Having enjoyed our peaceful evening in Marble Canyon, our next destination was another that I'd had on my To-Do list for quite some time. Back in 2021, we'd headed up Telephone Canyon to find a remote arch and a couple old mines. We'd driven all the way to the end of the road - or at least, as far as was legal - to a wilderness sign that designated the area beyond as "Foot and Horse Traffic Only," before turning back to spend the night at, and explore, the Tucki Mine.
It wasn't the wilderness sign - so much as what I could see beyond it - that caught my attention. There, a mile from the end of the road, a small cabin sat in a valley below the rolling folds of Tucki Mountain. Today, we'd finally have a chance to visit the cabin, explore the nearby workings, and wander our way 7 miles (roundtrip) to the top of Tucki Mountain.
It seemed like a reasonable plan - even with the relatively short days of mid-December - so we were in no real rush as we headed up Telephone Canyon
Entering Telephone Canyon is a roundabout affair, but the views of the Cottonwoods make it all worthwhile.
Winding our way through the upper narrows.
Reaching the end of the road, we gazed to the north where a rocky summit stood a little taller than the ridge around it. This - we thought - was the summit we were after. It was - we'd soon discover - much closer than our goal, and only the first of three false summits we would climb along the way.
VIP parking. Note: no different than peon parking.
I've recently been worried about the power retention of my dual battery system - a discussion for another time - so after setting up the solar panels and stuffing everything we'd need into our packs, we set our sights on the tiny cabin below and plunged down the faint, steep mining road.
Our first stop.
Reaching the valley floor - a dry playa completely covered so thoroughly with prickly tumbleweed that we struggled to find a route, even along the old road - we were greeted by the Martin Crossing sign. Placed in a seemingly random location where the road forks in the playa, the sign lists its GPS coordinates - as well as those of the cabin - but why someone thought it important to name and locate a place that so few might encounter is a mystery lost to time.
You are at Old Martin Crossing.
Latitude 36° 28' 8" East
Longitude 117° 6' 22.7" North
Elevation 5,200 Feet
To get to the Martin Crossing Cabin Site proceed 0.53 miles.
at 283° 57' 25" True
NAD/27 Datum
Half a mile later - technically .53 miles, I suppose - we climbed a small rise to the cabin, where rodents now reign. The bed, table, sink, and stove were littered with debris; only the assorted supplies in a sealed metal cabinet have survived the test of time.
One might wonder why the bed frame is outside the walls of the seemingly well-kept cabin.
Yep, I'd rather sleep outside!
The library (left) and contents of a sealed supply cabinet (right).
An old visitor log sat, exposed to the weather, on the cabin table. Pens and pencils long lost to the rat nest, we had no way to add our names to the register. It had been this way - given the final entry - since 2019. Still, there were a couple of names we recognized, and that we'd encounter time after time over the course of the next week.
"Just as bad or worse than when I was here in 2012. Man builds and mother nature slowly destroys."
-Steve Hall, 5-11-15.
6-11-16 - Jeremy Stoltzfus, NPS.
Four prospects, a few hundred yards from the small cabin.
It was already 11:00am by the time we departed the cabin for the main event. With just about six hours before we'd need the headlamps we'd brought along, it was a timeframe with which we were totally comfortable, given the six miles and 3,100 feet of elevation we had to cover.
We didn't realize at the time, but we'd dramatically underestimated the rough, trailless terrain - extending up and down over several false summits - between us and the top of Tucki Mountain.
After climbing a steep hillside to the first saddle, it was another rocky climb to gain the main ridge.
Already, views to Death Valley and the Funeral Mountains were starting to poke out above the terrain.
At the first ridge, views of the Sierra towered in the distance.
Are they all hollow?
Rainbow rock.
By 1:00pm, it was clear to both of us that we might have bitten off more than we could chew. Each ridge - there were four to traverse before reaching the summit - seemed steeper than the last, and with no trail to follow, the loose rocky surface made for slow going.
Finding a spot at the top of a 300-foot ascent, we sat down for lunch. Recently - for some reason, since to our knowledge, nothing in our process has changed - this has meant extracting slightly soggy turkey sandwiches, assembled at the trailhead, from plastic bags. However, given that this was an 8-day-long trip, we decided to mix it up a bit - and reduce the amount of lettuce we needed to stuff into the fridge - by having PB&Js. Of course, a PB&J made ahead of time is an unmitigated disaster after a few hours of hiking - the peanut butter entirely oozed out and the bread always 100% soggy from the jelly - so we'd brought along a jar of each filling, a knife, and bread to assemble everything on the trail.
Wow, was that a good call! After scooping out a few tablespoons of goodness onto each slice, we munched on the sweet, gooey goodness as we soaked in the views that now stretched into the distance.
Not that you'll see it (it's there if you know where to look), but between our current position and the gleaming white of Badwater Basin, the Tacoma sat patiently on a ridgeline below us.
After lunch and a quick conversation about our plan for the rest of the day, we decided that I would push on at a bit faster pace in an attempt to reach the summit, and @mrs.turbodb would continue up behind me, likely stopping at the third or fourth ridgeline. We'd use our Midland GMRS radios to keep in touch. It'd be a good decision for both of us, and allowed me to capture some amazing shots of her in the distance!
As I crested the third ridge, I was greeted by this small - but wide - unnamed arch.
Our first real view of the (underwhelming) Tucki Mountain summit.
By this time, I was twenty minutes ahead of my hiking companion, and after a few words of encouragement over the radio - but no mention of the arch, which I wanted her to discover for herself, I dropped out of view on my way into the canyon between the third and fourth ridgelines.
A splendid view down to Furnace Creek.
Deceptively gentle slopes.
As I reached the fourth ridge - now only a 200-foot descent and 400-foot climb between me and the top - I glanced back to see @mrs.turbodb's head bobbing up to the third ridge. Guiding her to the high point, I zoomed in as far as my lens would allow.
Queen of the third ridge; Telescope Peak towering in the distance.
As we chatted on the radio, this crazy-looking plane roared by overhead, its silhouette unfamiliar but clearly of the drop-some-ordinance ilk. (Some variant of B-1 Bomber.)
I pushed on, the summit finally feeling within reach as I picked up my pace down the back side of the fourth ridge. It was quarter to two, and I knew we had to be on our way back by 2:30pm if we were going to reach the Tacoma before sunset.
The Panamint, Cottonwood, Inyo, and Sierra all lined up nicely to my west.
Layers into the distance (towards Badwater and the Black Mountains).
Of all the climbs, the final ascent to the summit of Tucki Mountain was the easiest. Surely the result of adrenaline coursing through my body after so much early suffering, my eyes searched the domed top for the high point, or some sort of cairn marking my ultimate destination.
Made it to the top.
To the northwest, the crinkled texture of the Cottonwood Mountains contrasted dramatically with the flowing hillsides of the Panamint Mountains northernmost summit, on which I found myself.
After a quick search, I found the old ammo box that surely contained the summit log. Hopefully there'd be a writing implement included as well!
Placed a decade earlier, I wondered what I would find. (left) | It was exciting to find Steve Hall whose trip report had inspired this hike (top right) | There was Jeremy Stoltzfus again, now listing his residence as Cow Creek! (bottom right)
I felt honored to add our name to the list.
Looking back the way I'd come, I could see @mrs.turbodb, now on the fourth ridge.
It was 2:15pm - a few minutes before our turnaround time - as we wrapped up a quick chat over the radios. With just under four miles to cover, the three hours before darkness would normally allow plenty of cushion for @mrs.turbodb to wait for me on the fourth ridge and then enable us to move at a more leisurely pace. However, with the slow ascent, we decided that the prudent approach would be for each of us to start back from our respective high points, hoping that I'd make up ground as we worked our way back to the Tacoma.
By the time we reached the second ridge and could clearly see the Tacoma a little more than 1.5 miles away, our plan had proven successful, and we were retracing our steps together.
We made it, just as the sun was lighting up the sky!
The photo I was taking in @mrs.turbodb's selfie!
The following morning...
After one of the deceptively harder hikes we've attempted, we'd pulled the Tacoma onto the waste rock pile of the Tucki Mine under the cover of darkness, prepped a taco-ritto dinner, and climbed into bed only a couple hours after sunset.
I know this because it was 6:58pm when I turned off my Kindle and closed my eyes in order to take advantage of the next 11.5 hours of darkness that would recharge my batteries. With little wind and cool temperatures, we slept soundly until my alarm roused us at 6:20am the following morning. It was time to do a little exploring!
Sunrise at the Tucki Mine.
An old ore chute still stands on the hillside, though all the adits and shafts - open on our last visit - have now been sealed by the National Park Service.
From this perspective, the main cabin looked to be in reasonable condition.
Inside however, the cabin has fallen into significant disrepair since our visit in 2021.
The second structure - likely a workshop - now has fewer than half its walls still standing.
Disappointed to see the deterioration that's occurred over the last three years, I headed down to the cabin to take a look inside.
This isolated gold mine, located at the head of Tucki Wash, has a long history of intermittent activity. Claimed first in 1909, then in 1927, it was active off and on until the 1970s. Over its lifetime the property, which encompassed the four main Tucki claims, the mine was leased and worked by at least half a dozen parties.
The ore, mined underground, was first treated at Roy Journigan's Mill in Emigrant Canyon until around 1938. In April 1939, after selling his mill, Roy Journigan became part owner of the mine, which eventually became the family's property. Although it brought in nearly $18,000 in 1941, other active years were likely less productive.
After the early 1950s mining was sporadic, until in 1975 Russ Journigan and a few partners installed a crusher and a leaching plant at the site to extract gold from old tailings. The operation recovered only a few dozen ounces of gold before it shut down and the equipment was removed in March 1976.
I both chuckled and cringed at this note scrawled on the inside of the door. Entire walls are now collapsed, rendering it moot.
An advertisement I can get behind.
Even with the sad state of affairs, the visitor log was still present, and I took some time to read through it. I was surprised to find that it'd been placed by Jeremy of the NPS, though as we'd find out over the next several days, this guy seems to have been everywhere in the park!
Log cover. (left) | Jeremy's entry from Nov. 6, 2019. (top right) | Our entry from Nov. 18, 2021. (bottom right)
Our most recent visit.
As I climbed the waste rock pile back to camp, my companion was on her way down the ladder and before long I was stowing the tent as she poured large bowls of cereal for us to enjoy before getting underway for the day.
Exiting Telephone Canyon to the same Cottonwood views we enjoyed on our way in.
Layers and light.
Our itinerary - to work our way into a slot canyon along the southernmost escarpment of the Cottonwood Mountains - another destination inspired by Steve Hall - would be one of the easier hikes we tackled throughout the week, a fact we appreciated after the grueling hike we'd just completed.
The Whole Story
Another nice adventure with beautiful views. As always, thanks for sharing.