We had no idea what sort of controversy we were about to stir up as we worked the Tacoma up the road-turned-wash-turned-road-turned-wash that is ███████ Canyon at the northern end of the Nadeau Trail.
Somehow - since I'm usually one to visit any cabins along a route I take, and we've driven the Nadeau Trail in the past - this was entirely new terrain for us, and I was looking forward to checking out a cabin and its associated mining operations.
Luckily, while the drive up the wash was an exercise in route-finding, it wasn't anything difficult for the Tacoma, which looked right at home amongst the seemingly pinstriped canyon walls.
Pro tip: pinstripes can hide a lot of imperfections in your paint.
Rather than drive to the cabin and then hoof-it the final half mile to the mining apparatus that we could see a little further up the canyon, we kept our butts firmly planted in our seats and engaged in a bit more American Hiking™, the skinny pedal doing all the work. This didn't get us there any faster, but it did burn more fuel unnecessarily, so we definitely upheld the stereotype.
It was a pretty cool ore bin. Clinging to the northerly bank of the wash, I had assumed that the mine would be somewhere up the hillside behind it. On the contrary, because this was the lower terminal of an aerial tramway, ore was lowered down from the south side of the canyon, over the wash, and dumped into the ore bin!
At the lower ore bin. (left) | The ore bin was also an undercover aerial tram terminal. (right)
With sunlight fading - and because I wanted to look around the cabin a bit before it got dark - I didn't spend too long looking at the ore bin. Still, I was bested by @mrs.turbodb, who, given the 73 feet necessary to walk over to it, didn't spend any time at all; instead, she opting to stay firmly planted in the American Hiking position, reading a book.
But not everything has to be a competition (unless I win) and soon we were headed back down the wash to check out our digs for the night.
First order of business, raise the stars and stripes.
The cabin itself seemed to be in reasonably good shape. The inside was relatively clean, and the walls had a fresh coat of white paint. This - we would discover - was part of the controversy, but at an initial glance, it certainly brightened up the place.
Unfortunately, the relative cleanliness did not extend beyond the interior cabin walls. In fact, the outside of the place was a mess. It seems that this was largely the handiwork of the self-designated "New Friends of the ███████ Cabin" who - only a few months earlier - had come up and completely ignored backcountry cabin etiquette.
The work done inside was a little misleading.
As part of "cleaning the place up," they'd simply thrown anything in the cabin that they'd considered to be trash into a shed behind the cabin. Completely open to the elements, it had obviously become rodent central, not to mention the fact that a good amount was spilling out the doorway and through the window frames, then free to be blown around the desert. This general trashiness also led to others treating the area the same way, and there were innumerable shell casings and dozens of beer cans, plastic bottles, and other miscellaneous trash scattered about the property.
Not only that, but we'd later discover that the painting that the "New Friends" had done was not only unapproved as part of the Adopt-a-Cabin program, but was unwelcome by the community that has long-maintained the cabin.
But even that wasn't the kicker. In an act of pure douchery, the guys who'd done all this work decided that they'd let everyone know just how self-centered they were, leaving a note on the wall that they now felt as though the cabin was essentially theirs.
"We get cabin priority." - Luke and Damen
Some predictable on-wall arguing ensued, and at the end of it all, I'd say that everyone came out looking pretty childish. One of the great things I've always found about the desert is that - perhaps due to the unforgiving environment - folks are generally there to help each other in any way they can; everyone trying to leave everything just a little bit nicer than they found it for the next guy to enjoy. Hopefully the literal writing on the wall isn't an indication that social media entitlement and mannerlessness is replacing well-seasoned desert etiquette; though that would certainly mirror the somewhat sad state of the world we find ourselves in these days.
I've never had to leave a note like that before.
The cabin log was in terrible shape - mildew-infested and gross enough that I washed my hands and pen after I archived it in its entirety, from 2002 to the Mar 2026.
Trying to put all my disappointment in the bickering out of my mind, I set about deployment of our AirRTT, and @mrs.turbodb got started on dinner. Because nothing raises the spirits like some tasty guacamole!
A breeze every now and then unfurled the flag, a reminder that we should all be in this together, and for each other.
As usual, dinner was tasty, and afterwards I even got to indulge in half a piece of lemon cake, sweeter than ever having been stiffed earlier in the day. Then, we spent an hour or so in the Tacoma - me transferring photos onto the computer, @mrs.turbodb dutifully grading the piles of math tutoring homework that she inflicts on herself and her students. By 7:30pm we were both nodding off in our seats, so we quickly brushed our teeth and climbed into bed.
The following morning…
Sleep came easy once again, but unlike the previous morning, we were up bright an early. It was the last day of our trip, and we needed to be on our way east by noon in order to attend a quick meetup with a few other Death Valley aficionados before heading back to Las Vegas for our flight home.
Before all that, though, we had one final hike - to the workings of the ████████ Mine - that we wanted to accomplish.
Very comfortable bedding. 10/10 experience. Would stay in this AirRTT again.
Located less than a mile away - but 1,000 feet up - the workings of the mine were the reason this cabin existed in the first place. Here, not all that long ago, men toiled long hours in extreme conditions to extract shiny metal from the mountains, send it down the aerial tramway, and eventually to a mill for processing.
So, after grabbing some warm clothes - it was a chilly, windy morning - we commenced our search for the old mining trail. I'd spotted bits of it on Google Earth, but even so we had to improvise the bottom third of the route before finding a well-worn path over the unforgiving terrain. As expected, the ever-increasing elevation made for a rather delectable views.
Up we go, through a wonderland of rocks.
Excuse me while I bend some stone.
Surprisingly, the higher we got, the better shape the trail was in.
Even with the elevation and trail finding, the relatively short trail meant that we arrived at the workings after only 50 minutes of putting one foot in front of the other. Right away, things were much more interesting than I'd imagined. Rather than a single small adit, there were half-a-dozen well-defined holes in the ground. And there, clinging to the hillside, was the upper terminal of the aerial tramway!
If only the zipline to the bottom terminal was still installed!
Looking rather precarious. Would still ride zipline.
Looking more closely at the construction, this was likely a gravity-operated aerial tram. As the loaded ore cart at the top traveled down to the lower terminal, it would pull the empty - and therefore lighter - ore cart at the lower terminal up to the top.
Two top wheels. I think this was so they could increase the distance between the steel cables - making more room for the ore carts - without having to carry a single enormous wheel up to the top tram tower.
A long way down.
Located in 1941 by Jesse L. Osborne and Sam Slater, the mine consists of three unpatented claims owned at present (as of 1963) by A. L. Foss and Marie Osborne Keck of Beverly Hills, California. Consisting of nearly 1,600 feet of underground workings - principally on the main level and on the 50-feet level - it was rather successful for its size.
Between 1942 and 1951, 940 tons of ore were shipped, averaging 29.6 percent lead, 24.4 ounces of silver per ton, and 0.08 ounce of gold per ton. The miners even made a 35-ton shipment of Zinc in 1945 when they hit an especially rich vein of the material.
The mine was worth roughly $100,000 at the time it operated — a respectable sum at the time, with silver being the dominant value driver, accounting for 68% of the value, and roughly equivalent to about $1.2 million in today's dollars just from inflation alone.
But precious metal prices have risen much faster than inflation. Had the Osbornes waited to mine the same ore bodies, today they would be worth nearly $2.84 million. Either way, well worth the trek from the cabin!
Economic Geology of the Panamint Butte Quadrangle and Modoc District
After checking out the tram, it was time to investigate the workings. Really, @mrs.turbodb was way ahead of me in this regard, as billy-goating up and down the hillside on which the terminal sat wasn’t really her idea of a good time. And so, having poked her head into several of the adits, she gave me the low-down on which I’d be most interested in: all of them!
Scouting.
The main working. Definitely looks safe.
Inside the main working. Danger sign. Probably still pretty safe. Closer read of danger sign: “STOP! BLASTING CAPS ALL OVER FLOOR!” Hmm, definitely not safe.
Another entrance - with rails - to the main level. (left) | More “not safe.” (right)
Not sure who this RAF guy (left) is. But safe to say he was probably tall. (right)
Some cool mining artifacts that are all identifiable, and yet their function remained a complete mystery.
Anyone need a twist tie?
Wandering around a relatively small mine site like this one for an hour doesn’t seem like much time to me, but apparently my sense of “not much” isn’t in line with the rest of humanity. My problem, of course, is that just when I announce that I’m ready to go, I look down on the ground and see “one last thing” just begging to be noticed. After the third - or fourth - “one last thing,” it was finally time to go.
Not wanting to be left for lost to desert, I pulled myself away and hurried down the trail to find my hiking companion.
Argus view.
We were back in camp by 10:45am, and after carefully folding the flag and returning it to the cabin, we headed out of the canyon toward the northernmost stretch of the Nadeau Trail. Here, just as at the southern end, Nadeau wasn’t going to let some desert dictate the right path.
Straight as an arrow across the alluvial fan, what could possibly go wrong?
Reaching CA-190 as it crossed the Panamint Valley playa, we aired up the tires and put a final jerry can of fuel into the tank. Enough to get us all the way back to Las Vegas, we’d had one stop along the way.
Somehow a motley group of Death Valley enthusiasts - all members of an online forum dedicated to the place - had managed to coordinate a meetup in Stovepipe Wells. For many of us, it was the first time meeting in person, a strange feeling after conversing via keyboard over the course of many years.
By the end of the evening, seven folks pulled chairs up to the table. Greetings were made, smiles and stories shared. It was a great time, most certainly worth doing again. We have to really, since we completely forgot to take any photos at all!
Eventually though, we said our goodbyes, each of us going a different way into the desert.
Passing under the watchful eye of Corkscrew Peak on our way back to Las Vegas, a yellow blanket unfolded across the Death Valley floor.
The Whole Story
IMHO—and that probably doesn’t mean much—the formal, and especially the informal, Adopt-A-Cabin program has been a failure. Sure, it kept a lot of structures from collapsing due to neglect. But in many cases, where historic, iconic cabins once stood, we now have garish weekend getaways.
Crude additions get tacked on, backwoods plumbing shows up—hot water heaters, radios, solar setups… the list goes on. None of that ever served the hard-working men and women who originally lived in those cabins, and it has no business being there now.
Honestly, I’d rather see a collapsed, untouched cabin and get a real sense of how people lived, than wade through shell casings and liquor bottles just to look at the “hantavirus hotels” that city folks have turned them into for Friday-to-Sunday comfort.
"Comfort" is an interesting way to put it. I always feel more comfortable outside the cabins - in my own tent or under the stars. Maybe that's just my echoing your vote to be respectful of these places let them be. A little repair now and then to re-affix a roof panel or seal up a door seems fine, but there's little point in trying to turn them into AirBnBs, IMO.
In my early exploring days I only had the two-door Jeep, so I either slept outside or tried to grab a cabin. I’ve stayed in just about all of them that are even slightly habitable, including this one several times.
On my first trip there, the “road” in was brutal—much worse than it is now. I rolled in right at sunset, got my gear inside, and set up Starlink for the first time in the field. While I was making dinner, a fat mouse jumped from a shelf onto the stove and then disappeared inside it. I thought about leaving, but it had already started snowing. I never saw him again, but after a couple drinks I had some pretty wild dreams about rodents crawling all over me.
I’ve actually been run out of a cabin in the Nelson Range by mice before and had to sleep outside. These days I rarely use cabins unless I have to.
Another time, my brother and I ended up staying there because of an unplanned situation. The place was in worse shape than I’d seen it in a while, so we got to work cleaning it up and folded down the table. It looked like a big coffee stain—but rodents don’t drink coffee. We used every bit of cleaning gear I had with me.
ok, no paint.
i will tell you what i found
I will say; lets not waste a nice report with mean comments.Like you, i do not like the message on the wall. We should be there in 2 weeks and will bring a can of spray paint.
I think they were trying to do a good thing but fell short.
these aerial cables are something . I can imaging the bags(?) of ore comming down. I worked on a log cable system but i bet this one did not slow down for loading.
Cheers
Have fun out there!
The white paint looks terrible compared to the natural wood, which was in good condition and had been there for years. On top of that, it was done without any authorization.
I’d strongly advise against doing any additional painting, especially if the graffiti is still present. Photos were sent to BLM over a month ago, and they said they would investigate. I’m not sure if they’ve been out yet or how long that process takes.
There is a group planning to try and work with BLM to remove the boards and flip them to restore the natural wood look, but I don’t know if or when that will actually happen.
I’d be interested to hear what you find if you head out there—whether there are any signs, notices from BLM, or anything else.
I hauled out two bags of trash while I was there, which was all I could carry at the time. It didn’t make much of a dent.
Your comment in the visitor log was perfect, Dan. Childish!
BTW, I would disagree with DUGeFresh on painting over the graffiti. His point is good, but graffitti invites more of it, sadly.
BLM may still want to see it with their own eyes and painting in a back country use cabin requires authorization. I say let the process play out.
Can't wait to go mop the floors so I can claim priority too.
lol, exactly. I mean, doing a bunch of work is great, and I’m sure that if you were the person that did that… and if you showed up when someone else was there, that they would be happy to share and thank you for your work. …but when they find out that you wrote that crap on the wall? Nah.
Was the door still locked it was supposed to be removed please let me know thanks
front door was locked, but we were able to get in the back door. Left the front door unlocked, because who locks the cabin door?
Interesting, I was there the next day and the front door was again locked. I wonder if it's a weird self locking set up or one of of the care takers crawled out from under a rock to relock it?
I've been visiting that site since before Joel Briggs and Co. put the new roof on. That was during the heyday of the "Adopt a Cabin" program back in the 1990's. Briggs once brought and set up a coal stove in there and provided sacks of coal to burn. There was a steel locking donation pedestal out front where one could slip a few bucks in towards more coal and general upkeep if they were of a mind to. The BLM didn't like it and ordered it removed (the donation pedestal..the coal stove was replaced by a wood stove later). Even then no one had priority, not even Joel, the prime mover and shaker. Everyone was expected to get along and figure out accomodations, much like the bothy system in Europe where no one can be turned away, but of course first come-first served on bunk space. If you got there late and got the floor, or didn't like the party going on, it was incumbent upon you to seek more suitable accommodations. Eventually Joel Briggs and the BLM parted ways, which is why so many little projects remained unfinished. I will say that the "road" up to the place was utterly atrocious in those days. Most of the time it seemed you were just overlanding over boulders. I had mapping software and a gps on a laptop back then to just try and locate the two track and then try to stay on it. So in those days it was unlikely anyone else was going to show up while you were there. Indeed, I've overnighted there many, many times, and have never seen another soul who wasn't already with me when we got there.
About 2005 the Official at that time Adopt-A-Cabin" crew did a lot of work on the cabin. The BLM furnished a BBQ pit, fencing material, etc. We then had to remove a lot of stuff because the cabin is just on the Wilderness line. I was part of that crew. The MInnietta Cabin was the first and flag ship cabin of that 35 cabin program started by Wilderness Ranger Steve Smith
They must have cleaned the cabin up recently, we have been there many times over the years and in 2024 we had to make our own road up the canyon as the road bed was all washed away , the cabin was a mess and hundreds of mice , literally everywhere. the out house was still in great shape , we were there the year the out house was built and added the wood stick pull handle on the door , as there was none.
Yep, the road is still gone for the last mile or so to the cabin; was a slow grind up the wash for us too!
Interesting how one comment can cause such discourse. Each of us has our opinion on a vast number of subjects, each believing they are correct in their thinking.
So I will add my 2¢, IMO I prefer to see the miners/homesteaders cabins left alone as part of history. Unless it is on private property, we have no business altering history.
All the cabins in the Owyhee mountain range of Idaho and Oregon are left to the weather and the mice. I stand there wondering what life was like in their day. Extremely hard work and survival to see a new day to provide for their family.
Let your mind wander to days gone by and experience in your thoughts how you would have survived and the drive that kept you there.
I had in-laws in Arock, Oregon, who homesteaded there and all they knew was work from sunup to sundown, building corrals and fences out of lava rock. Day in and day out, all they knew was hard work. They raised their families there and all the kids learned the importance of hard work and caring for their neighbors.
Don't let one insignificant comment cause division among the people. Agree to disagree, as we cannot change a person's thought process, but sometimes just shake our head and wonder, "what the hell are you thinking," and then chuckle and move on.
We all have too many explorations to enjoy in nature to let a simple minded person take away from that. Now at 78 years old, I am just getting into overlanding and I am so excited to see nature in a new way. With the help of others, I am learning the ropes and especially from one friend whom you all know and needs no introduction, thanks, Dan.
Hope to see some of you on the trail!
God Bless!
Kenny
Great report Dan -)
If I may chime in... I'm with DUGeFresh on this one. Seems the "ownership" thing has gone pretty far, to the extent that some of the more "known" cabins (e.g. the ones across the valley) are occupied way more than ever before. Personally, cabins are great to sit on the front porch, have a beer, and read the log book. But staying inside is NOT my way of dong it.
I have fantasized about building my own cabin, somewhere in BLM land, but that dream is just that. Especially since I live on the coast. From what i have seen, the "freedom" of getting to a cabin and partying your ass off also includes the "freedom" of chucking all your trash and gun shells all over the grounds. Whenever I make note of this in the cabin log book, I get heckled as a "boomer." Yay.