The Long Trip To Panamint Springs - December 2023
On December 4, 2023, I began my annual RV trip, from Casa Carrie in Simi Valley, California to Panamint Springs, California. My destination was Panamint Springs Resort, a private one hundred acre enclave entirely within the borders of Death Valley National Park. Throughout the Mojave Desert,
the floods of July 2022 and August 2023 had left roads, sewers, and
cell phone coverage in ruins. Roads became undercut and eroded away.
Sewers and campground septic systems became clogged with debris. Mobile
phone and data connectivity disappeared throughout the national park,
including the Furnace Creek and Stovepipe Wells settlements.
Under what we once called normal conditions, I would have traveled through Garlock and then the Trona Road to Panamint Springs. That route offers great views of the Searles Valley
and the Panamint Valley farther along the way. Although there are
several elevation changes and one steep mountain pass transitioning to
what becomes the Panamint Valley Road, that route would allow me to
avoid the endless switchbacks on Highway 190. To my disappointment,
word on the internet indicated that the Panamint Valley Road had
washed out during the storms in August of 2023. That is the nature of
almost any news regarding Death Valley. Do not believe everything that
you read or hear. It may be wrong or outdated to say the least.
With the Olancha cutoff remaining closed to through traffic my only
option was to remain on U.S. Highway 395 North, almost to Lone Pine.
The Olancha cutoff, which is the actual western terminous of Highway
190, had received severe damage and remained washed out in multiple locations. With both the TronaRoad
and the Olancha cutoff closed by flooding, I had to proceed to Lone
Pine before turning east to my expected camp at Panamint Springs Resort.
When I passed the Olancha Cutoff, I thought I saw signs indicating
that it was open.
After taking and laborious u-turn in my fifth wheel rig, I entered the
Olancha Cutoff. Immediately, I found barricades and "Closed" signs in
the road. That issue prompted another sketchy u-turn and a return to
Highway 395. From there, I proceeded directly north to Lone Pine. All
of this backtracking caused me to travel past my intended junction and
seek diesel fuel in Lone Pine. With the early December Sun about to set
behind the high peaks of the Sierra Nevada, I was getting closer to
losing my daylight. With closed roads, both perceived and real, it took
nearly an hour to end my dithering and get back on the right road. The turn-off
from Highway 395, south of Lone Pine is on to Highway 136, through
Keeler and on to Highway 190, which leads to Panamint Springs.
According to National Park sources, Highway 190 had opened to traffic
on October 15, 2023. That was almost two months after the remnants of Hurricane Hilary
devastated Death Valley and much of the surrounding area. The initial
hour-long highway construction delays were now down to thirty-minutes,
or so they said. After passing Father Crowley Point, I came upon a
lonely flagger, standing by the road with a pole-mounted stop sign. He
reminded me of a shepherd, leaning on his crook as his flock fed nearby.
As he paced and shuffled in the cold of a late afternoon breeze, I sat
in the heated comfort of my truck. It was not freezing outside, but
standing there day after day, with a stop sign in his gloved hands had to be wearing on his psyche and his soul.
After about five minutes, I shut off the engine
in my truck. After ten minutes, my smart watch told me to get off my
duff and take a walk. After exiting the cab, I realized that the
flagger, dressed in full weather gear was cold and bored. Gamely, I
called out to him in greeting. He told me, “Seven Minutes” to the next
go-around of the pilot car. For five minutes, we talked from a
shouting-distance. During our exchange, the silence of the landscape
easily carried our voices over the distance between us. I learned about
washouts and the 200-foot cliff that crews were filling with rocks,
from the bottom-up, to restore both lanes of travel. Soon, the pilot car
arrived from downhill, escorting a vehicle or two. The driver made a
u-turn and whisked me on my way. Soon, we approached the main
construction zone.
Even
near 5 PM, the construction crews were hard at work, pouring rip-rap
down the washed out embankment. It was the Myth of Physalis in reverse.
Instead of endlessly rolling a boulder up hill, only to have it crash
back down to the bottom, the construction crews were rolling untold
numbers of boulders down into a canyon, hoping to rebuild it from the
bottom up. Personally, I would have suggested a deeper cut into the
uphill edge of the road, not pouring boulders into the abyss below.
Nothing lasts forever in the desert and that ongoing repair to Highway
190 represented that potential to me.
After traversing the active construction zone, the pilot car pulled over
and waved me on. Before dark, I rolled into the venerable Panamint Springs Resort.
Most resorts have swimming pools. Comprised of 100 acres, this resort
features tent, motel, cabin and RV accommodations. In addition, it has a
dirt airstrip,
a general store, fuel station and a full service restaurant and bar.
All of this makes up for the lack of a swimming pool. The antecedent to
this resort had started off as a rustic motel the 1920s. At that time,
it featured the only lodging between Lone Pine and Stovepipe Wells.
A century later, it still holds that honor. There is no cell phone
coverage, but they do advertise “full hookups” for RVs. Not so much
today. The floods of August had clogged the septic and sewer system,
creating a “no dump” order for the RV sites. The many RVs that had
arrived for the Thanksgiving holiday faced a major disappointment in
their accommodations. Luckily, my black and gray tanks were empty,
providing plenty of effluent storage for my single night there.
According to the National Park Service, there was an operational sewer
dump at Furnace Creek Campground, which was my next destination down
the road. More on that in my next installment.
Once
ensconced in Site Number Four, I took note that I was the only RV
camper in the entire resort. No tent spaces were occupied either. Only
one “luxury cabin” had visitors spending the night. No noisy partygoers
or off-road vehicle crazies were anywhere within one hundred miles of
my quiet site. Years ago, I had asked the clerk at the general store,
“What is the best time to visit Panamint Springs and avoid the crowds?”
“Between Thanksgiving and Christmas,” he said. “No one is here.” And
so, I visit Panamint Springs Resort every year at this time. Never have
I been disappointed by the solitude and sanctity of the place. At this
time of year, it becomes my spiritual home.
Every domicile built since the time of the ancient Romans deserves a
sewer. A good sewer system takes that which we do not like farther
downstream than our nostrils can discern. Not so at Panamint Springs.
The once reliable sewer and drain field were clogged with August flood
sediment and errant Russian Olive
tree roots. There are only one or two maintenance people at the
resort. Since I was planning to return to Panamint Springs after a
couple of nights in Furnace Creek. I hoped that they were capable of
fixing this problem. Using a backhoe, the two men had dug an enormous
hole at the lower end of the RV sites. Later, I discovered that good
luck and skill carried them through. By the time I returned three days
later, they had found the problem and created a permanent repair to the
sewer pipes.
After one night of "water and power only" camping, my next destination featured dry camping at Furnace Creek Campground in the heart of Death Valley.
This is Part One of a Seven Part article. To read Part Two, Click HERE.
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