A Desert Dispatch; Tales from the not so old west
In the late 70’s, early 80’s, there was a group of individuals that owned first generation Ford Bronco’s. These Broncos were often modified and uniquely customized; however, they were also our daily drivers. All of us kick ourselves for not hanging on to them as they are now worth a small fortune. We weren’t a club, just individuals that had the same type vehicle and enjoyed the same kind of adventures. Hardly a weekend would pass that we didn’t go out Wheelin’ now referred to as Overlanding. We purposely tried to avoid pavement as much as possible by traveling on fire roads or Jeep trails.
One of our favorite annual trips was to spend Thanksgiving in Death Valley. Although this particular trip was in 1978 and before I knew the lovely Fire Goddess, she encouraged me to tell the story as it is one of her all time favorites.
Death Valley is a beautiful place with a public relations problem… its name. The name in itself does not conjure up the grandeur and the beauty of other national parks, i.e Grand Canyon, Yosemite, etc. but nevertheless, it’s awesome. It’s name is not derived from some carnage. Rather a group of immigrants that tried to shortcut the Spanish Trail and ended up marooned. As they waited to be rescued they had to eat their oxen and discard most of their possessions according to legend. Once the group was rescued and as they left the valley, one of their party looked over their shoulder and said “Goodbye Death Valley” and the name stuck.
Our turkey day adventure started on Wednesday night where 5 Bronco’s set out from our hometown, a small beach town (without a beach) just south of LA. We would make our way north toward the Mojave Desert and spend the night off of highway 395, south of Olancha. That first nights accommodation was a cement slab, in sleeping bags, arranged like Sardines, on foam pads, sandwiched between two canvas tarps.
Thursday, Thanksgiving morning, we headed east and over the Hunter Mountain Jeep trail that dropped us into Hidden Valley near Teakettle Junction. We turned south on Racetrack Valley Road toward the Racetrack Playa (home of the famous moving rocks) to our destination, a miners cabin that we warmly referred to as “The Ubehebe Plaza.” At the end of the day our traditional meal was prepared and enjoyed by all.
On these adventures we had a “Trail Boss” who planned the trips, our routes, overnight camps, and side trips. One of our objectives on this outing was to visit the infamous Barker Ranch where Charles Manson and “the Family” hid out and were ultimately arrested. Possibly because of this planned stopover or do to the fact that we had first timers on this trip we had an abundance of scary stories being shared around the campfire nightly.
Friday we headed to Scotty’s Castle, stopped for lunch, made a few side trips along the way exploring mining sites, and eventually spending the night in a manmade cave where we were constantly awaken by curious Kit Foxes that were trying to access our food larder.
The Hunter Mountain Jeep Trail as well as the Racetrack Valley Road is notoriously brutal on tires and this trip was no exception. We all ran with the same tires and wheels, so not everyone carried a spare. Maybe we should have as we had five blowouts on this particular trip. Five!
Fortunately for us, there was a full service Chevron gas station at the Death Valley Ranch and somehow we talked the manager into letting us use his tire machine to repair our flats. With a full complement of spare tires and full tanks of very expensive gas, we are back on the road.
Our destination for the night was another miners cabin off of Butte Valley Road that has a stunning view of the Striped Butte, a prominent geological outcrop in the southwest corner of the valley. Nowadays this cabin is referred to as the Geologists Cabin.
We headed south on Badwater Road and turned off onto the Westside Road, a 40 mile dirt track that follows the eastern foothills of the Panamint Range and home to the tallest point in the valley, Telescope Peak. At 11,049 feet above sea level, Telescope Peak casts long shadows on the Badwater Basin below and the location of the lowest point in North America, 262 feet below sea level.
As usual we made a side trip up Johnson Canyon road to visit and explore Hungry Bill’s Ranch. Returning to the Westside Road we turned west on Warm Springs / Butte Valley Road and we could see the Miners cabin on a small hillock.
As we approached the cabin we noticed a burrow skull hanging over the door and a hand-painted sign that promised doom to those who enter. During the 70s many laid claim to the cabin and discouraged interlopers. This and the fact that the door had been padlocked and somebody had broken in, gave some of us concern. After much discussion and a vote we decided to abandon our thoughts of staying in the nice cabin and headed down to Goler wash to use the Hilton!
The Hilton was a huge tent with blue and white stripes, reminiscent of a circus tent that smelled of old canvas. We were always comfortable and safe in the Hilton or so we thought…
Being the last night of the trip we had a nice meal then settled around a huge fire using up the remainder of our firewood. The next day would take us past the Barker Ranch. As the night moved on we told more macabre stories of modern desert outlaws.
On this dark moonless night some of the men decided to walk away from the camp to spot coyotes. This ruse was an excuse to make random noises and toss stones in an attempt to add to the ongoing narrative.
The next day we had 20+ miles of serious off-roading, then a 200 mile drive home so it was off to bed. It was an eerily quiet night, no coyotes hunting, foxes scurrying about or kangaroo rats looking for dropped food, just the sounds of sleep, light snoring, and body’s repositioning.
Suddenly an explosion pierced the silence of the night. It sounded like a shotgun going off in close proximity. Shortly following was what sounded like pellets hitting the side of the tent. Nothing seemed to have penetrated the canvas but it definitely got everybody’s attention. Then it was even quieter than before, nobody moved, couldn’t even hear anybody breathe. Finally somebody in a low voice said “did you hear that?” Another said “yeah.” There were some hushed murmurings and someone said “let’s be quiet to see if we hear anybody.” We all set up in our sleeping bags and listened. We decided possibly there was a hunter in the area or maybe for some reason they just we’re trying to scare us off.
One by one we started to doze off… it was a fitful night of sleep. As the sun came up we made our way out of the tent and had a look around. As we walked around the camp we could detect no other sign then our own. No shotgun shells, no fresh foot or tire prints, nothing. A member of our party yelled, “hey… check out my Bronco, it looks like I broke a shock or a spring by the way its leaning!” We all gathered around the wounded vehicle for a closer look. Someone else said “check it out… it’s not the suspension… you’ve got a flat tire!” We didn’t notice at first due to the soft sand but sure enough the tire was flat and a chunk of the sidewall was missing. Tragedy adverted, and a bit relieved, that it was only another tire blowout that sent sand, gravel and chunks of rubber into the side of the tent and not marauding bandits!
We were disappointed to see the Barker Ranch as it was mostly ransacked and nothing like it was on the day when law enforcement captured the group in Oct 1969. The lawman were surprised that Manson was caught hiding under the kitchen sink, because at the time of the raid they were unaware of the magnitude of their find. They wanted to arrest the group for vandalism within Death Valley National Monument, unaware that they had a mass-murderer suspect and his followers.” In May 2009 a suspicious fire gutted the ranch!
This story may have changed over the years, been expanded upon, and maybe even elaborated as many tales of the desert are. Hopefully our story will be continued and told by future generations of a group of brave Bronco owners surviving a harrowing night in Death Valley.
The Fire Goddess and I are thankful for many things in our lives, our friends, our family, our followers and our adventures. We wish everyone the best Thanksgiving ever and that we continue to be thankful throughout the year for the blessings bestowed upon all of us.
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