A Tour of Cabins | Deja Vu #4

For the third morning in a row, I woke up along Steel Pass Road. Unlike the previous days, the Tacoma was the only vehicle in sight, and I was alone in the desert.

I'd hoped for a repeat of the clear skies I'd had the previous morning, but the nicely tinted clouds were a reasonable substitute.

Today was going to be the day that I summited Waucoba Mountain - the high point of the Inyo Mountains - but I'd gotten a glimpse of it from Saline Peak the previous morning and it was covered in snow that looked to be about a foot deep. Passable? Probably. Fun? Probably not. And so, having already decided to ditch half of my itinerary for the day, I wasn't in much of a rush.

It was nice as I admired the changing colors in the sky from a nearby berm, but predictably when it comes to me and the desert, my relaxed pace wouldn't last long as I began a tour of cabins I'd noted over the years, but never had a chance to visit.

Red Braden Cabin

I'd camped less than a mile from the Red Braden Cabin, so without even putting away the tent, I grabbed a granola bar and headed up the wash to check it out.

Almost immediately, I was confronted by trash in the wash. This is normal when it comes to historic mine sites, but there wasn't much to this cabin, so I was caught off guard.

An old ore cart, barrels, propane tanks, a refrigerator, pressure tanks, and even some old rolling classifier/mill contraption were washing down into the valley below.

It turned out that I could see the roof of the cabin from camp, and after rounding a small bend in the was, the entire thing came into view. I'm sure that being so close to the Saline Valley Warm Springs it gets tons of visitation, and while there was some obvious effort to build water diversion walls and secure the roof, the cabin was definitely a little worse for wear given the pure volume of riff-raff must wander up to check it out.

Red Braden sure knew how to pick a view!

Cabin interior.

In the cabin, I found a bit of history - or perhaps more appropriately, lore - laminated on the old table.

To say that Red Braden was a colorful character would be an understatement. He had many mining claims throughout the valley and several mill sites in addition to his cabin. The name of [this] mill site above Upper Warm Springs is not known. Why he chose the location for this cabin is not known. It is located in a large wash. There is no water source and any water found here is often catastrophic, being the result flash floods that are eroding the ground around the cabin.

My understanding is that Red was usually packing a sidearm. He hired a local resident in the valley by the name of Del Heater as a caretaker to the mill site to help him ward off the claim jumpers. Del Heater also carried a sidearm toward that end. Red showed him the bullets in the side of his truck as evidence of the dangers he faced. Heater eventually concluded that Red had, in fact, put those bullet holes into his truck himself.

I have heard another account from several sources that Red used to carry an Inyo County Sheriff's badge in his pocket, which he would somehow inadeptly drop on the ground when speaking with someone new. Red made sure the other party saw it as he picked it up. Eventually this behavior was reported to the Inyo County Sheriff, who made Red give up the badge.

The man himself. Colt on his hip.

The Saga of Red Braden 

I thought this old (?) bottle and headlamp were pretty neat. At least they looked good together.

The usual suspects. Jeremy Stoltzfus (left) and Mike Reynolds (right).

Besides the cabin, I'd noticed a prominent trail in satellite imagery leading to what appeared to be an old smelter or forge. Presumably, this is where Braden processed his ore, and soon I was trapsing across the desert pavement to check it out.

Definitely a strange place for a smelter.

Through the Saline Valley Warm Springs

Back at the Tacoma, I stowed the tent and downed the last of my Wheat Chex before climbing into the cab to complete my four-day tour of Steel Pass road. From there, my route would turn north and follow Waucoba-Saline Road up and over North Pass, with a few side trips to view cabins along the way.

As I rolled down the final few miles of Steel Pass Road, the sun came out for a moment, washing the Saline Range in a warm gold.

Approaching the lower springs.

I really could have used a bath - and a completely empty pool was enticing - but I've never been a huge fan of the springs.

Desert art along Bat Road.

Hiking to the Baxter (Mule Tack) Cabin

Deep in the middle of the Inyo mountains, an old cabin sits high on a ridge. It's unclear to me whether the best route in is from the east or the west - both seem equally miserable - but I'd learned about the cabin in Digonnet's Hiking Western Death Valley, when we'd explored a few of the historic mines and canyons that are hidden in the eastern flanks of the Inyo Mountains.

At the time, we'd found ourselves in a nameless canyon to check out the Blue Monster and Lucky Boy mines, but I'd been fascinated by Digonnet's mention of the Baxter cableway, a few miles further up the same canyon. We hadn't had time on that trip to check it out, but having since learned of the cabin, I knew I needed to give it a go.

The climax [of this hike] is about a mile further, where the road shoots up a rutted grade and ends on a high ridge in the middle of a grand setting. To the west and south the land falls off into a deep, convoluted arm of Paiute Canyon. Behind it the forested high Inyos tower thousands of feet up, while Saline Valley shines brightly to the east. Yet what is most impressive is the incredible cableway that spans the canyon's gaping precipice. From the end of the road it boldly leaps across the void, stretching so far out that one loses sight of it long before it reaches the opposite rim. This is the cableway of the Baxter Mine; with binoculars you can just make out the mine's slender tailing.

This exceptional spot alone makes this hike well worth it. Pitch a tent and stay overnight, surrounded by the smell of sagebrush, to enjoy the pleasure of being out here alone and of gazing over desert land untrammeled as far as the eye can see.

Today, reaching the cableway and cabin requires a long hike through wilderness, so after parking the Tacoma, I set off along the old mining road that would deliver me to the near end of the cableway.

There's parking, and then there's Tacoma parking.

After a few miles of easy - if not a bit boring - walking, I found myself at the base of the Blue Monster Mine's aerial tramway. Having thoroughly investigated this the last time we were here, I push on without stopping, knowing that there was much more to come.

A familiar sight.

Continuing up the wash, I was reminded that there is no limit to the entitlement that some people feel.

As I passed an old dugout of the Lucky Boy Mine, a bit of yellow caught my eye.
Completely safe, I assure you.

Unsure if I'd entered them the first time we visited, I made a quick detour into a couple of the adits of the Lucky Boy where I found the caretaker; timid at first (left) and then somewhat confrontational and downright creepy. (right)

As I continued to gain elevation, I was treated to spectacular views of the heart of the Inyo.

I tried to keep moving as much as I could, stopping only a few times to document a few of the artifacts and animals along the way.

An old six-cylinder engine block. (left) | Chukar, a bird so dumb I am convinced it can only fly downhill. (top right) | A nicely shaped glass bottle. (bottom right)

In case the road wasn't enough of a hint, this cairn convinced me I was headed the right direction.

A few hours after setting out, I reached the near edge of the Baxter cableway. Digonnet was right. To the west and south the land fell off into a deep, convoluted arm of Paiute Canyon. Behind it the high, forested Inyos tower thousands of feet up. Saline Valley - apparently in the midst of a windstorm - shone brightly to the east.

Over that edge, a 500-foot drop into Piute Canyon, and a 1,000 foot climb up the other side.

Glad I'm not down in the dusty flats.

The old cable - no longer suspended across the canyon - but impressive, nonetheless.

A well-worn notch.

Leftover loops.

It was a lot of work finding a route down to Piute Cayon - not to mention up the other side. Picking my way along what appeared to be the least-likely-to-die-even-if-I-was-seriously-injured route, I was continually amazed by the lengths that the old miners went to in order to eek out a meager living.

Looking back down after reaching the ridge.

The Mule Tack, nestled into the trees.

Retracing my steps, it was late afternoon when I finally arrived back at the Tacoma. I was thoroughly spent and yet felt completely fulfilled.

Afternoon light and shadows on the Inyo.

The Emma Mine Cabin

I was up before sunrise on my final morning in the park - the slower pace I'd enjoyed the previous morning now a thing of the past - as I headed to the cabin of the Emma Mine.

Sunrise was coming, but it was definitely still dark as I parked the Tacoma and set off on foot!

I don't know much about the Emma Mine, but it is certainly one of the lesser-visited cabins in Saline Valley. The visitor log - placed in 2019 - had only 22 entries over 5 pages! I archived the entire thing.

The cabin is a little worse for wear.

Inside, things weren't great, but they were still salvageable with a good amount of TLC.

Anyone know the make and model of this old reel-to-reel tape recorder?

An old ladder led to the collapsed roof. (left) | When you've got extra axle shafts, you might as well put them to use in the landscaping. (right)

The ████████████ Cabin

Back in the Tacoma not long after sunrise, I soon found myself climbing out of Saline Valley toward North Pass. This was the route I'd considered taking in order to hike Waucoba Mountain the previous morning, and the higher I got, the more convinced I became that my decision to abandon the hike was the correct one.

Starting to get a little snow on the ground.

At the Waucoba Mountain trailhead it was clear that a hike here would have been...a snowshoe.

Unsure if the snow would prevent access to several of the cabins I planned to visit, I crossed my fingers as I pushed my way through the pinyon pine that dotted █████████████████. Luckily, the crusty snow - which completely blanketed the hillsides at this point - never got deeper than about six inches, and the road maintained a reasonable grade that I felt comfortable tackling as a solo traveler.

The first cabin I came across was a mess, but it did have a cool yellow truck cab (apparently belonging to Red Braden) in the driveway.

Only a few minutes later, I found the ████████████ Cabin. Unlike the first cabin, this one was in great shape. Turns out it was adopted around the turn of the century by Guy Starbuck, and the hard work he - and his friends - have put into the place is evident. I spent a few minutes looking around the place and archiving the 25-year-old register before continuing on.

An unassuming plywood exterior keeps this cabin sealed nicely against four-legged intruders and the elements.

Clean and fully-stocked interior, complete with...a creepy Freddy Krueger mask?

The ████████ Cabin

My next stop was a cabin at the end of the road. Turns out, the road ended at the top of a small rise, giving this cabin a fantastic view of the valley below. Unfortunately, that view was straight into the sun - which wasn't far from the horizon - so I settled for an equally dramatic view the other direction!

A picturesque place.

Outside, a set of horseshoes lay ready for spring. (left) | Inside, the place was in pretty good shape, a barrel stove plenty to keep it toasty all winter. (right)

As with the previous cabins, I signed the registers but didn't linger long. I still had several more cabins to visit, before pounding the pavement on my way back to an evening flight out of Las Vegas.

Snow-covered roads along North Pass.

The Easy Pickings Mine Cabin

I was relieved to discover that the second grouping - if you could call any of the cabins "grouped" - of cabins were at an elevation approximately 1,000 feet below the set I'd just visited. That meant I'd wouldn't have to worry about snow, and might even find the roads capable of sustaining reasonably moderate speeds.

It was also about this time that my low-fuel light came on.

Passing by the workings of the Magpie Mines - a group of placer mines in Marble Canyon - I didn't plan to visit the Easy Pickings Mine Cabin first, but I missed the turn to Jackass Flats and only noticed that I was on the spur road to the cabin when I'd gone too far to turn around. Not that it mattered, I'd have come this way eventually anyway!

Plenty of parking.

Of all the backcountry cabins I've visited, I've never found one so obviously cared for and loved. Every structure here was meticulously sealed up, the locks fully functional and in many cases doubled up in order to prevent accidental or unwanted entry.

All buttoned up.

There was even a working manifold for propane distribution to the stove and fridge inside the cabin!

Nicely stocked.

"In loving memory of Fred S Maurer. June 20, 1919 - November 1, 2006. Christian, Husband, Father, Grand & Great Grandfather - Friend. Founder of this claim. Please respect this property."

Dare I say, homey?

After archiving the visitor log and making a note that I'd need to come back to explore the inclined shaft - perhaps full of large gold nuggets just waiting to be easily gathered up - I found nearby, I marveled at my discoveries so far and wondered if the final two cabins on my list would be just as impressive. Probably not, given one's nickname of the "Hotel Hanta." No matter, it was fun just seeing these places I'd wondered about for so long.

Micadon Mine and the De Coster Cabin

Turns out that "Hotel Hanta" was the first cabin I'd visit out on Jackass Flat, though first I'd have to get there. Knowing I'd missed the turn as I'd descended into Marble Canyon, I kept a close eye out as I neared the intersection I had marked on my GPS. When I spotted it, I was dumbfounded; surely that can't be the road, I thought to myself.

It was.

Time for the Tacoma to go on a diet?

I was able to squeeze the Tacoma between this 4-foot-tall boulder and the rocky side of the canyon with about 2 inches to spare. Or exactly zero inches to spare on the way out, where must have taken a slightly different line and rubbed my passenger side slider!

The road didn't get much better from there; at least, not initially. Winding through - and then climbing out of - Jackass Canyon, the old mining road had obviously seen some significant erosion from the likes of Hurricane Hillary over the last several years. It was no problem for the Tacoma, but I definitely wouldn't want to try taking either an AWD or full-size vehicle through these days. You've been warned.

That said, once I was out of the canyon, the roads got a lot better. With little-to-no traffic in this part of the park, and largely wide-open spaces, only the occasional crosscut necessitated a frantic transition from the skinny pedal to the brake.

Cruising through Jackass Flat.

Still, it took a good twenty-five minutes to travel the 8 miles to the De Coster Cabin of the Micadon Mine. Out in the middle of nowhere - and with no mining activity evident on the adjacent hillsides or noted in the USGS' Mineral Resources Data System (MRDS) - I have no idea what these folks were after.

Welcome to the end of the road.

Check in any time you'd like, you may never leave.

The interior definitely lived up to the exterior hype.

I had no expectations when I opened the fridge (left) in the corner and then the freezer within (right). Boy, was I blown away!

There was quite the collection of stuff inside the fridge; even the cookie tin was full of candies that - with an unknown age - I wasn't about to eat. The visitor log (see archive) went all the way back to 1977!

If the cabin was a little disappointing, the view from the hillside behind it was anything but. Knowing that the final cabin was on the other side somewhere, I thought it would be fun to see it from a distance before driving over. Turns out my eyesight isn't what it used to be, but I didn't need glasses to revel in the golden, undulating hills that seemed to gather around the base of a green-and-white Waucoba Mountain!

Worth the climb.

The Morningstar Mine Cabin

All of my mapping apps suggested that there was a road that would allow me to make a loop of the De Coster Cabin and the Morningstar, but I can assure you that no such road exists on the actual surface of the Earth. As such, I was forced to backtrack about three miles before continuing south on Jackass Flat Road to the site of the old Morningstar Mine.

Probably one of the most remote places I've visited in Death Valley National Park, the Morningstar Mine was a small silver working that I'd wager never produced anything. There are plenty of 55-gallon barrels strewn across the valley, and the concrete footings for what appears to be an old mill, but I found only relatively small workings on the hillsides around the cabin.

The Morningstar.

The cabin - which was apparently in reasonable shape a decade ago - is now in a state of disrepair and deteriorating quickly. In another decade, I'd wager it will no longer be standing.

It gets hot out here.

Not wanting to spend too much time inside - the entire place was covered in rat terds - I grabbed the plastic tub containing the cabin log and headed back outside. There, I discovered that a leaky roof must have been dripping in such a way that water was getting into the container, soaking the log book and everything else that was meant to be kept dry. Now, like the rest of the cabin, the log was moldy and gross. Not wanting to leave it completely unprotected, I set archived each page before setting the plastic tub on a table in the cabin that seemed to be in the sun most of the day and hoped for the best.

I wonder if anyone will be by anytime soon? I doubt it.

And with that, my whirlwind tour of cabins was complete. Pressing the skinny pedal, I retraced - or was it re-raced - my way through Jackass Flat and picked my way through the rocky mess that is Jackass Canyon these days.

And Then, He Runs Out of Gas

I'd been watching the fuel light since it had come on earlier in the morning. The fuel lights on turn-of-the-century Toyotas are notoriously inaccurate, but I've learned over the years that once the light comes on, I've got about 45 miles of highway travel before I'm completely out of gas. On dirt, the number is obviously lower, but I always travel with at least a couple jerry cans of fuel, so running out of gas is something I've never had to deal with.

However, this morning I'd been holding off on putting my reserve fuel in the tank because I was in a bit of a time crunch. Knowing I needed a good 6 hours to get back to Las Vegas once I hit pavement, I really wanted to add gas - a 15-minute process for two jerry cans - at the same time I was spending the 20-minutes it takes to airing up my tires.

And so, as I sped along Waucoba-Saline Road toward pavement at Death Valley-Big Pine Road, I was cognizant of the fact that I my gas light had been on for 27 miles, and I had 4 more miles to go until pavement.

This colorful canyon was one that I'd visited the head of - known as "The Narrows" during my Inyo West trip. Someday, it'd be fun to hike!

At one point - as I was racing around a switchback, now three miles from pavement - I felt the engine hesitate as what little fuel remained in the tank was pushed away from the fuel pump by the centrifugal force of the turn. Slowing down slightly, fuel was once again able to reach the pump and suddenly I was in "baby it" mode, as I crossed every finger and toe in the hopes that I'd make it.

Alas, less than a quarter mile - and with one rise remaining between me and victory, the tank ran dry. It was the day I learned that 32.8 miles of dirt - once the fuel light comes on - is not a given. And so, I figured that this was as good a spot to air up as any. Hey, I needed gas anyway.

So. Close.

Twenty minutes later the Tacoma was squared away, and I'd had a snack to boot. I climbed the final rise before heading towards Owens Valley, the Sierra gleaming as far as the eye could see.

Breathtaking.

My westerly trajectory wouldn't last long - only until I reached CA-168 that would carry me through the White Mountains to US-95 and a straight shot back to Las Vegas. But oh, for those few minutes, my eyes were glued to the mountains!

Magnificent.

It'd been another great trip; one I won't forget for a while.

 

The Whole Story

 

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