East Mojave Heritage Trail (Nov 2023)

Prologue
Part of the East Mojave Heritage Trail (Nov 2023) trip.
For the first time in five years, the "annual" TacomaWorld trip has morphed into two trips. I suppose, technically, I should call it a trip-and-a-half, given the debacle that became Half a Trip in Montana, but I prefer to see the glass always full (there's always something in there) so we're just going to call it two.

The timing of the second trip - in December - clearly ruled out anything up north, so returning to Montana for redemption would just have to wait until next year. Plus, given the unexpectedly good time that we had in Death Valley a couple years ago, it only made sense to return to the desert. While normally we'd have simply picked up where we left off on our previous visit, Hurricane Hillary - in August - left the road system in shambles and most of Death Valley was still closed to the public.

And so, we're headed even further south in the Mojave Desert - to the East Mojave Heritage Trail (EMHT).

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Created in the late 1980s by Mojave Desert explorer and historian Dennis Casebier, rather than following an established historical route like the Mojave Road, the EMHT is a comprehensive tour through some of the most remote portions of the East Mojave Desert.

Split into four segments and more than 700 miles long - even without the nearby side-adventures that I added for our enjoyment - that would be a lot of ground to cover in two weeks, so we're going to try to complete it in one!

Segment 1: Needles to Ivanpah - 173 miles
Segment 2: Ivanpah to Rocky Ridge -199 miles
Segment 3: Rocky Ridge to Fenner - 211 miles
Segment 4: Fenner to Needles - 155 miles

 

Needles to Carruthers Canyon - We All Arrive ...Except for Monte ...Again | EMHT Segment 1A
Part of the East Mojave Heritage Trail (Nov 2023) trip.

Not wanting to repeat the unfortunate attendance situation of our Montana trip, we started coordinating dates immediately upon our return. After a few rounds of messages, we settled on the week after Thanksgiving, and Zane @Speedytech7 and I made sure that Monte @Blackdawg requested the time off before either of us - time off in Zane's case, and flights to/from Las Vegas in mine - finalized our arrangements.

Even best laid plans can come undone quickly - and only hours before we were set to leave - though.

And again, we were three.​

Mike and Zane left promptly after their respective Thanksgiving feasts, caravanning the 1,000+ miles - over the course of three days and what I hear were several very cold nights - to our starting point in Needles, CA.

Luckily for me, the Tacoma was already in Las Vegas after our recent Connecting the Dots in Nevada trip, so I hopped on a flight - if you call Spirit Airlines "flying" - and after provisioning once I landed, rolled into camp just after 8:00pm to a warm fire and good company.

The most important stop when "provisioning."​

With a full moon and warm air, our first campfire was one of our most pleasant!​

Aliens were out in full force, their contrails creating perfectly circular lunar halo.​

The ring is actually an optical illusion. It is caused when the moon light refracts off ice crystals in a thin veil of cirrus clouds. Those crystals create a giant lens 20,000 feet above us. They're positioned perfectly, with respect to our eyes, for the halo to appear. They are easier to see when the moon is full or almost full.

The following morning...

The flying camera was up before sunrise, the desert mountains we'd become familiar with, rising behind camp.​

Unbeknownst to me, my alarm (phone) had updated to whatever incorrect time Arizona uses when I'd filled up in the land of cheap fuel, and hadn't updated again when I'd crossed back into real time in California. That meant that I putzed around camp for an hour wondering why I was the only one up - especially given that we'd talked about leaving early given 4:30pm sunsets - only to find that the joke was on me.

Mike was ready to go by 7:37am. So now we know he can do it. ​

All aired down, we pulled out onto the trail to begin what would become our pattern over the course of the trip. We hadn't moved more than a couple hundred feet and I hopped out of my Tacoma for a photo!

Our entrance to the trail - Eagle Pass.​

Each of us enjoy different aspects of these adventures - a point that can sometimes cause a bit of friction, but that always provides us the ability to rib each other. Certainly, my preferences will impact the story, so let's just get them out in the open.

Mike. Mike enjoys a bit of driving - ideally with nice views but not a ton of stopping - and a lot of sitting around a campfire chatting with friends. He can get a little grumpy if we're not looking for camp... shortly after lunch, having pulled out of camp around 10:30:am. And driving in the dark? That's completely unacceptable. So - as you can tell - Mike's pretty normal in his approach.

Dan. (me, duh) I like getting up when it's still too dark and too cold outside to be awake. I like to drive from sunrise + 30 minutes to sunset - 30 minutes (or perhaps a little later if necessary), stopping at least several times every hour - to explore something along the road or run to some vantage point to snap a photo of my roaming gnome (the Tacoma) in some spectacular landscape. I enjoy campfires, but only have them when others are around. And all my crazy running during the day means I really do like to get to bed by about 9:30pm. Yep, I'm totally not normal.

Zane. I don't even really know how to describe Zane. This dude is so laid back and willing to go with the flow that it makes the rest of us look like total assholes all the time. Seriously. He's fun on the trail and off, happy to drive, stop for photos, or camp. He also knows more about all of our trucks that we do. Saint Zane, really.

Monte. Apparently, Monte doesn't go on trips anymore, so no description for him! Actually, he's pretty much the same as me with one exception: if he can stretch half-a-bundle of wood on a 29°F night into a heatless campfire that lasts past midnight while everyone freezes to death, he will.

Not all who travel the EMHT are fully prepared.​

While we were out looking at some ruins I'd found on satellite, this much more interesting (and dead) cholla trunk caught my eye along the side of the trail.​

The first three hours on the trail were - in my opinion - rather mundane. There are understandable reasons for this - the need to start somewhere that has fuel, the desire to create a loop, etc. - but running along well-graded powerline roads that stretched for miles was a little monotonous. Mostly.

It was a little exciting - in an "oh shit, am I going to die?" way - when I failed to notice a jump-sized hump in the road and flew off it at just over 50mph.

Zane noticed that I'd tweaked my rear brake proportioning lever when I landed. Luckily, bending it back into place was an easy fix.​

Passing through the Piute Mountains, the Providence Mountains rising in the distance.​

Looking north, the mountains and valleys we'd travel for the next 48 hours.​

It was 11:00am when we pulled into Goffs. This is a place I've heard a lot about, but that I've never previously visited. A desert museum, they've collected or recreated many of the cool-but-strange oddities that exist across the Mojave, and it was fun to walk from display to display, familiar with the location of the "real thing."

The original Mojave Cross, now in a new location.​

Originally erected in 1934 by J. Riley Bembry on Sunrise Rock in the Mojave National Preserve, the Mojave Cross was intended to honor the fallen soldiers of WWI, and was later dedicated to veterans of all wars.

In 2010, the cross was stolen by a vandal who claimed to be a veteran himself. He left a letter explaining his motives, but it was not discovered until 2022. The cross was later found abandoned in Half Moon Bay, California, and returned to the original caretakers, Henry and Wanda Sandoz.

In 2012, a replacement cross (which we visited back in 2019) was erected in the location of the original cross, but it was also challenged by lawsuits. Eventually, a land swap deal between the federal government and the Sandoz family, allowed the cross to remain on private property within the preserve.

With the replacement now legally secure, the Sandoz family decided to move the original cross to a safer location, where it would be less likely to be vandalized or stolen again - the Goffs Schoolhouse and Museum. Run by the Mojave Desert Heritage and Cultural Association, it aims to preserve and share the natural and cultural history of the Mojave Desert region.

A dedication ceremony was held on Veterans Day, November 11, 2023 and was attended by the children of J. Riley Bembry. Henry Sandoz, veterans, local officials, and supporters of the cross.

Victorville Daily Press​

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If you've travelled the Mojave Road, you might find the original frog display.​

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This display was meant to represent the Desert Training Center along the Bradshaw Trail.​

I'm always looking for ore carts in the mines I visit, but I don't think this one counts.​

While wandering around, one of the caretakers - Andy - approached. Chatting with him for more than 15 minutes, he was extremely welcoming and we probably could have talked for hours. He was excited to give us the lay of the land, let us know that we could use their various facilities, and even swapped our empty propane tank (and a bit of cash) for his full one so we wouldn't have to run all the way to Needles to refill it. Super cool dude!

As we left, I had a whole new appreciation for the entrance sign.​

It was lunch time when we arrived at the Leiser Ray Mine and pulled onto the old concrete pad that once the mill site of this mine that produced silver, copper, gold, lead and vanadium. Between the 1890s and beginning of WWI, 10 shafts and 50 pits were opened in a one-half square mile area. The deepest shaft - at 900 feet - was used to procure water for the operations, the water level currently sitting at about 450 feet below the surface. Over the years, 77 tons of ore were produced, yielding 40 tons of concentrates, including 14,130 lbs of copper, 1,660 lbs of lead, 1,178 oz of silver and 26.69 oz of gold. (Gregg Wilkerson)

How considerate, they constructed a nice parking area just for us!​

Zane settling in to the "oversight" position.​

Our bellies satisfied, we were back in the Tacoma's after 30 minutes or so, and with lots of ground to cover before the day was done. Our next stop was one that I'd visited before - on my first trip to the Mojave - Fort Piute along the old Mojave Road.

Distances in the desert are longer than they appear.​

Even the trucks seemed to enjoy the view from the mouth of Piute Canyon.​

Abundant local rock was used in building the fort and the ruins of at least three structures. The largest - a building of several rooms - is approximately 60 feet long by 25 feet wide, and includes rifle ports in the thick walls, deflecting shields in front of each door to prevent direct fire through the opening, and rock breastworks at Strategic locations immediately outside. It was also the site of a rather interesting battle, if local legend is to be believed.

More interested in snapping pictures of history, or of 1st gen Tacomas? Why not both?​

The Mojave Road no longer - and hasn't for decades - climbs through Piute Canyon, so after visiting the fort, we backtracked a few miles and turned west to climb Piute Pass. While others might take a longer detour - Paiute Pass was significantly impacted by Hurricane Hillary - I'd heard that with the right line and the right trucks, we could inch our way through the rough spots and save nearly 30 minutes.

We might not choose the right line, but we had chosen the right trucks.​

The views into Piute Valley as we gained elevation were stunning.​

Having survived, we soon found ourselves in a Joshua Tree forest.​

Now racing the sun across the Lanfair Valley, our general path followed the Mojave Road at a reasonably good clip. If we were going to see anyone along this entire journey, I figured it'd be here, given the relatively popularity of this route across the Mojave National Preserve. Still, we saw only each other.

Ultimately, our destination for the evening was one that I always look forward to - perhaps my favorite spot in the entire Preserve. This time, however, I knew things would be different - and not in a good way - as the York Fire (2023) swept through Carruthers Canyon only a few months earlier, decimating everything in its path. I had yet to see the aftermath of that event, but I expected it to be similar to the devastation we'd seen from the Dome Fire (2021) just a couple years prior.

Still, we had a few stops to make prior to reaching camp, and for now we had our sights set on the ******************************** petroglyph site - a place I've passed many times without any clue of the treasures to be found.

Clearly a popular destination.​

I really like the concentric shapes that seem to be common in the art of the Chemehuevi and Mojave people who called this area home.​

Always fun to find a sun glyph.​

Some sort of plant?​

Front view of a long-toothed pig?​

The kids won't recognize this computer, but that's a CRT monitor on top of a desktop computer if you look closely. (left) | Settlers made their way to this place as well - J W YOUNG, C. SIELE and B. WESTIR were through on APR. 12, 1912. (right)​

After climbing around for 20 minutes or so, and admiring the 20-foot deep natural granite well - complete with several feet of water at the bottom - that surely attracted travelers from all ages to this location, it was time to get back on the road to something a little... less historic but more "desert."

This may look like a "normal" Joshua Tree (are any of them really normal?), but it hides many secrets.​

Pele Duck (left) and Do-You-Think-Overdid-the-Lipstick Duck (right) have settled in for the long game.​

Yoda Duck and Cool Duck didn't find very comfortable seating.​

The Penny Tree must have been recently "cleaned," by the National Park Service (NPS) because with only two cans and not very many pennies, I don't think Mike and Zane even got out of their trucks as we continued along our way towards our last stop before heading to camp - Rock Spring.

As with many springs across the desert, Rock Spring was once home to an US Army fort, and has seen occupation both before (Indians) and after (Bert Smith and Carl Faber) that time. First though, we had to make our way down a fun little section of road that would get our Tacomas a little flexy.

No three-wheeling for Zane, with a lot of work, he's got the rear end flexing nicely!​

Getting crossed up, Mike wasn't three-wheeling it either. (For the most part. ​

While fighting in Europe during World War I, Bert Smith was exposed to poison gasses used during that war. Returning to the U.S. with scarred lungs, Bert eventually moved to the Mojave Desert in the late 1920s.

When Bert built his Rock House and started living here in 1929, it was a desperate attempt to regain his health. Although he expected to survive only a short time, he lived here until 1954 - 25 years later!

- - - - -​

Artist Carl Faber had already been living rough in the East Mojave for about ten years when he set up his art business at the Rock House in 1981. Four-wheel drive trips had become a popular activity and Carl took advantage of passing traffic to sell his art. After five years. Carl moved to another nearby property and continued his art business there until 2003 when he moved to New Mexico.

Information Sign​

Rock House is a still a cool place to stop, and if you happen to make your way inside, be sure to check out the note over the fireplace mantle. ​

Making our way toward the spring, evidence of the US Army's 4th Infantry was a reminder of their occupation.​

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Nearly hidden in the brush, I'd missed these petroglyphs on my previous visits.​

Our final stop complete, our race against darkness was going to be a nail-biter, and since I knew that Mike liked to be in camp early, I was a little worried when Zane noticed a red liquid dripping from the front of his Tacoma.

That can't be good.​

Luckily, Zane determined that the leak was from the intercooler on his turbo - an issue that was not at all fatal - rather than from his radiator, so minutes later, we were gaining elevation as we raced our way north to the New York Mountains and Carruthers Canyon.

I was lucky enough to lead this entire adventure. I did not envy the guys following me.​

As I expected, the impact of the York Fire was immediately apparent. The green hills - previously covered in Joshua Trees, Sage, Juniper, Pinyon Pine and countless cacti - were a golden brown, only skeletons remaining. Caused by a lightning fire, it's just part of the cycle, but a part that will require decades - if not centuries - to fully recover, and wiped-out dozens of historic man-made structures that will never return.

It was like someone applied a gold filter to everything around us.​

Rocky outcroppings - once peaking out from the foliage - stood naked over the aftermath.​

Already on the rebound.
Desert Marigold (Baileya multiradiata)​

Parts of the trail into the canyon were in great shape - likely due to fire suppression efforts - but lack of living vegetation, and record amounts of runoff from Hurricane Hillary - meant that there were a few tricky sections as well. Still, we navigated them with a combination of skill and good equipment and soon - only minutes after sunset - we found ourselves at a site I've always wanted to camp at but where the opportunity has never presented itself: Easter Island Rock.

Steeper and deeper than it looks, with an even steeper climb to get out.​

Zane snuck into a perfectly flat spot while Mike and I were left to level our trucks as best we could.​

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A very different view of an iconic rock.​

With light fading fast, we got camp deployed and the propane fire ring flickering away. At 5,500 feet and with a brisk breeze blowing air down the canyon and through our camp, we bundled up for a cold evening. Soon, a bowl of guacamole appeared from Mike's kitchen, the three of us (but mostly Zane and me ... and really mostly just me) making quick work of the spicy treat. It was a little after 5:00pm.

By 9:00pm, neither Zane nor I could feel our feet, and it was time for bed. We'd only made it halfway through the first segment of the EMHT, and before another day was done, we were nearly forced to abandon the entire journey!

That - as usual - is another story.

 

Almost the End | EMHT Segment 1B Caruthers Canyon to Clark Mountain
Part of the East Mojave Heritage Trail (Nov 2023) trip.

There aren't many nights that I close up all the windows and doors on my tent, as - especially when there is a full moon as there was on this night - I enjoy being able to gaze out on the surroundings if I wake up in the middle of the night.

But parked under the watchful gaze of Easter Island Rock, with temperatures in the my-feet-are-numb range and a 10mph breeze blowing through camp, I zipped everything up tight, inserted my earplugs, and hoped for the best.

It worked, and I was nice and toasty when my alarm - now explicitly set to real time, and not stuck on whatever weird time Arizona uses - gently woke me at 6:05am, about 20 minutes before sunrise.

The moon was still high overhead as I wandered around the scarred landscape.​

I've always loved this wonderland of rocks, and they're still beautiful as they tower above the blackened bark of the juniper and pinyon pine that once filled the canyon.​

Above camp, Easter Island Rock.​

Someone put a lot of work into this place.​

Climbing from one boulder to another, I tried to be quiet but either Mike @Digiratus and Zane @Speedytech7 had set their alarms for a similar time or I failed in my noise abatement attempt. And so, as the sun peaked over the eastern wall of the canyon, we all began our morning rituals - Mike making coffee, Zane tearing down camp, and me - still futzing around with the camera.

I love the early morning light on the granite.​

Almost ready to hit the trail.​

We didn't get far before I blocked forward progress for a final shot.​

Carruthers Canyon has always been my favorite place in the Preserve, but with all the damage from the York fire, I found myself wondering if I will favor other desert places, rather than be reminded of what once was in this special canyon.

Soon though, I had other - more immediate - matters on my mind. Headed east across the Lanfair Valley, we were surrounded by alien Joshua Trees and the Castle Mountains - their escarpments scared by strip mining - rose in the distance.

We'd soon find ourselves climbing into the Castle Mountains.​

Castle Mountain is an open-pit heap leach gold mine that produced more than 1.2 million ounces of gold from 1991 to 2004, at which point the mine was closed due to low gold prices.

Equinox Gold acquired the mine in December 2017 and completed a feasibility study in 2018 with the intention of restarting operations. The study outlined a two-phase development plan, with annual average gold production of approximately 30,000 ounces during Phase 1 using existing operating permits, and a Phase 2 expansion to more than 200,000 ounces of gold per year.

Phase 1 activities began in October 2019 and commercial production was achieved in November 2020. Primarily using stockpiled ore from previous operations, this phase is - essentially - a small-scale pilot plant for the planned Phase 2 expansion.

Production at Castle Mountain in 2023 is forecast at 25,000 to 30,000 ounces of gold with all-in sustaining costs between $1,865 to $1,950 per ounce.

Equinox Gold​

(AdventureTaco Note: gold prices as of this writing are in the $1,950 oz range, so this isn't a very profitable mine.)


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As we crossed the valley, the road passed by pile of volcanic rocks with a deep desert varnish. The perfect spot for some rock art, my right foot quickly moved to the brake as I pulled the Tacoma out of gear and grabbed @mrs.turbodb's binoculars from the rear seat.

Usually in situations like this - or I suppose I should say "always," before this particular incident - there's nothing to see. This time, however, I hit the jackpot!

Are we stopping, again?!​

Split rock glyphs.​

Doodles.​

Ancient Chemehuevi Indian puzzle design.​

This barrel cactus was just showing off in what was otherwise a sea of green.​

For the second time in fewer than four hours, I found myself bouldering through the desert, this time being careful to avoid the plentiful petroglyphs. We were there for a good 15 minutes or so - long enough for Mike to excuse himself for a little seat time on his Lug-a-Loo - before wrapping up our investigation and beginning our ascent into the Castle Mountains.

As the Joshua Trees transitioned to Yucca, we rounded a rise to a fabulous view.​

As we reached the base of the mountains, I turned left, hoping the road would lead us to the ruins of the Valley View Mine that I'd seen in satellite imagery as I researched the route. Within a quarter mile, it was clear that this was not a road that would get us there, but as we endeavored to turn around, Mike's truck stalled and wouldn't restart.

Immediately, it was Zane-to-the-rescue. To be clear, this is always the case whenever anyone has a truck problem and Zane is along, but in this particular situation, it was extra nice to have him there because the problem seemed to be with an aftermarket ECU (the computer that controls the whole Tacoma) that Mike and Zane had installed over the course of the last year.

Laptop in hand, Zane hooked up to the ECU and began debugging. Figuring that it might be a minute, I set out to explore the maze of roads - leading to dozens of historic mines sprinkled amongst the mountainous terrain - to find the one that would carry us to the mine we were after.

Ultimately, I could see the road at the ruins, but I couldn't find a way to get there.​

After rolling back the latest update to Mike's snazzy new computer, the Redhead - that's Mike's truck - fired up and Zane declared the problem "fixed enough." We were back underway.

In hindsight, perhaps we shouldn't have left Mike in the tail-gunner position... ​

Winding our way towards the Nevada state line, this cool ridge near Lewis Holes popped into view.​

By now, Mike wasn't just worried about his truck, but he was also in need of fuel. We'd covered a bit more than 150 miles since he and Zane had gassed up in Mojave Valley, and with a 6,000lb supercharged beast, he was getting on the order of 10 mpg through the rough terrain.

As I think is only natural, Zane and I (minus Zane, who's not a total jerk) decided that low fuel was his problem and that we should continue as though nothing were amiss and that we all had tanks that were half full. Because, Zane (for real this time) and my tanks actually were half full.

Which is when we stumbled on the first EMHT Mailbox.

Numero Uno.​

This was just too good an opportunity to pass up. Where you at @Blackdawg?​

After a quick stop for lunch as we overlooked the Piute Valley, we made the 10-mile run to Searchlight without further issue. It was there - after filling up with gas - that things would really get interesting.

After playing with Mike's computer a bit more, Zane determined that it was sporadically sending the 5VZFE engine into a lean state (not enough fuel). In this state, Zane wasn't comfortable with Mike continuing, but after a bit more investigation, it seemed that the lean state was the computer reacting to what it sensed was a rich state (too much fuel). Suspecting a spark plug or ignition coil, we tore into the engine to inspect - and regap if necessary - the plugs.

The speed at which Zane had all the plugs out - and in again - really made me wonder what the heck my problem was when I replaced the plugs in my Tacoma.​

Ultimately, the plugs looked bad - but still, good enough - and Zane decided that next step should be rolling back the latest firmware update that he'd recently installed into Mike's ECU.

This is why you don't update software that's already working.​

After rolling back, things were immediately back to normal for the Redhead. This, I assure you, relieved all of us. None of us mentioned it at the time - we're too superstitious for that - but the thought that we might have to call the trip after just a single day was not something we were keen to entertain.

And with that, we headed back into the desert, and into the eastern edge of the York fire.

Sad barrel cactus and his yucca buddies.​

A few hours later - having worked our way into the northern tip of the New York Mountains - we crested the pass and began our descent towards the old town of Nipton. First though, we took a minute to "admire" of the sun-worshiping towers of the Ivanpah Solar Power Plant.

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I remember seeing these towers for the first time, and my reaction was pretty similar to Mike and Zane on this trip. "What the are those?"​

Built between 2010-2014, the Ivanpah Power Station is a solar thermal power plant that uses nearly 175,000 mirrors to focus sunlight on three boiler towers to generate steam and power special turbines that generate electricity. Capable of producing 392 megawatts, it was built on public land as a joint project between California and the U.S. Government - at a cost of $2.2 billion. Ironically, despite being a solar thermal plant, it burns natural gas for several hours each morning to warm up the boiler towers, emitting nearly twice the pollution that California allows for power plants and factories.

And, to add insult to injury, in September 2016, federal biologists reported that approximately 6,000 birds die annually from collisions with the towers or by immolation (being burned) while chasing flying insects through the superheated air reflected by the mirrors.

wikipedia​

"Sun mother, we love you."​

So much light is reflected toward the towers that the air through which it is focused is actually visible.​

After a bit of admiration-turned-bewilderment, we headed into the Ivanpah valley toward Nipton. I'd related Nipton as an "artsy little town," since that's how @mrs.turbodb and I had found it as we passed through on the Nevada Backcountry Discovery Route (NVBDR), but it turned out to be nothing of the sort this time. All the art - and frankly, color - was gone from this historic little town, and we almost passed through without stopping at all. Only as we were pulling away did I notice the rocky crags of Castle Peaks in the New York Mountains to our south, and after a quick photo, we were gone.

Am I the only one who thinks it's confusing that Castle Peaks are in the New York Mountains and not the (adjacent) Castle Mountains?
Note: I am easily confused.​

It was 4:25pm as we reached the base of the Ivanpah Valley. With less than 30 minutes until sunset, we wrapped up Segment 1 of the EMHT at the old Ivanpah Con Mill at the base of the Clark Mountains. There's little worth seeing there today, and anyway, I had my sights set on a camp that I knew Mike and Zane would enjoy - if only we could get there before the sun dropped below the horizon.

Sunglasses on - and windshield visors lowered - to battle the blinding sun, we climbed the steep road toward the Coloseum Mine. We wouldn't visit the mine till morning, but even from the road, this place is imposing. Cresting the saddle I voiced relief over the CB Radio when we finally turned south - into the Shadow of Clark Mountain - and we were able to remove our sunglasses and see again!

Nearly there.​

As we pulled into camp, it was smiles all around. Plenty of flat space - both on the edge for Zane and me, and a little further away for Mike; a fire ring, that we'd forego in favor of propane. but nice nonetheless; views - all around - that we could enjoy as we chatted into the darkness; and no wind.

Yes, life was good.​

It'd been another long day, and with the real possibility of it being the last, we lasted only an hour or two after moonrise. Then, the call of soft, horizontal surfaces was too much to bear - at least for Zane and me - and we were off to one of the most pleasant nights of sleep of the entire adventure.

The next day, we'd head west. To places none of us had ever travelled. On roads that no longer exist. At speeds so slow, we might as well have walked.

 

Awesome pics, awesome narrative!

 

Mine Hopping | EMHT Segment 2A Clark Mountain to Silver Lake
Part of the East Mojave Heritage Trail (Nov 2023) trip.

We lucked out with a windless night along our ridge on the eastern edge of the Clark Mountains. Hoping that out orientation would allow for some nice color at sunrise, I was up early to try and find the best angle from which to capture the splendor we were lucky enough to call home for a night.

Framed by Clark Mountain, there was just a hint of color in the sky.​

Mike @Digiratus and Zane @Speedytech7 weren't far behind, and as I was wrapping up the morning photo session of their best-gen trucks, they were boiling water for coffee and beginning the process of packing up camp.

Our plan for the day was ambitious. We'd start - not far from camp - at the Coloseum Mine, make our way through the Kingston Range Wilderness, explore a couple of old mines and cabins along the old Tonopah and Tidewater rail grade, and then work our way back towards the Clark Mountains, to camp amongst the troglodyte village at the old Valley Wells Smelter site.

Turns out, given the road - or roadless, as we'd discover - conditions, it was too ambitious, but we were blissfully unaware of what lay ahead as we set out for the Coloseum Mine.

We could soon make out the mountain (literally) of material that had been moved in search of a shiny yellow metal.​

Worked for many decades, the most profitable years for this mine were 1987-1993 when more than $100 million in gold was blasted out of the pit. During this time, it produced nearly 7000 oz. of gold per month, moving over 800,000 tons of material per month to accomplish the task. The operation ran 24 hours a day, and produced more than all the Mojave Preserve's other historic mines combined!

Hiking the Mojave Desert​

The last time I'd visited this mine, it'd been abandoned. Today, however, a few shipping containers dotted the upper level, and as we peered over the side we could just make out a couple of drilling rigs just above the water line. We wondered aloud if there was some possibility of the mine reopening, and if so, whether the mountain of tailing should be the first plan of attack. Easy pickings as it were.

From the top, this is an impressive place.​

Smart miners always drill first.​

As the sun reflected off the stepped walls, the glass-like surface of the pool reflected every detail a second time.​

While it might have been fun to wander down to the equipment, the place was well-signed against doing so - and anyway, we had placed to be - so after a few photos and a lot of "man, that's big," we were back in our Tacomas and headed down Yates Well Road.

This wouldn't be the last time Clark Mountain would come into view.​

Several mines and cabins - including the, "it wasn't tilting before," Green's Cabin - along our descent have seen better days.​

For much of the descent - some 1,500 feet or so - there wasn't much of a view as we were primarily travelling in a wash. As we neared the bottom however - transitioning off of Yates Well Road - we got a glimpse of what we were in for as the trail continued north into the Kingston Range Wilderness.

Yes please!​

Before long, we were speeding along a long-ago-paved section of road toward the Excelsior Mine, a colorful Kingston Peak dazzling in the distance. "That looks like a mountain that must be full of good stuff to mine," Zane mentioned over the CB radio. It's rare that Zane comments on the geology or views - though I'm sure he enjoys them plenty - so I figured a stop was in order so we could all capture the view in our own way.

Which color should we mine today?​

Zane wasn't going to miss this one.​

Either was Mike.​

After a couple dozen high-speed miles - enough that I was wondering if we'd make it even further along the route by the end of the day than I'd initially thought - we bailed off the pavement and back onto dirt, the route passing through one of the beefiest gates I've encountered as it began winding its way through Kingston Wash.

Though this gate was more pleasant to operate than the barbed-wire-and-wood-post variety, it was perhaps a little overkill for a place that sees so little traffic.​

Geology is fascinating. Lava flows over fanglomerate.​

Following tire tracks in the wash - essentially a pick-your-own-adventure as the "road" is frequently obliterated in heavy rains - we did our best to stay on the main route, content in our knowledge that any route we chose would ultimately lead us to the same destination. Except it wasn't quite so easy - at least not at the speeds our Tacoma's could travel - because part way down, I had a pit stop I wanted to make.

EMHT Mailbox #2.​

Working our way around and having a good time doing it! turbodb (AdventureTaco), Digiratus, Speedytech7.
Where is Blackdawg?​

After signing the book, I flipped to the front and found a nice intro describing what we're a part of.​

Now, it turns out that I'd missed the turn to the mailbox - by about 50 feet - as we'd barreled down the wash. I'd flipped around as soon as I realized my mistake, and mentioned over the radio to Mike and Zane that I was headed off along a side road in search of the mailbox. When they hadn't shown up by the time I was done signing the register, I simply followed the sideroad downstream until it rejoined the main route.

Where were my buddies? I was all alone, and couldn't raise them on the radio!​

After a quick horn honk - they must have been out of their trucks talking - I could hear the roar of engines and soon saw clouds of dust working their way toward me.​

Once again we were three, and though I'd stopped several times to snap a photo of this or that along the way, we were still making very good time. Our false sense of security was growing strong!

It was 11:00am when we pulled into the parking area at Kingston Spring. With our daily schedule starting much earlier than normal for these trips, we'd eaten at about this time the previous morning, so I checked around to see if we should do the same today, mentioning, "The other option is that we wait half-an-hour or maybe forty-five minutes and eat at a couple of cabins that aren't too much further along the route."

Into the canyons at Kingston Spring. Looks like a nice hike for a future visit.​

With a sales pitch like that - and more likely, given that they'd both been snacking a bit already - it was no wonder that both Zane and Mike were keen to wait until we reached Riggs Cabin before breaking out the sandwhich fixings. Back in the trucks, we continued our trek to the west.

It was in the Valjean Valley that our descent down the alluvial fan was abruptly interrupted by a left-hand turn. The direction of this turn isn't all that important, only the fact that our travel was now across the alluvial fan matters. As @mrs.turbodb and I had learned when we were hiking Military Canyon in the Owlshead Mountains of Death Valley, cross-fan travel may seem like a shorter or more direct route, but it is never a good idea.

Years of rain - no doubt capped by the epic flooding from Hurricane Hillary a few months before our visit - made the 7 miles of "road" between our current location and Riggs Cabin an utter nightmare. Slowly crawling alongside old rail grade - the grade itself washed out in so many places as to be impassable as a means of travel - we found ourselves in 4-Lo as we climbed and fell through the 28-24" channels of rock and debris that scared the landscape.

The Tonopah and Tidewater Railroad once raced across a bridge here. If only we could have done the same.​

Eventually we turned towards the cabin, the road slightly more defined in certain places, but completely obliterated in others.​

Made it!​

It took us more than two hours to travel the seven miles between Valjean and Riggs Cabin. No longer was there a question of whether it was time for lunch, rather it was a question of whether we could prepare lunch before we starved to death. To death, I say.

Of course, I'm prone to risk all sorts of injury and apparently even death in situations like this, so while Mike and Zane pulled ingredients out of their fridges for hearty sandwiches, I headed into the cabin to check out the digs.

Pretty nice place!​

I especially liked this sign.​

Then, it was time for a big old bowl of Wheat Chex - a cereal I bemoaned as a kid, but that is one of my favorites now - and some enormous, firm, red grapes as desert. I could tell that neither Zane nor Mike were jealous.

Given the time of day, it was clear at this point that our slow traverse of the alluvial fan - an exercise we'd need to continue along the next segment of our route - meant that we were not going to make it to Valley Wells. Reevaluating the situation, I hoped we'd be able to make it to the Silver Lake Mine, a mere seven miles further along the trail and some 49 miles short of our original camping destination!

After a quick pow-wow regarding the new plan, I let the guys know that I was going to run over to an old mill site and workings just around the corner from the cabin, since we'd exerted quite a bit of effort to get here and I didn't want to leave without seeing as much as I could, even if we weren't going to do a multi-hour, full-site exploration.

I don't know for sure that these foundations were part of a mill, but they sure seemed to fit the profile for some sort of concentration apparatus.​

This cool crackled mud was just outside the adit entrance.​

It was quite a bit warmer in here, out of the wind!​

Back on the road, there was only one stop - another cabin - between us and the Silver Lake Mine, and we had a choice to make as to our approach. The sure method - and the one we'd agreed to take as we'd reevaluated over lunch - was to head back the way we'd come, suffering through the alluvial fan a second time. The other option was to take a more direct route, following a road that was no longer visible on the ground at Riggs Cabin, but that - if we could find it along the way - would cut the distance by 75%.

We probably should have stuck with the original plan, but as I'd wandered up and around the hill to the mine, I thought I spotted a short section of the shorter road in the distance. Relaying that to the guys over the radio, and as the leader of this rag-tag bunch, I set off across the roughest terrain yet, hoping for the best.

In the distance, our Jake's Place was nestled into the base of the Silurian Hills.​

We lost the road to Jake's Place about halfway between the EMHT and the cabin, instead following the wash - as apparently others had done before us - to a secondary approach to the cabin via a rickety flight of stairs leading from the wash, which have somehow survived the flooding events that pummeled everything else in sight.

Not everyone could have made it up this narrow rocky route, but for us it was just a bit of slow fun.​

Compared to most, this one looked built to last.​

I loved the welcome on this door. For me, it really exemplifies the proper mindset for these special places in the desert.​

Nicely kept place on the inside too. Very little evidence of rodent activity, no small feat in these parts!​

R.I.P Jake.​

Never found this at a cabin before. A recent note in the guest book related the finding of them scattered around outside on the ground. "Give 'em a shot," it urged.​

With Mike having opted to stay with the trucks - his knee had been giving him some grief, and so a flight of rickety stairs wasn't something he wanted to tackle - Zane and I didn't spend long at Jake's place before heading back down to find our companion. He as a little way back down the wash, waiting for us - camera ready - at one of the obstacles we'd navigated on the way up. Hopefully he got a good shot or two!

And with that, we were on to the place we'd call home for the night. It was only 3:15pm, but getting to camp a little early was certainly better than arriving at our previously planned camp several hours after sunset. Plus, an early arrival would allow Mike an opportunity for a camp shower, and would also permit - for anyone interested - a more leisurely investigation of the structures and workings that I'd seen in satellite imagery as I'd planned the route through the Silver Lake Mine.

The clouds were looking strange - it must have been windy up there - as we made our approach.​

We'd been driving through dramatic backdrops all day.​

Once we found the road to the Silver Lake Mine, the going got quite a bit easier, though the terrain around it stayed the same. It's always surprising to me how much of an art road building can be, and the folks of the Silver Lake Mine had mastered their trade.

The first ore bin we came to emptied right into the wash.​

Remnants of a railway, constructed with a base of the crushed talc ore that was being mined on site.​

Approximately 7 miles northeast of the Silver Lake playa there are several old mine sites. The Silver Lake mine, first worked in 1916, is the oldest and largest operation. The other two mines have been operated continuously since the early 1940s. The combined output of the three totaled between 15,000 and 20,000 tons of talc in 1950.

Deposits of commercial talc in the vicinity of Silver Lake, were almost continuously mined from 1915 to the mid-1970s. They yielded an estimated 300,000 tons of metamorphosed sedimentary rocks. These deposits consist of mixtures of magnesian silicate minerals – mostly tremolite but also various proportions of talc, chlorite(?), serpentine, and forsterite. The products sold as commercial talc were used as a ceramic raw material and a paint ingredient. The talc-rich rock was also marketed as a lubricant in the manufacture of rubber goods.

academia.edu​

This portal had been sealed recently, but many of the adits and shafts on the site were still open.​

After driving much of the site with me, Zane headed into the sun to find wherever it was that Mike had setup camp.​

After exploring what we could by truck, there was one thing nagging at me. The keen observer may have noticed it in a previous photo as well. At any rate, I knew I had to return for one more look.

If that's not an invitation to "come on in," I don't know what is.​

Now, this adit had obviously been sealed up for what someone - likely someone who knew more than any of us - determined to be a good reason. And, as an upstanding citizen, I was in no position to bypass this elaborate barricade, even if said barricade contained an opening the perfect size for me to fold myself into.

So, I definitely didn't go in.

In fact, the following photos are - obviously, as anyone familiar with his LED-lit underground work will know - from Mike @mk5. I don't know when he visited, and he'd certainly never admit to remembering photographing this mine if he were asked, but I can confirm that the LED lights are his. I also have no idea how his photos ended up on my camera.

Just one of life's little mysteries, I guess.

There's no pot of gold at the end of this rainbow. A bit of talc, maybe.​

The adit extended quite a way into the mountain, several branches and shafts running in various directions in an effort to follow the highest grade material. Along the way, the names of many miners who once worked this mine were painted onto the wall with axle grease, the oldest from 1906!

H.R. HEATH, CHELSEA, OKLA. (left) | Fred Hormell (right)​

Larry Mulcahy 1906 Long Beach​

As I returned to the portal, the light outside was turning orange.​

With the sun only moments from dropping below the horizon, it was time to get back to camp. Surely by now, Mike and Zane would be ready to light the fire. Though, our elevation - 3,500 feet lower than the previous evening - meant that we'd likely keep the propane on low, using it mostly for the pleasant atmosphere it provided for "truck talk."

Perfect timing.​

We'd end up chatting into the night, the moon rising and climbing high overhead before two of us couldn't take it anymore and excused ourselves for bed. As I'm prone to do, I'd found the highest spot around camp to call home for the night, so as I picked my way from the camp fire to my Tacoma, I found my mind wandering to the following day, and how far "behind schedule" today's roads had put us.

Because you know, when you're out here enjoying the desert, the "schedule" is the most important thing. Ha! That, and the knowledge that there were some amazing places in store for tomorrow, was enough to push any worry out of my mind, and before long, I drifted off to sleep.

 

Talc is my favorite flavor of gold!

Just... protect your perineum, man.

 

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

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

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

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

Next stop, Baker!​

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does anyone ever pick up their casings?​

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

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

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

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

On to the ****** turquoise mine!​

Layer upon layer.​

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

The Redhead looked good out in the desert!​

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

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

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

Explore the Desert​

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

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

Interior window.​

Curiosity in a warm glow.​

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

As though it was painted onto the rock.​

Would you have picked it up?​

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

Soaking in the view a final time.​

Nestled in there was once a very profitable mine.​

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hiking the Mojave Desert​

​

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I particularly like this bit of rock.​

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

​

Show you care, do not share.​

​

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

*************** - 1899-1984​

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Unless I'm drunk, it's been known to happen this early, I think you skipped a day

 

Dammit, I finally figured out where my mystery posts were going. A separate thread ?!?

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"One" of my servings.​

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

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

Oh, right, there was no leftover bacon.

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

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

Through the Joshua Trees to the Evening Star Mine.​

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

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

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

Hiking the Mojave Desert​

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

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

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

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

Lonely.​

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

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

A familiar terrain.​

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

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

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

Hiking the Mojave Desert​

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rock as almost as artistic as the etchings.​

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

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

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

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

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

Volcanoes as far as the eye can see.​

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

Success!​

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

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

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

Layers.​

Into the sun.​

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

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

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

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

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

Not far to go now.​

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

Terror of the desert. (Lepus cornutus.)​

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

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

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

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

All alone at the end of the road.​

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

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

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

The following morning...

Three amigos.​

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

For once, I was right.

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

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

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

 

How dare you, I never mess up.

I was even able to get them in the right order, by replacing that first one. Now that's thinking. I'm done for the day!

 

Desert Art | EMHT Segment 3A Rocky Ridge to Granite Mountains
Part of the A Bit More EMHT (Dec 2023) trip.

There was no way Mike @Digiratus, Zane @Speedytech7, and I were going to run the entirety of the East Mojave Heritage Trail when we set out to do it at the end of November. At something more than 700 miles long - not including the nearby side-adventures that I added for our enjoyment - it might seem like a Backcountry Discovery Route, but the roads are significantly slower and more technical, and the percentage of on-dirt miles is significantly larger.

Frankly, these two things make it easily twice the length of a BDR, not to mention the fact that we were trying to do it at a time of year that sported 9 total hours of daylight, vs. the 14+ hours that we often have in summer for our cross-state journeys.

And so, a week after completing segments 1 and 2 with Mike and Zane, @mrs.turbodb and I were back to run segment 3 - from Rocky Ridge to Fenner. It was perfect really, since this segment contained two, 5+ mile hikes - more and more, our favorite part of any adventure - an activity that would have been less interesting, if not downright impossible, for the previous weeks' crew.

- - - - -​

After a quick provisioning in Las Vegas - for both our bellies and the Tacoma - we headed south on I-15 for the western edge of the Mojave National Preserve. With a couple of days for our adventure, we were in no huge rush, so it seemed only sensible to pick up where Mike, Zane, and I had left off - the camp site at Mesquite Spring. A three-ish-hour drive, our 3:30pm departure out of Las Vegas meant that we'd arrive well after dark.

With no reason to rush, we were only half an hour into our adventure when I made some lame joke about a sign along the highway that read "Seven Magic Mountains," and how the Six Flags Magic Mountain amusement park had some competition out here in the desert. Little did I realize that Seven Magic Mountains was an art installation that I'd passed - without knowing its name - several times in the last year, each time wondering how to get off the freeway to see it!

Vibrant towers.​

Seven Magic Mountains is an artwork of thresholds and crossings of balanced marvels and excessive colors, of casting and gathering the contrary air between the desert and the city lights.

Ugo Rondinone​

What is Seven Magic Mountains?

A large-scale, site-specific public artwork by artist Ugo Rondinone, Seven Magic Mountains opened in May 2016. Mediating between geological formations and abstract compositions, Rondinone's Seven Magic Mountains consists of locally-sourced limestone boulders stacked vertically in groups ranging between three and six. Each stone boasts a different fluorescent color; each individual totem stands between thirty and thirty-five feet high. The artwork extends Rondinone's long-running interest in natural phenomena and their reformulation in art. Inspired by naturally occurring Hoodoos and balancing rock formations, the stacks also evoke the art of meditative rock balancing. The works appear poised between monumentality and collapse - seeming to defy gravity in their teetering formations, but equally to depend on it.

​

Like kids blocks, but excavator size.​

Why was this location chosen for the artwork?

Located a short distance from Nevada's legendary Jean Dry Lake where Jean Tinquely and Michael Heizer created significant sculptures; Seven Magic Mountains is one of the largest land-based art installations in the United States completed in over forty years. The work pays homage to the history of Land Art while also offering a contemporary critique of the simulacra in nearby Las Vegas.​

Colorfully contrasted with against the desert landscape.​

After 15 minutes of magical mountains, we retraced out our back through Jean. The sun was racing quickly towards the horizon as we passed from Nevada into <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">to </span>California, the Ivanpah Solar Plant already cooling down after a short day of lackluster production.

Soon, the Tacoma was nestled under the trees, and we were nestled under the comforters, our exploration of the East Mojave Heritage Trail ready to begin.

The following morning...

With less than ten hours between the 6:38am sunrise and 4:17pm sunset, there was no time to waste if we wanted to complete segment 3 of the EMHT in two days, so I'd set my alarm for 20 minutes before sunrise, so we could get going at the crack of dawn.

Desert sunrise.​

Wandering a bit as @mrs.turbodb was getting dressed, I really liked the circle pattern of some petroglyphs I'd never seen before!​

More circles.​

Soon enough, the sun was up and we were headed south along Crucero Road, following the old Tonopah to Tidewater rail grade towards the Broadwell Lake Playa. A fixture throughout the Mojave, this was the same grade that we'd inched our way alongside - as we'd dropped in and out of drainages across an alluvial fan - on segment 2 of the EMHT, just south of the Kingston Wilderness. Here, the going was much easier, the terrain allowing us to make good time.

Soft, sandy soil made for an extra cushy ride with our aired-down tires.​

Crossing Broadwell Lake on the old - slightly raised - rail grade.​

Outrunning the flying camera.​

Zoom zoom.​

At the south end of the playa, we found ourselves at Ludlow, where present day I-40 and the iconic Route 66 meet to play leapfrog as they continue west. It was a place we'd passed through without stopping on our previous visit, and we'd have done the same this time were it not for a waypoint I'd found for the Old Murphy General Store.

As we pulled up, I wondered if it was even worth stopping.​

Ludow in its heyday, nearly 100 years ago.​

Like the rest of Ludlow, this place was likely once a bustling business - tourists, overlanders, and freight all stopping in for a bite to eat or to fill up on gas - but with the advent of the interstate, it has become little more than a mostly-abandoned ghost town. Not overly optimistic, I wandered into the ruins.

​

This is the second time I've seen this name. C'mon Zane, stop writing on walls.​

As I stumbled around a corner, I was greeted by a smile.​

Desert girls.​

A second face, perfectly placed on the crumbling concrete.​

Pleasantly surprised by the stop - though any time we find graffiti like this, it's always with mixed feelings - we altered our heading from south to east, following Route 66 for a few miles as it meandered through the landscape, a stark contrast to the arrow-straight-engineering demonstrated by I-40.

We were surprised how much traffic still flows on this route, as people old and young revel in the past.​

Our stint on pavement lasted fewer than ten miles before we were once again on dirt, following the rail grade of the BNSF towards Amboy. Plentiful train traffic - more than 125 cars in tow - raced by in both directions, the smooth rails allowing for speeds well in excess of our slow, bumpy pace. It's no wonder that trains ruled the west, they are the perfect desert transportation.

Along the way, we found EMHT Mailbox #3.​

First ones through in December!​

We had to stop for a look at Siberia Crater. A view that only the flying camera could capture!​

Back in the Tacoma and bumping along the trail, it was right around 11:00am - halfway through our limited daylight - when we approached Amboy, home to an astonishingly symmetric-looking crater.

Unlike Siberia Crater, which we'd viewed "American-style," via a technology and a screen, we planned to hike Amboy Crater. Four-miles roundtrip with only 100 feet of elevation gain, we'd use it to stretch our legs - a bit of post-lunch exercise - and as a warm-up for the much more arduous 6-mile, 3,000-foot hike we had planned for the following day. Or, so we thought.

Guess there's no question as to whether it erupted. ​

Can't pass through Amboy without a quick stop at Roy's.​

The last third of the nineteenth century brought the railroad into southern California. The Atlantic and Pacific built west through Arizona to Needles, while at the same time the Southern Pacific built east through the California desert to the Colorado River. The Southern Pacific, working east from the town of Mojave through Waterman (now Barstow), in this region followed a route south of the Mojave Road, thereby avoiding the rough terrain through which that trail passed. The railroad skirted the Providence, Old Dad, and Bristol Mountains to the north of here, reaching Needles (about 155 miles east of Barstow) in 1883. In 1884 the Santa Fe Railroad purchased the desert right-of-way from the Southern Pacific, and operated it as the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad, Western Division. Small towns were established along this route to provide water for the thirsty steam locomotives. Starting here in Amboy, the towns were named in alphabetical order from west to east: Amboy, Bristol, Cadiz, Danby, Edson, Fenner, Goffs, Homer, Ibis, and Java. Later, Edson became Essex and Bristol became Bengal. During the golden age of rail travel, the Santa Fe Railway ran some of its most famous passenger trains over this route, including the Grand Canyon Limited, the Chief, and the Super Chief. Today, Amtrak continues this tradition, with its Southwest Chief, which makes the run between Los Angeles and Chicago in just over two days.

Information sign​

Apparently Santa is a snowbird, taking up residence at Roy's when it gets chilly at the North Pole.​

Yep, we're still in the desert.​

As the names suggest, it wasn't far - only a mile or two - from "downtown" Amboy to the trailhead for Amboy Crater. With several shaded picnic tables at the trailhead, it was the perfect spot for @mrs.turbodb's turkey sandwiches and a few Fritos before setting off on the rock-lined Amboy Crater Hiking Trail. From the get-go, the battle between the naturalists and their lawyers was obvious - a description of the trail, its history, and what we should expect to enjoy along the way posted just above a "HIKING HERE IS NOT RECOMMENDED" warning. Good work, America!

Rebel.​

Poor volcano barfed everywhere.​

It was interesting to see how the erosion was amplified down the slopes of the cone.​

From ancient art on rocks to modern art of rocks, it seems humans have always loved spirals.
​

I'm not sure why - perhaps because I had the distance wrong - but I'd envisioned the hike to Amboy Crater taking four hours to complete, so I was quite relieved - given the ground we still had to cover before finding camp - when we returned after only half that time. Still, it was 2:00pm as we got back into the Tacoma and onto the trail, the EMHT changing direction once again - heading north towards the Granite Mountains of the Mojave Preserve.

Our route would take us through the Bristol Mountains, and I'd mapped out a short detour - along old mining roads - that I hoped would allow us to poke around the Orange Blossom Mine before crossing under I-40 on our way to Budweiser Canyon.

Into the Bristol Mountains.​

Yep, we're still in the desert.​

Anatomically correct graffiti.​

Unfortunately, the mining roads I'd scouted via satellite - while passable by a 1s gen Tacoma for the first mile or so - had no evidence of travel as they transitioned from the bottom of the wash to a narrow shelf road that climbed up into the mountains. Ravaged by rain and decades of deterioration, it wasn't long before lockers and a careful line were far from enough to keep us from certain death. Alas, we were forced to back down and find a spot to turn around.

Back on the main EMHT route we soon crested the pass, our road continuing into the distance through Orange Blossom Wash.​

As it turns out, the route I'd mapped to the Orange Blossom Mine was actually a through-route, and it was with high hopes that we turned off of the EMHT for a second time to attempt access from the east. The road here seemed much more frequently travelled, and we put our odds at somewhere between 30- and 75% - depending on which one of us you asked - as to whether we'd make it to the mine or not.

In the end, @mrs.turbodb was correct. We did not make it to the mine, at least, not on the ground. The Orange Blossom is - apparently - still active, and signed for no trespassing.​

Retreat.​

While our inability to explore the mine was a bit of a bummer at the time, it was also - in retrospect - beneficial from a timing perspective. Now 3:40pm, we had only 45 minutes before sunset, and even less time before the fiery ball would drop behind the Bristol Mountains to our west. The race was on!

Let's go left.​

I don't know why it's always fun to drive under the freeway in the desert. It's not like it's an uncommon experience in the city.​

Our destination for the evening - somewhere near Budweiser Canyon - was not on the East Mojave Heritage Trail. Rather, it was a place we'd visited back in 2020 when we'd been foolish enough to think that we could hike one of the most difficult trails in the Mojave Preserve, and find a pictograph depicting a pair of red men dancing. Ultimately, we'd spent so much time searching - unsuccessfully - for the pictograph that we'd run out of time for the hike.

Into the long shadows and through a sea of rippling amber.​

And yet, it was with the same hubris that I'd added this little excursion to our trip this time. In the intervening years I'd gotten a hint as to the location of the pictographs, and surely, I thought, the hike couldn't be that bad. Of course, I'd refrained from re-reading the hike's description, an oversight that my companion would gleefully correct before we set out the following morning.

For now - having arrived in the last of the day's light - I set out in search of the pictographs, certain I knew exactly where they were.

I'd seen these modern petroglyphs before, but they are still fun to encounter.​

Now where'd I put that eraser?​

A SHIP 60, CURT 87 (left) | M POLY, E EDWA (right)​

Unsurprisingly, my certainty was misguided. Try as I might - and I was mightily trying - I was unable to will pictographs into existence in the location I was sure they should be. With light fading fast, it was a hopeless endeavor, even as I discovered what had to be a clue.

Follow the arrow?​

It was too new to be old.​

Alas, as @mrs.turbodb - who'd decided that the smart move was to warm up our chicken tender wraps while I chased faint memories of the past - called me for dinner, there wasn't enough light to keep searching anyway. This, naturally, meant we would have a decision to make in the morning - continue our search or abandon it in favor of the hike we'd already skipped once before?

During dinner, we caught the tail end of a show.​

Or perhaps - suggested @mrs.turbodb - we should try something else entirely!







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