A Time of Solace and Solitude in the Panamint Valley

In May of 2020, at the height of the pandemic, there were no vaccines in the immediate offing. Tired of sitting at home, I headed out with my RV to Panamint Springs Resort, which is a private enclave surrounded by Death Valley National Park. As seen in the adjacent photo, Death Valley National Park was closed to all visitors. Highway 190 was still open through the park, but even stopping along the way to take a picture could have netted you a $1,000 fine. No one understood how, when or where the virus could be transmitted, but the National Park Service was not taking any chances, one way or the other.

Since the resort is private and needed to stay in business, they were open for camping and cabin accommodations. Taking advantage of that and being completely self-contained, I booked a full hookup RV spot for several days. When I arrived, the clerk in the general store wore no mask. He indicated that they would be barbecuing ribs at the restaurant that night and that I should attend. "Not on your life," I thought to myself. Although I was largely confined to the resort property, I went on to enjoy the solitude and splendor of spending time in the Panamint Valley.

Three and one half years later, I was in the process of finishing up another trip to Death Valley and Panamint Springs. On December 10, 2023, there were high winds predicted for the southern Mojave Desert. With the stress of having recently spent time entertaining my friends in the desert, I was too tired to break camp and head home in a windstorm. Instead, I opted for a quiet day in camp at the Panamint Springs Resort. As I have often said, there usually are no crowds in Death Valley National Park between Thanksgiving and New Years. This year was no exception.

When I travel with my fifth wheel, I always bring provisions for several extra days. If I experience a breakdown or any other form of delay, my fridge and freezer always have enough food to get me by. In this case, my full RV hookup made it easy to extend my stay for one more day. Access to water, propane, electricity and sewer allowed for luxury camping in one of the most remote and previously inhospitable places in all of the United States.

On December 11, 2023 I broke camp and prepared to leave for home. On my return trip I was able to avoid the delays associated with road repair between Panamint Springs and Lone Pine. As it turned out, the Panamint Valley Road to Trona and Mojave beyond was fully open and free of construction delays. If I had known that on my way into Panamint Springs at the beginning of my journey, I could have saved hours of detours and delays. As it stood, my return trip home to Simi Valley took less than five hours. That reminded me of why I like to visit Panamint Springs every fall, winter, and spring. In less than a day, I can transport myself from the city to life in the nearby wilderness.

Panamint Valley may not be as famous as its sister, Death Valley, but it has trails to explore, sand dunes to climb, off-road tracks for four-wheeling and a sense of solitude that you will not find at Furnace Creek, Stovepipe Wells or Badwater. In the off-season, it is my favorite place for kicking back and enjoying life, just as it might have been almost one hundred years ago. For those who require instant and constant connectivity, either bring your Starlink satellite system or just enjoy being beyond the fringe of connection to the smartphone world. I do suggest bringing a Zoleo satellite communicator, but that device is for text messaging only.

Although I do everything I can to promote visiting the Panamint Valley during its extreme off season, I do not expect there to be big crowds in early December 2024, when once again, I shall seek solace in the Panamint Valley. If enough people read this blog and decide to visit, perhaps I will see one or two of you there at that time of year.

This is Part Seven of a Seven Part article. To return to Part One, click HERE.

Email James McGillis

 

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.

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

Camping at Panamint Springs, Death Valley National Park, During a Pandemic - 2020

 

Camping at Panamint Springs, Death Valley National Park, During a Pandemic

Friday May 1, 2020

My journey felt different this time, from Simi Valley to Death Valley. I had taken that road so many times before. With the National Park itself closed to all but through-traffic, the palpable fear of death hung in the air at Death Valley. To my surprise, the privately owned enclave called Panamint Springs Resort was open.

Panamint Springs is not a resort in the classic sense of the word… no pool, spa or golf course. Up a nearby canyon, the perpetual Darwin Falls feeds a year around supply of fresh water to the small settlement. Included in the resort are a hardscrabble campground, tent cabins, and a few “luxury cabins”. Rounding out the services are an unpaved RV Park, a gas station, restaurant, motel, general store, and a rough airstrip. The place gets its name from the Paiute or Koso word Panümünt, which breaks down to Pa (water) and nïwïnsti (person).

Out here in the vast and unforgiving Mojave Desert, almost any settlement qualifies as a resort. Since I wanted to isolate myself from the cares and worries of a raging pandemic, this seemed like the perfect hideaway for several days and nights. After confirming my reservation, I hooked up my fifth wheel and sallied forth from Simi Valley, California.

The portion of my trip from Mojave to the Panamint Valley was mostly uneventful. Knowing that Panamint Springs had no mobile telephone coverage, I stopped to call home from the intersection of Panamint Valley Road and Minietta Road. Having received past text messages there, I knew that there was AT&T 4G-LTE mobile telephone coverage at that location. The location of the cell phone tower that feeds data to that one small spot is a complete mystery.

While making my call, I noticed a small, hand-lettered sign. With two screws holding it to a stake, it read, “Yard Sale Next Sat. 7AM – 3PM”. Minietta is a gravel road, which heads off from the highway toward the southwest. Not far along, it disappears over a low hill. From my location, I saw no buildings, people or other vehicles. Still, the mysterious sign caught my interest. I planned to return on Saturday and check out the yard sale.

Upon arrival at Panamint Springs Resort, I went inside the general store to check in. Inside, the unmasked counter man told me that Friday was barbecued ribs night at the restaurant. After completing my check-in, he invited me to come and enjoy the food and drink. As the blood drained from my face, I smiled from behind my mask and thanked the man. “No way”, I whispered silently, while ducking out the front door.

Looking uphill from the store, I noticed a huge tent pavilion, which served as the outdoor dining area for the restaurant. At that time, all was quiet, with just a few people sipping their drinks and enjoying the expansive view of Panamint Valley. Until well past midnight, I could hear raucous sounds, including hoots and hollers echoing across the otherwise quiet landscape. That night, from the comfort and safety of my camp chair, I heard some serious, alcohol-fueled mingling under the big tent. Apparently, management later changed the dining policies at the resort. As of late September 2020, their website included the following information. “Our restaurant is open for take out everyday for lunch (11:30 am - 2:30 pm) and dinner (5:30 pm - 8:30 pm). We have plenty of available shaded picnic options adjacent to the restaurant for your eating pleasure”.

The rustic campground and RV Park is located just across the highway from the Panamint Springs General Store. There, I found eight or ten RV sites with full hookups. Other than my rig, all of the other sites were empty. Elsewhere in the campground, there were only a handful of tent sites and tent cabins occupied. Over the next few days, a few campers arrived and a few departed. Still, no one spoiled my unobstructed view of the ancient seabed that is now the parched and dry Panamint Valley.

Saturday May 2, 2020.

At the national park entrance, a Public Advisory sign declared, “Death Valley National Park CLOSED Until Further Notice”. Through-traffic could transit the park on the main highway, but there were no services open to the public. The counter man at the store had warned me not to go sightseeing in the national park. “Even in the parking lots at Stovepipe Wells and Furnace Creek, they are handing out $1,000 tickets to anyone who lingers”, he said. Within the geographic confines of the national park, only Panamint Springs, a privately owned oasis, was open for business. Without access to the national park, it appeared that I would be a virtual prisoner in a place of my own choosing.

Undaunted, I knew that the phantom yard sale, which I saw advertised on Minietta Road lay outside of the national park boundaries. That afternoon, I navigated The Panamint Valley Road back toward Trona and the Searles Valley. Ten miles east of Panamint Springs I located the turn-off to Minietta Road. There, I sat inside the air-conditioned confines of my truck and called home once again.

After my call, I headed up the dirt and gravel surface of Minietta Road. After surmounting the first set of hills, I paused to survey the lower reaches of Thompson Canyon. Could there be a home with a yard at the end of this dusty track? Alternatively, did the little sign represent some kind of code or a prank? After four-wheeling over dry hills and washes, I spied an ersatz settlement tucked up near the base of the barren mountains.

Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a wildcat mining operation consisting of about ten vehicles and various small buildings. I could not see a gate, garage or any sign of welcome. Near there, in 1969, Charlie Manson and his murderous “family” faced arrest at Death Valley’s Barker Ranch. With that in mind, I decided against rolling up unannounced at this foreboding enclave.

From my location in a broad arroyo, various unmarked roads and trails split off in all directions. Not having an atlas or topographical map to consult, I was wary of driving deeper into the unmarked desert. Getting stuck or breaking down out here could be deadly. When the main road turned into a trail, I stopped. There, about twenty yards away were the remains of an automobile. I knew it was an automobile because I could see one wheel and tire still attached. When I approached on foot, I discovered the flipped-over and rusting hulk of what once was a small sports car.

Looking around the area, I located two other tires and wheels. One of the whitewall tires featured the embossed words, “JCPenney Aramid Belted Radial”. In later research, I found of an old Desert Sun newspaper advertisement that dated the tire back to circa 1978. There was still some chrome on one of the wheels, but what remained of another tire looked like it had spun apart at very high speed.

What was the story here? Did the wreck happen here on this dusty track? More likely, someone had gotten that car up to high speed on the Panamint Valley Road. If that tire had blown at high speed, the car could have rolled over on its roof. Resting upside down, flat as a pancake, there was no room between the car body and the desert floor for a human to survive. Rather than transport the wreck to the nearest junkyard in Trona, someone may have simply moved it several miles and dumped it in its current location.

After I located two of the detached wheels nearby, I rolled them back to the rusting hulk. Although the fourth wheel was not anywhere in sight, I soon had three wheels resting back on their original wheel hubs. Satisfied that I had turned back the hands of time, I took a few pictures and left the rusting remains for the next visitor to find. I pictured an elderly couple, in a 1937 Chevrolet coming across this wreck in the desert. “Mabel, how do you think those wheels got back on that car?” asked Henry. “Divine providence, I suppose”, Mabel replied.

Returning to the highway, I paused to enjoy the view out my front windshield. Directly across the Panamint Valley was the impressive Panamint Range. Tallest of all was Telescope Peak, elevation 11,043 feet, 11,049 feet or 11,053 feet, depending on which source you consult. Is it possible that the mountain had grown or shrunk by a total of ten feet? The 7.5 magnitude Owens Valley (or Lone Pine) Earthquake of 1872 occurred only fifty miles west of my location. That event generated a fault scarp more than two meters high. Therefore, it is possible that the Telescope Peak did grow or sink by ten feet between official surveys.

Since the base of the mountain is at 1,800 feet elevation, Telescope Peak makes for an imposing sight. Snowstorms in early April had blanketed the upper reaches of the Panamint Range. The angle of repose is so steep there; avalanche-chutes were clearly visible on the upper reaches of the range. The west-facing flank of Telescope Peak featured three avalanche chutes, all of which converged at a single point. It was an awesome and fearful site. No human could survive a climb up that face. If the steep terrain and baking sun did not kill you, the avalanches would.

After ruminating on the effects of geologic time, I drove back toward my campsite, ten miles away.

This concludes Part One of a Two-Part Article. To read Part Two, click HERE.

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