Death Valley Off-Road Adventures

Wow, I had no idea that excessive braking can cause a fire. I thought he brakes would fail first. That’s incredible.

 

The heat starts a tire fire

 

Same reason you should not pull off onto a grass shoulder. Catalytic Convertors get very hot during operation, exhaust components, brakes. All get hot enough to ignite grasses. Sometimes they can also actually catch fire if brake fluid or grease come into contact.

Safety chains are another thing that spark and should be shortened as best you can.

 

Hot Feet

Man air evacuated for burning feet on the sand dunes...

https://www.nps.gov/deva/learn/news/7-20-2024-sand-dunes.htm

He was from Belgium, not Florida, amazingly enough...

 

Could probably happen at Imperial Sand Dunes National Recreation near the AZ/CA border near Yuma. Here is a picture I took of the more accessible, less remote, dunes. They were hot last August to sit on. but I did not lose my shoes ...

 

Been a year since last entry of DV. 08/10/2023 about 2:15 pm.
Some precursant monsoonal activity over several days. following week or so was tropical storm hiliary.




bit of a slow down here. 08/12/2023. had camped east of the high points, dark clouds and electrical flashes, quick booms, a few large drops of moisture. must have showered heavy just west of camp.

 

Where we're going we don't need roads....

Were you able to get through or did you have to detour?

 

pavement intact, just a layer of mud and gravel. easy enough to cross over. a pickup with ATV trailer had already crossed before I got there



probably posted this a year ago

 

Mojave National Preserve
November Trip Report

Cima Clouds
​

Well I finally got around to finishing the trip report (more photos than "report" to be honest) for my Mojave trip back in November. Even though it isn't Death Valley strictly, this is the closest place to put the links. At least the trip did include a stop at a namesake.

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

 

remnance iPhone photo sept 16 2022 at 0733. at 0737 the first of four A10 screamed over low and slow

 

July 11 2022 we had these dudes doing 'laps' as we were driving Steel Pass, when we got to Dedeckera Canyon it was so loud.....also my phone overheated as did I

also iPhone *because im too slow to grab out the decent camera we have

 

Looks like it happened again…cause of death is listed as hyperthermia.

Meanwhile the guy on a bike slides down the Big Sur landslide, survives, and gets evac'ed. Go figure

 

The NPS press release on the heat fatality at Natural Bridge which includes the snippet that one of the responding EMTs was actually the Park Superintendent (Mike Reynolds):

https://www.nps.gov/deva/learn/news/fatality-2024-08-01.htm

 

Death Valley keeps getting hotter. How do residents survive?
Washington Post August 11, 2024 at 6:00 a.m. EDT

DEATH VALLEY, Calif. — Early in the year, when so much water flooded this place that kayaks could float across it, or later, when its hills burst with radiant color, the moniker could feel like a misnomer.

But in the summer months — which keep getting hotter, setting records on a nearly annual basis — Death Valley earns its name.

For the sightseers and second-home dwellers, the infernal heat is a novelty. But full-time residents have to live in Death Valley's extreme temperatures day in, day out. And lately, it's getting harder.

"You have this sensation that you can't get cool," said Brian Brown, who owns and operates the China Ranch Date Farm in Tecopa, a small rural community near the southern end of Death Valley National Park. "It makes me doubt my sanity."

In July, the hottest and driest place in America outdid itself. Last month in Death Valley was the most sweltering ever recorded, with an average temperature of 108.5 degrees, a figure that includes overnight lows, which rarely dipped below 95. For a punishing nine consecutive days, the mercury hit 125 or higher.
Death Valley keeps getting hotter. How do residents survive?

Six of Death Valley's hottest summers have come during the past decade, and as the climate continues to warm worldwide, the region's recent record-setting month could be a postcard from the future.

A few hundred people live here year-round, scattered across a constellation of desert communities that border the national park and also sport apropos names like Furnace Creek and Stovepipe Wells. And while the locals never expected the living in this extreme environment to be easy, the increasingly wild weather swings — from drought to flood to suffocating heat — have some questioning just how long they'll be able to stick it out.

"This hits disadvantaged rural communities hard," said Patrick Donnelly, who lives a few miles north of Tecopa in Shoshone and works as the Great Basin director for the Center for Biological Diversity. "It feels like we're hanging on by our fingernails here, getting whipped around by all these extremes."

Heat is the leading cause of weather-related deaths in the United States, and it is especially lethal in Death Valley. Local governments issue advisories, and park bulletin boards are covered in dire warnings like "HEAT KILLS!" and "Don't become a Death Valley victim." For those who choose to proceed anyway, a final reminder: "Travel prepared to survive."

"It is a shocking physical experience to be in that heat," said Alexandra Heaney, a public health professor at the University of California at San Diego. "You walk outside and you feel like you're in a convection oven."

Fatalities get the most attention, but the heat poses a wide range of health risks, Heaney said. In a working paper, she and her colleagues found that increased temperatures lead to a spike in emergency room visits stemming from a range of causes, including accidental injuries, mental health conditions and nervous system problems. And in Death Valley, where the closest hospital can be more than 60 miles away, health-care access is tricky.

Those who work outside in this sort of weather — like Brown and his crew at China Ranch — have to be careful. And a little creative. Brown has endured 45 summers here and has amassed a few tricks to get through this time of year, when the farm's 25 acres of date palms need meticulous tending.

The crew starts early, around 6 a.m., and they douse their work shirts in a bucket of water to keep cool. When the arid heat dries them out, they return to the bucket. The extra layer of fabric also defends against the area's notorious biting horseflies, known as Tecopa bombers, that swarm during the summer.

When water's not enough, they take refuge in the nearby warehouse's large walk-in refrigerator, normally used for storing dates. "This is our favorite place to be," Brown said, standing in the fridge on a recent scorching afternoon.

Other methods are mental. After the solstice, for example, Brown reminds his team that every subsequent day will get a little shorter. By the end of July, they were two-thirds through the peak summer months, when the sun shines hottest and longest — almost there.

The heat has forced the region's firefighters to the front lines, responding to emergencies prompted by the heat and dealing with it themselves.

The poorly funded Southern Inyo Fire Protection District covers about 1,250 square miles, relies on a handful of aging volunteers and has no fire station. That means vehicles and equipment are constantly exposed to the elements, wearing out even when parked and idle, said Larry Levy, the department's interim chief.

The sun bakes hoses, shreds tires and melts medical bandages. The heat makes everything harder and more taxing, from firefighting to first aid.

"You couldn't do CPR in that heat for more than a minute or two before you need CPR yourself," said Levy, who at 72 has already retired once and is looking for someone to replace him as chief.

Levy has lived with his wife in Tecopa year-round for about two decades, and sometimes he feels like they're still trying to adapt. Their daily rhythm changes in the summer. They take long indoor siestas and soak in a natural hot spring, which feels comparatively cool when the air is stifling. In the mornings, Levy adds electrolytes to his water, and in the afternoon, he sips grapefruit juice.

One of his neighbors, John Muccio, is a retired chef, and when the weather turns torrid, he feels his appetite change. The recipe that got him through July: watermelon salad, with cucumber, fresh mint and a sprinkle of feta, topped with some olive oil and scallion greens.

Like many, Muccio ditched central air conditioning after spending thousands on electricity bills, and now he relies on an evaporative swamp cooler to keep his double-wide prefab home at a tolerable temp. But his most foolproof method of beating the heat is escape. Once a week, he drives the 90 miles to Las Vegas to play poker in a casino, where the aggressive AC is free.

"Every year it's going to get hotter and hotter," said Muccio, who moved to Tecopa in 2006. "It'll be very interesting to see in the next decade or two whether people can even still live in places like this."

Death Valley rangers, most of whom live in National Park Service housing near the park, have devised their own strategies for coping. Cold water is rare in the summer, since even the underground pipes overheat.

Abby Wines, a ranger who has worked at the park for 19 years, once measured the water from her supposedly cold tap at 108 degrees. To get a little relief, she turns off her hot water heater and the tank becomes a reservoir that eventually cools to room temperature. She savors the first 45 seconds of a shower, when the water is as brisk as it'll get.

"Relentless is the only word I can come up with to describe the heat," Wines said.

Just one year ago, the region saw its wettest day ever, when Hurricane Hilary dumped over 2 inches of rain, more than typically falls here during an entire year. Months later, an atmospheric river soaked the region further. The unusual events led to a pair of extraordinary natural phenomena: a reappearance of the ancient Lake Manly and a desert super bloom.

But the storms also wrought havoc, destroying miles of road and making life harder for the businesses already struggling to scratch out a living in such a harsh clime. At the Amargosa Opera House and Hotel in Death Valley Junction, a ghost town north of Tecopa, the hurricane and heat have landed like a one-two punch.

First, flooding inflicted at least $25,000 in damage, the property's managers estimated, ruining walls, carpet and floors. Then the heat dried up the stream of visitors whom the still-operating hotel relies on to keep its doors open.

A nonprofit now runs the opera house, which is dedicated to preserving the history and artwork of its eccentric founder, Marta Becket. The small staff sometimes feels locked in an existential battle with nature.

"It's a challenge just to keep day-to-day operations going," said Emilee Brown, the hotel manager, who technically lives just over the Nevada state line but is on-site so much she's considered one of the town's two residents. "You fix one issue and then you find three more. And then you fix those and the monsoons come, or tourism slows down."

No one has battled the elements here more than the Timbisha Shoshone. The tribe has lived in the region for thousands of years, historically moving from the valley to the mountains and back to survive the summer months. When the federal government seized the tribe's ancestral homeland to establish a national monument in the 1930s, members fought for the right to stay, eventually winning a small reservation plot inside what is now Death Valley National Park.

Now some 30 Timbisha members live here full time, taking only short trips to higher elevations, where they don't keep homes. Many are in their 60s or older, and most reside in trailers that are ill-equipped for the harsh conditions. Mandi Campbell, the tribe's historic preservation officer, said the inside of hers can get up to 100 degrees. Some of the trailers are hand-me-downs from the Federal Emergency Management Agency, which used them in disaster recovery efforts, Campbell said. The desert easily creeps inside.

"You're constantly cleaning," she said, "and you can taste the sand inside your home."

Members hope that a tribal casino, planned for a nearby city, will eventually bring in enough income to pay for sturdier housing. For Campbell, the heat isn't something to cross off a bucket list — it's a dangerous, daily challenge.

"It's really nothing to play with," she said. "We've lived here all our lives. You really need to be careful in the summer."

Climate change has also imperiled eons-old Timbisha practices centered on pinyon and honey mesquite trees that are drying up and dying out. Still, the Timbisha will stay, Campbell said, because it's home. And anyway, those who experience the place only when it's at its least hospitable get the wrong idea, she said.

"It shouldn't be Death Valley, because it's nothing like death," she said. "To us, it's ‘Valley of Change.'"

 

Dates have been announced for this year's volunteer Joshua Tree planting at Cima Dome within Mojave Preserve: Oct 25 thru Nov 8th.

This is the final year of replanting -- your last chance to participate!

Details here: https://www.nps.gov/moja/getinvolved/cima-dome-joshua-tree-forest-restoration.htm

Note that the web site is still showing info for last year... it will soon be updated with this year's signup form. You don't have to sign up to contribute -- just show up ready to help, at 8AM during the above dates, to (35.3189, -115.5847).

And here is this years signup link, in case the website doesn't get updated. Signing up will help NPS plan the event, but the most important thing is that you show up ready to help.



This is a unique and rewarding experience to help replant the Joshua Tree forest that was lost to the 2020 Dome Fire, which burned over 40,000 acres within Mojave NP. It was devastating -- Joshua Trees burn HOT, and invasive grasses fueled the fire's rapid spread. Firefighting resources were constrained by practicality -- this was an uninhabited wilderness area, after all, and at the time, other raging wildfires posed greater threats to people and property across the state. The sad result is that huge swaths of this forest were utterly incinerated, killing over a million Joshua Trees per MNP estimates. Their charred husks have stood lifeless for several years, evoking memories of the spectacular forest that once flourished here, but they are starting to topple with increasing frequency, and soon this landscape will bear little similarity to its formerly glory for the remainder of our lives. Even worse, the giant ground sloths that once propagated the seeds of these Joshua Tree over great distances through their prodigious consumption and defecation of its fruit, are currently unable to assist with reforestation efforts due to being 'extinct' or something.



So... consider joining this event. You will have fun, plant trees, collect data, encounter wildlife, make new friends, forget their names, and ultimately, walk away with newfound appreciation for and connection with your public lands. Plus, if I run into you, I will give you a FREE can of Coors Light, and you can watch me repeatedly incinerate popcorn at the campfire. And either way, NPS will give you a kick-ass sticker that money can't buy!*

*I will sell you my sticker from last year for $700 because I just trashed both CV shafts and holy fuck these things are expensive.

 

A worthy cause -- we have helped in the past and will likely sign up again.

What the desert looks like -- post fire on the left, untouched desert on the right.



A partial map of the new Joshua Trees:





Loved this bumper steeker on one of the Rangers' trucks:

 

Two More Towne Pass Vehicle Fires

Another apparently inept commercial driver torched a truck by excessive braking. Honestly this is ridiculous and hopefully whatever dope accountants that think they are saving money with low pay will have their insurance companies crawl up their asses with increased rates:

https://www.nps.gov/deva/learn/news/vehicle-fire-2024-08-15.htm

And this one appears to just be a coincidence it was near Towne Pass, believed to be the all too typical propane fire in an RV (or trailer in this case):

https://www.nps.gov/deva/learn/news/vehicle-fire-2024-08-11.htm

Air Rescue and Other Calls

Too little water for poor route planning results in a helicopter rescue. Release also details three other recent support calls:

https://www.nps.gov/deva/learn/news/panamint-butte-sar-2024-08-13.htm

I’ve drank through all my reserve water once or twice, which shows I at least can under plan for water! That said, someone as experienced as described in the article attempting to descend through an unknown canyon on terrain as steep as the west side of Panamint Butte is pretty surprising. Lucky he regained consciousness after his fall! That’s a big worry for my solo hikes - not being conscious to activate a beacon. My support protocol does at least ask for a SAR call if I’m not heard from the same evening.

 

We all face a bell curve of survival when embarking upon these lands --the ravenous jaws of fate circle its lower left flank, unpredictably leaping forth to take the lives of the unlucky.

The crazy thing, I think, is that this bell curve of fate, doesn't necessarily line up with the bell curve of modern prosperity. Intelligence... wealth... stamina... No doubt there's some correlation with survival of the fittest... but luck and luck alone has the final say. No amount of foresight and planning can save any of us from that singular fatal dose of bad luck.

At best we might nudge ourselves a bit further up the bell curve of survival. Perhaps that extra bit of extra water, that timely call for help, or just knowing how to drive. Hopefully, but never certainly, putting us just beyond the grasp of fate's jaws.

I'm okay with that.

 

Not 100% sure if I can actually get make this fit into my schedule yet (waiting to hear back on when a 1-3 month period of night work begins), but I figure I should throw it out there: Would anyone here be interested in doing the Mahogany Flat to Telescope Peak hike in October?

 

Is that a challenging for the drive or just challenging because it is Death Valley? I need to develop my camping skills but there is enough time to become not-exactly-a-burden.