Glass Mountain Adobe Valley Pizona Truman Meadows Toyota Tacoma Garmin Bodie Lumber & Railway wild horses

Trips:

Trip 2007G - Red Rocks, No Sleep, Glass, Adobe, Still No Sleep, Mr. Ed, and All Those %$#@&!!! Rocks:

Red Rock, Glass Mountain, Adobe Meadows, Pizona, Truman Meadows

Mono County, California and Mineral County, Nevada

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Friday, May 25^th started off as any other work day. Except this day I drove my car instead of my truck to work, as my truck was loaded with my camping gear. Because as soon as I completed my work rounds, I was looking forward to tossing a few fresh food items, ice, beer and wine into the ice chest, and taking off on a reconnoiter.

Our route was ultimately to be a tight oblong loop north extending northward a bit more than 60 miles out from my home that would include some interesting territory of high mountains and relatively high sagebrush and piñon pine forested territory that would straddle the California and Nevada state line. These trails and roads included would be those that are in the backyard of Graham C. and myself, yet these roads were new to us; ones that we always thought would lead to interesting sights to see and explore, yet we never had to date taken the time to go out and see them for ourselves.

The route that Graham and I took can be duplicated by most any stock 4x4 or truck based SUV. I would not recommend the route from Pizona, through Truman Meadows and down to US6 if your vehicle is low slung, unprotected underneath, does not have LT rated tires or you value your paint job.

Herewith is our travels Memorial Day, 2007.

The weather was forecasted to cooperate with our plans, although forest fires on the western slopes of the Sierra Nevada was pumping a steady stream of smoke into the region, obscuring the most distant views somewhat. The temperature at Big Pine as we left was reading 85° and it was sunny, breezy and pleasant.

Unlike our snowy adventure in central Nevada during Memorial Day of 2006, the bleak and weak snows of winter 2006/2007 were already spent and long gone by a too warm springtime, and so snow was no issue this Memorial Day.

My Garmin was set up to guide us south to north first along the Glass Mountain Ridge from the western side using US395 and Benton Crossing Road ² to access the area. However, some last minute discussion between Graham and I on our FRS 2-way radios changed our loose first day plans for some wilder country, maximizing dirt road travel. So we set our sites east of Glass Mountain Ridge to gain a scenic campsite for the night; not knowing what we'd find or where we'd camp, but we knew we'd know when we found it.

Fish Slough Road parallels US6 two to three miles to the west, going through a historic cleft in the Volcanic Tableland that forms the southern slopes of the high country of Casa Diablo and Glass Mountain north of Bishop. For as many decades as I've lived in this area, I've previously ignored this route and so it would be the first time that either Graham or I had taken it. The Fish Slough Road area is also historic in the region, with human roots that go back to the Native Americans that hunted and migrated throughout this region rich in resources to their daily needs. They left behind their chronicles – instead of paper and pen, they chiseled their communications into the relatively soft volcanic rocks. Graham and I chose this route to gain the east side of Glass Mountain Ridge via this route.

We continued our reconnoiter at 5:09 PM, riding along the mildly washboarded, maintained dirt road. At a point 3.5 miles north of the end of the pavement, Fish Slough Road passes from Inyo County into Mono County through a wide, gassy meadowland; filled with large trees, reedy marshes and plenty of birdlife.

At a point 13.4 miles from where Graham and I left US6 just north of Bishop (36.5 miles from my home), we dropped into the lower reaches of Chidago Canyon. Here at a location I've not seen before, is a “newspaper” of sorts. Petroglyph covered Newspaper Rock stands alongside the road, unsigned except for a split rail wooden fence with stone columns that separates the petroglyph covered stones from a pullout and the roadway. I took a reading on my GPS and noted these along with the elevation of 4,439 feet. This was the first time either of us became aware of and had seen these petroglyphs, although both of us knew about and have visited those further north. ⁴

At 5:41 PM, Graham, Toby and I continued our travels north. North of Chidago Canyon the route stays atop the Volcanic Tableland in open sagebrush country, the scene dominated by the looming White Mountains to our right (eastward) and the rising countryside of Casa Diablo Mountain to our left (westward); a few peeks at the higher summits of the Sierra Nevada could be seen over the intervening country. The road remained freshly bladed.

At a point 19.7 miles after leaving US6 (and 43.2 miles from my home) we turned west onto Chidago Canyon Road, which comes in from US6 in Hammil Valley to the east and crosses Fish Slough Road. ⁵ This particular road I've taken numerous times, and Graham had also ridden with me through the canyon some years previously before he moved here. Chidago Canyon Road does not start out in Chidago Canyon, located farther south; but instead runs west up the relatively gentle slope of the Volcanic Tableland for 1.7 miles, then enters the narrow slot of Red Rock Canyon. ⁶ Red Rock Canyon is a shallow but narrow slot – one that would not be a nice place to meet head-on a wall of raging water in a flashflood! It's red coloring comes out brilliantly in lighting situations near sunrise or sunset. However, during the late afternoon timing that Graham and were traveling through, the sun was right in our eyes and dirty windshields; obscuring the beauty of the canyon except for our getting out of our respective trucks for a photo op.

The narrow slot of Red Rock Canyon runs a bit more than a mile and a third and is barely wider than the roadway through it. It's generally 50 feet deep or less. Beyond, the canyon widens out a bit but becomes steeper as the road looks for an exit and the canyon butts up against the southern end of Banner Ridge. High voltage power lines with steel girder towers are passed under and soon Chidago Canyon Road meets up with signed Morris Mine Road 4.8 miles above where we turned onto Chidago Canyon Road. The immediate countryside is at an elevation above 6,500 feet.

By this time it was past 6:00 PM and it was time to look for a nice place to camp. We decided against continuing ahead as the elevations increase, meaning a definite temperature decrease overnight. Graham and I enjoy maximum evening sunlight, and the eastern sloping guaranteed the earliest possible sunrise over the White Mountains the following morning. So we turned south onto Morris Mine Road and my eyes started searching out a level spot in which to plant our Tacomas for the night.

At the edge of the tableland I selected a level and open spot to set up our camp. My GPS showed our coordinates at N37° 40’ 33.3”, W118° 30’ 11.5” ⁷, an elevation of 6,663 feet above sea level, and my trip odometer read that we had traversed 50.1 miles since leaving my home.

The view eastward from our camp took in a 90° sweep north to south along the White Mountains and down into Owens Valley; with Bishop and Big Pine plainly visible southward. To the west was the southern slopes of Banner Ridge with the Sierra Nevada poking out from behind in the distance. Due to the smoky haze from distant forest fires, views south of Big Pine were for the most part obscured.

I was pleased to find that I got a good cell phone signal at our campsite, so I was able to call my wife and let her know that I was still alive. ⁸

As Graham and I were removing odds and ends from our respective trucks to ready our campsites, something or many somethings got into Graham's hair and started biting. Within seconds, his scalp was filled with little red bumps. I had sprayed myself with Cutter's upon exiting the truck, as I didn't want ticks or noseeums ⁹ causing me discomfort. Due to the breeze, I never saw any swarms of the latter. So what bit Graham is still a mystery to us. Graham was left scratching and itching throughout the entire trip.

Graham and I set about setting up our respective camp suppers. Mine consisted of Trader Joe's garlic rice noodle bowl, which was obtained at the Trader Joe's in Carson City, Nevada; a can of Hormel canned chicken, which came from WalMart in Winnemucca, Nevada; and a glass of Carlo Rossi's Paisano red wine, which came from Carrol's Market in good ol' Big Pine. The sun had already set by then and we donned sweatshirts and dined in our camp chairs on the leeward side of my truck for comfort.

Dusk settled quickly while we ate and conversed, all the while we watched the lights of Big Pine and Bishop twinkle in the distance. A brightly lit ribbon between the two towns outlined US395 and the heavy traffic heading northward from southern California for the 3-day weekend.

In the dusk, I turned my truck around to put the tailgate upwind and set up my camp. Our two trucks were about 50 feet apart. By 10:00 o'clock PM, I was ensconced in the back of my Hotel Tacoma. Willie Nelson's Blue Eyes Cryin' in the Rain played on my battery operated AM/FM radio, courtesy of KIBS-FM in Bishop. I lay back comfortable in my sleeping bag and read the paper, my new Sylvania Do-It Lights and Coleman battery operated lanterns giving plenty of light to read by. After a while, I turned off the radio and lights and set about the task of trying to sleep.

By 8:06 AM, Graham, Toby and I were ready to roll. Since we had come in from the east, our first waypoint to hit was my number 116 to start our adventure crawling up the spine of Glass Mountain Ridge. ¹⁰ That point lay 7.3 miles due west from our camp, but over ground filled with increasingly thick forests, boulders, ridges, gullies and canyons. The roads are good, however and we made quick time.

Our route took us back over Morris Mine Road back south to Chidago Canyon Road. A short distance from the junction of Morris Mine Road and Chidago Canyon Road, Chidago Canyon Road splits – a southern leg crossing the broad topped country between Red Rock and Chidago Canyons, then dropping into Chidago Canyon and following it's broad “U” shaped trend for 5.6 miles; the other cutting 3.1 miles directly across the southernmost end of Banner Ridge and dropping into upper Chidago Canyon. After recombining, the road climbs out of Chidago Canyon and ends at the paved Benton Crossing Road at Moran Spring 7.7 road miles from our camp site.

To reach the first waypoint to start our climb up the Glass Mountain Ridge, we took a half mile jog north on Benton Crossing Road, then took a semi-maintained road northwest under a set of powerlines past Deer Spring to my waypoint 116; the southern starting point of the route north up the spine of Glass Mountain Ridge. ¹¹ At the start of the road north we had traveled this morning 11.2 miles.

Our route north would slowly climb up the spine of Glass Mountain Ridge, culminating at Squaw Peak ¹²; whereupon our intended route swung a bit east, north, west and north again to gain Adobe Valley. Due to the abundance of side roads that branched off for short or long distances each direction off our intended route, my waypoints were located at key intersections to keep us on track. In addition to my GPS, which has no built in mapping capability, I also had printed out pages delineating our route, marked with the placements of the waypoints programmed into my GPS; and I had these handy to consult enroute. The GPS was handy for keeping account of our altitude and distance to the next waypoint, the maps were key to the “big picture,” of where the waypoints lay on the land and our route through it. Along the way when coming upon nice views, camping spots, interesting sights and the like, I made note of the coordinates given by the GPS and programmed these into my topographic map software, which is then displayed for future use.

The route started off as a relatively dim two-track route north. Tall sagebrush grew in the middle hump and alongside, adding to the “desert pinstriping” of our Tacomas. The route climbed subtly to Clover Patch, a bowl shaped valley, and from that point climbed with more conviction to reach the crest of the ridge running north to Squaw Peak. Trail surfaces alternated between grassy, firm, soft, sandy, gravelly and combinations of the above. The trail started out in open sagebrush up to and including Clover Patch, then traveled through piñon forests as it began the climb. Some Jeffery pine was mixed in with the piñon pines.

The GPS allowed me to note some disparities between the map and what was on the ground – two roads paralleling each other for about a quarter mile between N37° 42' 57.79” W118° 37' 18.64” and N37° 43' 09.00” W118° 37' 24.30” climbed a steep slope; one going a roundabout way up the side of a gulch running down the slope, the other running directly up the bottom of the gulch. The road shown in the bottom was not found. It either has washed out completely or is overgrown by the tall sage.

As Graham and I progressed upwards along the spine of Glass Mountain Ridge, the views increased according to our elevation above the surrounding landscape. Western views were dominated by the rugged face of the Sierra Nevada; eastern views were to the broad and gray-white face of the White Mountains; the dark forested landscape of Banner Ridge sat between us and them. Our elevation also increased as we crawled northbound to 8,000 feet and above.

Graham and I topped out on small knoll atop the ridge with a nice view. This viewpoint is found at N37° 43’ 06.3”, W118° 37’ 25.2”.

After the viewpoint previously mentioned, the road begins to climb in earnest, reaching for the 9,000 foot mark. Some off loose and rocky off camber sections were encountered, but nothing scary nor bad enough to thwart any 4x4 vehicle.

At N37° 43’ 48.3”, W118° 38’ 06.4” the route tops out somewhat at the head of Wildrose Canyon, which drops off to the east. My GPS altimeter read that our position was 9,019 feet. The topography afforded mainly open sagebrush, but a lone and gnarly Jeffery pine stood sentinel over dense aspen thickets and mountain mahogany. The view was dominated by the face of the White Mountains, western views were blocked by the upward slope. Graham and I stopped and relaxed a bit, talking and enjoyed the view and the fact that we were enjoying the outdoors. And we were only 43.1 miles as the hawk flies from my home.

After Graham and I continued on, the trail started to climb with earnest. Our immediate destination was my waypoint number 110, which would take us on roads that looked to directly top out atop Glass Mountain Ridge on the south side of Squaw Peak; which at that point would be more like “Squaw Bump” as by the time we were approaching its foot it appeared to poke up only a short distance above the main ridge.

At coordinates N37° 44' 07.6”, W118° 38' 57.2”, we stopped to enjoy a superb viewpoint. It was also nearly the highest point on our trip, my GPS reading out an elevation of 9,859 feet. Views were to nearly every point on the compass, except for north of due west, which was blocked by the bulk of Squaw Peak. A helicopter flew by about five miles out and a thousand feet lower than we were. I was able to zoom in on him well with my videocamera and follow his movements for a ways.

After admiring the view for a while, Graham and I parted ways for a bit. I explored the short spur running to the side of Squaw Peak, Graham reconnoitered around the north side of Squaw Peak. I stopped at the absolute high point of our trip at 9,994 feet at the end of the road. The summit of Squaw Peak was teasingly close. Graham's exploration took him around the north side of the peak, the road appeared to drop steeply beyond the saddle on the north side of the peak. Graham decided not to take it due to its steep and rocky nature, plus his view obscured by a dense forest of pines. My map showed another road coming in on that side, branching off our path back down in Clover Patch. Though the map doesn't show it, we speculated that the road Graham explored around the north side of Squaw Peak dropped to meet the road in from Clover Patch.

After Graham satisfied his curiosity, he joined me at the end of the spur road that left us parked on the side of Squaw Peak. We sat there a while, trying to talk each other out of climbing it, and we both succeeded. We decided to spend our time looking for a good lunch spot instead. The trail did look steep, loose and rocky; but the summit only about 300 yards away tops. At this altitude, though, it looked like a lot of work for my overtaxed lungs and overweight body. Graham was more interested in a hot cup of tea than a vigorous workout. But it was tempting.

Coming to the saddle north of Squaw Peak, the view opened to the west, displaying Mammoth Mountain and the Banner-Ritter country beyond.

A spot at the northern part of our loop appeared to afford a nice view northward and northwest of the Mono Lake country, so we head off in that direction. At a spot at N37° 44' 56.3”, W118° 39' 11.8”, we dropped our tailgates and set up our camp chairs. Our elevation was 9,829 feet.

The view at our lunch tables took in the hulking mass of Glass Mountain, with a few snow patches left over from the meager snows of the winter of 2006/2007; as well as northern Mono Basin country, the Bodie Hills, Sweetwater Range, Wassuk Range in Nevada, and the mountains east of Mina, Nevada. My lunch consisted of a can of tuna, cheese and crackers and Graham shared a slice of his Schat's cheese and onion bread. ¹³ And oh yes! A can of cold beer!

Back onto the main north-south road, our elevation began to drop ever so slightly but stayed above 9,000 feet. Glass Mountain Ridge had ended and our route would soon drop us down into Kelty Creek country, then begin to trend over to the northeastern slopes of the main portion of Glass Mountain. The countryside continued to be dominated by open sagebrush slopes punctuated by mountain mahogany, stands of aspen (just beginning to leaf out at the high elevation) and individual Jeffery pine trees.

The road dropped into the canyon of Kelty Creek, but oddly Kelty Meadows is removed from the creek by about a mile. Kelty Creek was puny for springtime standards, due to the drought conditions of the previous winter, just a trickle that hardly wet our tires. But the small meadows along the creek were greening up, the aspen trees starting to get their leaves at this high elevation.

Climbing out of Kelty Creek and over the divide into Kelty Meadows, we were stopped by an aspen fall which required a little axe work. The tree didn't lay across the entire road, but it was too big and too wedged in by the other trees to move and too stiff to drive past without body and paint damage. Graham and I took turns manning the axe to chop through the downed tree to open our path. Within a few yards after we cleared the first obstacle, another windfall presented a barrier to forward progress, which Graham took care of.

At the eastern end of Kelty Meadows is a junction and my waypoint number 108. Here we followed a road along a fence line southwest along the length of the meadows, climbing again gradually. The meadows were made up of open sagebrush with grassy areas intermixed. Glass Mountain dominated the scene ahead.

After crossing the length of Kelty Meadows, the road climbed up a barren ridge and immediately enters a thick lodgepole pine forest.

Between my waypoints 107 – located at the southwestern end of Kelty Meadow, and waypoint 105 – located at the junction with a road leading into Sawmill Meadow – the road twisted, turned and rose and dropped in dense forests of lodgepole pines and Jeffery pines. This portion of the trail would be easy to get disoriented and lost in, but my pre-planning and programming this route into my GPS was of a great aid for navigating through here. Small open areas allowed grand vistas of Glass Mountain.

Graham and I had not originally intended to go into Sawmill Meadow, but due to the early hour and the beautiful countryside we decided to detour a short distance to the end of the short spur road. There was a sign indicating the distance and that there was a campground at the end of the road; situated at 9,170 feet.

In Sawmill Meadows there were two standing structures and the remains of a log flume. The standing structures were connected with the campground – an outhouse and what appeared to be a concession stand like structure.

After a relaxing time at Sawmill Meadow, we returned to our route northward. We had our sights set on the Pizona region to set up camp for the night.

My next waypoint was number 103, which would have us turn northward and descend the slopes of Glass Mountain via McGee Canyon. Graham and I left the sawmill and head in that direction. Coming around a bend in a nearby canyon, we looked directly at the snow speckled face of Glass Mountain.

Nearing my waypoint 103, I was busy conversing with Graham on our FRS radios and made an accidental turn thinking it was the road that descended down McGee Canyon. This particular road parallels that down McGee, but comes out on CA120 several miles east of our intended road north across Adobe Valley toward Pizona. Taking this way would still take us to our intended route, but McGee Canyon aims us almost directly at the beginning of the Pizona section of our trip.

Turning around after I realized my mistake, we head over to McGee Canyon and descended. Dense lodgepole and Jeffery pine forests immediately thinned and became a land of piñon pines, then sagebrush and rabbitbrush covered high desert in no time at all.

At a point 42.8 miles, eight hours and twelve minutes since leaving our camp at the head of Red Rock Canyon, we came to the end of our Glass Mountain traverse at the junction of CA120 and the McGee Canyon road. Our elevation was 6,640 feet. The air temperature, which was cool and at times brisk in the forested heights 3,000 feet higher, felt almost hot at this elevation.

Adobe Valley is a sandy and alkaline land considered barren by most, especially after exiting the dense forests to our south. Our sights were next on Pizona. Our access turn north off CA120 only four-tenths of a mile to our east. This road heads north to River Springs, site of an old Aurora to Virginia City stage station, a wooden shack; and lush, reed filled pools of water bubbling up from deep underground.

The road to River Springs runs arrow straight for 3.8 miles in a northeast direction; Graham was trailing a huge plume of alkali dust forcing me to stay back a mile to avoid choking. To our surprise, here Graham and I met the first fellow travelers of our trip thus far – a couple of heavy duty pickups pulling horse trailers were leaving the area; as well as another coming in from the direction of Mono Lake. They would come out of the fog-like cloud of alkali dust, their headlights on. Graham would radio me that someone was coming in my direction, so by the time their headlights would become dimly visible, I'd be well over to the right side of the road and slowed way down so that I wouldn't be raising a second cloud of the heavy dust for them to drive through.

Graham and I parked at River Springs at 4:30 PM. The afternoon sunlight created beautiful vistas in all directions and we found the site hot and fly ridden, yet a beautiful setting. We stayed a while, taking photos and inspecting the stone ruins of the stage station and the wooden ruins of the later ranch that sat upon this site. The gray and white White Mountains dominated the scene to the east, the peaks of the Sierra Nevada peeking over the Sage Hen Summit region in between us to the west.

A minor summit about 2.3 miles in from River Springs turned out to be the only location that suited the tastes of Graham and I. It was still warm and relatively early in the day, but we felt no need to travel any farther. Pizona was only two miles away, but we had a hunch that was where the group of horsemen and horsewomen were likely staying the night and we didn't want to intrude on their outdoor experience and we wanted to leave Pizona for tomorrow to explore.

Our camp was set up on the north side of the trail, atop a piñon pine studded saddle between two sagebrush covered bowls. A few piñon pines edged the back of our campsite; basaltic columns of rock topped by a thick piñon forest across the road blocked our view south. A few peaks of the Sierra Nevada west of Mono Lake was in our view to the west, the somber forested hill country toward Pizona the view east. My GPS registered a location of N37° 57’ 20.7”, W118° 35’ 25.1” and an elevation of 6,800 feet above sea level. The thermometer in the my Tacoma was registering a toasty 87°. The trucks of Graham and I were set about 50 feet apart, Graham's truck pointing north, my Tacoma backed in pointing south. The GPS informed me that I was only 56.8 miles in a straight line from the front door of my home. And it also said that we averaged 5.3 miles per hour on this day. Now that's reconnoitering! I celebrated with a refreshing face wash from the ice melt in my ice chest and a cold can of beer.

Sunset was still more than two hours away, Graham and I appeared to be totally alone. The horse tracks continued eastward, so we didn't need to worry about a dusty string of horses and riders passing by our camp. However, wild horses were welcome if they happened this way, as they'd be wary and likely stay at a distance that they felt was within their comfort zone of us. Long before sundown, a band of coyotes suddenly and quite audibly raised a ruckus nearby, which set off Toby to chime in with them in a song of canine chorus.

Graham and I settled about the task of setting up our respective camps and preparing our evening meals. A layer of cumulus clouds came overhead, softening the evening colors and cooling the temperatures to a comfortable level. I prepared a tailgate dinner of canned ravioli, heated upon my old Coleman stove. Graham added to my dinner with more of his Schat's onion cheese bread.

At 8:00 PM, the sun went down. By then Graham and I had settled back into our camp chairs. The sun, though set at our location, still lit up the underbellies of the clouds, creating a gorgeous sunset. Transcontinental jets crossed the sky every few minutes, leaving fiery contrails set against the glowing clouds. Graham and I sat in our chairs in the increasing dusk, Venus brightening in the eastern sky, having a cold beer, a glass of wine and engaging in conversation.

By 9:30 I crawled into the back of the Tacoma for a bit of reading before shutting down the lights. It proved to be a relatively sleepless night for both of us.

At 6:10 AM I was out of the truck and engaging in that all important morning ritual of making tailgate coffee. Graham was out shortly after I was, he too thought he was going to be sick during the night. Our morning conversation centered around what it was that we ate in common that might have made us both suffer during the night.

By 8:05 AM both Graham and I were ready to roll. I sat in my truck warming it up, booting up my electronic equipment – video camera, digital camera and GPS. Graham readied his body by walking off into the open forest with a shovel and roll of toilet paper. I generally like to take care of morning business first thing also, but I require privacy and time and our spot didn't provide much of either at the moment. My plan was to keep an eye out for the strategic spot and moment – and hope that such a place came along before my body said it was time or else. After Graham returned, we rolled east for Pizona.

The road at out campsite was firm and rocky, but dropping into the bowl immediately to our east the earth's surface turned sandy and loose. Deep imprints of horse's hooves roughed up the road, likely those from the vehicles with horse trailers parked down at River Springs the afternoon previous.

At a point 1.2 miles from where Graham and I camped the night we noticed that a line of deep green spilled from somber, dark basaltic mountains, indicating that likely a tremendous amount of water was running and spilling out of a canyon from the vicinity of Pizona. In the same vicinity, our trucks suddenly were tackling a large amount of sand, as if we were climbing up a sage covered sand dune. Definitely a plus to have your tires aired down in here for added flotation over the sand. Fortunately, Graham and I had aired down Friday afternoon at the edge of the pavement on Fish Slough Road.

Just prior to entering the dense forest of willows below Pizona, we entered a stand of Great Basin sagebrush, the giants of the sagebrush world; some individual bushes approaching and exceeding ten feet high. Through the tangle of sage and willows, we could see that we were beginning to enter the camp of our fellow travelers, ones that chose four legs over four wheels; and it appeared that they had a mighty fine camp compared to the simple furnishings of Graham and I.

Graham and I plunged into the dense forest of willows and into the camp of the horsemen; myself in the lead and trying to be slow, cautious and quiet. We did not want to intrude, spook horses or be a nuisance; we simply wanted to pass on by. However, even with plenty of support and personal trucks, tents and belongings set about in every nook and cranny, the camp appeared to be ghosted. The road all but disappeared due to dense grass, willows and sage; I felt like a mouse in a maze. I was just about to park and reconnoiter to determine which way to go in this sudden and intensely dense jungle when I happened upon a couple lounging back in chaise lounges and reading. I inquired of them and found that I simply needed to continue in the direction I was heading (though I could only see a few feet in any direction). They went back to their books, I went back to being lost.

Within seconds of continuing, I was met with a large, grassy bog filled with mud and water. Willows and sage hemmed us in, making the situation feeling worse than it really turned out to be. I got through with no problem, my truck getting a good mud bath, although I did feel my skid plates touch down a time or two on the high center hump between the tracks. I then got some video of Graham getting his morning mud bath in his silver Tacoma. And we then took another a few yards further on.

Above the springs, the terrain quickly reverted from dense willows and grass to dense and tall sagebrush. A short distance after this transition, we pulled up in downtown Pizona.

Pizona is something of a mystery. Not much seems to be known, or at least being told in print. It is shown on both the Inyo National Forest map and on the topographic quadrant as a townsite, but I can't say with any conviction that this was a town. Only one building ruin is visible in the dense brush. If there's more to see, it would take a methodical exploration through the dense sagebrush of the region. I speculate that Pizona is merely an old homestead or ranch, placed here above the springs at an elevation of 7,009 feet above sea level. Even during the days when nearby Benton (now Benton Hot Springs) was booming in the 1860s through 1880s, this was still a wild and remote location. And it is still so today. This is probably among the most remote regions in California.

After a few minutes inspecting the cabin site at Pizona, Graham and I had our sites set on the California-Nevada state line a few miles ahead. The road immediately deteriorated as dense Great Basin sagebrush impinged upon the road, adding liberal “desert pinstriping” to our respective Tacomas and clamping our rear view mirrors against the body sides. In places, the deep channel of the dry watercourse that runs down the canyon threatened to drop our trucks over the edge.

Another flow of dense willows spilled from the canyon as Graham and I approached Upper Pizona Spring; but then mysteriously thinned out to a dense carpet of grass meadowland. Upper Pizona Spring had nowhere the water flow of Pizona Spring a few miles behind.

At a point a bit more than six-tenths of a mile past Upper Pizona Spring is found the California-Nevada border. However, Graham and I were thwarted from reaching that waypoint without a struggle. Soon after leaving Upper Pizona Spring, the road dropped into the wash channel and nearly disappeared. Sagebrush was so dense as to nearly reclaim the road. Getting out of my Tacoma to reconnoiter on foot to scout the way ahead confirmed the fact that further progress on this road would not be worthwhile. Fortunately I had printed out my maps onto paper and was able to determine a bypass that might get us somewhere east of the state line.

Backtracking a few yards I spied a steep hill that climbed to the south out of the canyon and Graham and I took it. At the top of the climb, we turned east again on another dim and sandy path that ran along the canyon. The country the trail followed was relatively flat once out of the canyon, with scattered piñon forests. According to my map I determined that we'd be hitting the state line at any point.

Approaching a stand of piñon and juniper, I noticed a group of animals. At first I thought they might be wild horses, but approaching slowly determined that these horses had saddles and blankets. However, we saw no two legged creatures that should be around here somewhere. As we slowly approached, a horse tethered to a small piñon pine that stood along the trail was standing right in the dim route next to a plastic strip on side of the path; which identified the California-Nevada state line. The horse was standing with his front hooves just inside California and the rest of him in Nevada. Mr. Ed was welcoming us to the Silver State!

Since Mr. Ed was standing right in the path that our Tacomas would need to pass by, Graham and I decided to do a little reconnoitering on our own two legs. We didn't want to spook Mr. Ed and his brethren – and there was no way around Mr. Ed without driving over the dense sagebrush – and we knew their owners were somewhere in the proximity. About the same time, we noticed cowboy hats bobbing around in the sagebrush, a group of men and women were returning to their horses.

The group of about 25 horseback riders were participating in a horseback wild horse tour and they had just spotted a band of Mr. Ed's alter ego milling about on the surface of nearby McNamara playa a hundred yards or so just out of sight from our position.

It was obvious that these people were city dudes – and one dudette, her voluptuous curves enhanced by the tight fitting and slightly revealing western duds sure got Graham's synopsis firing! Clothes clean and pressed, too new and stiff gave away the fact that these people were not real cowboys and cowgirls.

The horsemen (and horsewoman) went back to their mounts and rode off. Graham and I then pulled forward a bit after Mr. Ed was ridden off and all the horses were far enough away that I was sure that our starting trucks wouldn't spook a horse and throw a rider. And we got all of a hundred feet.

What the map showed and what was on the ground were two distinct things. The map showed a road running northeast and meeting up with our original road. But that road was nowhere to be found. There was only a dim track continuing from our position down onto McNamara playa, which Mr. Ed's wild bunch were still milling about on; that path was not shown on the map. A bit of map reading, head scratching and reconnoitering on our two feet ensued. Studying my printout of a small portion of the applicable topographic map, I could see that in the southern end of the small bowl in which McNamara dry lake sat would be another road that would take us east and back into Nevada a short distance; there to meet up with yet another trail that ran north to meet our original route at my waypoint 006. So Graham and I followed the road that was in our sight-line and not on paper down onto McNamara dry lake. The band of Mr. Ed's wild relatives had moved on south, then east over the hills.

Graham and I followed my hunch, based upon the limited scope provided by my printed out topographic maps, that our following the dim route south over McNamara dry lake would take us via a roundabout way to my original target. Graham and I clipped a hundred yards or so of Nevada, reentered California as we drove south across McNamara Lake, and then turned eastward along another route back into Nevada again. The trails we traveled were visible but obviously seldom used. We spotted the same band of wild horses that the equestrians were watching, of course they didn't care about the man made political lines drawn on paper and roamed freely on either side of the border. A short time later, much to my relief, my GPS unit declared that we were approaching my original waypoint 006. Simultaneously with our approach, a large cloud of dust announced the arrival of the equestrians again.

48) [Ambient driving noise] It makes me feel good that we’re back on our original route! [Laugh] A little reconnoiter there!

Turning eastward, our route entered McBride Flat, a dusty, nondescript sandy flatland bordered by piñon pine dotted hills. Sparse and dry grass poked from the sand and colored the landscape with a yellowish tinge. The map showed a McBride Spring at the far end of the valley, we could also see a windmill, so we decided to check it out as a possible spot for a break and something to eat and drink. As we crossed the valley, we saw another group of equestrians heading into a canyon to the south and soon disappeared. Our first group had taken a tangent off our route and threaded an invisible path through the forests to the north. It was the last time we saw any kind of horse, domestic or wild.

McBride Spring was dry, the windmill forlorn. It was hot, unshaded and not a pleasant place to be at the moment. Personally, I had other pressing issues.

It had been two days since I had a shower and changed clothes, I hadn't taken the time to take care of my morning constitution, as I didn't find any place private enough for me to sit exposed on my uncomfortable little Hassock honey pot. Since McBride Flat was empty, I felt it was time to address them all and sent Graham ahead to reconnoiter and find us a better spot for a break. Finishing it all, cleaning up and putting on some clean clothes and underclothes was completed none too soon – an ATV came out of nowhere and blasted by just as I was pulling up my britches.

Graham was keeping me appraised of his observations of the road and landscape via radio as he progressed, but soon he crossed the high summit between McBride and points east and his signal disappeared. After I continued ahead, I climbed the loose and rocky ridge, crossed the broad summit and found Graham with his Tacoma pointed south with a view of the twin peaks of Mount Montgomery, California; and its sister, Boundary Peak, Nevada.

56) [Wind noise] Graham and I are lunching at the top of the divide. N37° 59’ 13.5”, W118° 27’ 31.1”. Elevation is 8,099 feet.

It's a good thing that Graham and I took the time to take a break, as the road ahead was a challenge to both of us in terms of patience. The landscape turned from the barren summit to more scenic environs; but the roads were increasingly rocky.

Out route continued east a short distance, where I had programmed my GPS to tell me to turn south at a particular trail that appeared no different than any of the myriad of trails that ran about these parts. Our immediate goal was Truman Meadows, a bit south and east. Truman is one of those places that I had heard about, seen signs indicating it on Highway 6 and seen on the maps. And so Truman Meadows, along with Pizona, was selected to turn our travels this way.

68) [Ambient driving noise] OK. Waypoint 003 is at 14.1. Elevation 7,787. Looking I think down into Truman Meadows down below us. Very pretty.

My GPS guided us through the increasingly thick piñon pine forests, the trail dropping down some fairly steep and rocky trails. The temperature was raising, the alkali dust choking. Time to turn on the air conditioner, which I usually don't like to do while off-roading, but this time I would make an exception.

Soon enough Graham and I exited the forest and into the sagebrush expanse of Truman Meadows. From Truman Meadows, we could see much of the country that we traveled the day before, along Glass Mountain Ridge.

71) [Ambient driving noise] Truman Meadows is basically an elongated narrow bowl. It’s sloping downward as we’re going southwest. Actually west by southwest. Down here in the bottom we’re getting into high sagebrush, bitterbrush and rabbitbrush. It’s scraping the sides of the truck. Starting to get into a grassy area now. 16.7 miles. Elevation here is uh … [Graham on radio – indecipherable] … 7,178 feet.

Many roads emanate in and around Truman Meadows, itself considerably larger than I expected to find. But the time was slipping by and my thoughts were to getting toward home, as I didn't have Memorial Day off and a day of work ahead was putting a bit of a damper on a relaxing drive the remainder of this trip. Thus we didn't take the time to reconnoiter to see what treasures and pleasures Truman Meadows had to offer.

We did, however, take a few minutes and took the short spur ahead to Truman Spring. The spring was situated in a hidden glen of lush grass, running water, blooming wild iris. A large group of tents and signs of horses gave Graham and I an indication of where the second group of equestrians we saw in McBride Flat were based at. The black cloud created by the specter of work early the next day nagged at me until I started the truck and pointed it southward. It was good we got going anyway, for what lay ahead would prove to be a test.

The distance between Truman Meadow and US6 is only a bit more than six miles. However, that six miles will make a saint a sinner. Rocks – big, small, grand and peewee – litter the trail and never let up. The entire six miles is slow, hot, rough enough to leave your shoulders, arms, neck and head hurting from your body being slammed around inside your cab as if you were riding a giant paint shaker on four wheels – even though your forward progress is in the range of a leisurely walking speed or less. There was no place that I would describe as a real challenge to cross over in our Tacomas, but a few places did take some care to cross over to avoid body damage or skid plate abuse. That six miles took Graham and I nearly two hours to cover.

79) [Ambient driving noise] The road climbing up out of the canyon above Truman Spring is narrow and kind of gnarly. Trees are scraping hard against the truck. But you have to, to keep the wheels from going off the outer edges of the trail.

83) [Ambient driving noise] If the road is too bad to cross, if a rocky stretch appears below that last coordinates I gave … Graham really got off camber and lifted a wheel on the back side.

86) [Ambient driving noise] [Graham: “Glad we’re not climbing. There’s another extended boulder field here.”] Uh … feels like we’re driving on bowling balls. I would definitely not advise stock SUVs on this trail.

94) [Ambient driving noise] Stopped to roll a big rock out of the way. See that it’s been hit quite a few times.

95) [Ambient driving noise] This is one miserable road! Feels like you’re in a … paint shaker. Going a walking speed. Hitting the roof. Hitting the sides. I’m banging my elbows everywhere. I’m hitting the shift lever. I’m virtually in a Toyota Tacoma paint shaker.

98) [Ambient driving noise] I’m less than 50 feet from the bladed road. And it’s probably going to take me fifteen minutes to cross this boulder mine field! It tests you to the bitter end. OK. Right on the … end of the bladed road, 21.8. Elevation 5,800 feet. It’s 3:45. Damn near took us two hours to come from Truman Spring to this point!

Coming down the lowest portions of the trail, the view of the Mono County, California maintained dirt road leading out to US6 was taunting us. It looked oh so close, yet seemed to stay away from us, never coming closer. After all the abuse my body was taking coming down this trail, my skeptical nature envisioned a curve ball thrown at us in the form of an insurmountable obstacle in the last few feet before hitting the maintained road, forcing us to retrace our route back to Truman Meadows and exit somewhere else; seriously lengthening our trip home.

The route down to US6 was punctuated only by a very nice viewpoint at coordinates N37° 55’ 56.6”, W118° 27’ 17.9”, and the California/Nevada stateline paddle marker 1.3 miles before hitting the short section of maintained and bladed dirt road leading up to US6. The rest is only a bad memory of pain and irritation. That short section of dirt road at the end was like riding on a feather pillow.

A short distance from US6, Graham and I stopped to stretch our legs, sooth our pains and air up our tires. My GPS told me that our average speed the entire day after leaving our camp west of Pizona Springs was a blistering 4.3 miles per hour.

After airing up, we pointed our Tacomas southward and set our cruise controls at a speed considerably higher. An hour later, I was home.

©2007, 2008 D.A. Wright
All Rights Reserved

Page Revised: 06/01/2008

Footnotes