Secrets of Crooked Creek | White Mountains #4

Somehow, we'd completed a 16 mile hike to 14,252 feet above sea level in just under nine hours. Figuring that it'd take more than a little longer - especially after eating lunch and hanging out at the top for a while - I'd planned for us to spend a second night at the White Mountain trailhead. Then, we'd spend our final day of exploration winding our way through a few canyons and meadows that I'd heard were well worth visiting.

But now, we had options. It was time to work out how to best squander them!

Working our way down from the trailhead, undulating white hills rose from green meadows.

Lots of down.

Broadly, I'd hoped we could turn Crooked Creek, Dead Horse Meadow, and Wyman Canyon into a large loop that would take us through a good chunk of the eastern flanks of the White Mountains, but I knew that the road - if you could call it that - connecting Dead Horse Meadow and Wyman Canyon had been in rough shape for the better part of a decade, so our hopes were not high that we'd run the entire loop without a major change in direction.

Before long, we found ourselves at an intersection we'd passed more than once, and with the afternoon sun at our backs, we turned to follow the Crooked Creek.

Before long, we passed the Crooked Creek Research Station, which - by the cars in the parking area - seemed to be hopping!

Crooked Creek wasn't a big creek, but it lived up to its name, crossing the road more than a dozen times as we worked our way through the canyon.

Along each of the roads that made up a segment of the loop we hoped to complete, I'd used the USFS MVUM (Motor Vehicle Use Map) to plot out the various spur roads that we could explore along the way. This seemed like a genius move at the time, but as with many such moves, I later realized that - as had been the case in the Inyo Mountains that I'd explored a few weeks earlier - these were mostly old mine roads, with little to see but views. Definitely not attention-grabbers that would make sense to explore with a companion along.

Still, as we neared the first fork, I noticed that my copilot was fully engrossed in her mid-afternoon nap, so spur road it was!

Heading down a side canyon on a lightly travelled road.

An aspen grove gleamed green in the afternoon sun, such a bright splash of color compared to what we'd seen so far.

The rock formations down here were fantastic, and a prelude of more to come.

As with Crooked Creek, the road down ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮  Canyon crossed the creek more than a few times. With a bit more water, there were a few crossings where 30-50 feet of road were under six inches of water - perhaps a place for a bit of a high-speed car wash, had it not been for the tasty residents.

Road or creek? Why not both?

Hey guys, you wanna be dinner?

Of course, even if the trout had been more than 8-9 inches long, we were without permit and poles, so we slowly made our way through the neighborhood, joking that we'd know whether we'd gone too fast if there were floaters on our way back!

What have we here? (It's the ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮  Cabin, apparently.)

That broom won't sweep itself.

Not many people visit the old ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮  Ranch, and the only thing of interest in the cabin were a few dozen small - condiment-size - pouches of water strewn about on nearly every flat surface. This though was our turnaround point according to the MVUM, so we headed back up to Crooked Creek in search of our next spur.

This was definitely landscape we were both looking forward to experiencing.

We've found a secret Alabama Hills! And, it reminded me a of a smaller version of Papoose Flat.

Over undulating terrain, I noticed that I'd accidentally marked something potentially interesting on one of the spurs: a trio of structures. Still, it wasn't the cabins that we noticed as the rocky terrain opened up onto a grassy meadow, it was the teardrop trailer and Grenadier that were parked out front.

Living quarters for anyone willing to brave the hantavirus at Deep Springs Cow Camp.

The visitor-log-turned-mouse-meal has seen better days. And not many visitors.

Turns out the residents of the tear drop - a father and son - were up from the Los Angeles area to escape the worst of the heat dome. They'd been camped here for nearly a week, spending their days relaxing in the meadow and rock climbing the granitic outcroppings that decorated the valley.

After wasting a few minutes of their time with what we'd been up to over the last couple of days - though, to be fair, I did catch them checking out the Tacoma as we were coming out of the cabins - I had one final question before we said our goodbyes, "How'd you guys get here, and do you know if the road through the bottom of the canyon is passable?"

That got a good chuckle, and I was informed - for the second time - that Hillary had done a number on the road, and that even the Wyman Canyon portion of our loop would be questionable at this point.

Hoping that the opinion of a Grenadier driver might not be the same as those held by the occupants of a beat up, 25-year-old Tacoma, we bid our farewells and continued on.

Soon, what had been a road through a lush granite wonderland transitioned into a rocky mess that we unfondly refer to as "Oregon."

Frequently checking to be sure we still had all of our teeth, we bounced over the rocky terrain for longer than either of us would have preferred, hoping that the reward at the end would make it all worth it.

Along the way, we sent the flying camera up to investigate a structure I'd spotted at the end of a spur road. Turned out to be a good call, given the only-inches-tall nature of said structure.

As quickly as the rocky road began, it disappeared. A change in terrain, we found ourselves leaving a high desert transition zone for a steep, switchback descent into the place I'd heard we should spend a couple of days.

Assuming - that is - that we could get there.

A narrow squeeze.

The trail at this point seemed passable - for narrow vehicles - but definitely kept us wondering as to the continued feasibility and turnaround opportunities. Still, the reward at the end was definitely enticing!

Yes please, I'll take some of that on my where-to-camp menu!

Frequent readers will know that my favorite spots to camp are often on the edges of cliffs overlooking an expansive view. @mrs.turbodb doesn't mind these either - as long as we're not too near the edge - but we both agreed that nestling into the boulders in this most unusual landscape would be more than sufficient.

So, though it was only 5:00pm, we found a nook, set up the tent, and promptly climbed in for a nap! Let me tell you, this whole "slowing down" thing is not overrated!

Camp.

As the sun dropped below the ridge to our west, its heat finally relenting just a bit, we climbed down the ladder and set about the task of dinnering. Rather, @mrs.turbodb set about preparations - it was hot dogs and corn on the cob again - and I set about the consumption.

We certainly hadn't pictured ourselves here after a hike to the top of White Mountain, but as we climbed into the tent, there was no doubt that it'd been an amazing day.

The following morning...

Meandering.

Technically, public parking.

Knowing that we'd have plenty of time on the final day of our adventure - even retracing nearly 50% of the loop to run the remainder from the opposite direction - we weren't in any huge rush to get going in the morning. And, after a few just-before-sunrise photos with the flying camera, I climbed back into the warmth of the tent for another 90 minutes of cuddling and shut-eye.

I always love the shadowless light - especially on what would otherwise be harsh terrain - just before the sun crests the horizon.

Camp decorations. (Nuttall's Linanthus - Leptosiphon nuttallii)

Even with our extra tent time, we were on the road before 7:00am, climbing along Crooked Creek toward a road that'd become familiar over the last several days. The sun at our back, this time we took the easy way down, following White Mountain Road all the way to pavement at CA-168. There, we headed east, toward the final segment of our loop: the mouth of Wyman Canyon.

Granite under a golden glow.

While would have been nice to complete the entire loop in a single go, we couldn't complain about the stunning Sierra view as we descended White Mountain Road.

A glutton for punishment, just as I'd dutifully transcribed all of the MVUM spurs along our loop, I'd also included several that branched off of CA-168. Mercifully, we could tell from the highway that a couple of these were so obviously boring as to be entirely not worth checking out.

That left only one road - a road that reached nearly back to the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest - unaccounted for, and completely ignoring the untrod nature of the two-track, we dutifully entered the canyon of no views.

To give ourselves just a teeny bit of credit, this canyon does look like it could be geologically interesting. I assure you, it is not.

We wasted the better part of an hour slowly winding our way through a canyon that was neither wide nor narrow, neither technical nor graded, neither exciting nor beautiful.

The best part of this out and back was the "being back" at the trailhead. Or maybe the breakfast we ate somewhere along the way.

That canyon did teach us one thing, however: just because a road is on a MVUM doesn't mean it's interesting. I'd learned this lesson when I'd explored the Inyo, but while some might classify themselves as visual learners, I prefer the descriptor of "slow" in situations such as this. I'll probably only follow MVUM roads another handful of times before finally connecting the dots.

For now though, we were finally ready to run Wyman Canyon.

This was an exciting introduction to our 6,000-foot ascent into the White Mountains from Deep Springs - our first ever electric gate!

Pretty quickly, Wyman Canyon began to deliver. More granitic outcroppings, a few early creek crossings, and even a bit of "wildlife" kept our attention as we quickly began to gain elevation.

Hey guys. Sumpthin's wrong with my tail. (Spiny lizard)

Hey guys, did you notice something was wrong with my buddy's tail?

Yo, ya'll see that lizard with a messed up tail? (Western tiger swallowtail)

Winding our way into the rock garden.

Seems like a good spot for lunch if someone could just turn up the outside air conditioning.

Unlike upper Crooked Creek - where the creek stayed in its own lane - long sections of Wyman Canyon Road were indistinguishable from the waterway. Surely this changes as summer wears on, but for now, it made for a sloshy, fun climb.

Let's drive up the river. Or the road. Why not both?

We followed telephone poles through some of the most insane terrain.

It was just before 11:00am when we arrived at the junction where the road to Dead Horse Meadow left Wyman Canyon Road. We could tell that no one had driven the road in quite some time, but curious to see how far we could make it, we pushed our way through encroaching willow branches and onto what was once - apparently - an old mining road.

Not very wide anymore. (left) | Still passable at this point (right).

A half mile - and three progressively harder obstacles - later, our single-vehicle status meant that it was time to turn around. Hat for scale.

Making our way - in reverse - back to Wyman Canyon, we hoped for more of the river-as-a-road that we'd enjoyed to this point in our journey, but the water mostly dried up, the road becoming a reasonably well-maintained right-of-way for power line maintenance. Still, there were a couple things to stop and see along the way.

A rather dismal looking cabin from the exterior turned out to be rather cozy on the inside (which I neglected to photograph).

Weird, didn't we see Deep Springs cabin at the other end of this loop? Did someone steal a door? Or a log book?

This nicely rustic looking cabin at Robert's Camp - turned out to be a total dump on the inside.

Well, aren't those classy messages to leave for future visitors. Leave it nicer than you found it ... or something.

From Robert's Camp, the road continued to climb, but by now it was boring enough that one of us was napping.

A final cabin. I think we were both done by this point, because it was too much trouble - even for me - to even get out of the truck at this one.

As we reached the end of the loop at White Mountain Road, a Limber Pine (left) and Bristlecone Pine snag (right) stood as Christmas tree-shaped sentinels over the road.

Our early start on the loop meant that it was a few minutes before 1:00pm when we crested the ridge and found ourselves in the same place we'd camped two nights prior. Here, with clear blue skies, we looked down on Bishop and the Volcanic Tablelands, the Sierra still snowcapped in the distance.

We sat, for 20 minutes, admiring this view.

Down there, is dinner.

The problem - if you could call it that when we were enjoying a view like this - was that once we dropped down into Owens Valley, the pleasant temperatures at 10,800 feet would become oppressive. Not only that, but they'd remain above 87°F through the night - a situation we'd need to endure in order to catch our 5:55am flight out of Las Vegas, but one we wanted to suffer for as short a time as possible.

And so, we did what any good procrastinators would do in our position - we headed up. Ten minutes later we parked the truck in the shade of a Bristlecone just under the Silver Peak Summit and set about two very important tasks: 1) napping, and 2) reading.

Namesake.

The view up here - a bit of sun illuminating White Mountain - wasn't anything to scoff at either.

With a six-hour drive between us and some yet-to-be-determined place where we'd spend the night, we finally pointed the Tacoma back down Silver Canyon Road a little after 3:00pm. Our destination was a Mexican joint - Las Palmas - just off of Main St. in Bishop. We'd stopped there on our way into town for a quick bite and had been thoroughly impressed with the fish tacos and enormous serving of guacamole. These delights weren't inexpensive, but they were well worth it in our opinion, so a repeat dinner was in order!

Light and shadow on the striated switchbacks made for a visually enjoyable trip back into town.

And of course, there were always the Sierra.

 

 

 

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