Only a few minutes after reaching the end of the old road that leads up Lemoigne Canyon, we headed to bed. The weather overnight - with temps in the mid-50s °F and a very light breeze - couldn't have been more ideal. Sleep came quickly after our not-for-the-faint-of-heart trek up Pyramid Peak, and we heard Michael @Mr E30 and Stacy just as our alarm roused us the following morning.
First look at our surroundings.
Morning rays on an unnamed peak in the southern Cottonwood Mountains.
This canyon is named after Jean Lemoigne, a French prospector from the early mining days of Death Valley who discovered in it a small lead-silver deposit. It was not a fabulous lode by any means, but somehow it ended up being worked intermittently for about 90 years, longer than just about any other mine in the park. It didn't make Lemoigne rich, but it did make him famous. Well-educated and well-mannered, Lemoigne belonged to a different breed of prospectors, more attuned to the land than to publicity and material wealth. He pursued a different kind of wealth - a peaceful and unhurried life in the desert he loved.
Lemoigne was born in France around 1857 under the name of Jean Francois de Lamoignon. A colorful version of his tribulations claims that he came here around 1884 at the request of fellow countryman Isidore Daunet. Lemoigne was to supervise Daunet's Eagle Borax Works, on Death Valley's salt pan. The story goes that he arrived around the time Daunet committed suicide, and turned to working in local mines to support himself. Through the 1880s, after shedding his aristocratic name, Lemoigne became seriously involved in prospecting. In Europe he had been trained as a mining engineer, and although many prospectors fared well without a formal degree, Lemoigne did exceptionally well. For over a decade he prospected and mined all over eastern California and western Nevada. His name became associated with an impressive number of claims. His favorite was the silver-lead deposit in what is now Lemoigne Canyon, which he discovered in the mid-1880s. Although it contained mostly low-grade lead and little silver, Lemoigne liked to think it was the richest around, and he held on to it the rest of his life.
Our hiking route - while primarily to the mine - would convey us through four branches of the South Fork of Lemoigne Canyon; some 12 miles and 3,000 feet of elevation. Definitely not the day of rest our bodies desired!
Though I repeatedly called for someone to "Fetch my burro!" I ended up on foot like everyone else.
Hoping to find some historical inscriptions etched into the canyon walls by the miner who once called this place home, we set off on a now-lesser-traveled route toward the mine. This turned out to be a fantastic choice, as we were able to experience a narrow, eerie passage - the smooth white walls punctured with egg-shaped cavities and small arches - before the sun hit the soft basaltic pyroclastic rock, turning them a blinding bright.
Stacy making her way up.
The first historical signature we encountered was from a more recent - and still living today - visitor, Wild Bill. A common signature found around the Park.
Nearby, a couple older specimens, if the dates can be believed. I think they can.
Feb 29, 1920 Lone Pine Cal (left). | Hitchens 1860 (right).
Every now and then, as we followed the curvature of the canyon, the walls and elevations would align and allow us a peek of the valley below: the sun, spreading across the Grapevine Mountains, shadows retreating from the Mesquite Dunes.
Desert folds.
And then, above us, the sound of afterburners. They weren't close - unfortunately - but our close quarters amplified the roar as our eyes searched the sky in anticipation. I'm not sure who spotted them first, but a pair of F-16s were performing all manner of evasive maneuvers as they circled each other under a blanket of blue. I knew they were too far away to get anything useful from my 240mm lens, but that didn't keep my finger from depressing the shutter.
Dogfight!
Keeping our eyes peeled, it wasn't long before we ran into the two inscriptions we were after. It was fun to wonder about the origin of these markings, and why they were left. Surely anyone finding themselves here back in the day would have a sense of where they were going before wandering into the desert. Or maybe they didn't!
" ← Emegrant"
"J. LaMoigne →"
Hollowed-out high cliff.
More dune views.
Having reached an easy-to-summit saddle that would dump us back into the main branch of the South Fork of Lemoigne Canyon, we soon found ourselves in an entirely different terrain. Here, the canyon walls were higher and rougher, composed of dark dolomite that contrasted nicely with a warm reflected light on orange outcroppings. Our conversation continued easily through the striking wash, as our heads swiveled 360 degrees to soak it all in.
Marble chutes of blue.
Overlooks of orange.
What better place for an in-depth conversation about religion?
Pulled deeper and deeper into the Cottonwood Mountains.
Chocolate inclusions. (Technically, chert nodules.)
As we gained elevation, Joshua Trees began to creep down the hillsides toward the wash.
It wasn't yet 10:00am when Lemoigne's old cabin - and a newer one behind it - came into view. We'd covered a pleasant 3.5 miles by this point, and I was looking forward to poking around a place where so much Death Valley history had been born.
Plus, I'd heard that some of the workings - higher up on the hillside behind the cabins - extended all the way through the ridge to the other side. And dang, if I didn't want to walk in one adit entrance and out another into an entirely different canyon!
Doesn't say to keep out, so must be totally safe.
Lemoigne's cabin, an odd structure of stone masonry, boards, and corrugated metal, next to a large corrugated-metal house of more recent vintage.
Front yard with a view.
Lemoigne's cabin is a tiny one-room house, barely high enough for standing room. It is difficult to imagine anyone living in it for any length of time, yet Lemoigne apparently managed to make it livable - if not cozy - and reportedly stocked it with literature classics. Time is inexorably taking its toll. The back wall has collapsed and the cabin is filled with rubble.
A kind, generous, and hospitable man, Lemoigne entertained good relationships with other prospectors. He lived long enough to earn the respectable nickname of "Old John." When he died around 1919, alone with his burros near Salt Creek, he was probably still holding on to his dream - that he owned one of the largest silver-lead mines in the West.
The metal roof - while rusty - is still intact, its country of origin boldly painted across the undulating surface.
I've never seen a can opened like this; the opposite end still sealed. A liquid, obviously, extracted from the lower two holes; but what exactly, we'll never know.
All they need is a bit of oil and they'll be good as new.
There wasn't much to see in the rusty old cabin, so soon enough we turned our focus to the much newer structure that still gleamed a shiny silver just a couple dozen feet away. Even this cabin has seen better days. We got a kick out of how well the door was sealed, when not a single window remained, the sheet rocked walls were crumbling, and the floorboards were rotting away.
I thought the doorknob - installed sideways - was a fun touch. (left) | There's that name again - Wild Bill. (right)
We saw a lot of names we recognized in this book, even though it'd only been placed in April of 2021 (by Jeremy Stoltzfus, of course).
After a few minutes in the cabin, it was time to head up the hill. I'd marked three levels of workings, unsure which - if any - of them would go through. The first was easy enough to reach, the mine road continuing up behind the cabins before climbing out of the wash to a rather large adit.
Looking back as we gained elevation.
The higher we got, the better the view.
Plenty of room to stand in the lower adit, which branched and forked further and further into the hillside. There were thousands of feet of tunnel here.
During his long stay in the area, Lemoigne worked his mine just enough to satisfy his minimal needs. His claims were so remote that large scale development was unthinkable, yet he still thought about it. For a time, there was talk of a railroad extension to this isolated region to serve the copper mines of the Ubehebe Mining District and the gold mines in the Argus Range, but it never happened. During the feverish boom of Skidoo and Rhyolite, Lemoigne received respectable offers for his property, but none of them worked out. Some say he was offered payments by check, which he distrusted. Others argued that his asking price - up to $250,000 - was much too high. In all likelihood, he was more interested in mining than selling out. He waited for the best part of a quarter of a century for a good offer or a railroad, both of which he probably knew would have required nothing short of a miracle.
"Old John" Lemoigne's mine was not nearly as rich as he had loved to believe. Yet for nearly 60 years after his death many hopefuls relocated, leased, bonded, bought, and explored his claims. The mine's heyday was the 1920s, when two local men, W. R. McCrea and John Reilly, leased the property, hit the richest vein yet, then bought it and organized the Buckhorn Humboldt Mining Company. For a change, Old John's quiet hideout was hopping. The canyon road was built around then to connect the mine to the Trona-Beatty road. The activity attracted the attention of as many as 10 leasers, who worked on adjacent claims. The Buckhorn Humboldt worked its rich ledge, and later on opened a second mining area deeper in the south fork. Two trucks left the mine every day, hauling ore 50 miles to Beatty. Around 150 tons were shipped in 1925, and 80 tons in 1927, most of it fairly rich.
The spirits of old miners still roam these corridors in search of riches.
The high-grade lode was too small to last. With trucking costs alone running as high as $18 per ton, mining the extensive lower grade deposits that remained was unprofitable. When operations were discontinued around 1928, the total return was only $20,000. The Buckhorn Humboldt held on through 1948, but it was idle most of the time. Further work was carried out in 1953, in the early 1960s, and finally in the mid-1970s. All these attempts did not even double the 1920s production. Had Old John not been so attached to his mine, he would have made a fortune selling a few high-grade pockets that prospective buyers were convinced was the legendary Lost Gunsight Lode.
Ultimately, the lowest level of the mine didn't lead through the mountain, so we climbed - straight up the scree-covered hillside, since there was no old foot trail to be found - to the higher levels, where smaller workings spilled out of the mountains.
The middle level adit ended at a vertical shaft. Down to the lower level we'd just explored, and up to... daylight spilling in from the other side of the ridge!
The uppermost level accessed the top of the vertical shaft, above the intersection with the adit from the neighboring canyon.
Eager - but unwilling, since even I have my safety limits - to climb the ladder that would lead us through the rock to the adjacent canyon, we spotted an old miner's trail leading away from the upper level, and over the ridge. Following it, we were soon wandering in from the other side, Michael and I had grins on our faces at the thought of tunneling all the way through a mountain!
This ladder - and another across the wooden trestle - led to the vertical shaft, and the ladders we'd seen from the other side. (left) | An old drill bit, just waiting to be put to work. (right)
Back outside, we rejoined Stacy and @mrs.turbodb who were admiring an old winch - powered by a gasoline engine perched at the mouth of the adit and above an old ore bin. A steep line of rail - only about half of which remains - once supported the ore carts that were hauled up and down by the old machine.
The clutch, brake, and safety caul were all still operational. Alas, a lack of fuel and no battery kept us from firing it up and making our millions.
The good stuff got lowered down, while the waste rock was transported 50 feet away and dumped down the hillside.
By now it was just after noon, and with a fourth branch of the South Fork of Lemoigne Canyon to explore - plus a wagon to find somewhere along the old road - we knew it was time to get going. That meant finding a way down the steep hillside, or retracing our steps to the equally-steep route we'd taken on the way up.
The old rail leading to the ore bin made our decision to descend the western slopes an obvious choice, since we could use it for stabilization.
The ore bin was still in reasonably good shape.
Back down off the slippery stuff and with our feet on firm ground on the bottom of the wash, we headed down-canyon - or down another canyon - toward the final branch I'd wanted to explore. I didn't know if it'd contain anything worthwhile - and I was almost ready to suggest that we skip it in favor of searching for the wagon a bit closer to camp - but in the end, the usual excuse of "we're here now, and may never be back, so we might as well go see," won out!
One more place to go explore.
It was only half a mile or so to a 50-foot dry fall that marked the end of the canyon for the four of us on this particular day. There appeared to be a reasonably straight-forward bypass on the left side of the dry fall, and the younger couple - a couple of seasoned canyoneers - would have loved teaching the older two how to repel down the face, but instead we busied ourselves by poking around the small grouping of workings that we discovered along the base of the canyon wall.
Now what?
Wheellessbarrow.
What is this thing? Slightly conical, with threads on the narrow end of the "cone." It was solid steel, very heavy, but seemed too small to be any sort of mill stamp.
Nothing here was as interesting as the adits we'd poked around in earlier, so after just a few minutes we gathered up our things for the 4-mile trek back to the Tacomas. Much of this descent was new to us - we'd come up canyon via a different branch, and it was fun to enjoy several fantastic new sights on the way down.
Majestic canyon walls.
Colorful constrictions.
I've started to notice more and more pygmy cedar throughout the park, and they're always so brilliantly green.
By the time we got back to the Tacomas, it was nearly 4:00pm. With sunset less than 45 minutes away, our post-hike recovery was postponed and we pressed ourselves into our seats, bombing our way down the reasonably rough road. Above us, the sky transitioned from blue to gray - as the sun dropped behind the Cottonwood Mountains to our west - before brightening again with a barrage of pinks and purples.
Early evening in the desert.
And then we were on foot again, walking a grid across the alluvial fan, searching for a dilapidated wagon. One once piloted by Lemoigne himself, his burros straining under the load.
Stacy was the one who found it first, somehow spotting it from a position that seemed nearly impossible. Soon, we were all standing around, pointing at this bit and that, marveling at the marriage of metal and wood that at one time made travel so much easier, and yet, was most certainly more difficult than our methods today.
Lemoigne's wagon.
No longer serviceable.
The story goes that Harry Gower - a Borax miner, and friend of Lemoigne - left it in its current location after Lemoigne's death, to keep it safe from looters.
Brake arm ratchet and lever assembly.
20-spoke hubs.
Flush with success - or was that heat stroke from covering nearly 25 miles and 6,700 feet of elevation in two days? - we headed back into our Tacomas, ready to set off toward the next mornings' adventures. Unfortunately, those adventures were not in the same place, and it was with smiles and hugs that we bid each other safe travels and a warm farewell.
Who knew that - in less than 48 hours - we'd have found another couple so similar in style? Perhaps I shouldn't be surprised. Some of my best buds were acquired the same way, kind enough to let me tag along on my very first adventure back in 2017. This seems to be the way it goes with me and the random folks I meet on the internet. Or at least the ones that own Tacomas 
; they all seem to be a pretty cool crowd!
Soon, we were driving into the night. Our hike the next day was only 11 miles away as the crow flies, but @mrs.turbodb and I had a long distance to travel to get there.
The Whole Story
Great article & photos, I really enjoyed it as many years ago before the park was expanded we had a groupe of 4 or 5 Jeeps explored Lemoigne canyon as far as the trail went. I have no idea as to what fork the road was in. The nextime we wanted to exploer some more the road was closed.
I also had the pleasure of meeting Wild Bill two different times. The 1st time he was living at Russels cabin & the 2nd time he was living at a ranger station that I think was on the way in to the charcole kilns. He was very plesent & helpful both times.
Thank you again!