Every time I visit Death Valley, I cover some amount of ground. I know this because I fill every daylight hour with hiking, driving, climbing, and poking my head into places that a younger, smarter me would certainly avoid. Somehow, though, at the end of each trip, I realize that my list of places to explore has inexplicably gotten longer.
It happens without fail. Every. Single. Time.
In 2018 - when @mrs.turbodb and I were exploring the Ibex Dunes and the talc mines near Saratoga and Ibex Spring - I noticed a little valley on the eastern flank of the park. Nestled up against the eastern edge the Black Mountains, Greenwater Valley wasn't a place I'd heard much about.
With none of the major attractions that Death, Saline, Eureka, or Panamint Valleys seem to hold, I knew I wanted to give it a look, but I wasn't sure how. Or when. And so, for 6 years, we've never been.
This trip would change all that, and much more!
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Before visiting Greenwater Valley though, there was another remote road that I knew we needed to see. And so, after stocking up with provisions and filling our bellies with breakfast burritos, we headed west toward the southern tip of the Black Mountains and a route that would take us into Buckwheat Wash.
Taking a different route than normal into the park, Mt. Charleston loomed behind us as we raced toward Tecopa and CA-127.
Dropping down through the Nopah Range, a snow-capped Telescope peak gleamed on the horizon.
Onto dirt, we aired down and began to work our way toward Buckwheat Wash.
To reach the road that would usher us through the southern flank of the Ibex Hills, we first made our way past Ibex Spring. The talc mine operations there - brilliant white scars on the otherwise dark-colored Black Mountains - were as far as we'd previously ventured into this area. At the time, I'd not even known of the Buckwheat Wash Road, assuming - and you know where that got me - that everything to the west of the mines was in wilderness.
In the distance, the Pleasanton Mine gleamed on the hillside.
One of the few oases in the park with palm trees, there are still a few ruins at Ibex Spring.
What's on the other side of this ridge?
There were two reasons I'd wanted to visit Buckwheat Wash. The first was the simple fact that "I'd never been there," and there are very few roads in the park that I've not traversed. The second - and much more pressing reason - was that Buckwheat Wash is home to the Buckwheat Sand Dunes.
Anyone who has visited Death Valley National Park has likely seen or visited the popular Mesquite Dunes near Stovepipe Wells. They've also probably heard of the Eureka Dunes - the tallest dune field in California and second tallest in North America. Lesser - but still reasonably well-known - fields are the Saline Valley and Panamint Valley Dunes in their respective valleys. But these are not the extent of dune fields in the park; there are still three more. Far to the north, Hidden Dunes - nestled into the mouth of Marble Canyon where it empties from the Saline Range into Eureka Valley - are balanced at the extreme southern end of the park by the Ibex Dunes - tucked away behind Saratoga Spring and rarely visited.
Over the last six years - since our first trip to Death Valley in 2018 - I've had a chance to visit all six of these dune systems. I had not, however, visited the Buckwheat Sand Dunes - the final, and least well-known, dune field on my list. At least, not until now!
Our first glimpse of the Buckwheat Dunes.
Look at that pristine ridge!
Glutton for punishment, I kept my foot plastered to the skinny pedal as the dunes grew larger and larger in the windshield. I knew that if we got out and started to explore, it would be easy to blow the entire afternoon gleefully struggling up ridges and filling our shoes with sand. Instead, we pressed on - further up the wash - toward the end of the road. There, I'd discovered several old mine workings and a small cabin that I figured we could explore, using any remaining daylight to wander aimlessly in the sand.
The remote cabin of the ▮▮▮▮ Mine (copper).
This isn't a well-maintained backcountry cabin, but it would do in a pinch.
Only five visitors in the last 12 months!
(and yes, this visitor log was placed by - of course - Jeremy, in early 2022)
I suppose if you count this guy and his buddies, there'd been more than five visitors.
Outside the cabin, an old shovel and yellow(ish) fly wheel had been gathered by those who'd come before us.
This old frame - a bit of yellow suggesting that it was likely home to the fly wheel at one point - lay in the wash. Something was off about it, but it took me a second to realize what it was.
Suddenly, I realized - it was the rear suspension. The original leaf springs had been supplemented with coils in order to increase the weight-bearing ability of this beast.
The cabin explored quickly @mrs.turbodb wandered back into her warm passenger seat for an early afternoon siesta, while I meandered up the old mining trails to adits and other workings that dotted the hillside. None of these - at least, that I was willing to enter - were much to write home about, but one of them had an interesting winze/stope that wouldn't have been the type of place I wanted to spend my days, chipping away at the crumbly earth around me!
A short commute.
Seems safe. Ground looks totally solid.
Scattered copper ore. (Mostly chrysocolla and malachite, I think.)
Exploration in the immediate vicinity of the ▮▮▮▮ Mine complete, I climbed back into the truck for the final push. It was a quarter mile to the wilderness boundary, and the literal end of the road in a still-active wash.
Still, with a large talc waste pile nestled along the side of the wash, it was just fine with us - so fine that even the napper eagerly climbed out of her seat - that the road had ended, and soon we were climbing around the gleaming platform and investigating the nearby hills for additional activity.
The Tacoma had to wait behind, but we were happy to continue on foot!
Not the smoothest of track.
Behind the huge waste pile, an adit led into the mountain. A few hundred feet deep, and with several interconnected passages, this was surely the source of all that talc. Flipping on my flashlight, I wandered in to have a closer look
Gleaming walls.
I soon discovered that the workings once extended much deeper than they do today. Collapses on the two longest tunnels blocked access to what was surely the best ore, and at some point a fire raged through the mine, burning nearly all of the wooden supports that once held the mountain in place as men blasted their way through the most valuable veins.
With those supports gone, I didn't linger long.
Back outside, I did my part to clean up after Lucy's birthday party. Keep an eye on your balloons, Lucy!
And with that, it was finally time! Back in the Tacoma, it was 2:00pm as we raced south through the desert, our destination not far ahead. A spot I'd noticed on the way in - where the road made a sharp turn to the east - was the closest we could get to the dunes by vehicle, and after harnessing the power of the sun, we set off on foot into a sea of untouched sand.
Free power. Well, except for all the stuff I had to buy to generate it.
No prints at all. Anywhere.
Each dune field in Death Valley is special in their own way. Here, the most striking feature were the graceful, sweeping curves of the pristine dunes as they climbed high into the volcanic backbone of the Black Mountains. Even having spotted them on satellite imagery, I wasn't prepared for how striking they'd be in person.
Onto the ripples.
First prints.
@mrs.turbodb worked her way around the back side before climbing to the untouched, delicate ridge.
It was then time for the decision we both knew was necessary, but neither of us had wanted to broach: were we heading to the top? Or, at the very least, up?
As always, there would be sound reasons for either outcome. Having wandered amongst the other dune fields when we'd visited, getting to the top would afford us with fantastical sights and a sense of accomplishment here in the final sandy landscape we had to explore. On the other, these dunes were steep! Every step up would surely be double - or more - work than a similar climb on the usual mountainous terrain of the desert, our shoes filling with sand that would need extraction on our return to the Tacoma.
But in the end, how could we resist a look beyond the bottom? With so few visitors, these were sights that few were ever lucky enough to experience!
The easiest way up is always the spine.
Light and dark.
The largest of the lower dunes. ("Lower Dune 1")
Looking down wash to "Lower Dune 3."
Nestled in behind a rocky outcropping, the gentle arch of "Hidden dune" - invisible from the valley floor - was a sight to behold.
And with that, we headed back to the truck, my shoes, especially - due to their proliferation of holes - several pounds heavier having filled with sand. There, below the tailgate on which we sat, we planted the seed of our own little dune. As with other creatures of the desert, ours is unlikely to survive. More likely, harsh winds will once again carry the grains onto the southern flanks of the Black Mountains, some of them filling our footsteps as though we were never there.
It is the way of dunes, and part of what makes them so special in a desert that otherwise takes centuries to reclaim the trails and scars left on the surface.
Now a little after 4:00pm, we still had 90 minutes of daylight and I suggested that we make a quick run to check out one of the most dramatic talc mines we'd accidentally stumbled on when we'd visited this corner of the park three years prior.
Nestled in behind some of the other mines, the ore chute of the Moorehouse urged us to take a closer look.
The Moorehouse consists of three distinct levels, where the progression of mining activities can clearly be seen through the development of mining structures. The lower and middle levels, reflecting the lode mining activities of the earlier years, contain extensive complexes of adits, ore bins, ore chutes and tramway networks. These wooden structures are rather picturesque, and are in relatively good condition.
The upper level of the Moorehouse reflects the latest period of development and assessment work, being nothing more than an extremely unsightly complex of scars, pits, and heaps left over from stripping operations.
Viewed as a whole, the Moorehouse Mine contains the best representation of recent talc mining operations in southern Death Valley. Remaining structures at that site are the most extensive, of the best condition, and reflect several different periods of mining activity.
Lower-level mining structures.
The twin chutes.
Halfway up the hillside, this old dump trestle looks little changed since we visited in 2022.
With little new to see since our last visit, we didn't linger long at the site, instead deciding that we should take advantage of the remaining daylight by pushing north toward the main focus of our trip - Greenwater Valley - and finding a place to call home for the night.
A quick stop at Ibex Spring on our way out.
The Whole Story
Untracked dunes, they are hard to find these days. DV seems to have mines with those steep producing stopes, same thing at Skidoo. Looks like dangerous working conditions.
The Moorehouse looks worth a trek to. I may have to stop reading your DV posts, my DV list is getting too long because you.
Your mention of Tecopa reminds of a place on my to do list on that side of the park.
I have heard they have good date shakes and date bread, have you checked them out?https://www.chinaranch.com/