New BEV

NEW BEV

exploring old worn-out roads in a new backcountry rig

by Steve Greene

Springtime was in the air, the awakening wilderness was emerging from its cold winter hibernation, and the primal world was incessantly calling my name … beckoning me to return once again for my expected visits. Old friends are precious, and I shall not disappoint this one, which I have known since early childhood, as I trod upon its earthen essence even before I held any true appreciation of the relationship that would develop over the ensuing decades. Wildflowers were budding across the many hillsides, and with them, the countless masses of beautiful butterflies fluttered hither and yon across the lower reaches of airspace, busily attending to some work that only they must understand.

Whispering breezes were warming , and I was ready to set out on another backcountry adventure safari … well, almost ready. My aging backcountry exploration vehicle (BEV) had begun to nickel and dime me to death during the previous year, and my elder mom said she would rest a lot easier at night if she knew I had more reliable transportation on my remote and lonely trips into the Death Valley outback. She wanted me around for a few more birthday celebrations. The Desert Gypsy sent encouraging thoughts my way, leading me down the road to a new vehicle purchase.

It was a difficult decision because I liked what I had been driving on the backroads, even though it was ten years old. The fact that I would never recoup my purchase price money on a resale only added to my hesitation to get something out of the box … cars are just a money-losing proposition, unfortunately. Plus, Old Red is paid off, and a new rig would require debt. Yet, my personal environmental beliefs were clearly in conflict with having a BEV that weighed over three tons and contributed far too much pollution to our atmosphere. Besides, with over 160,000 miles on the odometer, one never knows what will break next, so I decided to clean up my act, minimize my losses, and move on to a new set of wheels. Death Valley is just too big and remote to take chances with an old rig once things begin to give out on it.

After much study and deliberation of potential four wheel drive vehicles that would serve my needs, the order was placed and I began my wait. I had ordered a rig that would go far beyond what was expected by the average buyer. I was not an urban SUV warrior … my new rig had to be a true backcountry exploration vehicle that would allow me to access the far reaches of nature, while minimizing the negative impact upon the land I loved. This new rig would be the “Keeper” that I will hopefully be able to drive for the rest of my days, bringing decent fuel efficiency to my trips, and allowing me more maneuverability in the tight canyons of the Park. At nearly one ton lighter, this new rig certainly was going to be much more nimble and environmentally friendly.

Of course, there was no way that I could just sit around and twiddle my thumbs for eight to ten weeks, dreaming of my next excursion, so I did take a final five-day trek with Old Red before the sale to another owner. And yes, to answer your question, there was an annoying mechanical problem mid-trip that consumed a few precious hours of the day, and had me thinking that a premature return to civilization was needed, but it turned out all right with the help of a Furnace Creek gent named Freddie.

Mid-summer, a phone call from the dealer informed me that the rig was mine as soon as I could come on up to get it. Once in my garage, it was obvious that I had to remove the brand-new P-rated tires (4 ply) and purchase serious backcountry LT tires (6-10 ply). The passenger car tires that came on the BEV would not be safe to use on the DV backroads. And of course, it wasn’t the best time of year to be jaunting around the Death Valley outback either, seeing as how 127 degree days are not really conducive to the optimal terrain exploration experience.

Therefore, I spent the remainder of that hot summer preparing the new rig for a fall outing, carefully figuring out how to carry all the gear that I always have on board so that it would ride well on the roughest of roads. I also aired the interior out for a few weeks with a fan to get rid of the new-car smell … some folks like it, but I realize that it is the result of hazardous chemicals and adhesives used in construction that are harmful to human health, and I wanted the BEV neutral by the time I headed into the outback.

Well, now the fall is here, the rig is finally ready for its initial safari, and I am more than eager to go forth. Admittedly, there is a new variable in my routine, which could be cause for some apprehension, but I am hopeful that my maiden run in this new BEV will prove more fun and productive than past excursions. If my driving around town is any indicator, I am sure that my communion with the hinterlands will be enhanced with greater comfort and peace of mind. And, while the Earth would benefit most if I didn’t even have a vehicle, the 3.4 million acres of Death Valley National Park certainly demand one if I am going to continue to explore the beauties and mysteries of the natural world that exist within its boundaries.

Prior to my impending departure, I took out a paid membership with a college-initiated enterprise that allows average car owners like you and me to offset our carbon dioxide emissions with a modest financial investment that goes into alternative fuel funding. The company moves solar and wind powered solutions forward to a more timely global acceptance, and guarantees that the amount of pollutants emitted by participating vehicles is canceled out, or offset, by a clean air option. So, not only will I be getting about ten more miles per gallon than I did in Old Red, but theoretically, it’s as if nothing harmful is coming out of my tailpipe.

As is often the case, since the Desert Gypsy (grand old mom) lives in such close proximity to the National Park, I have been once again visiting with her before I begin this trip. These past few mornings, I have been viewing the National Park Service’s “Morning Report” that tells of road conditions each day. It is a smart way to know what one is getting into when trekking into the land of uncertainty. Fairly frequently, roads are closed due to flood damage, snow, or mud, so it pays to study-up ahead of time. It is rare that a person can visit Death Valley without something being amiss, either a road closure, no fuel at certain stations (of which there are not many anyway), or some other unknown boogey-man problem that might lay waste to your best laid plans. Like a good boy scout, I try to always be prepared and flexible!

At long last, the time has come for my departure. Mom is sad to see me go, and I must admit that I’ll miss her fine hospitality, good cooking, and happy companionship while we watch her Texas Hold-em poker games on television, but the wild is tugging at my boots and I can no longer delay. The first step is always the most difficult – once out of the driveway, it gets easier.

Day One – November 28, Monday

Northbound and alone on U.S. Highway 395, the thin paved ribbon for mass transit that flows through the country from Mexico to Canada, I contemplate what the NPS Morning Report on the Internet told me a few hours ago: “Goler Canyon …… Washed out at the falls. Impassable to most vehicles; HC 4×4 with winch required.” I could go another way, but I won’t. First of all, it has been a number of years since I last made my way up Goler to overnight in Redlands Canyon near Butte Valley, and I want to use it as my entrance into Death Valley this trip. The drive is spectacular and remote, providing an ideal setting for the outdoor adventurer or explorer. Additionally, this will be a good assessment tool in order to discover the true abilities of my new BEV. The report says high clearance with winch required … well, I have high clearance at 9.5 inches and more, but I have now chosen to no longer mount a heavy winch and supporting iron bumper to the front of my truck.

I have had a couple of winches on other rigs in the past, including Old Red, but only once has the occasion presented itself where I actually have unspooled the cable and put one to use, and that use was to pull stumps out of a co-worker’s yard one day long ago. After the fifth stump came flying out of the ground, the winch began smoking and providing other clues that I had just fried it. So much for that one.

With my new BEV, a portable hand-operated winch is now part of my gear, providing enough power to get me out of most any nasty mess I might find myself. The trick is of course, not to get into nasty messes, to use my head ahead of time, and avoid the obvious pitfalls that will stick the more macho types who come out here to “test” their rigs to the limit. Since my enjoyment derives from encounters with nature, there is little if any bravado that exists within to get me into such troubles. This disturbing roadbed of which the Park Service warns is all rock, and I figure to go look at it, and turn around if it is really as bad as they report.

August this year proved stormy enough to wash out several key locations sufficiently to make the National Park Service announce on their Death Valley Morning Report that backcountry travelers should beware. On the route that I had planned, Goler Canyon is one of four locations that require extraordinary caution. Beyond Goler comes Echo Pass (also washed out at the falls), Steel Pass (washed out and difficult to follow), Dedeckera Canyon (no current report because no ranger had been out there recently due to its extreme remoteness and arduous driving), and maybe some other unknown surprise where mother nature had changed the build of the road.

The only thing certain about Death Valley is uncertainty! Part of the adventure of the natural world is that each trip brings a different set of exploration encounters, and I find these unknowns intriguing. Hiking or driving, there is always something new to expect. It will be a fun component of this trip to learn how a host of computerized 4wd technology on the new BEV operates, instead of the good-old-days mechanics on my older rigs.

I make it a point to stop in at the Maturango Museum in Ridgecrest, California, even though it is somewhat out of my way on this trip. I want to meet Janet Westbrook, a museum volunteer who keeps a very complete text-only website posted through the museum about Death Valley. She has covered every conceivable thought about Death Valley on the site, and her commentary will give even the newest explorer a very good idea of what to expect out here. As chance would have it though, Janet isn’t here today, so I leave a message with her two gracious co-workers that I stopped in to say hello. Back out to the truck in the parking lot, and off I go into the more wild region of the Searles Valley, accessed from here through Salt Wells Valley and Poison Canyon.

Upon reaching the northern Mojave Desert municipality of Trona, California, which still hangs on as a mineral producing company town, I pull off to fuel my rig. Although the gauge still shows nearly full, in this isolated country I always fill up whenever the petrol is available, because the next station might not be operational, and distances are unbelievably long when taking the dirt byways. Running out of gas in the Death Valley region is not an option in my book. I have learned not to grumble about the high prices at these stations however, for without their product, I could not make these trips into my world. Trona’s sole highway station is selling the fuel at 65 cents per gallon more than stations to the south. As high as that is, it only gets higher where I’m going this week, so I thank the attendant for selling gasoline so cheaply – he thinks I’m nuts.

Pavement mileage so far has been averaging around 22 mpg at 60 miles per hour on the open road. I am happy with that, but have been told to expect more economy as the engine breaks in … we’ll see. From Trona (already a lonely town in the middle of nowhere), my route now takes me farther north and east into the Panamint Valley, where there is a noticeable lack of human existence. But for the remains of an old late 1800s mining town called Ballarat, there is just nothing out here that would interest the average person. Of course, I’m not average, because this entire country fascinates my psyche. Besides, something of significance is waiting for me just 15 miles south of Ballarat, in the form of a mysterious canyon.

Ballarat grew to a bustling camp way back when miners were exploring the Pleasant Canyon region for mineral wealth. They would take wagons up the canyon each day to engage in their mining activities, about a twelve mile round trip. Named after an Australian gold rush camp of the 1850s, this town came into existence on the western side of the Panamint Range in 1897 to support the miners of Pleasant Canyon. Bob Montgomery started the fever with his World Beater mine. By 1900, Ballarat was at its peak, supporting around 300 men working area mines. There were stage lines, a motel, school, bars, a post office, jail, and other indicators of success. Like all the rest of these boom towns, its moment of glory soon passed as ores played out and strikes were made elsewhere. Seldom Seen Slim (Charles Ferge) used to live here until 1968 (the last real old timer). He is buried in Boot Hill nearby.

Nowadays, only crumbling adobe walls remain of most buildings, including the jail, being further eroded away with each passing year’s rain onslaught. Someday, they will no longer exist, but for now, you can still visit these historical structures of the Panamint Valley. There is usually a care-taking entrepreneur out here to sell you drinks or food, and collect your money if you wish to camp here overnight. There used to be an old sign as you enter Ballarat that read “Population: more or less” but it is not here today.

Proceeding south on the class-1 dirt Wingate Pass road, past the Briggs gold mining operation (still producing plenty of the stuff), and driving along side of the Panamint alkali flats, I am glad that the road is dry today.

On a prior visit one year, the road was covered with alkaline water from recent rains, which left the underside of Old Red pitted with rust spots since I was negligent in washing it off quickly. That was an ill-fated trip anyway because after dousing the truck underside with the alkali, about an hour later I separated the bead of the right rear tire from the rim while only going about five miles per hour near Mengel Pass, at the top of Goler Canyon. The tire slipped off a large rounded boulder in the middle of the road, and the rim bent up about two inches, necessitating an hour and a half delay while I used a sledge hammer to straighten it and refill it from the portable air compressor I keep onboard.

Enough reminiscing! Back to this year’s most recent excursion: Finally I reach the rocky road that leads east up the alluvial fan to Goler Canyon. This road is mainly class-2, with an occasional class-3 spot. Within a couple of miles, I spy the very narrow canyon entrance! The constricted rock-walled opening allows access to the only remaining 4wd road that still permits one to drive from the Panamint Valley into Death Valley. This is a neat place, because from a distance you cannot tell that an opening even exists that will let you into the fortress-like Panamint Range. It looks impenetrable until you get right up to it. I know that within a matter of yards around the bend I will be traversing a series of dryfalls, rock steps that eroding water carved out over time. There is no choice but to ascend them if one wishes to go on because the high and steep canyon walls allow no other route.

This is the first time through Goler that I wonder if I might actually have to turn around. Storm damage from earlier this year really did erode much of the earthen debris that keeps these waterfalls passable (they are dryfalls this time of year, but probably not for long). Upon seeing the first dryfall, I stop, get out, and walk the obstacle several times, looking at it from every conceivable angle, and negotiating in my mind the best route to keep me roof-side-up or to keep my side panels away from the boulders. This is no time for carelessness or impatience … it is a time for meticulous routing. The first dryfall is a somewhat challenging class-4, enough to get my adrenaline going, but lacking any real fear of loosing control of the rig. Even so, it is somewhat intimidating so I put BEV in what I call low/low, meaning low range in the transfer case and low gear in the transmission … time to crawl!

Upon successfully clearing the first dryfall, I am feeling somewhat ecstatic about my new rig’s incredible abilities, realizing that it is superior to my older vehicles when it comes to traction controls and crawling ability! The electronic age is scoring big points in my book of experience. Auto manufacturers have been improving the breed.

Named after John Goller, a man who allegedly had found a gold bonanza in the area, this canyon, along with Redlands Canyon to the north, became the focus of a few gold seekers for a short while many years ago. Milo Page, another “rainbow chaser”, believed he had found Goller’s lost gold in Goler Canyon. The Barker Ranch at Sourdough Spring, Charles Manson’s infamous hideout of the 1960s, is also accessed through this narrow and impressive canyon. I plan on visiting the hideout on this trip. Like other names of places in the National Park, spellings seem to change or be different depending on the source … why, I wonder, was one letter removed from John’s name?

The second fall is quite a bit less problematic than the first, being only a class-3 affair that presents no significant challenge to most experienced backroad explorers. As I round the next bend in the incredibly tight canyon (the walls are so high that direct sunlight rarely penetrates this deep gorge), dryfall number three is now directly in my view, and even with my fresh ascent over the preceding two, this one is in a class by itself. Here is the grand-daddy that the NPS warned, “winch required.” There could be no argument that this is pure class-5 driving!

At this point, my attention is so focused on whether I can proceed farther up the canyon that I am no longer fully appreciating the magnificent grandeur of this awesome wild place. If I do make it over this highly intimidating impediment in the roadway, then it is relatively easy going from here on, and I will once again be able to gaze with wonder upon the splendor of nature.

I immediately stop and walk this rocky and precarious slope. It is much longer, steeper, higher, and more dangerous than fall number one. It will require a zigzag route to make it, first going as far left as possible, then turning to traverse the boulders at a diagonal to a point just until the right front fender is about to touch the cliff face on the other side, followed by a final left turn to the summit, and easy ground … all the while keeping in mind that a wrong move can cause significant damage to the BEV, with the potential to tip over in the back of my mind. Yes, I am considering turning around, but this will provide me the knowledge of whether or not the new wheels can successfully traverse such an obstruction … might as well find out now while it’s still under warranty!

To show how each year can change in this canyon, 12 months prior I had driven these same falls without so much as even worrying about them, as they were no more difficult than class-3. When heavy rains cascade down this funneled chasm, the loose dirt is washed away at these waterfalls, leaving exposed huge boulders and rock faces that can make vehicle travel impossible without a winch. I’ve heard an occasional condescending remark about Goler Canyon over the years by guys seeking the toughest route to test themselves and their rigs, saying it was too easy. Obviously they hadn’t been up it during a year like this one! Since my motivation for these backroad expeditions comes from my love of nature and the desire to get away from all the trappings of modern life, I intermittently find myself facing one of these intimidating passages in order to access those sweet secret spots rarely enjoyed by two-legged carbon based life forms such as myself. Anyway, onward …

To make an apprehensive event short and sweet, I proceed over this “winch only” dryfall as planned, with no sheet metal damage visible on the BEV. Two days later, upon inspecting the underside on a service station rack, I will realize that the skidplate under the gasoline tank had been significantly scraped along its entire length by one of the huge rocks, although I am not aware of it right now. The center of the skidplate is jammed right up against the tank in several spots (and the fuel tank is a plastic material of some sort). The plate did its job, but is now compromised enough that I won’t trust it for another time out.

Some serious metal protection under the fuel tank would be a welcomed vehicle revision from the factory, because without it, a puncture could mean the end of the trail and a long hike home! No manufacturer gets it all right, making compromises based upon the average user of the product, but they should plan on guys like me who will actually use it for the serious class-5 stuff on occasion. I will make the necessary upgrades later this year to help “boulder proof” the new rig.

Well, back to the safari! As I progress farther up the Canyon, after climbing a few more falls that are not nearly so technical in nature, I marvel at the beauty of this steep climb out of the Panamint Valley, now far below and out of sight. My new backcountry exploration vehicle is proving to be a perfect match for my feral needs and does a good job of getting me to such solitude and grandeur. At places in this canyon, the walls are so impressive and high that I must stop just to stare in awe! There are several side roads in here that beg for discovery also, but I will save a few for another trip … I always want something more to call me for another journey in the future.

After passing the Death Valley National Park boundary sign, I turn right up a side canyon for a quick visit of the 1960s hideout of the infamous Manson family. I am glad that peace and tranquility were restored to the area, so that now it is a quiet setting with cottonwood trees and a small ranch house. This ranch was built by a retired police officer, and later sold to some folks named Barker. It sits in a peaceful location, far removed from the hubbub of humanity, and would be known to hardly anyone, but for the occupants of the Manson family. The Barker Ranch was the site for the arrests of these dangerous people over the course of three raids by law enforcement authorities from Los Angeles and Inyo Counties. Current residents include rabbits, packrats, mice, lizards, snakes, wildcats, and birds.

Even though it is a peaceful place now, it is kind of creepy for me, so, after a quick walk around the mouse and packrat infested dwelling, I head back out to the main dirt road and on up to Mengel Pass, the summit of this long climb. The road presents mostly class-3 roadbed terrain to the top, with one class-4 climb up a steep and off-camber hill that requires the locking rear differential to navigate successfully with no slippage. There is an easier drive-around at this tough spot in case your vehicle cannot make the short, but dicey, grade.

At the top of the pass, I stop for a few moments in the dwindling afternoon sunshine and gentle warm breeze to pay my respects to Carl Mengel. At an elevation of 4,326 feet, this pass was named after Carl, a prospector who lived on the eastern side of the divide at Greater View Spring, south of Anvil Spring. Nice views are had from up here. Carl’s ashes are contained in a monument that exists at the top of the pass honoring him. Mengel Pass is also accessed from Butte Valley to the east. Carl owned the Oro Fino mine in Goler Canyon, which had a small amount of high-grade ore, but he died poor of tuberculosis in 1944. He was a friend of Shorty Harris and Jean “Pete” Aguereberry. His cabin still stands, and has an outhouse for adventurers looking for a place other than behind the bushes.

Motivated by the lowering sun, I get back in my rig and motor down the rocky and rough class-3 and 4 road to my first overnight camp at Geologist’s Cabin at Anvil Spring in Butte Valley. Ahead, a couple is exploring one of the old camps, so I stop and chat a while with them, happy to have someone with which to momentarily visit. These folks report to me that earlier this morning, they had come in to Goler Canyon from the Panamint Valley also, but decided to turn around at the class-5 dryfall rather than to chance a mishap. It had taken them the remainder of the day to get here at the southern end of Butte Valley because they had to drive back to the highway, head over Towne Pass, through Stovepipe Wells, Furnace Creek, and then south on the West Side Road to access Warm Spring Canyon and finally here. As you can see, one obstacle in the roadway can really change your plans out here, but no matter where you go, the scenery is breathtaking and worth the drive! Sometimes Plan-B can end up better than Plan-A.

I should point out something at this juncture for anyone who has never visited Death Valley National Park. I certainly don’t mean to leave the impression that all of the 1,300-plus miles of dirt backroads in the Park and surrounding lands are as treacherous as what I have been describing for this year in Goler Canyon (and what I’ll describe later in Dedeckera Canyon and the Echo Pass road). In fact, the vast majority of the BEV roads out here in this gargantuan National Park are quite easy to navigate with a factory-stock BEV driven by an average driver having little or no backroad experience. Most of the roads are easy class-1 and class-2 that can be driven in BEVs without a low-range transfer case. So please, do not let my story here frighten you out of attempting to explore this magnificent backcountry!

Death Valley National Park is most accurately characterized as a place where common sense, prudence, and a reliable stock vehicle will get you darn near anywhere you want to go within its boundaries. I would, however, avoid the summer months, where temperatures can soar to levels that can be deadly for the ill-prepared visitor. October through April are the most wonderful times to visit, and you’ll likely get to see the Panamint Mountains decked in snow if you come January through March.

One of the things that influenced my recent BEV purchase was that I wanted a rig in which I could sleep, being that I’m an old codger now who wishes a bit more comfort than afforded on cold hard ground in a tent. Tonight will be my first time at trying out this new arrangement. By folding down the 40-side of the 60/40 rear seat, sliding the passenger seat forward about a foot, and transferring my backpack and water jug to the other side of the rear cargo area, a 72 inch by 27 inch air mattress fits just perfectly in the space, allowing me to spread out my comfy warm mummy bag on top. It’s a rather cozy affair once inside, and the 60-side of the rear seat allows room to undress and crawl inside the bag (rated to forty below zero).

I fashioned some screen coverings that are held on by magnetic strips for the side/rear windows, and this allows me to keep them partially open at night for great cross ventilation, keeping out pesky insects that would like to make part of me their meal. The whole preparation for sleeping takes less time than setting up a tent, and requires no annoying cleanup or drying the next morning if rain happens by during the night. It works for me, and still lets me experience the wonderful sounds and smells of nature. It’s also easy to see the Milky Way and meteorites through the windows.

Into a deep sleep I fall, only to be awakened later by the sound of some small living thing rummaging around under the hood of the truck. It is most likely a packrat foraging for nest-building material, or perhaps attempting to find a warm place to bed down for the cold night. Hmmm, what to do? I now realize that it is not such a great idea to park so close to a primitive structure like this old stone cabin, since a higher than usual population of animals also seek refuge here, and when another means of nocturnal elemental shelter becomes available (like my vehicle), these little creatures will take full advantage of its resources. The last thing I feel like doing right now is getting out of my warm mummy bag to move the BEV farther away, so I give a short blast on the horn, which sends the little critter scampering.

Three more times during the night, this diminutive drama replays itself, each time with similar results. Despite the momentary sleep deprivation, I have little trouble returning to dreamland each time, for the wilds are so quiet that sleeping is easy. My lesson is learned for next time. I’m so far from other humans that no one even hears my horn as it pierces the peaceful silence of night.

I like my little animal friends, but would rather they not chew on my rig’s parts for nesting material. Well, that’s what I get for camping out in their backyard. No hard feelings though.

Day Two – November 29, Tuesday

Up at dawn, I easily break down the sleeping arrangement, shave, wash my face, and marvel at massive Striped Butte just north of the old geologist’s cabin as the sun’s rays begin their enlightenment. After a bowl of organic oat, raisin, and cinnamon granola dowsed in organic vanilla soy milk, it is time to check under the hood to determine if any parts necessary to vehicular operation were munched on last night by my tiny industrious friends. Well, I can see no damage or automotive reworking under here, so I guess I’m okay, having only lost sleep over the matter.

The bathroom out here is a tad different than what most folks are used to. At least there is a bathroom, for the majority of my primitive overnight locales have no such convenience. Out here though, it’s one heck of a room where the commode sits! It is the grand presence of the great outdoors of Butte Valley. Two old toilet-styled devices are found about fifty yards southwest of the cabin, up on the hillside behind a large rock. With the perpetually low humidity, no offensive odiferous sensations are noticed. So, rather than reading the proverbial magazine, I am honored with the incomparable presence of the natural world while taking care of business.

Having had a relaxing morning amidst the open spaces of the valley, I fire up the now-quite-dirty BEV and head off for my second day of exploring and adventure. It is lonely, but the feeling of being that washes over me in this situation is marvelous. Nature allows me to appreciate the simplicity of life, forget about time, and realize that this Earth is a wonderful place to use as my planetary vehicle.

Lonely is a relative term however, and I concur with Rachel Carson’s belief that “Those who dwell among the beauties and mysteries of the Earth are never alone or weary of life.” I feel at home here, or anywhere else that is devoid of sprawling masses of human life and the associated pollution. Even though I am a member of that subset of the universe, I am in the miniscule minority, and thus am able to find so many wonderful locales such as Butte Valley that appear little different now than they did thousands of years ago.

I explore a few class-2 and 3 roads in the area, and am highly tempted to revisit Redlands Canyon on the road that is before me right now, because I have not been in there for many years. But, my planned route is extensive, so I opt to leave it for yet another time in the unknown future, and head down Warm Spring Canyon road. Manly and Rogers, the two young men who were responsible for the salvation of the Bennett-Arcan party that almost perished in the mid 1800s on the salt flats, reportedly passed through Redlands Canyon on their quest for supplies, according to historian Leroy Johnson. Wood Canyon, an offshoot of Redlands, is the site of an old mining camp, which I first explored in the mid 1970s.

On my way down towards Death Valley, I pass the massive Striped Butte to my left, with its colorful diagonal striations, which can be seen from many vantage points around here. The Butte is even visible from atop the ridgeline of the Panamint Range, between Rogers Pass and the upper reaches of South Park Canyon. Don’t miss that view!

On the right are some old mining operations farther down the wide and easily driven Warm Spring Canyon, and then finally I crest a rise that presents the vast floor of Death Valley, stretching to the north over a hundred miles with its huge alkaline salt flat. Here is found the lowest spot in America, Badwater at 282 feet below the level of the Pacific Ocean! The vista is impressive, so I stop and stretch my legs a while and take a photo. From here I can also see Shoreline Butte at the south end of Death Valley, a massive mountain that still shows evidence of the ancient waters that once covered the surrounding area, in the form of horizontal lines etched into the rock and earth. Across Death Valley’s floor to the east are the Black Mountains, forming the southern portion of the Amargosa Range. Beyond them, but out of sight, is Greenwater Valley and ultimately the Greenwater Range. So much to see, so little time!

I have read many places since childhood that Badwater is the lowest spot in the entire Western Hemisphere of Planet Earth, and until recently have accepted this as factual. New readings suggest to me however, that there is another spot in the southern Americas (if I recall correctly) 105 meters below sea level, making it over 300 feet, so apparently that distinction has never been valid for DVNP. It is really irrelevant though, since I come for the magnificent environments found here, and am not concerned with things that tend to be competitive in nature.

Skirting the south end of that salty sink, I take some pavement for several miles, passing the concrete Ashford Mill ruins, which are easily accessible to anyone in any vehicle, only a quarter mile south of the pavement on a graded dirt road. Harold, Henry, and Louis Ashford were brothers who refused to give up their search for riches. They worked the “Golden Treasure” mine, but never got rich. The remains of their efforts can be seen here. Just past these ruins is the southern turnoff onto the Harry Wade Road that will take you through some very isolated country towards incredible Saratoga Spring.

The Harry Wade Road allows you to come into the Park from the southern end, following along the Amargosa River (much of which is underground). The road basically is the connecting conduit from Highway 127 north of Baker to Ashford Junction, and is 32 miles of dirt that is mostly class-1 in dry weather. Harry Wade was one of those first gold-seekers who tried a shortcut through Death Valley in 1849, and led his small group into a mess of life-threatening problems. But he successfully led his followers out through the southern portions of Death Valley.

My route today however, does not go south here, but instead takes me up over Jubilee Pass and Salsberry Pass, to the little town of Shoshone, population about 100. Here, I fill that ever-emptying fuel tank, and am delighted when my calculations reveal 16.4 miles per gallon from Trona. Considering that I spent many hours yesterday on roads ranging from class-1 to class-5, and was in four wheel drive much of the time, including low range, I have no argument with that number. Further defining my environmental detoxification paradigm, I removed the petroleum-based motor oil from the BEV at 500 miles, replacing it with a fully synthetic engine lubricant. Small steps on the right road to a healthier planet.

The itinerary now calls to cross Deadman Pass, an old freight and supply road for the miners working in the camps of Greenwater, Kuntz, Furnace, and Gold Valley. Deadman Pass is a very isolated and lonely road (accessed across the highway from Eagle Mountain), and also a very enjoyable class-2 road with very few gullies, making it an easy drive for any BEV. I welcome the nice ride over the pass and north up the Greenwater Valley (also class-2) to Dante’s View, an absolutely spectacular viewpoint for the National Park. Dante’s View can be accessed by any passenger car from Furnace Creek to the north, without driving any dirt roads.

Once at the summit, the Funeral Mountains drop off precipitously to reveal Badwater far below in the sea of salt. I have a late lunch of vegetable juice, energy bars, and dried apples as I gaze in awe at the other-worldly scene that spans the landscape thousands of feet below me. The wind is whipping across the mountain ridge so fiercely that I put on a heavy parka and my sheepskin snow hat to remain warm.

At 5,475 feet above sea level in the Black Mountains of the Amargosa Range (5,757 feet above Badwater just below), this is the view that darn near every DV visitor wants to see. The borax and railroad men, eager to be the recipients of the new flow of tourist dollars, developed a road to this summit in 1929. This enviable tourist spot is what prompted rival promoter Bob Eichbaum, of Stovepipe Wells fame, to build his famous road in the Panamint Range on the western side of Death Valley (known as Aguereberry Point today).

The day is fading fast now, and I still plan on ascending Echo Canyon for tonight’s camp. Normally, I would have plenty of daylight to accomplish this distance and terrain, however, this trip, the Park Service still has the paved road closed to travel between the Dante’s View road and Highway 190, due to flood damage and a concern about the desert tortoise. The next most direct route is to return south in the Greenwater Valley, turn east and once again cross Deadman Pass, and empty out onto Highway 127 north of Shoshone. When I hit the highway, I am no longer in DVNP, having crossed the boundary line a few miles back on the Deadman Pass road. Here, I turn north for some pavement travel time, which is easy of course, but not nearly the fun of exploring the myriad primitive roads elsewhere.

As I pass through Death Valley Junction, I recall that my dad brought my mom here in the late 1940s on his motorbike, and since there was no power to this little hamlet that night, the hotel manager gave them a candle to find their way to their room. There is no fuel available here, even though on the maps it appears that you might find a filling station at this junction of Highways 127 and 190. This place is only a few miles from Nevada. I turn west on Highway 190 and head back into the Park.

When I come to the Twenty Mule Team Canyon road, which is navigable even by sedans, I decide to spend the fifteen minutes it takes to drive this little dusty loop in the northern end of the Black Mountains. The Twenty Mule Team never did come through here. This is an area that most people would likely define as badlands, with low mountains cut extensively by powerful erosion forces, and absolutely no vegetation visible around the road. The sun is low enough now that I find myself driving in the eerie shadows of these inhospitable-appearing formations. The experience is sensational however, a far cry from the rush-hour mess going on right now in the big cities in this time zone. I’ll take these “badlands” any day. After all, I’m on wilderness time out here.

Time is an interesting concept. The way I see it, time seems to dominate the lives of most people, as they scurry around to get things done before their next commitment, attempt to meet deadlines (not a very upbeat word, is it?), and then get up early the next day at the sound of a timed alarm so they can begin their time crunch yet again. They all seem to live by their wristwatch, and stare at the office wall clock, waiting for the little hand to hit the five and the big hand to hit the twelve. The masses become experts at scheduling, yet will they schedule their own demise that may well be hastened by their incessant preoccupation with time? I call this city time, and while I have certainly engaged in my own share of it, I have now identified it as counterproductive to my existence, and am motivated to seek another daily paradigm.

Wilderness time is my goal of choice. This model of existence is one that I attempt to adhere to when on these safaris, in that I wrestle away from set scheduled itineraries as much as possible. It is easier to do when traveling alone of course. Each thing I do is done well, with no pressure of the “T” word to lessen the experience. Moving to this model is not easy, nor does it happen overnight, but I keep in mind that the longest journey starts with the first step, and that the expert at anything was once a beginner. Oops, getting too philosophical here … time to get back to the story (time?).

Next, I stop at the awesome Zabriskie Point turnoff to marvel at and photograph the amazing wrinkles of time. This is another place anyone can access, pavement all the way from Furnace Creek Resort, with even a paved parking area. From this vantage point, I can look back southeasterly and see the Twenty Mule Team Canyon I was just in, and then look west to see Manly Beacon rising to an elevation of 710 feet above sea level (or 992 feet above Badwater to the south), one of the most photographed icons of this National Park. Below the pedestrian viewpoint is the trail that leads down Golden Canyon and into Death Valley proper. Also in there is Red Cathedral, a majestic formation that will knock your socks off near sunset.

For the briefest of moments, I am somewhat envious of the few families watching the parting rays of the sun at the Zabriskie parking lot, knowing they are most likely going to bed-down tonight in the comfy rooms at Furnace Creek Inn, but then I realize that I am the lucky one to be sleeping out in the untamed extremes of nature.

Back on the pavement (would prefer dirt, but that’s coming soon enough now), I travel north, past the place where the road for Hole in the Wall Canyon used to be prior to washout from floods, and slow down for my next turn. Once the signpost for Echo Canyon is reached, the BEV and I make a hard right and head up the alluvial deposits towards the mouth of the canyon. The soft class-2 road is a breeze to navigate, and as I bore deeper into the far upper reaches of the quickly darkening canyon, with its walls tightly closing in around my rig, the huge needle-like hole in the cliff wall on the right verifies the canyon as Echo.

Called the Eye of the Needle, I am amazed at how awe-inspiring it appears as the sun’s warmth pours through, with the pink-clouded sky atop the spire. After another twenty minutes of relaxing evening travel, passing the turnoff to Amargosa, Nevada and then the fairly well preserved Inyo Mine, I reach the end of the road, where the Park Service has posted a sign of no further travel by vehicles. This will be my second night’s camp, another locale punctuated by the absolute lack of other humans, and one more night of no sounds but those provided by the wild world. This is my passion, to be one with the outback.

There are high rock walls on either side of my camp. I face the rig down-canyon, so that I won’t have to turn around in this constricted space first thing in the morning. Behind me, the canyon necks down even more, and I take a short hike in a ways, but realize that I must eat and prepare my sleeping arrangements soon because it is getting colder now that the sun is setting. Had that detour not forced me back over Deadman Pass, I would have been here an hour and a half earlier, and could have hiked much farther. Remind me to put this hike on my future “to do” list! It is my understanding that petroglyphs are farther up this hiking canyon, and beyond them a couple of miles or so is a striking overlook into the Amargosa Desert of Nevada.

For dinner, being the healthy nut guy that I am, and not wanting to gorge myself since no toilet facilities exist in most of the places where I camp, I have tuna from one of those foil pouches, some rye crisp crackers, and a vegetable juice. Solitude I seek, and solitude I get, as dinner is enhanced by the natural world in which I find myself. After the ritual of dental care, I set up my sleeping bag in the truck, then meander around the area a while to appreciate all that is before me. Finally, with the night air quickly cooling, I retire to the warmth of the bag.

Day Three – November 30, Wednesday

My setup routine for camping has become second nature now, and breaking camp this morning of the third day is even more efficient than the prior morn. Unlike Butte Valley, where the warming sun hit the BEV precisely at 6:37 to warm me out of my sleepsack, the canyon walls of Echo keep me shaded as I perform my morning rituals of shaving, eating, and preparing for the day, making for a nippier experience. The desert can be cold on winter nights, but the day usually brings pleasant temps to warm the heart and hands.

Today I will first drive up the road to Amargosa, Nevada a ways before heading back down into Death Valley proper. This road is a side trip out of Echo Canyon, and takes the intrepid explorer up to the top of Echo Pass … if that hardy soul can successfully negotiate passage over three dry waterfalls of class-4 and 5 level. Not for the timid, this side road will certainly challenge anyone in need of going where few choose to go. I make the right turn in the early morning sun to explore this upper canyon and find out if the new BEV is capable of ascending what every writer of the area’s roads always lists as among the toughest challenges to backcountry explorers in the Death Valley region. The majority of the road is class-2 and 3, with no hint of what lurks up-canyon. I know I am getting close when it becomes obvious that the granite walls are closing in very tightly not far ahead … a sure sign that waterfall activity is a major factor in roadbed design. My kind of road.

On the way though, I can’t believe some of the impressive formations that the cliff walls present for my enjoyment. It appears as though some gigantic child has folded and twisted massive chunks of clay, and these sights let me know that I am but a tiny and fragile creature momentarily on this Earth, unable to truly imagine the titanic violent forces that really did make these rocks look this way. The sun’s morning rays angle through the canyon’s open spots, painting imposing shadows next to bright highlights, making for a photographer’s delight.

Although I studied geology for a time in college, and my knowledge has since faded, this is no barrier for my enjoyment, for, in this distant world, I am able to enjoy what nature presents, things with no names or explanations necessary. Humans like to categorize and explain everything in order to make sense of their world, but in the end, it really isn’t necessary for a fellow like me. What I see is what I love. Sure, some knowledge is fun to assist in my understanding, but it in no way is necessary for my inner sense of peace and delight.

My mind wanders as I slowly drive the winding dirt road, until I am jolted back into my need to study the road itself. As soon as the two-track pathway is barely wide enough for one vehicle, it immediately deteriorates into a sight that demands any sensible driver, regardless of experience, to get out and walk for serious evaluation. Here are the dryfalls of Echo Pass, and they seem to be amused at my arrival, as if to say, “Yesterday was easy driving, now try us!” I must admit, every time I am confronted with this type of extreme terrain whenever I’m out exploring the hinterlands, my adrenaline goes into overdrive and my inner child wants to run to safety. But based on Monday’s ease of ascending Goler Canyon’s extreme dryfalls, I am at least calm enough to know that my chances of success are high.

Fall number two, the scariest of the three, is pretty straightforward, with little choice as to the route up it. On the driver’s side is a steep cliff wall, so close to the shiny sheet metal of the new BEV that I can reach out and touch it. On the passenger’s side is a drop-off over the jagged rock, deep enough to put the rig on its side. Only inches to spare on either side make this short but steep ascent more a matter of vehicle traction ability and driver cool, than technical routing skill.

On this trip, I do not have the time to drive on into Nevada and explore the Amargosa Desert however, so after satisfying myself that the new backcountry buggy has the mettle to make the extreme portion of the road, I return to my more westerly destinations in Echo Canyon below. These dry waterfalls are almost always less effort going down than up, but even then, constant vigilance and adept maneuvering are required to keep your BEV scratch-free. I mixed it up with the second group of Death Valley dryfalls on my trip, with no exterior damage to the rig (except for the fuel skidplate in Monday’s ascent of Goler Canyon). On class-5 terrain, a major goal is always to avoid body redesign by unforgiving rocks, and since this rig is so darned great at low-speed crawling control, that job is not quite the bugaboo it used to be in the old days.

As the amusing saying goes,

“God forgives … Rocks don’t.”

I dare not get too overly confident though, because tomorrow I have yet to journey through the farthest reaches of challenging remoteness, through the Jaws of Dedeckera. But right now, my mind is on today’s travels and chores, which include stopping by the National Park Service administrative offices in Furnace Creek to speak with the Special Use Officer about a potential Death Valley guiding venture I have played around with for some time now. I also need to have the BEV put up on a rack to observe the underside because a heavy metal rattling noise has just started manifesting itself as I am proceeding back down Echo Canyon’s easy class-2 road to the uninteresting pavement. I have to track down its source and tighten whatever it is that has apparently come loose during these first two days of rough and tumble backcountry exploration and backroad play.

Since Pat the mechanic is out to lunch (literally, not figuratively) upon my arrival, I head on over and visit with Dave of the NPS for a bit. When I return to the Fossil fuel station, Pat and I take a test drive to hear the offending noise. He has a couple of opinions as we pull in to hoist the rig up in the air. Once up, Pat and I begin going over the underbelly with a fine toothed comb, and this is when I first notice the fuel tank skidplate damage from the first day. But that isn’t making this noise today. A few minutes later, my eyes spy a nut that has worked loose on the passenger side of the front sway bar, with about three turns of thread showing, and finger loose. Pat cranks on it with his wrench and, finding nothing else, we let the now-trusted BEV down to the garage floor. That proves later to be the noise, as I never hear it again. This is a wise lesson to always check nuts and bolts for tightness, even from the factory, and certainly after each backroad adventure. Some locking nut compound applied to the threads of these little critters will also be a good idea to avoid future headaches in the middle of nowhere.

My little safari of one vehicle and one person is now heading north out of Furnace Creek after a delay of a few hours … a well-spent delay from the fun of backcountry adventure, but a delay nonetheless. It seems like every day something ends up adjusting my schedule and always puts me behind from where I had originally planned on being at any given time. Stopping to talk to the rare person, to take photos, or whatever, are the unknowns in this outback odyssey, and actually what keep things from becoming predictable. It is all part of the fun to be had in the natural world. Who, after all, really prefers predictability? Okay, don’t answer that!

There is so much to see and do at Furnace Creek that someday I promise myself to come back here and spend a few days, maybe even camp at the improved campground (hmm, don’t know if I would like that or not, after years of primitive camping). This is the main hub of Death Valley National Park, with a Visitor’s Center, gift shops, restaurants, museum, book store, NPS offices, motel accommodations, campgrounds, and what is likely the world’s lowest golf course. You can ride horses here, swim, and hike. This is also one of several locations in the Park where you can pay your entrance fee and get your free DVNP map (well, I guess it’s not free because you just paid for something). I maintain a National Parks Pass, so all I do is present it with no dollars exchanging hands. I pay a yearly fee of around $50, and can visit any National Parks during the year as often as I wish. Not a bad deal if you like these types of places.

Titus Canyon is closed to motor vehicle traffic this trip, due to some flooding damage within the unbelievably high canyon walls that, at places, are just wide enough for a vehicle to get through. Titus is closed on a fairly regular basis during rainy times, so always check before you head out to Nevada, where you must drive to access the canyon by vehicle on the one-way road. Even if it is closed to cars, it is still open for hiking from the western end, a couple miles off the pavement on the road that heads north to Scotty’s Castle.

As I drive north on the paved road, up Death Valley’s lowly core, I see a fast approaching truck in my rearview mirror. In moments, a high-riding pickup with huge tires comes screaming past me like a bat out of hell. Two guys are inside, and the one in the driver’s seat is certainly not adhering to the posted speed laws. I don’t come out here to be in a hurry. I come out here to forget about city time as much as I am able, to exist on wilderness time, taking each day and moment as it comes, being content to mingle with the reality of this natural environment. Driving even at slow speeds causes much to be missed. The best way to see the details out here is to walk!

At Ubehebe Crater, a Law Enforcement Ranger flags me to let me know that 35 miles per hour is too fast, and reminds me that 25 is the new limit (wonder if he saw those two fellows in the pickup). After he advises me of this, we have an informative chat where he asks about my destination and level of preparedness. This comes from years of seeing so many tourists stranded in the backcountry, and from occasionally removing the few folks each year who underestimate Death Valley National Park and never leave alive. So, I am appreciative of his queries, and I explain to him my experience with the area and the supplies I always carry onboard for emergencies. Noting my 8 ply tires, he comments that I have chosen a worthy tire for this country. Actually, those tires are the only modification I have made to my BEV because I need serious LT tires instead of the passenger tires that the manufacturer sends the truck out the door wearing from the factory. My load range D, 8 ply tires are well worth the extra investment, and I recommend them to anyone who asks.

This crater is certainly another must-see for most people. It is about nine miles west of the Death Valley Ranch (aka Scotty’s Castle), and is the sight of a colossal amount of earth that left the ground. Of course, miners had nothing to do with it – nature did the impossible with a massive steam explosion that resulted from magma superheating water trapped underground. There is a very steep trail to the bottom for the avid hiker, but remember that you have to come out sometime, and that’s when you’ll know exactly where your quadricep and calf muscles are.

It’s around 500 feet deep and roughly a half-mile across. There are other smaller craters here as well if you like to walk. If the wind is blowing here, as it often does, you’ll have a difficult time communicating, although dust isn’t a problem. Today, the wind is howling, as it always seems to be doing on the days and times I pass this crater.

The next twenty miles south of Ubehebe Crater is the class-1 road to Teakettle Junction. I say class-1 because a low-slung luxury limousine could drive most of the road, but the washboards are absolutely, without any doubt, as severe as they come anywhere! Old Red could only be driven at 10-15 miles per hour on this nightmare of a road … anything faster would lead to unbearable slamming of the vehicle against the bumps and a loss of control that would send the rig off into the bushes along side. It is a brutal roadbed that always takes its toll in the form of loosened nuts and bolts and jittery nerves from the extreme shaking. Today, my new BEV’s suspension engineering will get its ultimate test. This is very unlike the previous class-5 trail rating on Echo Pass, but even though it is class-1, it is extreme in its own right.

The road from Ubehebe turns to a graded dirt road that is in good shape, and I am doing a comfortable 35 MPH, but I can see the washboards fast approaching, where many automobiles have finally achieved enough speed to begin the destructive harmonics that lead to the washboard dynamic in the first place. I maintain my speed to see what will happen … had I been in Old Red, with its larger tires, I would have lost control at that speed and vibrated sideways … but not today! I am delightfully pleased as I am now in full washboard mode, with no speed reduction necessary. Sure, I can hear the annoying drone of those gremlins under my tires, and I can feel a dampened shutter coming through to the driver’s seat, but it is fully bearable. In fact, I’d say that this road is no longer a problem at all! What a difference a newly engineered vehicle makes … it’s like day and night. Never again shall I worry about the Racetrack Valley road.

About twelve miles down the road, I come upon a full size pickup with a high, stiff lift kit and heavy jumbo tires, stopped right in the middle of the narrow road. By golly, guess who it is! Yeah, those two guys who passed me earlier north of Furnace Creek. They are outside the truck, seemingly contemplating a problem of some sort.

As I drive up, I can see that their rig is disabled, apparently because they have been vibrated sideways from the washboards into a sizable rock on the side of the road, which separated their tire from the rim completely, and shredded it in the process. Unsprung weight of huge tires and heavier suspension is the part of the culprit … you can probably guess the other ingredient to this mishap. Their spare is a standard truck tire, much smaller in diameter than those monster tires. The fun part of their day is obviously at an end, and once they change the wheel and tire, they will have no choice but to head back to civilization (slowly) or risk further damage to their truck due to the massive variable in tire size. The driver reports to me in very confident terms that he needs no assistance, and for me to drive on around and be on my way. I agreeably comply, eager to set that night’s camp. Hmm, reminds me of the tortoise and the hare … or David and Goliath.

Eight miles later, I turn off the grand-daddy of all washboard roads at Teakettle Junction, so named because a teakettle used to designate this crossroad, and nowadays people always adorn the old wooden sign with teakettles of all sizes and shapes. Every visit to this special place brings a new vision of teapot design and imagination, some with special notes of why the area is so important to the donor. Through Lost Burro Gap I travel, a mile-long miniature canyon that cuts through over a million years of geological formations, and into the very remote Hidden Valley. If you ever find yourself in this area, be sure to visit The Racetrack, where boulders slide across a lakebed, leaving trails in the dry crusty surface. It is fascinating, and you won’t believe your eyes!

Three miles into Hidden Valley (after an attempt at visiting the Lost Burro Mine but for a spooky road washout), I now turn east, up the White Top Mountain road, to find a suitable locale to call it a day. Overlooking the tranquil valley below, I park and haul out the grub for the evening feast: hickory smoked tuna, dried apples, and twelve ounces of veggie juice. Nothing fancy, but then again, if I were seeking opulence, I wouldn’t be out here in the first place. My head hits the pillow and I quickly begin fading away for the night, only to be awakened by the first intrusion of several cell phone calls. Service is possible out here from many locations, yet when I pick up, I can see who is calling, but the signal is weak enough that no conversation is possible. After turning off the phone, I quickly sign out for the day.

Day Four – December 01, Thursday

Thursday is yet another wonderfully sunny and clear day, with a few scattered delicate clouds here and there. I decide to head on up the old, mostly class-2, backroad to the long-abandoned mine near the summit of White Top Mountain, overlooking the sink of Death Valley. I have never been up this road before, so it is a great adventure to see what’s around the next bend in the mostly-open canyon. At places, it necks down to some tight and enjoyable curves, and then opens up again. I like this road a lot, and the remote location in the Park makes it seem like a sweet secret spot forgotten by time. What a neat wild place!

There is so much to explore in this particular region, that I must revisit it again for a multiple-day camping trip. There is a primitive NPS campground south of The Racetrack Playa, called  Homestake, that even has an outhouse for longer stays. A nice thing about camping there is that you can get all the great photos of the moving boulders at sunset and sunrise each day!

After exploring the area’s dirt roads and abandoned mining operations, I drive back to Hidden Valley, through to the south end of the valley, and then begin my ascent of Hunter Mountain. I climb to near 7,000 feet, now in the Pinyon and Juniper pine trees once again, a far cry from the valley floor at Furnace Creek, both in temperature and scenery. Most visitors to Death Valley National Park will never know that there are actually dense forests in the Park! And whenever anyone who has never been here talks about the vast salty wasteland, I mention Hunter Mountain and other places that do not fit their perception of this country.

The road today is dry fortunately, because after heavy rains (rare out here) or the winter’s snow, this road easily becomes impassible due to bottomless clay and mud that will suck your rig down to the frame. Never attempt this summit drive in those conditions because it will only tear up the environment and likely leave you stranded far from help of any kind. The drive is fun in dry weather, with the ascent along the steep and narrow road quite spectacular. I always put my rig in four wheel drive when ascending these switchbacks, just to make the slow tight spots where rocks are on the road easier.

Atop the Hunter Mountain crest, I schedule a side-trip to a little-known cabin lost in the woods to all but the most adventurous. It is Bev’s Cabin (or Hunter’s Cabin), and it is on a tight little two-track dirt road that heads south off the main road. The drive is a mile or two into what remains of Bev Hunter’s old cabin.

He was the son of the fellow for whom this area is named, William Hunter. Dad was a confederate officer during the American civil war. The road is quite a bit of fun to drive, pretty narrow in most places, and becoming class-3 in spots, although it is mostly class-2. The final yards to the cabin are so tight that my new compact rig is hard-pressed to make the sharp turns in the pines without getting scratched. This little side road comes to an abrupt end around a very tight curve to reveal the old log cabin, still standing, yet somewhat leaning to the side from age. Were it not for the trail in, no one would ever know this cabin is here. After poking around a bit, staying out of the cabin for potential Hantavirus danger, I head on back to the main dirt road. It is an enjoyable drive. This area is a favorite hidden spot for me.

Once over South Pass, my travels take me down Grapevine Canyon, still class-2, with the road making several stream crossings in scattered cottonwood trees. I am headed down into the Saline Valley, one of the most remote regions of this National Park, and only recently annexed in 1994 as part of the California Desert Protection Act, when Death Valley National Monument became a National Park. This valley road is also washboardy, but not quite as bad as The Racetrack road. Sand dunes also are found about mid-valley. They are relatively small, compared to the ones I’ll be spending the night at, but still, they are interesting to behold. Just past the sand dunes is a right hand turn that a number of people make each year, but not for the reason I’ll be making it.

Most folks who dare venture out here and turn east off the Saline Valley road do so for the natural warm springs to be found about five miles up the sandy and silty road, which is riddled with small washouts, but is still traversable by most 2wd vehicles in dry weather. There are palm trees, primitive campsites, grass lawns, and in-the-ground hot pools that attract folks for relaxation and medicinal purposes. It is especially popular in the colder months, when the hot water bubbling from the ground helps warm visitors camping during the chilly desert nights. Oh, one other thing you should know about Saline Warm Springs: The National Park Service has allowed it to remain a “clothing optional” destination, so be forewarned if necessary for your own personal belief paradigms of human behavior.

For me, the springs are just an interesting curiosity on my way to more incredible backcountry adventure, and I lack the time and desire to stop here. If necessary, I use the concrete block outhouse, and then I’m on my way, because the next twenty miles is the most desolate, rocky, and slow-traveling road to be found anywhere. The rocks are not large, perhaps averaging the size of a football, but there are literally millions of them … everywhere! Some are sharp lava rocks from ancient flows, and many are smoother granite, but the bottom line is that you’re lucky to maintain a ten mile per hour average out here, even though I would classify most of the road as class-2 difficulty, with some class-3 here and there. If there ever was a road that will terminate your tire’s life, this is it. The potential for sidewall puncture is high, so always run 6 ply minimum, hopefully ones with 3 ply sidewalls!

The new BEV does really fine ascending this road up to Steel Pass, especially with its shorter wheelbase, and it is quite pleasant when making the sharp turns necessary. This vehicle is very nimble compared to Old Red, and steers without effort, making even nasty roads like this bearable. The NPS qualifies this road as “very rough road” and they are right. They also advise only experienced drivers in appropriate 4wd rigs attempt the traverse. It is also generally accepted that at least two vehicles should make this trip together, because breakdowns could prove costly in this remote terrain. People have died trying to walk out.

The final few yards to the top of Steel Pass is steep off-camber road, frightening to some folks I suppose, but a fun challenge if you enjoy driving backroads. The 5,075 foot pass sits at a point where the Last Chance Range and the Saline Range seem to come together. I’ve never seen a person on the road past the warm springs or on Steel Pass. Today is no exception. I love the grand solitude up here and the beautiful scenery as the road descends the other side into the distant Dedeckera Canyon. Remaining class-2 and 3, the drive past hardened lava is fun, especially when you are driving right alongside old lava that is higher than your rig. After several miles, for a short period of time, you can see far down the canyon and some mighty high dunes. It is only a brief look at this point however, as the canyon narrows shortly and becomes quite challenging as it then obscures vision of the dunes.

Those dunes are my next overnight, but the Jaws still stand between them and my safari of one. I call them the Jaws, everyone else calls them steps. Call them what you like, but don’t underestimate what they can do to your rig if you are not careful, especially if you drive a full-size longer wheelbase vehicle. This is Dedeckera Canyon unfolding ahead, and with each turn in the trail, the canyon becomes narrower and narrower … and remember what happens when a canyon narrows to the width of one vehicle?

That’s right! Water from flood runoff becomes a major road builder (or road destroyer, depending on how you look at it). There are four steps (Jaws) hidden in the canyon at the narrowest parts, and this scenery makes for some awesome photos of your BEV being dwarfed by large rock walls. Spend some time in here and enjoy the solitude and marvel at the wonders of the natural world, especially in the narrows, where you get a sense of just how insignificant you really are out here in this wild place.

Not long after the narrowing of the road opening, I arrive at the first rock ledge. Since I am traveling down the canyon rather than up, getting over these class-4 impediments is somewhat easier, but still, care has to be the watchword for the experience to avoid rock damage to both the undercarriage and the roof. Yes, I said roof. That’s because one of the dryfalls allows the front passenger tire to drop down at the same time that the passenger roof line comes unnervingly close to a slightly overhanging rock mass (a close call in a full size rig such as my previous Old Red, but not too bad in something the size of my current wheels). This year, these falls are not at the level of the Goler Canyon falls due to the dynamics of the recent weather events, but last year these were more challenging. This year however, Goler is hands-down far more challenging. Echo Pass always seems to be tough no matter how much rain makes the trip into Death Valley.

Dedeckera Canyon narrows are not as steep as Goler or Echo, and consequently don’t seem as foreboding. With a quick walk to assess the route ahead of driving, any experienced backroads person with a decent clearance 4wd BEV should experience little trouble in this canyon. A novice, however, may become quite anxious at the Jaws of Dedeckera, especially if traveling from the dunes up to Steel Pass. It is the perfect learning ground for someone who wants a guaranteed challenge offered by class-4 obstacles, but not so much of a trial that dire consequences will result with miscalculation of vehicle placement. I would rate these as easier roadway barriers, but not so unproblematic as to allow unstudied passage.

Upon exiting Dedeckera Canyon, the Eureka Sand Dunes are in full and glorious view, and at nearly 700 feet in height from the valley floor, they are certainly very impressive. The closer I travel down from the canyon towards the dunes, the larger they loom before me. Few people ever see this part of Death Valley National Park due to its extremely remote location in the far northern portion of the Park, and the fact that access from anywhere is only gained on rough and/or washboardy backroads. Hardly anyone comes in the way I did unless they have the experience and rig for the job, and people with sedans or camper vans can come in from the north, but most will not like the many miles of washboard road to get to the dunes. Because of this, the dunes are well-appreciated by the folks who do have the personal resolve necessary to access them. You always get the extreme feeling of privacy and seclusion out here, so it presents the perfect camp for my final night in the National Park.

Sunsets are usually gorgeous at the dunes, and it looks like tonight will be no exception. I am a happy camper, as they say, happy to be out in the natural element, happy to be on wilderness time. Off to the west towards the Inyo Range and Sierra Nevada Mountains, storm clouds are brewing, but right here the weather couldn’t be nicer.

Day Five – December 02, Friday

Sound sleep is easy at the Eureka Sand Dunes National Natural Landmark. It seems like the quietest place on Earth, and yet I know there are many other places just as serene. As the morning breaks, I am glad to be here rather than on the big city freeways during rush hour. So many times when I write about the feelings that surge through me in the wild places, I sense an inability to express to you in words the level of euphoria that fills me every wild day. I can only assume that since you are reading this, you either understand the outlook well yourself from your own personal experiences, or are about to embark upon similar journeys to find out first hand.

Yesterday, over Steel Pass, a minor rattle manifested itself, but I only heard it on the rougher bumps. It is a tinny sort of sound, as might be made if a thin section of metal is working loose at a nut. So, this morning as the vivid sun’s rays explode through a few wispy clouds over the Last Chance Mountains and fill the Eureka Valley with happy heat, I take a gander under the front of the truck to see if I can track down my elusive little aggravation. It has to be minor based on the sound, and sure enough, it is. A nut that holds one of the thin front skidplates has worked loose, so a simple wrench solution is quickly forthcoming. Ahh, freedom from rattles is pure joy to this backroad fellow, and lets me know that my rig is holding up to the ultimate shaker test.

After a relaxing breakfast at the magnificent seldom-seen dunes, it is time to secure my load and point the BEV towards the northern exit of the Park. By now, my confidence in, and respect for this little rig is nearly unshakable, and I think that I have clearly made the correct purchase choice for a true go-anywhere BEV. Once I have covered the final hour of dirt road navigation and bid my favorite National Park a fond farewell, it is time to return to humankind’s unnecessary upgrade to the nation’s travel system … in other words, time to hit the pavement (darn).

But, being that it is now December, and being that I have some paved passes 7,000 to 8,000 feet in elevation ahead of me, and being that I have been observing dark and heavy storm clouds gathering along the Sierra Nevada Range all day yesterday, I know that the likelihood of rain, ice, and snow loom as my new truck’s final test before I can bestow upon it full-fledged “Old Trailmaster” honors. It has to get me back from my backcountry, after all. I have been so impressed with this little vehicle’s abilities in so many adverse driving conditions this trip, that at one point just before I leave the Park boundary, I momentarily return to the psychology of my immature youth and I smugly say aloud to Mother Nature, “Bring it on!” Of course, you know what they say, don’t you? Be careful what you wish for!

I get my wish for the final testament of this 4×4, a testament that only deepens my admiration and respect at what this miniature truck can do. I get my rain. I get my ice. And I get my snow. Plenty of it all. Cars are off the side. Truckers have ceased their nonstop trips. Traction devices are required. Blizzard conditions exist in spots. The snowplows can’t keep it cleared away fast enough, and it makes me feel like I am back in the Colorado high country where I lived for many years. That experience in the Rocky Mountains pays off here, and I continue my progress on this journey back to a cozy heated living room, although that progress does notably slow at times.

At the highest elevations of just over 8,000 feet, the accumulated snow is getting deeper, the road slipperier, and the flakes driving against my windshield harder. A simple turning of the dashboard knob from 2H to 4H give the rock-solid feel that I have come to expect of the BEV. My only real concern at this point is some errant or inexperienced driver careening into my rig, because the weather, while severe, is today no match for the brave tiny truck. The two of us continue, David Arkenstone playing on the fantastic CD system, without traction control chains on the tires, and the defroster making more than enough heat to keep the windshield clear and my bones warm.

There is always a certain inner draw to return to an easier life after a number of days roughing it. It’s hard to explain for someone who loves to be part of the wild world. Perhaps a strange mix of wild/mild is what keeps each having some appeal. Or could it be the grass is always greener on the other side of the hill, a situation where people want that which they don’t have? I left the big city at age thirty-two, many years ago, and have never returned. It was the right move for me. Eventually I will have a small cabin in a more wild setting than the small town in which I now live, taking another step away from the hubbub of humanity. Incrementally, I advance towards the natural world, visiting more often the backcountry I love, with each visit being longer than the one before. If all goes as I would like it to, my final setting will be one where I can just take off on foot right outside my front door, and walk in nearly any direction to be lost in wilderness time.