For the second time in as many trips, I'd been abandoned.
This time, a trip to the Arizona Strip and North Rim of the Grand Canyon was on the books until life got in the way for a few buddies, and as they bowed out, so did @mrs.turbodb. This left me in a bit of a pickle, as I'd left the Tacoma in California at the end of my previous outing, and still needed to ferry it down to Las Vegas for the winter.
So, it was back to the computer and a bit of time sorting through the many-lifetime's-worth of things I have to see, in order to find a few that would work well together on a five-day adventure. And with that, I was off!
- - - - -
I arrived at the base of the Eastern Sierra at 1:30am. There, all my miniature suns ablaze to light the pitch-black road, I hesitantly drove through an unlocked gate that led to the Pine Creek Tungsten Mine, at the end of Pine Creek Rd. Signs stated that the mine was active, and at the very least, the mine itself was private property, but from everything I could determine, the trailhead - or rather, old road - that would lead me up, up, up to Morgan Pass - was all on public land, part of the Inyo National Forest.
At any rate, I found an out-of-the-way spot to squeeze the Tacoma, and within a few minutes the tent was open, my teeth were brushed, and my eyes were closed. Even so, it'd only be five hours before I was up again for to reach Morgan Pass, the hard way.
This is what I awoke to, just before sunrise.
With my little buddy buzzing around overhead - and before the contrast of shadow and light got too bad on the peaks - I figured it was a good time to do a little reconnaissance of the main camp for the Pine Creek Tungsten Mine.
For many years, the Pine Creek Tungsten Mine was a major operation.
The origins of this mine trace back to 1895, when prospectors first staked claims in search of gold and silver; however, early assays revealed insufficient precious metals, and the area lay dormant for two decades.
The site's true value wasn't established until 1916, when Billie Vaughn and Arch Beauregard identified outcrops rich in molybdenum and the tungsten-bearing mineral scheelite at an elevation of 11,300 feet; a discovery that led to the establishment of new claims and the arduous extension of trails to reach the remote deposit. By December 1918, a rudimentary concentrating mill was operational, but a sharp post-World War I drop in tungsten prices forced its closure only two months later.
In 1922, the Natural Soda Products Company (later known as the Tungsten Products Company) acquired the claims, undertaking infrastructure improvements that included extending adits in order to facilitate year-round operation, and construction of aerial tramways to circumvent treacherous winter routes. Despite this, financial woes tied to the 1927 Watterson Bank collapse forced the mine to shutter again in 1928.
Nearly a decade later - in 1936 - the United States Vanadium Corporation, a subsidiary of Union Carbide and Carbon Corporation, secured ownership, rapidly transforming Pine Creek into the preeminent domestic source of tungsten on the eve of World War II.
During World War II, Pine Creek saw explosive growth in both output and workforce. By 1942 it had become the largest tungsten producer in the United States, supplying much of the material essential for military use, such as tank armor and armor-piercing munitions. The facility operated continuously through the war years and into the Cold War, becoming a mainstay of the Eastern Sierra economy for decades.
The mill.
Employment figures reflect this expansion. In the early years, a few dozen miners worked in rugged isolation, but by the 1940s and 1950s, Pine Creek routinely employed 300 miners during its peak operational periods, with some accounts indicating as many as 400 including support staff, working in three shifts to run the mine and mill 24 hours a day.
One of the Electric Mules and a line of old ore cars, protected from the elements in the snow tunnel.
Between 1940 to its final closure in 1990, the mine yielded approximately 162,000,000 tons of ore and produced 8,350,000 20-pound "units" of tungsten oxide, contributing an estimated market value of over $400 million. In addition to tungsten, the mine also generated substantial quantities of molybdenum and silver, valued together at approximately $30 million. This production was tightly linked to national and international demand, with output soaring during World War II, the Korean War (1950–1953), and the Vietnam War (1964–1975), when the mine’s profitability peaked with earnings between $70 - 80 million during these conflicts.
Aerial tramways, tunnels that extended more than 2.5 miles into the mountain and rose more than 2,800 feet vertically, and a mill capable of processing 1,000 tons per day exemplified the industrial scale achieved during this era.
The lowest adit into the mine, near the mill.
A model of the mine. The lowest adit and main camp are located at the bottom right. Note the Empire State Building.
Then, in the late 20th century, competition from Chinese tungsten imports, declining ore grades, and heightened environmental and operating costs precipitated a downturn. This culminated in an official shutdown in 1990, although the mill continued processing stockpiled ore until 1994, with permanent closure occurring in 2000 when the property was put up for auction.
After being acquired in by Craig Rossell and Lynn Goodfellow of Pine Creek Mine, LLC, more than 300 semi-truck loads of waste were removed from the property and extensive reclamation operations were completed. Today there are plans to turn the site into a hydroelectric project - expected to generate up to 1.5 megawatts of electricity - from residual snowmelt and groundwater that flows through the old mine tunnels.
12 Little-Known Facts About "The Mine in the Sky"Pine Creek Mine Movie - Union Carbide Corporation
I had no idea of this history at the time - nor did I realize it when I found a "bottomless pit" several hours later at the top of my hike - but I thoroughly enjoyed a bit of airtime around the old operation.
In fact, what I was mostly focused on as the seven-o'clock hour approached was the rather imposing start to my hike.
I guess it could have been worse; at least there were switchbacks.
This would be a good place to mention that there is a much easier route to Morgan Pass, from the opposite side. Instead of climbing 3,901 feet over a distance of 8 miles, that 4-mile route starts at the Mosquito Flat trailhead and gains a mere 800 feet over that distance. Some of us are just glutton for punishment.
The lowest three miles were the hardest - both on the way up and the way down.
I was still fresh enough that my plodding pace up the old road wouldn't have been considered trudging - at least on the way up - but at a pace of just more than 1mph, I definitely found myself hoping that the entire trail wouldn't be in such terrible condition. Decades of neglect have taken a toll on this steep road, and what little isn't covered by rockslide is deeply washed out by 50-foot-wide drainages that scar the hillside. I made frequent stops to catch my breath, and also to admire the views that got better and better with each step.
Terry doesn't see many two-leggers up this way these days.
There were only two of these really tall - more than 80 feet, to accommodate deep winter snow - aerial tramway towers still standing, but they were awesome!
These were some of the - if not the - last all-wood towers constructed in the United States. Still looking pretty good today.
Pine sunstar.
Ahead, I could easily see where they'd carved the road through the granite so many years earlier.
That first set of switchbacks climb 2,000 feet over 3.5 miles, and - as I glanced at my watch - I was glad to see I'd picked up my pace and completed the climb in just under three hours. Here, high above the mill below was the platform where much of the ore was extracted from beneath the ground before being loaded into the aerial tramway for the final descent. Huge waste rock piles litter the gorge, and while there isn't much machinery left, there are still signs of those who once worked these lands.
Every person who willfully discharges any firearms within 600 feet of any magazine or explosive manufacturing plant is guilty of a misdemeanor punishable by a fine of not more than one thousand dollars $1000, or by imprisonment for not more than one year or both.
The collar of an adit that was once a major exit route for material.
A closer look at the heavy steel door, and some old pants left behind.
Higher on the hillside, another collared adit looked a little less well-built, but perhaps now more accessible.
Now nearly 10:00am, I knew that - while I was largely on track for my day-long adventure - I still needed to keep a move on. Most folks trekking up alongside Morgan Creek follow it directly to Morgan Pass, but I'd been silly enough to do a little reconnaissance using satellite imagery; there, I'd discovered that a fork in the road - five miles from the trailhead - led anyone foolish enough to follow it, to the upper reaches of the old Pine Creek Tungsten Mine.
I knew that if I was going to be successful in exploring both upper forks of this route - making the entire thing a 6,500-vertical-foot, 18-mile ordeal - I had little time to sit around and catch my breath.
I couldn't help but stop for this Adonis Blazingstar (Mentzillia multiflora). I'd never seen one before!
Luckily, the next half-mile or so was through a hanging valley, which - even though the aspen have begun to take over the old road - made for significantly easier walking. And beautiful scenery to boot.
The "trail."
Looking back down the valley, colorful leaves and a still-in-shadow Mt. Tom.
Soon though, the old road restarted its upward climb, the colorful aspen falling away below me as I climbed higher and higher toward the valleys above. I wasn't spent by this point, but I was definitely starting to wonder when I'd reach the fork in the road - a landmark I'd been eagerly awaiting - giving me a sense of just how much more pain I had to enjoy before this whole thing was behind me.
Plus, I planned to eat lunch somewhere around the fork, and my belly was beginning to suggest that the fork should be imminent.
Looking south, the rugged ridge cut into the bright blue sky.
Bear Creek Spire was a sight to behold.
(And boy, am I glad I'm not climbing that thing!)
It took another hour to cover another set of switchbacks and 1.5 miles of trail to the convergence of two drainages. To my left (mostly west), sat Upper and Lower Morgan Lake; to my right (mostly north), a drainage that seemed somehow steeper than the trail I'd already travelled. What in the world had I gotten myself into?
Whatever mess I'd made for myself, I took solace in the fact that I'd reached the point that I'd promised myself lunch. It was time to enjoy some Chinese Chicken Salad - and my first bit of water for the day - with a view.
The view. In real life, I only admired this once my face was stuffed full of food.
Lunch. This Chinese Chicken Salad from Comforts was amazing. So good. I thought there was no way that I'd finish the entire container, but I did. And I wanted more. Lots more.
As much as I would have enjoyed a short nap after scarfing down one of the tastiest lunches I've had in a long time, there was no time for such luxuries. And, as I hefted my hip pack back into place - now a little lighter - I made up my mind to tackle the non-Morgan Pass side of the route first, knowing I'd be more likely to feel obligated to finish the "normal" route even if I was tired.
Even up here, it was still a long way up.
Almost immediately I found two interesting occurrences on the ground. The first was a Mormon Cricket, which I've never seen so far west. The second was a bit of ore.
What are you doing in California, cricket? (left) | A bit of malachite on the old road. (right)
Apparently, I'd find out later, this was not what the miners were looking for. At least, not primarily. Rather, these guys were after tungsten; the series of adits and shafts - that I'd encounter and explore - high up on this ridge were all part of the same Pine Creek Tungsten Mine I'd started at, several thousand feet below!
This was the first bit of the mining operation I came to. Peering inside, I realized that it was a snow collar for a vertical shaft that extended into the mountain below!
More ore! More malachite and some quartz-banded iron rich material? (top) | A couple of open pits were stained with more greenish-blue malachite. (bottom left, bottom right)
By now I'd gained another thousand feet, and with 1,500 more on this fork alone, my legs - quads mostly at this point - were starting to let me know that I was no longer the young whipper-snapper I used to be. Still, this was a predicament of my own making, and I could see the end of the trail, so I pushed on. After all, if I didn't make it to the end this time, I'd have to come back and do it again some other time! Yep, I'm that stubborn.
I found this old hi-lift jack (left) and a winch anchor (right) as I continued my way up the old mining road.
For all the work that was done up here, for the hundreds of people that once carved rock out of this range, there was relatively little to show for it beyond the mining roads and trails that crisscrossed the rocky terrain. Whether this is a testament to the cleanup efforts or to the harsh environment, I had no idea, but I was excited to see a carved-out section of granite and wandered over to take a look.
What I'd discover was the entrance to a labyrinth that was more complex than I ever could have imagined. Again, recall that I had no idea - for the entirety of my hike - that this was a connected part of the mine I'd started at. And so, when I noticed a sturdy looking ladder that led down into the darkness, I figured, "why not?"
Doesn't look like much.
My way in. And - hopefully - out!
Given the size of the entrance, I assumed that there wouldn't be much to explore, but the tunnels I found myself in were tall and wide, and a series of branches and turns seemed to lead in all directions. Flashlight on, I choose a branch with ventilation and water piping and that headed down at a reasonably steep grade. What could possibly go wrong?
As on the surface, I didn't find much equipment in the tunnels, either. I have no idea what this thing is.
Soon, water began to drip from the ceiling, small rivulets running down the tunnel at my feet. At least I didn't need to worry about dust, I tried to reassure myself, as I wondered if I should turn around.
Shining my light into each branch, those along this section of tunnel seemed to extend only 10 feet or so, perhaps an indication that the workings here weren't as lucrative as elsewhere. And then, as I turned to my right, nothing. Just. Pure. Blackness. That gave me a good amount of pause, and after ensuring that I was on solid footing, I turned the flashlight beam to full, eventually illuminating the far wall of the most massive bottomless cavern I've ever seen.
The tunnel ended at a cylindrical cavern nearly 75 feet across, and deep enough that I couldn't see the top or bottom. I tossed in a rock and didn't hear anything for 12 seconds!
One metaphorical change of underwear later, I stacked a series of rocks so I could setup the camera for a long exposure and snapped the photo above. Then, I was done. There was no way I was wandering around alone in a place like this; it was time to find daylight. Knowing now that this was just a small part of the enormous Pine Creek Tungsten Mine (model above), I think it'd be fun to visit with someone who knows their way around, or who knows what they are doing. And with a few more changes of underwear.
At any rate, I soon found myself ascending the ladder that led me into this insanely large mine, where I continued toward the end of the trail.
The final climb, an old ore chute now disintegrating along the ridge.
At the top, I took a few minutes to soak in my accomplishment. And then, it was time to go down for a while.
Mt. Morgan towered even higher to the west.
Looking southeast along the ridge, toward Mt. Tom.
Due south, the Sierra unfolded below.
For all my complaining about hiking up, what I really dislike is going down. No matter how much work I do in conditioning my body and legs for hiking, it's hard - seemingly impossible if you ask me - to condition my joints for the descent. Still, this is a necessary element of any hike - should one want dinner at the end - so I popped three Advil into my bloodstream and set off toward the fork in the road, eventually arriving at the spot where I'd eaten lunch a few hours earlier.
It was time for the third half of my hike.
Looking up the adjacent valley to a small, unnamed lake below Lower Morgan Lake.
Heading up again - thankfully - I made good time along the definitely-not-as-steep trail that shuttled me toward the lakes and eventually to Morgan Pass. Knowing that I'd still have 8 miles of down once I reached Morgan Pass, I set a turnaround time in my head of 3:30pm, figuring I could cover the final couple of miles in the dark if need be. For now though, I enjoyed the mid-afternoon scenery of my surroundings, much lusher here than they'd been at the mine.
Silly me, here I thought the road hadn't been maintained the entire time.
Into the wilderness.
Golden grass.
If those walls could talk.
I arrived at Lower Morgan Lake a few minutes after 2:00pm and my first thought - given the hot afternoon sun, even at 11,000 feet - was, "boy, I should take a dip!" But then the responsible side of my brain kicked in and I remembered that I had places to be. I consoled myself that that a dip after I sweated my way up to the pass might be even nicer than taking one now, and after a few photos, I continued on.
Lower Morgan Lake.
But I want to jump in now!
Looking back down at the trail below. The visible set of switchbacks are the easy ones.
It turned out that of the two Morgan lakes, the Lower was much more picturesque than the Upper. In fact, Upper Morgan Lake seems to be a pool of water surrounded entirely by rocks and completely devoid of any real ambiance. I suppose it's cool in its own stark way, but it was not at all what I was expecting after the lush shoreline of the lower lakes in the chain.
Upper Morgan Lake.
Less than a quarter mile past the second lake was my ultimate destination: Morgan Pass. By now, I'd covered 10 miles of unforgiving terrain and I found myself glancing around for any helicopters that could surely offer a quick, pleasurable ride down. Unfortunately, I'd neglected to summon said transportation via the SOS button on my Garmin inReach Mini, so I was left with the same mode of transportation I'd grown accustomed to over the course of the day: one foot in front of the other.
Mt. Starr on the far side - for those of us who take the long way up - of Morgan Pass.
Headed back down, Upper Morgan Lake looked only a little more inviting than it had on the way up.
Lake residents. American Pika (top), Blue-gray taninger (bottom left, bottom right).
The trip down was a slog. I'd paid enough attention to my foot placement and leg alignment throughout the day that my joints weren't protesting yet, but the bottoms of my feet were an entirely different story. Even with thick hiking socks, the uneven terrain had taken a toll on my soles, and I knew it would only get more miserable as I got to the more difficult, rock-strewn switchbacks that marked the first three miles of trail. And yet, as I ticked off one mile after another, it seemed that mother nature knew of my suffering, and offered a plethora of new color - that I'd not noticed on the way up - to keep my mind focused on the beauty around me, rather than the discomfort underfoot.
A now-brilliant Mt. Tom was the light at the end of my tunnel vision.
Fall is here!
Layer upon layer of magic.
Ka-pow!
Kaleidoscope of color.
As the sun began its final descent toward the horizon, so I reached the old mining platform at the top of the aerial tramway to begin my final push down the mountain. My pace would slow here - as I picked my way over fallen rocks and through steep, loose gullies - but it didn't matter. I knew I'd experienced something special, and that my arrival in camp would be followed first by hot dogs and then by many hours of horizontal time to let my body recharge.
Final push.
All in, my activity measuring device would tell me I'd hiked 18.38 miles and climbed 6,714 vertical feet over the course of 12 hours and 17 minutes. That I'd done it all between 7,300 and 12,891 feet was lost in the details as I snapped one final photo of the Pine Creek Tungsten Mine before settling into a position that I'd maintain for nearly the same amount of time.
Pine Creek night.
And with that, the trip was underway.
The Whole Story
