Category Archives: Around Trona

Panamint City

The journey to Panamint City is not a Sunday stroll; it is a pilgrimage into one of the most rugged and storied corners of the American West. Tucked 6,300 feet high in the Panamint Range of Death Valley National Park, this ghost town is a time capsule of silver-mining madness, accessible only to those willing to sweat for their history.


đź§­ The Gateway: Ballarat and Surprise Canyon

Your journey begins in the “living” ghost town of Ballarat. Once a supply hub for miners, it now serves as a dusty waypoint where you can grab a cold soda and a bit of advice from the local caretaker.

From Ballarat, a dirt road leads you to the mouth of Surprise Canyon and the ruins of Chris Wicht’s Camp. This is the end of the line for internal combustion. A 1984 flash flood—a recurring character in Panamint’s history—stripped the old road down to the bedrock, transforming a once-driveable canyon into a vertical obstacle course.

In the vertical world of Surprise Canyon, the desert bighorn sheep (Ovis canadensis nelsoni) reigns as the undisputed master of the crags. These sure-footed sentinels are often seen perched on the sheer limestone “Narrows” or drinking from the perennial stream that carves through the canyon floor. Because the hike is so strenuous and the terrain so rugged, the sheep here remain relatively undisturbed, though they are known to watch hikers with a stoic, golden-eyed curiosity from the safety of the high ridges. For a bighorn, the 4,000-foot ascent to Panamint City is a morning stroll, and their presence serves as a humbling reminder to any traveler that while humans merely visit this “hard-boiled” wilderness, the sheep truly own it.

🥾 The Ascent: Water, Walls, and Willpower

The hike to Panamint City is roughly 5 to 7 miles one-way, but don’t let the distance fool you. You will be gaining nearly 4,000 feet of elevation over terrain that refuses to stay dry.

  • The Narrows: The first few miles are spent navigating “The Narrows,” where limestone walls squeeze the canyon. You will be hiking directly through a flowing perennial stream. Forget waterproof boots; embrace the wet feet.

  • The Waterfalls: You’ll encounter several small waterfalls. These aren’t sheer drops but slick, algae-covered rock scrambles. Expect to use your hands as much as your feet.

  • The Desert Canopy: Surprisingly, the canyon is lush. You’ll weave through “green tunnels” of willow and wild grapes—a surreal contrast to the searing Panamint Valley below.

  • Brewery Spring: Marking the halfway point, this is your last reliable water source before the city. It’s a good spot to filter water and catch your breath before the canyon opens up and the shade disappears.


🏚️ Arriving at the “Hard-Boiled Hellhole”

As you crest the final rise, the iconic brick smokestack of the 1870s smelter appears like a monument. In its 1874 heyday, Panamint City was home to 2,000 people and was so lawless that even Wells Fargo refused to build an office there.

Today, the “city” is a sprawling museum of the abandoned:

  • The Main Street: Once a mile long, it is now a wash filled with rusted 1950s trucks, refrigerators, and stone foundations.

  • The “Panamint Hilton”: Several cabins, including the “Hilton” and “The Castle,” are maintained by a dedicated community of backpackers. They offer shelter from the freezing high-altitude nights (just watch out for Hantavirus-carrying rodents).

  • The Mines: Trails lead further up to the Wyoming and Hemlock mines, where the brave (and well-lit) can explore the tunnels that fueled the silver boom.

The silver mines of Panamint City are the skeletal remains of a 19th-century fever dream. Perched precariously in the steep hanging valleys above the townsite, these mines once promised enough wealth to fuel a “new San Francisco,” attracting senators and outlaws alike to a place so remote it defied logic. Today, hikers who venture up the talus slopes find a haunting industrial graveyard of rusted ore cars, collapsed timber portals, and the massive, iconic brick smokestack that still stands as a monument to the 1870s smelting operations. While many of the tunnels remain open, they are treacherous labyrinths of unstable rock and rotting support beams—silent, dark reminders of the thousands of men who once hammered at these canyon walls, betting their lives on a vein of silver that ultimately couldn’t outrun the costs of the brutal terrain.


⚠️ Vital Specs for the Trek

Factor Requirement
Difficulty Strenuous. High physical fitness and route-finding skills required.
Water Bring a filter. Water is available in the canyon but must be treated.
Best Time Late Fall to Early Spring. Summer temperatures in the canyon can be lethal.
Safety This is a remote wilderness. Carry a satellite communicator; there is zero cell service.

Getting to Panamint City is an exercise in “Type II fun”—miserable in the moment, but legendary in retrospect. It is a place where the ghosts of outlaws and “Silver Senators” still seem to linger in the desert wind, waiting for the next flood to reclaim the canyon.

The Fragile Pass: Road Damage and Resilience in Poison Canyon

State Highway 178 is a lifeline for Eastern Kern County, but as any local will tell you, it is a road in constant negotiation with the Earth. This is nowhere more evident than in Poison Canyon, the rugged, steep-walled stretch between Ridgecrest and the Trona/Searles Valley area.

Recent years have been particularly unkind to this corridor. While the “canyon” itself provides a stunning backdrop of stark desert beauty, its geological instability has led to recurring road damage that keeps Caltrans crews on high alert.

The Anatomy of the Damage

The primary culprit for road degradation in Poison Canyon is the extreme cycle of flash flooding and thermal expansion. In this arid environment, the soil lacks the vegetation to hold it in place. When desert monsoons or winter atmospheric rivers hit, the runoff doesn’t soak in; it scours.

• Undermining: Heavy rains frequently wash out the shoulders, undermining the asphalt and leading to “alligator cracking” and eventual lane failure.

• Debris Flows: The steep canyon walls shed rock and sediment directly onto the travel lanes, often forcing emergency closures.

• Pavement Heaving: Extreme temperature swings—from freezing winter nights to 110°F summer days—cause the road surface to expand and contract, creating hazardous dips and ripples.

The Iconic Fish Rocks

For travelers navigating the winding turns of Highway 178, the Fish Rocks serve as both a whimsical landmark and a grim reminder of the canyon’s power. These boulders, painted to look like giant, colorful fish emerging from the desert floor, sit right in the heart of the most vulnerable section of the canyon.

While they are a beloved photo-op, the Fish Rocks are also “ground zero” for road damage reports. Because they sit at a natural drainage point, the area surrounding the rocks is often the first to flood. In recent seasons, crews have had to perform extensive “slope stabilization” near the rocks to prevent the very ground they sit on from sliding into the roadway.

Current Status and Future Repairs

As of early 2026, Highway 178 through Poison Canyon remains a focus of the Caltrans District 9 maintenance schedule. While the road is currently open, motorists should expect:

1. Reduced Speed Zones: Many sections near the Fish Rocks have been reduced to lower speed limits due to uneven pavement and ongoing shoulder reinforcement.

2. One-Way Escorts: Periodic maintenance to clear rockfall debris often requires temporary signal-controlled traffic.

3. Long-Term Mitigation: Plans are being discussed for more permanent culvert upgrades and “rock fall netting” on the steepest cliffs to prevent boulders from reaching the travel lanes.

Safety Tips for Travelers

If you are planning to transit through Poison Canyon, keep these essentials in mind:

• Check the Weather: If there is a flash flood warning for the Spangler Hills or Searles Valley, avoid the canyon entirely.

• Watch the Shoulders: Even if the lane looks clear, the edges of the road can be soft and prone to crumbling after a rain event.

• Respect the Fish: By all means, pull over to see the Fish Rocks, but ensure you are completely off the roadway in a designated turnout; visibility is low for oncoming traffic in the canyon’s tight curves.

 

Poison Canyon is a testament to the challenge of maintaining infrastructure in the Mojave. It remains a beautiful, if temperamental, gateway that requires constant vigilance from both the state and the drivers who traverse it.

California soda ash producer to close plants

THe following article is from ACS weekly Chem.& Engineering News:

California soda ash producer to close plants

The inorganic chemical producer Searles Valley Minerals (SVM) is idling its soda ash and boric acid facilities in Trona and Argus, California, saying it cannot compete in international markets with overseas producers, particularly ones in China. International business accounts for about 60% of SVM’s sales. The firm also blames the high cost of energy and regulatory compliance in California. The plant shutdowns will affect about 300 employees involved in making the inorganic chemicals, which SVM extracts from below Searles Lake, a dry lake in the Mojave Desert. SVM says mineral operations will continue at its Westend, California, plant, where it produces sodium sulfate and sodium borate. SVM, which is one of only two US makers of boron products, notes that the US Geological Survey added boron to its list of critical minerals last year. SVM has been owned since 2007 by the Indian soda ash producer Nirma.—Michael McCoy

High Above the Heat: Mahogany Flats and Telescope Peak

Death Valley is world-renowned for its blistering salt flats and below-sea-level basins, but if you look westward from the valley floor, the Panamint Range offers a dramatic, alpine escape. At the pinnacle of this range stands Telescope Peak, accessible via the rugged gateway of Mahogany Flats.


The Gateway: Mahogany Flats

Before you even lace up your boots, you have to survive the drive. Mahogany Flats is the highest campground in Death Valley National Park, sitting at an elevation of 8,133 feet.

  • The Journey: The road transition from Wildrose Canyon to Mahogany Flats is legendary. The final 1.5 miles are steep, unpaved, and notoriously bumpy. While high-clearance vehicles are a must, 4WD is often recommended depending on recent weather.

  • The Campsite: Once you arrive, the air is thin and crisp. The campground is nestled among ancient mountain mahogany and juniper trees. It serves as the primary trailhead for the summit and offers a literal “birds-eye” view of the Badwater Basin thousands of feet below.

  • The History: Nearby, you’ll find the Wildrose Charcoal Kilns, 25-foot-tall beehive-shaped stone structures built in 1877 to create fuel for silver-lead mines. They are some of the best-preserved specimens of their kind in the West.


The Ascent: Scaling Telescope Peak

The hike from Mahogany Flats to the summit of Telescope Peak is a strenuous but rewarding 14-mile round trip. It is a journey through vertical life zones that feels more like the High Sierra than the Mojave Desert.

Feature Detail
Distance 14 miles (Out and Back)
Elevation Gain ~3,300 feet
Summit Elevation 11,049 feet
Difficulty Strenuous
Best Time June – October (Snow lingers into May)

The Trail Experience

The path begins with a steady climb through forests of Pinyon Pine. As you gain altitude, the landscape shifts dramatically. You will eventually encounter the Bristlecone Pines—some of the oldest living organisms on Earth, weathered into twisted, golden sculptures by centuries of high-altitude wind.

The final stretch follows a narrow ridge. To your left (east), the ground drops away toward Badwater Basin (-282 feet). To your right (west), the Panamint Valley stretches out toward the Sierra Nevada.


The Summit: A 360-Degree Spectacle

Reaching the top of Telescope Peak (11,049 feet) provides a geographical perspective found nowhere else on the continent. On a clear day, you can witness one of the greatest vertical reliefs in the United States:

The “Telescope” Effect: From the summit, you can look down at the lowest point in North America (Badwater Basin) and, simultaneously, look across to the highest point in the contiguous U.S., Mount Whitney (14,505 feet).

The peak earned its name because the air is so clear and the vantage so high that it feels like you are looking through a telescope at the distant horizons.


Essential Tips for Your Trip

  1. Check the Snow: Even if it’s 100°F in Furnace Creek, Telescope Peak can be covered in ice and snow. Always check ranger reports before heading up.

  2. Acclimatize: You are starting at 8,000 feet. Give yourself a night at Mahogany Flats to get used to the thin air before attempting the summit.

Hydrate: The desert air is incredibly dry, and the climb is exposed. Carry more water than you think you’ll need—there are no reliable water sources on the trail.

Note: I walked to school every morning down Argus Avenue to California Street and then up to Telescope Street where Telescope Peak was present in the background. We marked the seasons by looking to see if it had snow or not. If it did it was winter. If it didn’t it was summer. One year our neighbors, the Mocks went to Mahogany Flats and brought home enough pine nuts to fill 3 55 gallon barrels. There are not many things that taste better than roasted pine nuts.

References:

Telescope Peak, California

Telescope Peak Hike in the Winter: Death Valley’s Highest Point

Telescope Peak Trail Map & Elevation Profile

Wildrose Charcoal Kilns

Telescope Peak

The High Desert Gateway: Exploring Wildrose Canyon and Station

Deep within the Panamint Range of Death Valley National Park lies a landscape that defies the standard desert stereotype. Far above the salt flats of Badwater Basin, Wildrose Canyon offers a rugged, high-elevation retreat where pinyon pines replace creosote bushes and the air remains cool even as the valley floor below reaches triple digits.

Rich in both geological drama and pioneer history, the canyon and its long-lost “station” tell a story of silver booms, industrious engineering, and the enduring resilience of the Mojave Desert.

The Geography of an Oasis

Wildrose Canyon is a 13-mile-long natural corridor on the western side of the Panamint Mountains. While much of Death Valley sits below sea level, Wildrose begins at an elevation of roughly 4,000 feet and climbs to over 8,000 feet. This dramatic verticality creates a unique ecosystem; it is a “sky island” where moisture is more abundant, supporting a dense woodland of Singleleaf Pinyon Pine and Utah Juniper.

The canyon serves as one of the primary western gateways into the park, accessible via the winding Wildrose Canyon Road. For travelers, it represents a transition from the stark, arid Panamint Valley to the alpine-like ridges of the high Panamints.

The Story of Wildrose Station

While the canyon remains a popular destination today, Wildrose Station is a name that largely belongs to the history books. Located at the junction of the Trona-Wildrose Road and Emigrant Canyon Road, the station was once a vital “oasis” for weary travelers and freight teams.

The Stagecoach Era

In the early 1900s, during the gold and silver rushes that birthed ghost towns like Skidoo and Panamint City, Wildrose Station served as a critical stage stop. It was a place where horses were changed, water was shared, and prospectors could find a hot meal. Beneath a massive rock formation—which the local Timbisha Shoshone and miners alike called “the big rock”—a cafĂ© and blacksmith shop once operated.

The Modern Era and Removal

In the mid-20th century, the station continued to operate as a small commercial hub, featuring a general store, cafĂ©, and gasoline pumps under private leases. However, in 1971, the National Park Service (NPS) decided to close the station and remove its commercial structures to restore the “historic flavor” and natural integrity of the area. Today, little remains of the station buildings themselves, but the site continues to serve as a landmark near the Wildrose Campground.

The Architectural Marvel: Wildrose Charcoal Kilns

The most famous residents of the canyon are not people, but ten massive, beehive-shaped structures: the Wildrose Charcoal Kilns.

Completed in 1877 by the Modock Consolidated Mining Company (partially owned by George Hearst, father of William Randolph Hearst), these kilns were an industrial solution to a fuel problem. The silver-lead smelters in the Argus Range, 25 miles to the west, required intense heat that regular wood couldn’t provide.

  • Engineering: Each kiln stands 25 feet tall and was built from local stone and lime mortar.
  • Production: Laborers filled the kilns with pinyon pine and juniper logs, then set them to a slow, controlled burn for about a week to produce high-energy charcoal.
  • Preservation: The kilns were only used for about two years before the mines closed. Because of this short lifespan and their remote location, they are considered the best-preserved examples of charcoal kilns in the Western United States. Even today, the interior of the stones still smells faintly of woodsmoke and creosote.

Visiting Today

For modern visitors, Wildrose Canyon is a prime destination for escaping the heat and exploring the park’s history.

  • Wildrose Campground: Open year-round, this site offers 23 spaces. Unlike the low-elevation campgrounds, Wildrose is often breezy and cool, though it can see snow in the winter.
  • Hiking: The trailhead for Wildrose Peak (9,064 ft) begins at the charcoal kilns. It is an 8.4-mile round-trip hike that provides some of the most spectacular 360-degree views in California, stretching from the Sierra Nevada to the east to the white salt crust of Death Valley to the west.
  • Wildlife: The canyon is a haven for desert bighorn sheep, burros, and a variety of high-desert birds like the Pinyon Jay.

Travel Tips

The road into Wildrose Canyon is narrow and winding. The National Park Service strictly prohibits vehicles longer than 25 feet from traversing the upper sections of the canyon road due to tight turns. Additionally, the final stretches leading to the kilns are gravel; while usually passable for sedans, high-clearance vehicles are recommended after rain or snow.

Wildrose Canyon stands as a reminder that Death Valley is more than just a scorched basin—it is a mountain kingdom with a deep, cooling breath and a history etched in stone.

Little Lake, California — Gently Used Desert Town — Buy It Now.

Twenty-two miles north of Inyokern in highway 395 there was a small resort area known as Little Lake. I have vague memories of stopping there once or twice but never for long.

I do remember that some people from Trona, including my uncle, John Black, would go there to fish. It was stocked with bass.crappies and bluegill. in the lake and they charged a fee for fishing.

When Highway 395 was rerouted in the 1950s Little Lake was pretty much forgotten.

For more information about Little Lake visit this site:

www.owensvalleyhistory.com/little_lake/page95.html

If you would like to buy Little Lake follow this link:

https://www.ebay.com/itm/257206292649

 

The Desert Burros of Ballarat, California

Ballarat, California sits on the edge of Death Valley, a ghost town surrounded by harsh desert, abandoned mines, and wide‑open BLM land. One of the most iconic sights in the area isn’t a building or a landscape — it’s the wild desert burros that wander freely through the Panamint Valley. They’re charming, stubborn, and beloved by many travelers. But behind their rugged appeal lies a complicated environmental story.

These burros, descendants of animals left behind by miners and homesteaders, now roam the desert in numbers far larger than the ecosystem can comfortably support. Their presence has sparked ongoing debates involving residents, conservationists, and the Bureau of Land Management (BLM), which is responsible for managing both the land and the animals.

Where the Burros Came From

Burros (wild donkeys) were introduced to the region during the late 1800s. Miners used them for hauling ore, water, and supplies. When mining operations collapsed or workers moved on, many burros were released or escaped into the desert.

Over time, they formed self‑sustaining wild populations. Today, they’re a familiar sight around Ballarat — wandering through the town, approaching visitors for snacks, and grazing across the surrounding BLM land.

The BLM’s Role

Desert Burros in Ballarat, California, the BLM, and the Environmental Damage They Cause

The challenge is that burro populations grow quickly. With few natural predators and a steady supply of water from springs, tanks, and human activity, their numbers can double every four to five years. When populations exceed what the land can support, environmental damage follows.

Environmental Damage Caused by Wild Burros

While burros are charismatic and often adored by visitors, their impact on the desert ecosystem is significant.

1. Overgrazing of Native Plants

Burros eat grasses, shrubs, and even young trees. In fragile desert environments, plants grow slowly and recover even more slowly. Heavy grazing can lead to:

• loss of native vegetation
• soil exposure
• reduced food sources for native wildlife

2. Competition With Native Species

Burros compete with animals such as:

• bighorn sheep
• mule deer
• desert tortoises

They consume the same limited water and vegetation, often outcompeting native species that are already struggling to survive.

3. Damage to Water Sources

Burros congregate around springs and seeps, trampling the surrounding vegetation and muddying the water. This can:

• degrade water quality
• reduce habitat for amphibians and insects
• alter the flow of natural springs

In desert ecosystems, water sources are the heart of life — and burro pressure can dramatically reshape them.

4. Soil Erosion

By trampling vegetation and compacting soil, burros accelerate erosion. This leads to:

• loss of topsoil
• reduced plant regrowth
• increased sediment in waterways

Erosion also affects trails, roads, and archaeological sites.

5. Human–Burro Conflicts

In Ballarat itself, burros often wander into town looking for food. Visitors sometimes feed them, which:

• encourages aggressive behavior
• disrupts natural foraging
• increases vehicle collisions
• draws burros into unsafe areas

What feels like a friendly interaction can actually harm both the animals and the environment.

Why the Issue Is So Difficult

Managing wild burro populations is emotionally and politically charged. Many people see the animals as symbols of the Old West and want them protected. Others focus on the ecological damage and argue for stronger population control.

The BLM uses a mix of strategies, including:

• roundups
• adoption programs
• fertility control (where feasible)

But the terrain around Ballarat is rugged, remote, and difficult to manage. Solutions are slow, expensive, and often controversial.

A Landscape Caught Between History and Ecology

The desert burros of Ballarat are a living reminder of the region’s mining past. They’re part of the town’s identity and a favorite subject for photographers and travelers. Yet their growing numbers place real pressure on a fragile desert ecosystem already stressed by drought, climate change, and human activity.

Balancing the charm of these animals with the need to protect the land is one of the ongoing challenges facing the BLM and the communities of the Panamint Valley.