Wiggly Slots of O'Brien Canyon | Following Giants #8

A few weeks earlier - as we'd thoroughly enjoyed our hike through the upper 7 miles of Bighorn Gorge - we'd known that a return trip through O'Brien Canyon was an option. In fact, based on a description I'd found in what we lovingly refer to as the Death Valley Bible, I'd planned for us to return via this alternate route.

The thrilling part of this little-known place is its superb narrows about 2 miles down from the [Silver Crown] mine. For several hundred yards the canyon squeezes through a series of tight passages, shaded underworlds of slick bedrock, faceted chutes, chockstones, and wiggly slots confined between high polished walls. One of the falls, crowned by a huge boulder, requires a precarious bypass high on the south side.
Hiking Death Valley

Unfortunately, as the hours ticked by - and with many miles left to complete Bighorn Gorge - it became increasingly clear that risking a precarious bypass might not be the best of ideas after trekking 12 miles through a remote canyon. And so, we left it for another time.

Now!

Lucky for us, access to O'Brien Canyon is via White Top Mountain and the roads originally serving the Silver Crown Mine, so after winding our way along a narrow two-track in the Cottonwood Mountains, we found ourselves at a trailhead much like the one that'd led us into Bighorn Gorge. We hope the rewards would be as grand.

Not many people come this way.

After grabbing our stuff - lunch fixings, camera gear, sunscreen, and a few location finding devices - we set off into the canyon. From the get-go, it was familiar, with pinyon pine and dry falls decorating the upper elevations.

Plenty to look at, but not so dense as to impede progress.

Ultimately, hiking through the upper drainage here turned out to be much easier - and quicker - than Bighorn Gorge. "Why," we wondered to each other, "did Digonnet not make this the 'main' route for his hike?"

Thinking out loud, I reasoned that there aren't many canyons in Death Valley that one can hike completely - from the valley floor to the head of the drainage - thus making the ability to do so with Bighorn Gorge irresistible to a man who never turns down the opportunity to hike a road that could be driven, if only to prolong his time in the desert!

Less than an hour after our departure, we were nearing the narrows, as the canyon walls rose around us.

Sunstar.

A Mojave Mound Cactus?

After another half hour of wandering - most of it spent wondering, "are we in the narrows already?" - we poured ourselves over a 12-foot dry fall and into an entirely new world of cool stone and polished walls.

To answer our previous ponderings - no, we had not been in the narrows!

I always love how the light and rocks play together in a place like this.

Bathed in blue.

Within moments, my hiking companion disappeared. Whether it was around a corner, over a fall, of through a wiggly slot, @mrs.turbodb was way ahead of me. Or, more likely, the constant clicking of my camera meant that I was way behind her. No matter, I knew we'd be reunited once she found the precarious bypass that'd precluded our enjoyment of this place a few weeks earlier.

Whether on the walls (left) or over slick dry falls (right), I love the dichotomy of blue and orange that Death Valley's canyons reveal to those who revel in their passages.

Captured chockstone.

Tight turn.

The length of the narrows in O'Brien Canyon was impressive. For more than 15 minutes, we wandered our way through tight passages, and over faceted chutes. We climbed around chockstones, wormed our way through wiggly slots confined between high polished walls.

An owl - rodent in tow - glided by gracefully over heads.

Eventually - my moving pace just fast enough to overcome my just-one-more-picture-I-promise pace - I caught my companion as she approached the fall that might turn us around.

I spotted the bypass. Steep, yes, but precarious? Not really.

Still, as we peaked over the edge of the chockstone, I thought, "That doesn't look so bad." And, as though I was decades younger than I actually am, "I bet I could climb that."

So, that's what I did.

@mrs.turbodb at the top of the fall. Queen of the chockstone.

Usually, I find that up is easier than down in climbing situations, but we both knew that this particular instance was going to buck the trend.

I don't know if it was the mass of footsteps below the fall and lack of footsteps above the fall, or the absolute grace with which I'd bumbled my way beyond the blockage, whatever the reason, @mrs.turbodb was content to wait right where she was as I explored the last few hundred feet of the narrows.

So, as I stood there hoping that "up" would be attainable, she handed down my pack - which she'd kindly held in case I'd taken a tumble as I bridged my way down - and we powered up our radios.

A wide spot, the lego-like strata stretching into the sky.

Suddenly, things got tight again, though not quite as high as before.

And with that, I was out, the wash widening once again as it worked its way toward Bighorn Gorge.

Working my way back up to the chockstone, the next trick was going to be finding a way up. An easy task if not for gravity and overconfidence. I started by delaying my climb, so I could hand my gear back up to @mrs.turbodb.

Now - with all the lunch fixings on the "up" side of the fall, and my stomach growling - I had no choice but to bridge myself between the walls and wonder why I'd made the decision to descend in the first place. Ultimately though, I was successful, and soon we found a sliver of sun where we could enjoy freshly made PB&J sandwiches before enjoying the wiggly slots a second time.

Just before we sat down to eat lunch, I spotted this fossilized barnacle, clinging forever to its home.
(or, is it just an inclusion?)

The trip back up through the narrows was just as enjoyable as the trip down. Perhaps more so without worry that we'd find part of it to be impassable.

Eventually, we transitioned out of the narrows and back into the upper drainage.

It was 2:00pm on our seventh day of following those that we consider to be giants through Death Valley as we trudged our way toward the Tacoma. Our legs - by this point, the consistency of Jello - seemed to sink into the sandy surface of the wash. Like climbing a sand dune - albeit one two miles long and 1,500 feet tall - every step up was a workout.

Digonnet-style, I'd considered parking the Tacoma a quarter mile from the trailhead. Thank goodness cooler minds - in the passenger seat - prevailed.

Thank goodness for seats. Time to go home.

It'd been another glorious trip in the park. Longer than most but still leaving us hungry for more. After, that is, a few well-deserved showers.

 

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