It was a cold night camped above Steel Pass. At 5,000 feet, it was 31°F - about 10°F cooler than it'd been at our lower-elevation-camp the previous evening - just before sunrise. Luckily, my electric socks made going to bed easy, and two down comforters kept me nice and toasty until it was time to roll out of bed in the morning.
I was relieved to see that I was Matthew @Beardilocks was still around; I hadn't scared him off on our first day together!
Grabbing my down puffy from the cab and pulling my beanie down over my ears, I climbed the small hill behind camp to sneak a peek at the Inyo Mountains, their snow-capped ridge obscured by Saline Range stragglers and the dogleg shape of Saline Valley near Steel Pass. Matthew too was starting to stir, and I noticed him wander up an old mining road - now in wilderness and closed to vehicle traffic - as he enjoyed his morning cup of coffee.
Joshua, all prickles and purpose, lectured the lazy rock. The rock, with a dignified patina, was - as always - immovable and unimpressed.
This cholla was bright, even in the cloudy light.
Steel Pass camp.
A few minutes before 8:00am, we both wandered back into camp and set about our morning routine. For me, that meant a few bowls of Wheat Chex and putting away the tent, while Matthew prepped a lunch and tidied up the inside of his very-enviable Land Cruiser.
Built around Toyota's 1HDT - a 4.2L straight-6 turbo diesel that was used in Land Cruisers pretty much everywhere but the US for 25 years - he's outfitted it quite nicely. A Campteq pop-up top, custom cabinetry, and a sleeping setup - similar to that of Foresty Forest - were the most obvious modifications. He'd also added an auxiliary fuel tank - for a total of 38 gallons; something like 650 miles of range, or "800 when going downhill with a tailwind and 45psi in the tires" - and an ingenious clean-air intake.
Street-legal blinker intake utilizing a hand-stitched speaker grille!
There's always a bit of truck talk when a couple of Toyota fanbois get together, but soon enough it was time to get underway; there'd be plenty of opportunity to discuss our modes of transportation as we ticked off a few more miles in a place still mostly unknown to us both - the Saline Range.
And with that, we climbed into the trucks and picked our way through the Steel Pass rock garden.
Huh, look at that tub. Shouldn't it be full of blue marbles? 
The solid front axle of the Land Cruiser made everything look just a little easier.
I always enjoy this descent into Saline Valley.
Wile E. Coyote corner.
Today, we'd be heading along a route that both of us had mapped, but for different reasons. I'd found a route to the top of Saline Peak - the Saline Range high point - that climbed through an interesting looking narrows. Matthew had worked out a hike based on the same intriguing geology - which he'd spotted on satellite imagery - while also informing me that there was a much better route to the summit of Saline Peak.
As we made final preparations at the trailhead, we almost missed a quiet roar high overhead. Looking up, we were both surprised to see a "retired" F-117 silhouetted against the gray sky. Apparently, we weren't alone out here.
A familiar form. (left) | Apparently, we weren't the only ones "not alone." (right)
Headed into another - for now, nameless - canyon.
We'd only made it about halfway up the alluvial fan - toward the mouth of a surprisingly colorful canyon - when the F-117s made their second appearance. Their initial overflight must have been some sort of scouting pass, because it's rare to have the same set of jets fly through the same area twice in less than half an hour, what with fuel reserves and all.
Gorgeous colors abound.
Stealthy bugger. Even my camera wasn't able to get a lock.
At this point, I was seriously torn between heading back to the truck - where my new RF 100-500 lens was just waiting for an opportunity like this - and continuing deeper into the Saline Range. Of course, I wasn't about to let on any of that to my companion, and soon - having spotted an interesting outcropping of tuff - we were swinging wide on our route, toward a series of small volcanic tuff caves that looked like an ideal shelter for those who didn't spend their nights in a Toyota.
Historic high-rise.
Almost immediately, we found a series of promising looking caves. Most of them weren't very big, and to my untrained eye, were not very interesting. Like anything, identifying habitations gets easier with practice and knowledge, and I was lucky that someone with both was along for the hike. Pointing out the giveaways - dissimilar rocks that were clearly out of place, rocks that were unnaturally aligned, and flakes of obsidian that didn't chip themselves - Matthew moved easily from one cave to the next, until we ended up at one that was obvious to us both.
The cave was only 3 feet tall, but provided plenty of shelter and had a nice flat sandy bottom. An old, crumbling stacked stone wall lined the front of the opening; a lightly used metate waited patiently to be pushed into service. A well-used hammer stone - used for knapping obsidian - and several obsidian flakes lay scattered nearby.
Left by the occupants to be used the next time they were passing through.
Workstation.
With that, our investigation of the tuff-caves was complete, and we picked our way through the perforated landscape to the main wash. It was a slow process, mostly because there were so many interesting formations to stop and admire.
Conglomerate arch.
Paper-thin arch.
Back on the sandy bottom.
Back in the wash, our speed didn't increase in any meaningful way. The tuff formations that we'd been distracted by to this point were even more prevalent as the canyon walls pushed inward and upward. I found myself happy to be experiencing this place on a day when I wasn't also rushing to reach the top of the range highpoint.
And then, insanity.
The Crooked Dike.
We spent several minutes wondering at this fantastic formation, unlike any either of us had seen before. Across the 50-foot-wide wash, a much more normal dike - if jet black rock cutting through light-colored tuff can ever really be considered normal - left even more questions unanswered.
Standing in the middle of the wash, the south wall (left) and north wall (right) seemed incongruous.
Leaving the unsolved mystery behind, we pushed on as the wash narrowed even further. I'm not sure if the tuff walls were ever really close enough to be considered a slot canyon, but as we encountered car-size boulders, up-and-over was the only way onward.
Narrow passages.
Just a little bridging as we bouldered our way up the wash.
With every rock jam and dry fall we climbed, we knew we were part of a smaller and smaller group of people who'd ever experienced this little slice of Earth. And then, we found the dry fall where all the footprints ended.
Finding a route.
Looking back down the canyon from the top.
Surely there are others who have made it up that rock jam-on-a-dry fall, but there probably aren't many, and I'm sure we were all thinking the same thing when we reached the top: "Hope I don't have to go back down that!"
There wasn't much to the canyon - at least, horizontally - above the dry fall. Over the next quarter mile, we gained almost 400 feet of elevation, culminating in this amazing pile of boulders at the head of the canyon. Suddenly, the source of the huge rock jams we'd been climbing was no longer a question!
A river of boulders. It's hard to really understand scale here; many boulders were car-sized or better.
In the - seemingly endless - thick of it.
At the bottom of the boulder field, Matthew had suggested "lunch at the top of the rocks," and we joked as we picked our way up a couple hundred vertical feet that specifying "top" was where he'd gone wrong. Still, while it was a bit of a stair climb, it didn't take all that long for us to reach the mouth of the canyon; the perfect place to enjoy a sandwich, some nuts, and a piece of fruit as we gazed back down at a canyon that'd completely exceeded all of our expectations in every way.
After a quick bite, climbed to the ridge between what we would henceforth name Crooked Dike Canyon and similar-looking-on-satellite sister canyon just to the south. And it was at this point that we had another decision to make: find a way down into the canyon, or return to camp via the bench between the two.
Saline Range view of the Last Chance Range.
Unsure if we could even find a way into the canyon, our first order of business was working our way down to the upper headwall in search of a weakness we could exploit. Ultimately - though a few steps looked a bit spicy - we were reasonably sure that we could find our way down. At the same time, we reflected on the fact that we'd just spent the entire morning in strikingly similar terrain, and that hiking back on the bench would result in a couple hours of amazing views across the upper reaches of Saline Valley.
Headed to the edge of the headwall in search of a way down.
A kaleidoscope of color beckoned on the bench route.
In the end, the allure of expansive vistas won the day, and we skirted the upper fingers of the sister drainage until we reached the bench that ushered us all the way back to camp. By this time, it was mid-afternoon. The sun - having fought mostly-cloudy skies all day - finally began to break through in spots, the long winter rays playing across the rocky landscape in fascinating ways.
Spotlight of sun on Steel Pass.
Reflections of relief on the Last Chance Range.
Looking back up the enormous tuff canyon we bypassed via our bench route.
In addition to the views, our route had another benefit - our own private air show! This was a bit of a surprise, since after seeing the stealth fighters just as we'd left in the morning, we'd heard very few planes over the course of the day. Those that we had were either at extremely high altitudes or in adjacent valleys, and I assumed that the military had settled on a different flight path for the day.
Perhaps they had, but a low-level roar and movement in my peripheral vision, were enough to get my adrenaline going again quickly!
Lead plane, a few hundred feet off the valley floor.
F-35 with an OT tail.
Where there's one plane, there are usually two. The official reasoning for this of course is safety - a wingman can help to keep an eye out for danger and assist should anything go wrong - but I'm sure there's some amount of just wanting to go for a ride that plays a big part in the training out here.
And today, there were four in formation!
The second F-35, banking in front of the Last Chance Range.
The third F-35, following the second.
F-35 tailgunner, pulling a few G's and leveling out into the sun.
The whole show - judging by the timestamps on my photos - lasted 48 seconds, but it was fabulous. Every second that the echo of engines reverberated off of the rocky terrain, that the roar of afterburners - engaged as the pilots leveled out and raced down into Saline Valley - filled my ears, I had the same feeling as the first time I experienced these sounds. It was like being a kid in a candy store. I was giddy!
Oh, and of course I was pissed that I still didn't have my long lens. 
We were back in camp a few minutes after 3:30pm, at which point I immediately swapped lenses and hoped there was one more run before sunset. Alas, it was not to be, though my camera remained within easy reach as we each washed up and made dinner while there was still light in the sky.
Crooked Dike Canyon camp.
Inyo sunset.
After dinner - more of what we'd eaten the previous night for each of us - Matthew and I spent an hour or so chatting as the light faded around us. Having had a great time over the last two days, we were parting ways in the morning, so discussed our plans for the rest of the week. Neither of us would be going far. Matthew was meeting another hiking buddy for an insane-sounding four-peaks-in-a-day adventure. I was headed off on my own in the morning, back into the Saline Range, to bag its high point: Saline Peak.
Both creatures of habit, we surely called it a night earlier than most, each content to find our way into a horizontal position, recharging our bodies for the adventures to come.
Matthew wrote up his version of this trip report as well, check it out!
The Whole Story
