From Panamint Springs To Furnace Creek - December 2023

Around noon on December 5, 2023, I departed Panamint Springs, heading again on Highway 190 toward Stovepipe Wells and Furnace Creek. Along that highway, Towne Pass is a test for any towing rig. Although the elevation change is only about 1,500 feet, it all happens in just a few short miles. For the unaware, ambient desert temperatures can make for engine overheating and breakdowns. Each time I try it, I wonder if the trip up the pass is more difficult and daunting than the trip down the other side and into Stovepipe Wells in Death Valley proper. 

Once down on the flats of Death Valley, the somewhat desolate settlement of Stovepipe Wells takes only about two minutes to travel through. With its dry alkali surroundings, I often wonder what the attraction is for so many campers, lodge dwellers and other visitors. Although there is a general store and a gas station, they do not provide diesel fuel at that location. Surprisingly, there is an air field at Stovepipe Wells, although there is no fuel or any other aviation services available there. Although the Stovepipe Wells and Furnace Creek air fields can be used by rescue and reconnaissance helicopters, there are limiting factors. In the extreme heat of summer, the "density altitude" may be too high for takeoff or landing. In essence, the warm air rising negates any lift induced by the helicopter blades to. From the air field, it is a half mile walk through Death Valley heat to reach the general store and the Lodge. For me that day, there was no reason to stop in Stovepipe Wells.

Farther along, the Mesquite Flats Sand Dunes appear to the left of the highway. Once again, during the hot weather months it is a formidable hike from the parking lot to the actual dunes. Next up is Devils Cornfield, visible briefly on each side of the highway. Although there are no cornstalks there, hardy evergreen Arrowweed plant gives the area its distinctive appearance. Passing through on the highway, frequent dust devils makes it a windy and somewhat treacherous place to stop.

Next on our rolling map is the junction of Highway 190 and North Highway, also known as Scotty's Castle Road. During my visit, Scotty’s Castle Road, Daylight Pass to Beatty and all points off Highway 190 remained closed to travel. Signage indicated that the ban applied all vehicles, including motorcycles, bicycles and unicycles. Even hiking was prohibited. If you ignored those rules and became stranded or broke down, there was no one out there in the vastness of Death Valley to find or save you.

In dozens of places between Panamint Springs and Furnace Creek, I spotted fresh road repairs. I rumbled over one or two washout repairs and many patches along the edge of the highway. The casual observer would think that these were normal repairs, but their simplicity denies the profound damage to every form of infrastructure within Death Valley National Park. The torrential remnants of Hurricane Hilary in the summer of 2023 came on the heals of huge thunder storms during the summer of 2022. Some remote desert tracks may take years to repair, if ever.

In the history of the area, many storms have permanently cut off mining and even camping opportunities in the far out-lands. It almost seemed as if the park wanted  to go back in time to the age before vehicular travel, internet connectivity and cell phones. Upon my arrival in Furnace Creek, there was no cellular signal at all. Only the Visitors Center had Wi-Fi, which took some practice to use effectively. Two evenings in a row I sat in a deserted courtyard behind the Visitors Center, hoping that Wi-Fi calling on my Samsung Galaxy phone would work. Luckily, the National Park Service had invested in satellite connectivity, and I was able to transport my voice to Simi Valley during my telephone calls home.

While I sat on the patio, I could see inside the Command Center that was set up to coordinate emergency response  and infrastructure repair throughout Death Valley National Park. The center was staffed twenty-four hours per day, coordinating everything from road repairs to fire, police and all other forms of recovery. Inside workers sat at computer monitors and used white boards to chart various activities. When some people complain that our federal government is incapable of doing anything positive for our country, they should come out to Death Valley. There they could peer through the windows into an emergency center recreating the infrastructure of a vast and unforgiving national park. They might just change their minds and appreciate what these people are doing for us all. After my initial wifi call home, I headed back to my dry campsite.

When camping off-grid, my fifth wheel has 200-watts of solar panels on the roof and two six-volt deep-cycle batteries to power its vital systems. As soon as I pulled into my dry campsite at Furnace Creek Campground, the sun dipped behind some cottonwood trees, thus cutting my access to free electrical energy. Even running the engine on my truck while setting up camp did little to decrease the electrical drain on my house batteries. By the time I was indoors and preparing for 50-degree outside temperatures overnight, my battery monitor indicated about 12.5 volts remaining. Anything less than 11.8 volts would send my hard-wired carbon monoxide alert monitor into an endless alarm mode. The only cure for that eventuality would be to hook up my truck, run its engine and use its alternator to recharge the batteries enough to shut off the alarm.

Anticipating such situations can produce anxiety. As a result, I disconnected, unplugged, or did not use anything that I perceived could further drain my limited electrical reserves. In other words, I sat in the dark with no heat. After an hour or two, I felt like one of the original 1849 emigrants, who were stranded for a year in Death Valley. My only salvation was battery operated lights, of which I had a few. The scene made me think about Abraham Lincoln ruining his eyes reading books by the fireplace. Until you experience the lack of adequate electrical power, you do not remember what it was like to live in a time before nightlights and Ring doorbells.

Before bedtime, I dressed up from head to toe. I wore socks, sweatpants, long-sleeved layers and piled on as many blankets as I had. All of that extra weight kept me cemented in place for most of the night. With only one cold bathroom break, I was mostly warm, even if weighed down by so many covers. At exactly 7:52 AM, I awoke to an incessant alarm noise. I sprang out of bed, believing that I knew exactly what it was. My house battery power had dipped too low, and the carbon monoxide alarm in my rig was displaying its power as the batteries faded below 11.8 volts. In my panic, exactly where the noise was coming from, I could not tell.

Slowly, I realized that the incessant sound emanated from outside my coach. In the 50-degree morning air, I thrust open the door and used the parallax sensors attached to either side of my head. My ears told me that the alarm sound was coming from some sort of vehicle parked across a dirt field, behind some scrubby trees. After realizing that the sounds were beyond my control, I went back to bed, shaken but not stirred. Later, I discovered that it was an unattended SUV that had spontaneously gone into panic mode to awaken me.

This is Part Two of a Seven Part article. To read Part Three, Click HERE. To return to Part One, click HERE.

Email James McGillis

 

Experience a Blizzard In Death Valley National Park 2023

In California, the Winter of 2023 produced record rain and snowfall, especially in the Central and Southern Sierra Nevada. As that moisture traveled east, even the Panamint Range, in Death Valley National Park received record snowfall. As spring approached, the sky-rivers kept flowing, sometimes warm and sometimes cold.

On February 28, I watched a snowflake or two fall outside my window in Panamint Springs. Toward sundown, the clouds descended to a low level, obscuring any remaining sunlight. That eerie and early darkness kept me inside all night. What will tomorrow bring?

In the morning, the distance-obscuring clouds hung low on the Panamint Range. Around noon, the clouds had lifted enough for me to strike out in search of that elusive cell phone signal. As I descended into Panamint Valley, I encountered a shallow lake, with Highway 190 running like a dry ribbon down the middle of it. Rising through a long series of switchbacks on the far slopes, I could see snow clouds ahead.

Soon, sloppy wet snow obscured my windshield. The normal flow of traffic to and from Death Valley kept the snow from accumulating on the roadway. As I ascended Towne Pass, the snow fields to either side grew thicker, and the temperature dropped. Over the top and slightly downhill on the Death Valley side, I came upon the venerable old stone Emigrant Junction Station. Built in the 1920’s, just beyond the junction of Emigrant Pass and the newer Towne Pass, it has stood the test of time. Abandoned now and silhouetted by snowy peaks behind, the haunting building added to a forlorn tableau.

Almost adjacent to the building was the Junction of Highway 190 and the old Emigrant Pass. There, an open gate beckoned me to take the old road to Wildrose and Skidoo. Both places were old mines, which had played out well before the National Park era. I had driven Emigrant Pass once before, in late spring. At that time, I had traveled up the canyon from the Panamint Valley. On this day, I faced a treacherous and snowy road first created using mule teams in the 1920’s. As snow fell all around, I felt a sense of mystery and drama. Without fanfare, I slushed past the open gate.

After seeing only one SUV, traveling in the opposite direction, I realized that I might be alone for the rest of this journey. Was I foolhardy, foolish, or just allowing my sense of adventure to lead me on? Whatever the reason, or lack thereof, I was on my way to Wildrose and beyond. As I progressed, snow covered more of the road and plastered itself on my windshield.

Undeterred, I soldiered on. Why turn back when you can still proceed forward, I thought. Being a child of the 1960’s, I had brought a four-CD pack, which included Moody Blues entire songbook. Their upbeat songs, like “Sitting at the Wheel” were a perfect accompaniment to my snow blown trip into the snowy unknown. A series of crowning curves on an old mountain road lay ahead of me. Although I had four-wheel drive, I began to think that the tread on my rear tires might be too thin to clear the snow from the grooves.

 

 

 

Experience a Blizzard in Death Valley National Park

As I traveled deeper into the wilderness, I remembered that I did not bring any survival food or shelter greater than a light jacket and a space blanket. Inexplicably, I had left my Zoleo satellite text communicator back in camp. Now I put my faith in driving twenty miles in a blizzard. If I could get over the endless ridge-top curves, I knew that the highway would drop into the warmer canyons, below the snowline. What I did not fully anticipate or appreciate was both the beauty and the stress of making that perilous journey.

Without further drama, I will report that I did make it through a harrowing and sobering experience. Despite a fallen tree, which almost blocked the entire roadway, I was able to skirt that problem, and descend below the snow line for the remainder of my trip. Looking back from the alluvial fan of Wildrose Canyon, I could see the storm still clinging to the slopes of the Panamint Range. To my relief, the safety of the Trona Road lay only a mile or two farther down that gravel road.

Looking back, would I take that drive again? Well, how many people do you know that almost got snowed-in on March 1 in Death Valley National Park? Of course, I would do it again. Next time I will bring more emergency supplies, better tires and my Zoleo communicator, just in case I get stuck.

Thinking back now, I am amazed that a secondary road, which no agency might plow until at least the next day, remained wide open to the public. It was my choice to go into harm’s way, but luck was with me, at least in spirit. That entire day, I did not find that elusive cell phone signal. With one driving decision piled upon another, I had made my way into harm’s way and back again to civilization.

As I headed back to camp, I caught sight of the elusive Phoenix Bird flying low over the Panamint Range, toward Death Valley.

Email James McGillis