From a Canvas Door to a Fallout Bunker | Butte-iful #2

We were parked on the alluvial fan of Warm Springs Canyon, which is a fancy way of saying we'd voluntarily set up camp at the mouth of a wind tunnel. A tunnel that - not long after we got settled in bed - was, predictably, performing flawlessly.

Luckily, we'd oriented the tent in such a way that we were in no danger of it folding up with us inside, so after closing the door flap - to prevent direct hits from the oncoming blasts - we were rocked to sleep through the remainder of the night. We'd both wish we'd put in earplugs by the time morning rolled around, a mistake we wouldn't repeat for the remainder of the trip!

Opting to hold off on breakfast until we were in the wind-protected confines of a canyon, we packed up the tent and got underway just as the sun was spreading across the basin. Even with the breeze, temperatures were in the lower 60s °F; it was a perfect morning to be in the desert and headed toward Butte Valley.

The drive up Warm Springs Canyon is one that we've done several times before, so we didn't stop much at all for photos or to investigate the countless mine workings along the way. Rather, we waited until we reached the Warm Springs Mine camp, where some nice concrete slabs would be the perfect place to enjoy breakfast.

After a quick bowl of cereal, we grabbed what little was left of our pineapple and headed off for a quick look around the ruins of the old camp. The story here isn't an inspiring one, though it's probably rather typical of the time.

In 1929, Louise Grantham - one of very few women in the mining industry - leased land from Bob Thompson, a local Timbisha Shoshone man. The springs were his ancestral homeland, but after signing a five-year lease and making just one payment, Grantham sued him for ownership.

With the legal battle underway, Grantham occupied this site and posted an armed watchman to guard against "trespassers." The courts eventually supported Thompson's claim. For over a year, attempts were made to evict Grantham (including by federal marshals enforcing a court order), but she refused to comply.

Eventually, Thompson walked away from his claims. Grantham assumed total ownership and operated the most successful talc mine in the region until her death in 1969.-NPS

Knowing that we had several items on our agenda for the day, we didn't spend too long investigating the entirety of the camp or the nearby talc mine - which we've poked around previously.

On to the Canvas Door!

With our eye set on new horizons, we climbed back into the Tacoma, leaving Fred and Frannie to get on with their braying and burro-ing as we headed deeper into the Panamints. I'd gotten wind of a mine, high on the slope of a ridge southeast of ████ Hill.

To get there, we'd traverse the broad expanse of Old Crump Flat, making a short detour to an old habitation site along the way.

Named after a beast of burden (Ox) that played a pivotal role in the survival of the first settlers to famously wander into Death Valley in 1849. Unlike most of Crump's compatriots - whose only pivotal role in the misadventure was to be slaughtered and smoked to stave off starvation - Old Crump was a right old hero if you believe the legends.

According to William Manly, when he & Rogers returned to rescue the beleaguered Bennett & Arcane families, Old Crump was the ox that faithfully, and without a single complaint, carried the family’s children all the way from the floor of Death Valley to their ultimate salvation at the San Fernando Mission, several hundred miles away, outside of Los Angeles.

Also according to Manly, many, many years later on another journey across California, he ran into the old ox in the central valley, now fat & well cared for in his well-earned retirement.

The complete tale can be found here in Chapter XI of Manly’s Death Valley in ’49. Much later the eponymous ox was also featured as the central character in a children’s book “Old Crump: The True Story of a Trip West.”Old Crump Flat

Evidence of Old Crump is long gone from the flat, but evidence of those who inhabited this space many hundreds of years earlier, still remains.

After climbing around the rocky outcropping for a few minutes, it was time to push on. We weren't sure exactly how far the road we were on was passable, and even if we were able to make it as far as we hoped, there was still a good mile of steep, trailless terrain between the end of the road and the Canvas Door Mine. Not that we were complaining, the original route - used by the miners nearly 100 years ago - was several miles long and involved more than 2,200 feet of elevation gain!

Picking our way through a steep ravine before gaining the ridge that would usher us the rest of the way to the mine, we marveled in the spring color that was still so prevalent at higher elevations.

As usual, what really stood out up here were the views. Extending for miles in every direction, we marveled at the salt pan we'd traversed only a few hours earlier. In the distance, layer upon layer of blue ridgeline repeated endlessly toward the horizon. We made frequent stops in our 700-foot ascent to admire, pointing out landmarks that we'd visited on previous adventures.

And then, we reached the mine.

After poking around the mine for a while - I'm a sucker for both aerial tramways and ore carts - it was getting on toward lunch time. Naturally, we'd brought neither food nor water in our haste to discover the canvas door, so with only a few stops - again, to admire the views and local flora - we worked our way back to the Tacoma.

With no shade to speak of, lunch was a quick affair. @mrs.turbodb whipped up a couple of rotisserie chicken sandwiches, some Lays potato chips, and pulled a cool, Cosmic Crisp apple out of the fridge for dessert. Then, it was into the Tacoma - with the A/C firing on all cylinders - for a bit of driving, and in the case of the passenger, her after-lunch nap!

We were - once again - on our way to Butte Valley. Almost. We had one more short detour before making the final push.

I'd hoped that our detour to a nearby spring would turn up an arrastra, but I either didn't search hard enough, or the willows have completely overgrown the old mining apparatus, so the only thing I got - besides the side-eye from Frank - were a few more fantastic views. #worthit

Who Locks a Shared Cabin?

Now mid-afternoon, we were finally headed into Butte Valley! As we entered from the eastern flanks, I could immediately feel myself relaxing. This is one of my favorite places in all of Death Valley, and I could feel my anticipation growing, knowing that I'd be spending the next several nights with a view of Striped Butte.

With our first destination on the other side of the valley, we made a quick stop at a well-known cabin to have a look around. While we had no plans to stay at the cabin - there are a few other places that we much prefer camping in the valley - it would give us a chance to see how the cabin had fared since we last visited, and archive the visitor log, which I've taken to doing with each one I cross paths with on my adventures.

After admiring the view from several vantage points, and for quite a bit longer than even I expected to do, I headed toward the cabin to take a look inside. Reaching the door, I reached to undo the latch, only to find that it was locked!

What the heck, I thought. My pea-sized brain immediately kicked into full-on-smoke-mode, trying to figure out what was going on. Initially I thought that NPS may have locked the cabin due to vandalism, but I quickly ruled that out given the relatively clean surroundings, the flag blowing in the wind (they wouldn't have left it out), no visible damage to the exterior or windows. If it wasn't NPS, that left only one other answer - somebody random had locked the place up. And since they weren't there, I figured they must have done it to reserve the cabin for themselves, in case someone else - like us - came along when they weren't there.

And that - most definitely - didn't sit right with me.

Just before my entire head caught fire from analyzing this most unusual situation, I realized I had a couple of options. The best of them turned out to be a little screwdriver action on the three screws securing the clasp to the door, and a few minutes later, I was pushing open the door to see what was inside.

Obviously, whoever was staying here had locked up the cabin while they were out and about for the day. I felt better about this than if the cabin had been locked up to reserve it for some future date when someone expected to arrive, but I still thought it was a little weird. There is most definitely a first-come reservation system for these backcountry gems, but that system also generally assumes that the cabins remain mostly publicly-accessible during the day, since others may want to see the inside, sign the log, etc.

Not sure exactly what to do, I left a note in the visitor log, and resecured the door, before we headed on our way.

The Perfectly Inaccessible Fallout Bunker

We had only one more thing to do before finding camp for the night - which was really driving to camp, since I already knew exactly where I wanted to spend the low-light hours of both evening and morning - and that was a short hike to one of the strangest adits in the park.

Finding our way out another lonely road, we were soon - once again - on foot. Having done a good amount of research, I was reasonably certain that I'd ascertained the location of the Fallout Bunker, but one can never really be sure with a place like this that wants to be kept secret. All I knew for sure was that the entrance was blockaded by a stack of rocks, and that the interior of the bunker was crisscrossed with cobwebs.

Rumored to have been built by a park ranger long ago to stash supplies, or even by Charles Manson and his “family” as a last resort to get away from the impending Race Wars that they were trying to incite, I can say only one thing about this fallout bunker with confidence: it is gross!

Armed with a 3-foot long rusty pipe to clear spiderwebs as I ventured several hundred feet into the dank, dark, depths of whatever this place has become, I completely understood why @mrs.turbodb had opted to stay outside. Brains. She could see what was in store for me, and had no desire to be part of the madness. Pushing deeper, I jumped as first one mouse, then three more, scurried past my feet. Great. Suffocating in the damp shaft was no longer the worst-case scenario - now I had hantavirus to look forward to, too.

Frankly, I couldn't get out quickly enough. There was apparently a log book in one of the metal lockers, but my guess is that it didn't have many entries, and I certainly wasn't going to be fighting the rats to access it. Instead, I climbed my way out over the barrel of clothes, pushed my way through a net of new cobwebs, and held my breath until I reached the entrance. I'm not usually one to rush out of an adit, but boy, was I happy for the dry heat of the desert.

I emerged to find @mrs.turbodb conversing with one of the local burros, and after restacking the rocks and ensuring that the Fallout Bunker was once again secure, we headed back the way we'd come. It wasn't yet 5:00pm, but in an effort to slow down and enjoy this wonderful area of the park that we're always rushing through, we had nothing else planned for the day and I figured we could spend a few hours enjoying the view from camp.

So that's exactly what we did. Hours just sitting there, mostly in bliss, as Striped Butte performed a slow color change across the valley. Every now and then, conversation drifted back to the weird locked-cabin situation. The cure for that, it turns out, is also Striped Butte. Highly recommend.

 

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