explore the remainder of the road system through the northwestern section of the Inyo Mountains.

Unfortunately, a combination of stubborn hardheadedness and an obsessive desire to complete what I started resulted in my left-hand turn towards town extending into a U-turn that would take me back to Papoose Flat.

Fortunately for me, the decision would result in one of the highlights of my day!

The Orange Globe Mallow were as vibrant here as they'd been through this entire adventure.​

Heading up was steep and a little rocky - these were the Inyo after-all - but nothing the Tacoma couldn't handle.​

Through a notch.​

Along the way, I explored spur after spur, completely cognizant of the fact that each one would likely seem to end at nothing; old mining prospects long lost to history, the only reason for the roads' existence. Still, many of them climbed to stunning overlooks and camp sites, a much more pleasant way to pass the day than with a pickaxe and shovel any way.

As shadows played across the hills, I gazed north from a narrow road that climbed Andrew’s Mountain to the range I hoped to explore - in a little more than a month - on my next trip.​

It took just under an hour to make the climb to the top.​

Getting a little flexy as I descended from the ridge. Here, the right (passenger) rear shock is extended 8½ inches of its 10 inch total travel.​

Much willpower was required to overcome the urge to explore this place for a second time in a single day.​

Overlooking Papoose Flat, I had another decision to make: head back down the way I'd come (not my plan, but after several days of exploring in the sun, I could feel myself starting to drag), or stick with my plan to follow a connector between the Papoose Flat and Harkless Flat road systems to check out the lower elevation flat before beginning my trek back to Las Vegas.

Taking a lay of the land, I noted that Harkless Flat was a couple thousand feet lower in elevation than Papoose and that the road system there seemed much denser, many of the roads ending part-way up gullies, a sure sign that an old prospect was likely fading back into the surroundings. I could also see that the hillsides were significantly more treed, a fact that would restrict the Sierra views I'd been enjoying so far throughout the day.

Harkless Flat, I unconvincingly convinced myself, was - most likely - a hunter's paradise; less interesting for someone like me. And then, I glanced up from the map and spotted a dot speeding through the sky.

I'd been hearing military jets overhead for the last several days, but even as I roamed at 10,000 feet, they were but specks high above. Pointing the camera skyward, I snapped a distant photo of the current specimen - surely unidentifiable even at high zoom - assuming it would be flying away from me and toward Eureka Valley. Only then, as I tracked it across the sky, did I realize that it was approaching. And that it was low!

Things were about to get interesting.

Thank goodness for the clouds that give a bit of visual interest!​

Banking right over my position!​

I swear I saw him salute.​

Off he went, shedding elevation, as he dropped into Eureka Valley via Marble Canyon.​

The roar of an F-18 is invigorating. In the few seconds that this pilot took to circle my position, I was re-energized. It was time to investigate Harkless Flat!

Into the trees!​

Dropping elevation, I worked my way into the folds of the western flank of the Inyos.​

Most of what I found - as I performed my third hub-and-spoke exploration maneuver in the same number of days - was exactly as I'd expected. Old mining roads led to nowhere - not even a fire ring - as they petered out in narrow washes and in dense thickets of trees. Still, there were a few gems in the mix, and each time I broke out of the tree line - be it into a high meadow or along a ridge facing west, it was hard not to appreciate this place for the secret that loomed large to the west.

An unnamed flat above Harkless, where the clouds danced above the Sierra.​

Yes, that definitely looks interesting!​

A great place to escape the worst of the summer heat at an old mining prospect.​

The Harkless Flat loop was the smallest of the areas I'd set out to explore, and after just more than 90 minutes, I was once again working my way towards the pavement at Big Pine-Death Valley road where I'd air up, eat dinner, and transfer fuel from my jerry cans into the tank for my return trip to Las Vegas. First though, I had one last mine to investigate.

Winding my way back - along a narrow, washed-out road - from a final camp site that'd overlooked White Mountain.​

An unsealed adit at the Big Pine Mine.​

Through Harkless Flat, the clouds were as fabulous as the golden glow of the grass.​

It'd been a jam-packed four days on the trail. I'd covered all the ground I'd planned and then some. I was tired, and ready for a shower. And I knew that I'd only scratched the surface. I'd be back - to enjoy this place at a slower pace - in the future.

 

Great stuff as always

 

The scenery of the Inyos and the DV area never ceases to amaze me. I am very jealous of you guys that get to play there regularly.

 

Hey! Mind sharing a 2 yearish update on the scheelmen seats? How are they holding up,did they finally break in are they more comfortable now?
Also do you think the XXL version would fit?
Thanks for sharing!!

 

Funny, I have a post for exactly this in the pipeline already. Not ready to post it here yet, since I'm still waiting on a bit of info from scheel-mann, but you're welcome to give a draft of the post a read. This link expires in 7 days.

https://adventuretaco.com/?p=10658&draftsforfriends=nH3ibsIfHlZV4f8SFeoDo8DWDPsnHycm

How wide is the XXL version compared to the "regular" version?

 

For what it's worth the width of my Corbeau BAJA XRS seats are right on the edge of what I think fits.
They are 22 inches wide at the shoulders but the seat and lower back are 21inches wide

The shoulder bolsters come into contact with the B pillar on both seats but it's tighter on the passenger side. the center console still fits but needed a hole cut to clear the seatbelt mounting hardware.

contact on the B pillars makes it harder for the already struggling seatbelts to retract

 

I think that the back is a couple inches taller.

Thanks for sharing the draft!!

 

Thanks for sharing your experience and measurements.

 

Strait from Corbeau's website

 

No worries, I'll try to tag you when I hear back from scheel-mann. Honestly, these are the most comfortable seats I've ever sat in, but I'm a picky dude and I want it all, which is the only reason I have any complaints at all.

There's plenty more room "taller," so if that's the XXL difference, you'll have no issues at all. Plus, the scheel-mann are significantly cheaper now than when I bought mine.

 

Dan, fantastic tutorials in your how-to pages!
i am curious if you have one regarding detailed engine mount replacement for the 5VZFE with R150F

 

Passenger side isn't bad but the driver's side is a pain.

 

Don't have one, but was planning to inspect mine this summer, possibly for preventative replacement. Would do a write-up of course, should I do the job.

 

Two Too Hot Hikes | White Mountains #1
Part of the Wandering the White Mountains (Jun 2024) trip.

For years we've travelled south to explore the Mojave. More times that I can count, we've cruised south - and north again - along US-395 through the Owens Valley or followed US-95 through Nevada. On every one of these, we've passed by the White Mountains, their sharp peaks - often dusted in snow - reaching high into the sky.

And yet, even as we've stopped to explore areas near these mountains, we've never taken the time to wander into them. This trip would change all of that. We'd finally discover what we'd been missing, as we wandered the White Mountains.


The Champion Spark Plug (Jeffrey) Mine

The Champion Andalusite Mine, also known as the Jeffrey Mine, is one of the world's most unusual mines. Not only was it unique geographically, but also was its mining method. In the 1920s, the Champion mine was the only commercial source of andalusite known in the world, a remarkable fact considering that andalusite is a mineral common in many metamorphic rocks. Andalusite is an aluminum silicate mineral, which the Champion Sillimanite Company of Detroit, Michigan, processed to manufacture high temperature refractory materials such as automobile spark plugs and chemical laboratory porcelain. Andalusite has long since been replaced by a synthetic refractory material called mullite.

Mining History and Economic Geology of the White Mountains, Inyo and Mono Counties, California​

It was hot as we landed in Las Vegas and provisioned the Tacoma for a trip that would take us to the northern end of Owens Valley and the first day of our White Mountains adventure. Here at what we would normally consider high elevations - in the 6,000-to-9,000 feet above sea level range - temperatures were still blistering hot. More than 100°F during the day on the valley floor, we approached our camp-at-the-trailhead destination just as the sun was hiding itself behind the Sierra, temperatures dropping into the mid-80s °F overnight!

Weather guessers are coming up with new names for everything. On this particular outing, we found ourselves arriving under our first "heat dome."​

The following morning...

Even before the trip started, I'd warned @mrs.turbodb that our first hike - to the Champion Spark Plug Mine - would be a doozy. I wasn't sure if it'd be harder than the endless climb to the Hanging Valley Mine on the opposite side of the valley, but I knew that climbing 4,500 feet in order to gain 3,000 feet over a 3.6-mile distance would be grueling at best.

Unfortunately, my warnings seemed to work too well, and I could tell that there was some hesitation in my usually-game-to-give-it-a-go hiking partner as we climbed out of the tent just before sunrise. Hoping to set her at ease as we started to work our way up the trail, I mentioned, "The temperature seems pretty nice now."

"That's what has me worried," she replied. "It's only 5:30am and we're in the shade."

Savage. But also, dang, she was right. I put on my best smile, hoped it looked confident, and continued on.

After only a few minutes of hiking, we were already high above the Tacoma in the wash below, and the first light hit the Sierra across the valley.​

It wasn't long before we came upon an old staging platform - where ore was once transferred from mules and trucked to the Nevada & California narrow gauge railroad - the first evidence of the mine above us.​

We continued gaining elevation quickly as we followed a series of telephone poles up the canyon. Technically we were on an old mining road for this leg of the journey, but enough time has passed in this rugged terrain that - at times - it seemed that hiking next to the road was easier than hiking on it.

The road climbed in and out of the wash to avoid narrow sections and dry falls, giving us a view further up canyon - and then all the way to the mine workings!​

After less than a mile, the road ended altogether. Our angle of approach increased as a narrow foot trail - once used only to service the telephone poles that must have been pure torture to install - seemed to head directly up the mountain. We had no idea at the time, but this would be the "not steep" part of our trek. Still, we were in the shade and the blister forming on @mrs.turbodb's heel wasn't too bad. Yet.

No, seriously, that is the trail.​

Surely you can see it now, going straight up the ridge in the center of this shot. ​

Along the way, we passed this exactly 100-year-old set of initials, likely of a couple workers at the Champion Spark Plug mine. (E. L. and J. F. from 6/1924)​

While there was no shortage of up - we were set to gain 1,500 feet in the first 1.75 miles - a spring-fed creek meant that we were treated to a smorgasbord of lush greenery and sweet-smelling flowers as we picked our way along the trail. Both of us frequently mentioned the smells of various places we visit, but the one of us with a developing blister surely appreciates them more, and we made frequent stops to smell the fragrant trees, warm breeze, and the literal roses.

California Evening Primrose (Oenothera californica) (left). | Wild rose (right).​

It was just after 7:00am when I caught a fleeting glimpse of the lower - Black Eagle - camp of the Champion Spark Plug Mine through the trees. We were still a couple hundred vertical feet lower, but after another ten minutes, the neatly hidden camp was clearly visible through the trees.

There you are!​

We'd made it! Sort of. Well, technically we were less than halfway - both in distance and elevation - but we'd made it to the camp. And we were still in the shade. We chalked up two wins and wandered into town.

The volunteers have done an amazing job here, and all they ask is that we be respectful and enjoy their labors. This is the world I want to live in.​

Our first view of The Hilton; primary living quarters of the Black Eagle Camp today.​

The Black Eagle Camp is by far the most extensive and well-preserved mine camp we've ever visited; the volunteers here have done a spectacular job. Starting at what has been dubbed the Hilton, we ended up spending more than an hour wandering around the dozen or so buildings, poking around the various relics that have been collected and catalogued for visitors.

If you ignore the dead batteries in the timepiece, The Hilton is a true luxury experience.​

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Several fun, modern bits of memorabilia tacked to the walls of the Hilton.
A "cheer you up letter" (left). | Dr. J.A. Jeffrey, owner of the mine (top right). | A sketch of The Hilton from a visitor (bottom right).​

We were surprised to see that we were the first visitors in nearly three months!​

The Museum - in the middle of camp - is an easy place to whittle away approximately the rest of your life.​

Miners at work.​

An old vacuum tube radio (left). | What they were mining for up the hill (right).​

Behind the museum, a fully fitted kitchen was stocked and ready for action.​

With most old mining camps or cabins that we stumble 1,500 feet up a mountain to find, we'd probably check out every single building and avail ourselves of all available outhouses. Today though, as we wandered through camp, the sun peeked over the ridge and almost instantaneously, temperatures seemed to climb by ten degrees. If you were me, it was time to get going, and if you were @mrs.turbodb, it was time to decide whether we should even keep going up...

...because she's the smart one, and there was a lot of "up" we had yet to cover.

I'd been warned that "the trail to the camp seems steep until you hike to the upper mine" but I'm always glutton for punishment, and it was hard to turn around at 8:37am in the morning, so up we went!

It didn't take long for us to be high above camp.​

One benefit of our quick ascent was the view it afforded along the way.​

Though steep, at least there was a trail to follow as we exited Black Eagle Camp. In fact, for the first few hundred vertical feet, it was a pretty good trail! But then, as the canyon walls got steeper, the meaning behind a note inside The Hilton - "If you're going to the upper mine, look at where it is and head that direction - began to make sense; the trail was gone.

For more than 750 vertical feet, we had to climb - what Google Earth suggests being - a 59.4-degree slope. The hardest part here wasn't the incline, rather the fact that the entire hillside was composed of loose rock and gravel, making traction difficult at best and dangerous at worst.

I went first. @mrs.turbodb followed.

After gaining somewhere around 3-500 vertical feet, I could tell that this wasn't fun for @mrs.turbodb and I called down to her to see if she wanted to wait while I continued up in the hope that the trail would reappear at some point. This sounded like a great idea to her, and so I scurried upward while she found the shade of a pinyon pine to settle into while she waited.

A few flowering prickly pear cacti began to appear as I gained elevation. (left) | This guy seemed more comfortable than I was on these hillsides, but even he sent rocks tumbling as he scurried from place to place. (right)​

Eventually, I did find the trail, only a couple hundred feet below the upper mine. Realizing that I had cell service, I hoped @mrs.turbodb did as well and gave her a quick call to discuss options. In the end, I suggested she head back down to the Black Eagle Camp while I checked out the upper mine. No convincing was necessary, and I'd later hear that she thoroughly enjoyed reading a book and taking a short nap at The Hilton over the next couple of hours!

A few neatly stacked walls finally gave some reasonable footing as I neared the upper mine.​

Up here, the telephone poles looked nearly new!​

With nicer trails, the final set of switchbacks to the mine went quickly, and soon I found myself presented with a most unusual sight: the entire hillside had been swiss-cheesed.

From my current position, it appeared impossible to explore any of these adits, but I hoped that upon getting closer, I'd see a way in.​

Only a couple of buildings - and quite a bit of nice rock work - remained at the upper mine site; a fire in 1984 burned most of the buildings that once crowded this site.​

Even if the mine hadn't been successful, this would have been a nice view to wake up to!​

And with that, I lost no time in heading toward the swiss-cheese to see if I could find a way in.

The deposit at the Champion Mine was discovered in 1917 by Adolf Knoph but no development work was undertaken until 1921 when the site was located by Dr. J.A. Jeffrey, a dental surgeon who had some experience in mining and an interest in mineralogy. With the help of an enthusiastic prospector he located the andalusite deposit at the head of what was then known as Dry Canyon.

Jeffrey bought a ranch at the base of the White Mountains that became the base of operations for the mine. In addition, the ranch provided forage to feed the mules that packed the ore down the mountain and packed the food and supplies, including 600-pound air compressors, to the mine camps up the mountain.

Dr. Charles Woodhouse, Jeffrey's son-in-law, became the general manager of the corporation. He designed and supervised the building of the 4.5 mile trail from the ranch to the mine camps.

The mine operated from 1921 to 1945 producing 26,457 tons of andalusite valued at $183,992. Principle production, from 1922 to 1936, amounted to about 20,000 tons of 53 percent andalusite.

Upper workings of the Champion Andalusite Mine showing rock cribbing, tunnel portals and scaffolding on the cliff, ca. 1930.


Upper mine camp of the Champion Mine, ca. 1930.
​

The lower [mine] camp at about 7,500 feet elevation included the cook house, bunk houses, a washhouse, a machine shop and a blacksmith shop. The cook house boasted a commercial size cooking range as well as a walk-in refrigerator - both hauled up over 3,000 vertical feet on the 4.5-mile switchback trail.

Packing out the ore required use of an aparéjo (Spanish, harness or pack saddle), a pack saddle used by mule freighters. It consisted of a large leather "envelope" stuffed with hay until it was about six inches thick and large enough to cover the mule for the heavy loads to be carried. Two 95-pound sacks of ore were loaded on each side of the aparéjo for the trip down the trail.

Pack mules and a packer at a switchback on the steep trail packing out ore to the lower station of the Champion Mine.
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Strings of pack mules packed the ore down the steep trails to a platform at the base of the trail where the ore was loaded into sacks containing about 100 pounds each. From the platform's the ore was trucked to a loading station on the Nevada & California narrow gauge railroad (the "SlimPrincess", equipment and rolling stock of which may be seen at the Laws Railroad Museum and Historic Site near Bishop).

Champion Mine. The mule corals and base of the 4.5 mile trail where trucks were loaded with sacks of ore.
​

The operation included 16 mules and two packers. There were two trips a day, using two strings of eight mules, winter and summer. Obviously, developing and operating this mine was extremely difficult. Nevertheless, it continued to operate even in its later years as the reserves became depleted and a competing economic process for making mullite had been developed.

At Mina, Nevada, the ore was transferred to standard gauge Southern Pacific Railroad trains and shipped to Detroit.

Electricity for the camps was supplied by a hydroelectric plant on the Jeffrey ranch at the base of the mountain and transmitted five miles to the mine camps. Wire, hardware, and power poles were packed up the steep mountain trail by mules. Two air compressors, one at each the lower and upper deposits, powered air drills.

The operation closed down in 1945 and the Champion Mine reverted to public domain in 1982.

Mining History and Economic Geology of the White Mountains, Inyo and Mono Counties, California​

I was excited to find this old wheel(less)barrow in the first adit I entered.​

The second adit ended at a chimney, but I knew there were more interesting tunnels to explore.​

What's behind the red door?​

Looking into - and out of - a mountain.​

The warm light reflected off the orange walls illuminating the tunnels as they connected portals on the face of the cliff.​

Surely these safety gates must have been added later.​

A view to camp, far below.​

Layers and light.​

After poking around the various adits - and enjoying the cooler temperatures inside the mountain - I realized that @mrs.turbodb might be wondering where I was, and that I'd better start the slippery trek back down to camp.

I sent her a quick message that I was on my way, and then was immediately sidetracked by "one more thing" I wanted to check out. And then a few others. Actually, it turned out I wasn't ready to go at all.

I don't know what this old Ingersol-Rand "thing" was, but I can only imagine the poor mule that hauled it up here.​

Some old drilling equipment still scattered around.​

Look at me pose. (Desert Spiny Lizard)​

I've seen quite a few rail setups at old mines, but I don't know if I've ever found a spike before. This was was so cute!
​

Cognizant that I was supposed to be - at least partially - down the hill by now, it was at this point that I realized that I hadn't checked out the one relatively intact building at the upper camp yet. Resolving to do it quickly, I picked my way up the steep slope toward the door.

Still in good shape - at least, from this side.​

Looking across the upper mine camp at mine tunnels Jeffrey/Champion Sparkplug Mine.​

The roof was a little worse for wear, but still probably watertight.​

Not many visitors up here, there was still glass in the windows and a nice view while eating lunch ... at least for those of us who didn't need to go back out and start hauling ore.​

Finally - now probably half an hour or more after I'd suggested that I was already on my way - I headed back down towards @mrs.turbodb. Down - it turned out - was easier than up, at least as far as trail-finding was concerned.

It was notably harder on my ageing knees, however.

Looking back up at the mineralized dome.​

Upon reaching the Black Eagle Camp, I was rejoined by my now-refreshed hiking partner and we set off towards the Tacoma. Shortly before noon - with the sun now blazing and our elevation falling - temperatures were starting to rise. We were both ready for lunch - turkey sandwiches, chips, and a cold, crisp apple - which would be assembled once we were back in camp.

A colorful descent.​

The way we'd come.​

Sunlight transformation.
​

In order to get as early a start as possible, we'd left the tent deployed in camp, so as @mrs.turbodb made lunch, I folded everything up and got the truck read for the short jaunt back to the highway. There, we'd travel only a few miles before leaving pavement for dirt and making our way to the mouth of a neighboring canyon at the base of the White Mountains.

Good by Jeffrey Canyon, you were too hot!​

Sacramento Mine

As we rolled south from the Champion Spark Plug Mine, storm clouds spilled over the Sierra, but it was still hot!​

The next mine we'd planned on visiting was one that Tom Wigren (of Abandoned Mine Exploring with Tom and Julie) recommended as "a fairly tough hike to some very interesting underground workings," easily enough to pique my interest!

Still, I knew that the scorching temperatures outside the air-conditioned cab of the Tacoma - and a dime-sized blister on the heal of her left foot - were going to make this a tough sell for my copilot. So, as we searched for access to the road that would deliver us to the cabin and lower aerial tram of the Sacramento Mine, I suggested that perhaps she'd rather wait at the bottom while I scooted up to check out the workings of the mine.

Clouds were making their way to the White Mountains as we approached the Sacramento Mine, but we were still in full sun, and temperatures upwards of 95°F.​

This old miner's cabin would serve as a shady base camp for @mrs.turbodb to enjoy The Demon of Unrest: A Saga of Hubris, Heartbreak, and Heroism at the Dawn of the Civil War on her Kindle.
​

One of the reasons I'd planned for us to do this second hike was that - unlike our first hike of the day - this trail was only 0.96 miles long. Never mind that I'd end up gaining nearly 1,400 feet in that mile, and that I'd be on the sun-drenched western slopes the entire time!

This turned out to be a very sweaty mile.​

As I reached the top of the switchbacks, I could see that there were many more levels to the workings than I'd noticed from the valley floor. There, too, an ore chute led to a hopper that once served as the upper terminal for an aerial tramway that would ferry the gold ore down to be processed.

This haphazard ore chute appeared to have moved quite a bit of material to the aerial tramway.​

In the early 1870s, the Sacramento Mine was discovered and worked by unnamed Mexican miners for five years, with material being carried - by the miners themselves - to an arrastra for processing until 1878 when they ceased operations.

One of the lower-level adit portals created by the early owners.


Inside the mine, a maze of passages - with crosscuts, winzes, and drifts - seemed to lead in every direction.


From the "A" level, this winze apparently skipped straight to "J."
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Plans and finances to begin mining again in 1883 fell through and the property was foreclosed, allowing the Rowland Brothers to step in and lease the claim. By then, the workings consisted of more than 2000 feet of tunnelling development and the new owners claimed - in grand fashion - that more than 1,500 tons of gold-bearing material were easily accessible and would yield more than 500oz of gold, much of which was contained in a five-foot wide vein "showing free gold in every piece plainly visible to the naked eye."

This looked like copper to me, but apparently it was much more valuable!


Finding a piece of an old candle box (from the late 1800's) was pretty cool!


Some of the timbering in the mine was substantial (note the tiny lens cap for scale).


This ladder looked sound, but I'm still a stay-on-the-same-level cat, so I didn't investigate.
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The Rowlands worked the mine with the help of at least 10 men and extracted a considerable amount of ore prior to 1890.

In 1912, The White Mountain Mining Company assumed control of the Sacramento Mine, hiring John Henry from Colorado to organize operations. By 1938, an aerial tramway had been constructed to transport the ore 1,400 feet to the base of the mountain but as is common, production was slowing and by 1940, the mine was idle.

In 1965, the Sacramento was re-opened for a short time with a crew of 16, and a new 5-stamp mill was installed in order to process material on site.

Mining History and Economic Geology of the White Mountains, Inyo and Mono Counties, California
Sacramento Mine and Mill​

I could have poked around in the Sacramento Mine for quite a while - each level seeming to connect to the next, cool air constantly blowing through nearly every tunnel and shaft. However, with @mrs.turbodb waiting back at the trailhead, and knowing that we still had a bit of driving to do before we'd reach camp for the night - hopefully at a higher, and cooler, elevation - I decided that 35 minutes of wandering around in a partially collapsing mountain was probably enough, and I made my way back to daylight.

That's when I noticed it was raining. Not hard - there were only a few drops - but the storm that we'd seen over the Sierra had moved east, and hot, gusty winds nearly blew my hat off as a few large drops of 80°F water splashed down on my shoulders. With a bit more volume it would have been the perfect shower, had I brought along my shampoo and body wash!

As I started down toward the Tacoma, it was a lot darker than when I'd headed into the mine.​

Luckily the weather passed quickly, and by the time I reached the bottom - my knees now killing me after another very steep quarter-mile descent - the blazing sun was once again beating down on the desert around us.

After filling up on a few Advil that @mrs.turbodb so kindly procured, it was time to head for higher ground and cooler temperatures. To elevations inhabited by ancients. To elevations that we hoped would prepare us for what was still yet to come.

 

This made me laugh: “… dental surgeon who had some experience in mining ..”. A great trip report and photos as always. Thanks.

 

Another really epic post. Our family has a keen interest in these old abandon mines along with the associated history, but on the Canadian side.

 

Ancient Bristlecones and the Oldest Tree on Earth | White Mountains #2
Part of the Wandering the White Mountains (Jun 2024) trip.

There's a reason they don't tell you where the oldest trees are.
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Having completed two very hot hikes, we hoped that by gaining a bit of elevation, we would find somewhere a little cool(er) to eat our hot dogs and corn before quickly getting horizontal on our Exped Megamat to fall asleep. To do this, Silver Canyon seemed to be the quickest way to climb from somewhere around 4,500 feet in Owens Valley, to more than 10,000 feet along the ridge of the White Mountains, so that's the direction we headed.

Hmm, I thought this was going to be a paved road. Oh well, more fun this way!​

Silver Canyon really did end up being a fun drive. Signed as "DIFFICULT," we found it to be steep, but reasonably well graded. Certainly nothing that warranted a trail rating - unless that trail rating was "BEAUTIFUL" - under dry conditions. Racing the setting sun, we pushed the Tacoma up a series of dusty switchbacks, high clouds making for a dramatic ascent as sunlight spilled into the valley behind us.

Kaleidoscope of color.​

As we neared the head of the canyon, it wasn't entirely clear where the road would go. Turns out, it would go... up. Via a series of switchbacks.​

I just happened to glance over my shoulder and notice the sun streaming through the dusty air of Owens Valley. Spectacular!​

As we neared the ridge, we could see rain falling - and a single bolt of lightning that arced from one cloud to another - to our northwest. This provided an interesting dilemma as we tried to decide which - of two - camp sites to choose. The first - nestled into the trees - didn't have much of a view, but would provide a bit of protection from the 15mph winds, as well as any stray electricity that might try to tag a tent perched on top of a large metal conductor. The second - out in the open - would offer dramatic views and fewer bugs (moths, mostly) to contend with as we prepped dinner and put away the tent in the morning.

No idea if this rain was making it to the ground, but it sure added some ambiance to our evening, especially given that it wasn't directly overhead!​

In the end - and as often seems to be the case when I am involved - we opted for the view. As I set about deploying our CVT sleeping sail, @mrs.turbodb pulled out the kitchen box for a gourmet dinner of hot dogs and corn.

"Gourmet?" you say, "How are hot dogs and corn, gourmet?"

Easy. You do a series of hikes that gain 6,000 vertical feet over only 4.6 miles in 100°F temperatures, and I assure you that this meal will be fully appreciated. Plus, it was the first fresh corn we'd eaten all year, and boy, they've really got the genetic modifications down to make this stuff taste great!

Our romantic evening light.​

Even with the wind, sleep came quickly to our tired bodies, and as the wind blew the clouds away, one day changed to the next.

The following morning...

I'd planned for us to get up at sunrise - mostly to take advantage of cooler temperatures earlier in the day - but my companion can be very convincing that staying in bed is a better option than obeying our alarm, so the sun was well into the sky by the time we finally climbed down the ladder at 6:56am.

It was a beautiful morning over Bishop.​

Looking down into the valley, we had a great view of the Volcanic Tablelands.
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Our plan for the day was relatively simple: take it easy. This was partially to recover from our previous day's hikes, but also to acclimate to the higher elevation in preparation for a hike to the summit of White Mountain the following morning.

The only problem is that - to me - take it easy means something entirely different than it does to the entire rest of the world. As such, I'd planned six miles of hiking through the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest to see some of - and the - oldest trees on our planet. That is, if we could find them. Or it.

Entering the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest, which - as you can see - was just full of trees.​

I took this photo because the white rocky hill was so striking, but I see now - as I tell the story - that it does demonstrate that there were some trees in the forest.​

Upon our arrival at the parking area just after 8:00am, we were surprised to discover that we weren't anywhere near the first people to show up - a point I made several times to my hiking companion, in order to prove how easy we were taking it compared to everyone else. This didn't seem to work, but she was a great sport and after gathering up plenty of sunscreen, a bit of trail mix, some water, a GPS with the coordinates of the oldest tree on the planet, and my trusty tree capturing device, we were off.

@mrs.turbodb absolutely loves to read all the brochures, pamphlets, and signs along a trail. This particular one - which she ended up reading to me during the first quarter of the hike - turned out to be quite good.​

Methuselah, now 4,856 years old, was only 4,789 years old when sampled by Arizona Associate Professor of Dendrochronology Edmund P. Schulman in 1957. A Great Basin bristlecone pine (Pinus longaeva), it is the world's oldest non-clonal tree, with an estimated germination date of 2833 BC. Schulman named the tree after Methuselah, the 969-year-old oldest-living human, from the Book of Genesis in the Old Testament.

wikipedia​

To get to Methuselah would be a four-mile round trip, which wouldn't have been so bad were it not for the 800 feet of elevation gain entailed in the loop. Still, we set out in search of the oldest tree, blissfully unaware of how difficult those 800 feet would actually be at 10,200 feet above sea level.

Early on, I was taking photos of all the cool looking Bristlecone Pines. I soon realized that I was photographing every tree and that we'd never finish the hike if I continued to do so.​

A Bristlecone Pine grows one ring/layer of needles each year, and maintains the rings for decades. They are quite nice - almost soft - to the touch.​

Initially I thought these holes were from carpenter bees, but it turns out they are from a Sap Sucker woodpecker, a species that simply doesn't care that they are destroying history.​

Stairway sunstar.​

Surely the trail to Methuselah was longer than it need be. This - obviously - was to deter the vast majority of humans from getting anywhere near the tree, since unlike the sap sucker, we actually do have a tendency of destroying history. And so, we wound our way from one hillside to the next as we lost more and more elevation. Wondering - as the sun climbed in the sky and temperatures rose - whether it would all be worth it.

The terrain was beautiful, even if they all just looked like old trees to us.​

A hillside of decoys.​

I especially liked the shape of this "not the oldest tree in the world."​

Of course, the good folks who care for and monitor the Ancicent Bristlecone Pine Forest know that despite their best efforts at keeping people as far from the historically important trees as possible, some people will actually make the trek along the entirety of the loop. Knowing this, the Methuselah tree itself was not marked in any way to indicate its special status. I'd suspected that this would be the case prior to leaving home, and so I'd done some research and discovered the actual location of the tree, which I'd smartly added to my maps.

Methuselah, located at ********, **********.​

The problem with my plan was that there are a lot of trees in that vicinity, and I'd neglected to either download a satellite map so that I could see exactly which tree was being referenced, or save a photo of the tree to my pocket computer so that I could compare it to the real-life trees in front of us. And so, as we came to the location where my waypoint suggested a historically significant object, I started taking pictures of all the trees, in hopes that one of them would be "the one."

A true specimen. (left) | Perhaps the oldest (right).​

It wasn't until I got home and was able to compare all my photos to a picture of what I knew to be the actual tree, that I confirmed with 100% certainty that I'd failed. In fact, I'd taken pictures of most of the trees around Methuselah - a few of its spindly dead branches reaching into my photographs - but never of the tree itself. Methuselah it turns out, is a small, scrawny tree, and in a forest of ancients, that's the best disguise of all!

Continuing on the loop, @mrs.turbodb is younger than many of the pine needles on this ancient sentinel.​

We especially enjoyed the shape of this bristlecone.​

As we snapped photos of the last tree that we though might be Methuselah, we passed a trail marker that informed us we were exactly halfway around the loop. No surprise there - putting the tree anywhere else would surely result in only half of the loop ever being hiked! Figuring that we wouldn't save any time, distance, or elevation by returning the way we'd arrived, we opted to continue around the remainder of the loop - soaking in new sights along the way - each of us now eager for the breakfast that awaited us back at the Tacoma.

There were lots of this light purple western blue flax (Linum lewisii) at these higher elevations.​

In the distance, Deep Spring looked parched.​

Every now and then, we'd get a little peek at the Sierra to our west.​

Having planned for a quick-and-easy 90-minute stroll in cool temps at high elevation, we arrived back at the parking lot three hours after our departure, sweating. Ready for shade, we grabbed some milk, cereal, bowls and spoons and made a beeline for the only shady spot we could find - a rock wall near the newly remodeled visitor center. I'm not sure we've ever enjoyed the cold 34°F milk quite so much as we did that day.

Soon though, we were back at it. Another trail - from the same parking area - led two miles through another set of trees identical to the first. Two of these are "named" and we figured that we might as well go not find those in the same way we'd done with Methuselah.

At the very least, this hike was looking to be just as beautiful as the last.​

Dead Sentry, a tree depicted on many souvenirs sold at Schulman Grove Visitor Center, often found in internet image searches for Methuselah, or world's oldest tree, and displayed on the cover of Inyo National Forest Atlas, is not the world's oldest tree. It is a long-dead bristlecone pine snag without bark, cambium, or foliage.

To our delight, Dead Sentry turned out to be easy to find. (left) | Another nearby snag. (right)​

Dead Century view.​

Continuing around the loop, finding Pine Alpha - the first non-clonal tree confirmed older than 4,000 years - would prove much more difficult, due to the same hiker-induced mistakes we'd encountered with Methuselah. Still, there was no shortage of cool barkless trees to admire, and this Discovery Path also had a series of information signs, which added to the interest.

Ancient giants.​

At the apex of the loop, it was springtime - and green - at this elevation in the White Mountains.​

What a magnificent shape!​

Of the two trails, the Discovery Trail was - in my opinion - significantly more pleasant than the Methuselah Walk, and not only because it was half the length and a quarter of the elevation gain. Still, we were both ready to get off our feet for a bit as we returned to the Tacoma and pushed the A/C lever to full. It was nearly 1:00pm, and as we headed north along White Mountain Road, we were both ready for a nap.

We were also a little concerned. Our plan for the following day - to summit White Mountain itself - was in possible jeopardy after another couple informed us that the rangers in the Visitor Center told them that the road to the trailhead was closed. "Have you two been up there?" they asked, becuase the rangers say the road is "covered by a snow drift."

Ruh roh.

Throwing the rest of our plan out the window, we decided we'd better figure out the situation at the top.



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