Searching for the Scallywag | Missing Death Valley #3

I slept soundly at the head of Ashford Canyon, two days of driving and hiking finally catching up to my aging body. Knowing that I'd have another long hike - and steep climb - ahead of me for the day, I spent a few minutes around camp, soaking in the sunrise and enjoying the shade that I knew I'd long for as the day went on.

Even so, it was just before 7:00am when I started down the alluvial fan, past the spot where I'd fought a tiny dinosaur for my life the previous afternoon. My hope was to reach the location where I'd leave the Tacoma on the side of Badwater Road and head back up into the Black Mountains before it was bathed in sun, but I could tell even as I descended the fan that I was going to be too late!

I'd considered beginning my hike from a location along the road to Ashford Canyon - which had a point-to-point distance that was shorter than my chosen trailhead - but if I've learned one lesson in Death Valley, it's that hiking across an alluvial fan is so much harder than hiking up, that I'll happily walk several miles further in order to avoid the constant undulations of a cross-fan route. Never again do I want to repeat the hiking part of our exploration of Military Canyon, coincidentally, not far from my current location.

Technically I suppose, I've learned a few lessons in Death Valley - or at least been exposed to them - and I'd have a chance to put my don't-climb-dry-falls-you-can't-climb-down lesson from the previous afternoon in a few short hours.

Walking up the fan, I startled a few lizards, one of them so eager to put distance between the two of us - was my body odor really so terrible? - that he performed what could only be described as a gymnastics tumbling pass in his effort to get away.

Surprised at how docile it was in my hand, I probably ended up with a few dozen photos of the lizard before I set him back down and realized that he was just going to sit there - poised on a rock - for me to keep snapping away. Maybe he really was my friend. At some point though, even I had to move on.

I finally reached the mouth of the unnamed canyon - which I'll call Tramway Canyon, since that's the name that it was given by a long-time hiker of Death Valley - an hour-and-a-half after setting off. That might seem like a long time to hike up an alluvial fan to the start of the interesting part of a hike, but I assure you that it was significantly faster than trying to make my way across the alluvial fan.

Along the way, I'd seen - as is common in these parts - tons of mining junk that had washed out of the canyon over the years, and as I entered the mouth of the canyon I got my answer to where several 4x16" by 30-foot-long boards originated.

Also a the mouth of the canyon, the lower end of an aerial tramway - one of several tramways that helped name this place - also clung to the side of the lower canyon wall.

Knowing that - pending the dry fall situation further up the canyon - this might be the only real mining paraphernalia I be able to see up close, I wandered over to take a closer look.

After poking around a bit, I worked my way off the platform via a rather rickety set of stairs that led to the wash and turned my attention to the canyon. Here, I knew I'd either be turned around in slightly under half a mile, or I'd find myself scrambling up a 45° scree field towards mine workings, a mile up the canyon.

A few minutes later, I entered the first narrows.

I reached the first dry fall after only a few minutes. A quick glance and I knew this one would be no problem to scale in either direction. Still, knowing that I might not make it past the second, larger fall, a little further on, I was in no rush to leave this one behind, especially given the warm light radiating from above and graceful shape of the canyon.

The second - and much larger - dry fall was 200 feet further up the wash, but not visible from the first. I'd heard reports of this fall from two fellow explorers, the first of whom was forced to turn around when they couldn't find any safe way up the fall. That was in 2016, but I'd heard that by 2019 a thin rope had been draped over the sharp rock. It wasn't much, but it was enough to make the climb - and exploration of the upper canyon - possible.

Now, I'll be the first to admit that I wasn't sure I'd want to use a thin rope that I hadn't personally secured after more than 5 years in the Death Valley sun, but I figured I'd cross that bridge when I got to it - which was nearly immediately. As I rounded a corner in the narrows and was presented with a tall wall of rusty-orange quartz.

To my surprise - and delight - I saw a "rope" hanging down that was not the rope from 2019. In fact, I couldn't quite tell when I saw it initially, but it appeared to be a steel cable - a fact I quickly confirmed - which I thought would be a fantastic assist, assuming it was well anchored.

Only as I got about three-quarters of the way to the top did I realize that even the steel cable was on borrowed time.

I probably didn't have anything at all to worry about - what was left of the cable could likely hold ten times my weight or more - but I was still glad once I'd reached the top, and even happier to successfully downclimb the fall on my return!

There'd be no more obstacles as I continued through the upper narrows, allowing my anticipation to grow as I neared the Scallywag Mine.

After a few more turns, a lower ore bin came into view. This, it turned out, wasn't the end of the aerial tram but rather a bin for a chute that started several hundred feet above. On it, the "Scallywag Mine" road sign blazed a brilliant green and I approached with a smile on my face.

Technically, the Scallywag Mine - so called these days for obvious reasons - was worked as the Jubilee Lead Mine, and as with the vast majority of mines, was unprofitable. What's most surprising to me was all the work that went into this place for what must have been, "a little bit of lead." Hauling up all the materials alone would have been a crazy amount of work, but stringing the cables - which must weight tens of thousands of pounds - that is a level of effort I simply can't imagine.

Before trying to find a way up to the workings, I wanted to check out a few more rusty bits of machinery I saw laying on the ground a little further up the wash. Then, having scoped out the hillside, it seemed to me that the best way to reach the infrastructure above was to follow the old water pipeline, using it as necessary for stabilization over the extremely steep, loose terrain.

By the time I completed my scramble up the face of what seemed to be a near-vertical cliff - thankful for the water pipeline  that gave me something reasonably solid to haul myself up - I found myself 50-feet or so above the first working, with views that could only be described as "wow."

Picking my way down a drainage to the platform of the first working, I found myself wondering how the guys who worked this mine on a regular basis got around. There must have been so much up and down, down and up. Death-defying feats, even on the best of days. And remember, they weren't even after gold, they were after lead!

Wandering into the working, I was curious if the difficulty of getting to this mine would mean that were more artifacts than in some others I'd explored. In the end, I suppose there were a few more, but I wasn't lucky enough to find - for instance - an ore cart to push along the rails!

Eventually, it was time to head back. Not only had I gotten to explore the upper canyon - something I was fully prepared to not do if I couldn't make it beyond the second dry fall - but reaching the workings was a cool bonus. As such, my spirits were high as I retraced my steps through the narrows, worked my way down the dry fall one final time, and popped out the mouth of the canyon and headed down the alluvial fan towards the Tacoma.

And with that, my first trip to Death Valley in more than a year was complete. It'd been warmer than I expected, but as always I'd enjoyed myself every minute of the way. Well, except for the incident with the dry falls, and my near-consumption by a chuckwalla!

And if all that wasn't enough, I wasn't headed home quite yet. Rather, I was headed south to meet a semi-random guy I'd met on the internet. For he'd promised that it would be The Perfect Day for Something Stupid, and there was no way I was going to pass up a sales pitch like that!

 

 

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