It's Not Safe | Butte-iful #5

Energized after our morning climb up Striped Butte, we'd pretty much wrapped up everything I'd planned for our three days in Butte Valley. Still, a big part of a visit to this Shangri-La is the 4wd route through Mengel Pass and Goler Wash - both of which had been heavily impacted by storms in late 2025 - so exiting out to Panamint Valley would give us a chance to check out the road conditions as well as a couple other attractions that I was curious about along the way.

Making it Through Mengel; Getting Through Goler

For anyone who has travelled the Goler Wash corridor, memories of Mengel Pass likely run the gamut from excitement to fear. The first time I read Digonnet's description, a huge smile formed on my face; I couldn't wait to put the Tacoma to the test.

For people with a fondness for driving where motor vehicles aren't really designed to go, this stretch is good news: it is one of the best bad roads around Death Valley. For a mile it is reduced to two deep ruts swerving through liquid sand, and you'll be wishing for a few rocks. Then it's all rocks, jagged and lopsided, and you'll be wishing you were back in the sand. The road goes over a series of rocky outcrops canted sideways and bedrock cascades nicknamed, for self-explanatory reasons, "Hubcap Rock" and "Oilpan Rock."

If you are not experienced with this kind of road, chances of getting into some sort of trouble are impressively high. Stop while you are ahead, and either walk on or head back [to Butte Valley]. The round cairn at the pass is Mengel Monument, where the ashes and wooden leg of Carl Mengel were buried in 1944.Hiking Western Death Valley

Now, with several runs under my belt, it's not generally a question of if we can make it. Rather, it has become a question of how long it will take. Of course, the longer it takes, the more fun you're having!

Today, I hoped we'd make reasonably quick work of the whole situation - though I suspected that may not be the case - so we'd have time to explore a few mines I've never had time to check out on previous trips. And with that, we exited Butte Valley.

As usual, we were immediately into the rocks. I can't say that this section was any better or worse than the previous times I've driven through. I find that it's always easier to tackle when traveling west-to-east - in the downhill direction - but, headed in the opposite direction, it was easy enough to find a passable route through, with a little spotting help from @mrs.turbodb to ensure that my passenger tire ended up on a narrow line of rocks that made the trickiest section reasonably straightforward.

With Mengel Pass in the rear-view mirror, we set our sights on the remainder of Goler Wash. We'd be skipping the Barker Ranch - a hideout of the Manson family - on this particular trip, instead opting to enjoy the colorful walls of the canyon as we raced the sun west. Our destination - an old gold mine at the halfway point of the route - was a place I've always wanted to stop and look around, an activity I hoped we'd be able to do after enjoying lunch in the shade of the trees at the lower camp.

We arrived at the mine just a few minutes after noon. Looking for the flattest spot I could find near the solitary living tree at the lower camp, I registered an 18" rut in the road that I'd need to back over to maneuver into position.

I sat there, and even rolled down my window to look at the rut. "That's going to tear off the mud flap if I back over it," I mumbled to myself. Then - and I want to be clear that no new information arrived in the intervening half-second - I eased the rear tires directly into the rut and ripped off the driver side flap. The flap, I should mention, is discontinued from Toyota. Future-me would be paying a pretty penny to replace something that present-me had just destroyed for no reason at all. I picked it up, threw it in the bed, and sighed. Surely lunch - tasty sandwiches, chips, and an apple - would help to mend my ego, perhaps what hurt most after the mindless mistake.

After lunch - and a reasonably quick mine explore - it was time to tackle the second half of the route that would take us from Butte Valley to the vast Panamint Playa. Here, the narrows of Goler Wash have always been another fun section of trail, but this year I knew that things were likely quite different than they'd been in the past.

In fact, for more than six months - and until just three weeks before our departure - the entirety of Goler Wash had been closed to motor vehicles. This - like most road closures in the Death Valley region - was a result of flash floods washing out the road. In this case, the remnants of tropical storm Mario in September 2025.

I'd seen a few pictures of Jeeps winching their way up steep ledges in what was once a narrow, gravel-lined wash, and figured that - given the current status of the road - some sort of repair operation had been completed to get the road open again.

But then, as we were eating lunch, a few guys on dirt bikes stopped by the mine to look around. Looking at the Tacoma, one of them asked incredulously, "Did you get that thing up the ledges?" I knew immediately what he was talking about, informing him that we'd come from the Butte Valley side, but that we were hoping to exit to Panamint. He just smiled. It was the smile of a man who had decided not to crush someone else's dreams out loud. A smile that said, "Sure, buddy. Go ahead and try." I've gotten this smile before. I will get it again. I love this smile.

I suspected that he - like so many others - was underestimating the capabilities of the green truck. Either way, it wouldn't be long before we would find out.

As we twisted our way through the tight turns of the canyon, I could feel myself peering around each corner, curious to see if we'd be able to continue or be forced to turn around and retrace our way all the way through Butte Valley to the Death Valley salt pan. Eventually we came to the first rocky ledge, a four-foot drop that was easily overcome.

Winding our way down, the canyon walls closed in, and the gravel began to thin under our tires. There was still nothing to worry about, even as we plunged down a few more ledges, and picked our way over rocky cascades. These things may have been something on a dirt bike, but in the Tacoma, they were simply sections of road with what felt like infinite amounts of traction!

And then, as quickly as the narrows started, they were behind us. As the mouth of the canyon opened up into the southern end of Panamint Valley, we looked at each other and grinned. We'd been underestimated again. And that's just fine by us.

Gargantuan Gold Mines

Just outside the park boundary - as my companion got started on lunch: the final set of rotisserie chicken sandwiches we'd consume on this adventure - I fired up the drone to check out a road that has always piqued my curiosity.

Winding its way to a high saddle, the road I was scouting - or more precisely, that our little buddy was scouting for me - was a series of switchbacks that always seemed imposing and impassable. I figured the drone would indicate the same, and we'd be hoofing it up the 2-mile, 1,600 ft ascent to see what there was to explore at the top.

Pleasantly surprised, and now convinced that we could make it up, I recalled the flying camera and relayed the good news to @mrs.turbodb, just as three riders on dirt bikes pulled up to check the place out. After a quick round of greetings, the oldest of the group - about our age and perhaps an uncle of the two teen boys - asked if we were headed to the Manson place. "These guys didn't even know who Manson was or why it'd be interesting," he chuckled, pointing at the boys. "Guess that dates us then, doesn't it?" I replied.

As we ate our lunch and put everything away, the boys poked around the old mine cabins, and we chatted with the uncle about various desert destinations and adventures we'd each enjoyed over the years. It was a pleasant interaction - as most seem to be out in the middle of nowhere - and as the boys returned to their bikes, we climbed into the Tacoma to try our luck at the old trail.

"There's no way they're going to make it up there in that," @mrs.turbodb heard them say as we maneuvered around the group and started up the old mining road.

For the most part - except for a short section at the bottom - the road was in magnificent shape, and we soon found ourselves overlooking Panamint Valley and contemplating our next steps.

In reality, the next steps were obvious. One of us was going to wander through a truck-sized portal, while the other enjoyed her book in the toasty confines of the Tacoma.

This gold mine was originally developed by Carl Mengel, who sold the claims to the Monty Cristo Mines company in 1935. Composed of six un-patented claims, the gold here was found in quartz seams and fissure veins that measured a few inches to four feet in length and assayed from $2.50 - $50.00 per ton.

The claims were worked by both prospect cuts as well as adits. In one high yield location, a few hundred tons of ore were stoped in a drift 30 feet from the portal. Ore produced from the property was sold for approximately $32,000.

Two aerial trams and a 2,800-foot inclined rail-tram were used to move the ore from the mine to the camp where the road from Panamint Valley through Goler Canyon ends.

Exploration and some development continued sporadically until 1972 when Dr. Ralph E. Pray - an independent mining engineer - went to Goler Wash to stake the best-looking prospect. Naming it the ████████ Mine, he established a permanent camp in old buildings on the bank of Goler Wash. Pray’s crew blasted sharp turns and rebuilt the two-mile entrance into the Panamints.

The mine went on to produce several million dollars in gold in the 1980s.

It was acquired by the Bush Management Company in 2015, and as recently as 2020, plans to reopen the mine have been in the works.Backcountry ExplorersInyo Register

After poking around for twenty minutes or so - about the length of time I could get away with, without @mrs.turbodb wondering if I'd fallen down a shaft or been consumed by a colony of bats - I made my way back to the portal to relate all I'd found.

Ultimately, though, this mine in the middle of the Panamints was tiny compared to what we'd find on its flanks. There, four miles west-northwest of Manly Peak at the mouth of Redlands Canyon, sits the Briggs Mine. Now operated by DV Natural Resources, this location was originally worked underground in the 1930s by Harry Briggs. But that operation was an entirely different beast than what sits on the site today.

In the late 1980s, Canyon Resources Corporation (CRC) acquired the mine and after spending $42 million to permit and develop the property, CR Briggs - a wholly owned subsidiary - began stripping operations in January 1996. This stripping would continue through April 2004, with the low-grade ore - only about 0.03 ounces, or 1 gram of gold per ton - processed via cyanide heap-leaching through early 2005.

With a heap-leaching process, instead of crushing ore into fine powder and running it through a chemical processing mill, a giant pile of ore was dumped into HDPE plastic-lined pits, where a slow trickle of cyanide solution was passed through it, dissolving the gold as it percolated down. This gold-rich solution was then collected and separated in vast ponds on the valley floor.

Even with the low-grade ore being processed, CR Briggs pulled between 543,000-550,000 oz of gold out of the Panamints, plus about 152,000 oz of silver.

The operation was activated again in 2009 after a Canadian company - Atna Resources - acquired CRC and through more stripping and leaching, produced an additional 200,000 oz of gold between 2009 and 2014.

Financial trouble for Atna in 2014 led to the eventual transfer of the property to DV Natural Resources in late 2016. Since then, DVNR has run the operation as what's politely called a "zombie mine." Essentially: as long as the mine is technically active, the owners don't have to pay for full closure. So, they keep the leach fields trickling, the lights on, and continue to pull a few thousand ounces of gold out of the piles every year. They defer the eventual cyanide-pond cleanup bill into the indefinite future, at which point it becomes someone else's problem. It's a financially ingenious way to ensure that the public, eventually, will pay to clean up a private pile of poisoned rock. Future superfund cyanide site, indeed.

Searching for a Route to the Davey

Racing our way through Panamint Valley, we had one more stop to make before finding camp for the night. I thought it would be a quick stop - more reconnaissance than anything - but with feet on the ground, it quickly turned into something much more.

It all started back in March, 2022. While exploring the western flanks of the Panamints, @mrs.turbodb and I had ventured up into South Park Canyon, with the intent to explore some of the more remote mines in the area between South Park and Pleasant Canyon. Unfortunately, as we were working our way through the pinyon pine above 7,000 feet, the driver-side main leaf spring broke! Knowing that we shouldn't push our luck, I hacked together the best trail fix I could muster, and we carefully worked our way back down to Ballarat, skipping all the good stuff I'd hoped to check out along the way.

younger me, in March 2022

As with many places on my "gotta go" list - a list that seems to always grow longer the more places I go - I never found the time to return. And then, earlier this year, a fellow explorer - Doug @DUGeFresh - reached out six months ago, mentioning out of the blue that he'd been wondering about the same working for several years as well.

Over the next few months, we traded more than a dozen emails, sharing tidbits of research and information gleaned from both online and on-the-ground sources. We scoured maps and satellite imagery for a route, the terrain so steep that it seemed impossible that one ever existed. Doug even made an attempt to get out with his drone, foiled by high winds and a desire to not lose his flying friend.

I'd mentioned to Doug that if we had time on our trip to Butte Valley that I'd try to put my feet on the ground and find a trail. I didn't mention it to him, but I was pretty sure I'd be flying my drone to get the photos we both desired.

I had already been informed that I'd be on my own for this one. Reasonably sure that no one else was headed up this particular road on this particular day, I found a spot in the shadow of the steep canyon wall, and parked the Tacoma in the middle of the road. As I began to grab my usual hiking gear - a hip pack to carry my camera and water, the GPS to keep me on track, that sort of thing - I realized that all these things were only going to get in the way of what was most definitely going to be a scramble. Soon, I was putting everything back, hoping that my cell phone would be good enough, sure that I wouldn't get far enough to need it.

"I'll probably be back in about six minutes, and we can go find camp," I said as I left @mrs.turbodb to her reading and knitting.

With no confirmed route to speak of, I had only what seemed like a faint starting point marked on my GPS. Imagine my surprise when I found evidence that suggested I might be on the right track!

Finding the bottom of the trail turned out to be easy. In fact, following the trail for the first 1,000 feet - as it gained nearly 300 feet - wasn't really a problem. Soon though, as the slope became steeper, the trail faded into the imposing terrain. Here, where the canyon wall was nearly vertical, rockslides and erosion were the norm. This was not a place for two-legged beings. I pushed on.

At some point - as I pushed further and further up - I realized that my biggest problem was going to be getting down. Up in these situations, is always easier than down, where loose rock above vertical headwalls can make for a treacherous combination. Not dangerous exactly - a fall would probably not result in instant death - but it's definitely not safe. There are many places along this trail where, if one were overcome by gravity, they would need a good bit of medical attention and probably wish for a quicker demise, instead of bleeding out while waiting for help to arrive.

Stubborn, and at the same time confident in my abilities, I climbed higher. After all, without my camera banging around on my waist, I was nimble. Or something.

After a final scramble - that was sketchy even in the uphill direction - I clawed over a limestone wall and onto the platform. There it was. A big-ole yellow Davey air compressor, bolted to the cliff, exactly where I'd hoped it would be. Four years of wondering, six months of emails with Doug, and 900 vertical feet of loose scree. There it sat, waiting.

Doug was going to lose his mind.

And that's when I remembered that I'd told @mrs.turbodb that I'd probably be back in six minutes.

While I'd found what I was looking for, my adventure was far from complete. It was 900 feet down, through loose rock and on a trail I could barely see. What could possibly go wrong?

Luckily, I only got lost twice, finally returning to the Tacoma 2.5 hours after I'd wandered off - a mere 144 minutes longer than advertised. Statistically speaking, this was the worst time estimate I have ever given @mrs.turbodb, and I have given her some real doozies. Rightfully, it led to a rather pointed conversation about how much longer she would have waited before calling in the cavalry. I suggested that the next morning would have been appropriate, which didn't go over too well.

After relating the rest of my "let me tell you about the stupid hike I just did that was so much fun" story, it was time to find camp. Luckily, we weren't far from the place we planned to call home for the night, and as the shadows raced across the valley below, we climbed higher into the mountains.

Finding an old ghost town, we opted to have a quick look around before setting up the tent and prepping a well-earned dinner. We'd been through this place before when there were many more structures - in fact, I'd happened through when the BLM was demolishing many of them for liability reasons - and it was a little sad to see how little was left.

Within minutes of our arrival, the sun - racing toward the horizon - left but a golden glow to the west. Walking back to the Tacoma, we reveled in the brilliant orange and set up the tent as it transitioned through a series of pastel hues. Desert sunsets are the best.

Dinner - our usual tacorritos and fresh guacamole - was fantastic. I'd even ended up with a Coke Zero from our plane flight down, a special treat that my lovely companion had secreted away in the fridge. Pure bliss after a long day.

Bittersweet, it'd been our last full day in Death Valley for the season. As we climbed into bed, a cool breeze urged us further under our cozy covers. And as the stars sparkled overhead, we were reminded again why we keep coming back. Endless adventure.

 

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