Houn's Journal: Panamint Valley Posse

There’s a lot of good things that have flown from our decision to buy our Lazy Daze RV. We’ve had great adventures driving around the Southwest, rekindling our appreciation for the incredible diversity of landscape that this country offers. But it also has fostered new friendships that we value more and more with every LD get-together that we have. The latest was our trip to the Panamint Valley and Death Valley last week (12/26 to 12/30).

Recent years have seen a small portion of the parent Caravan Club get together for the week after Christmas in Death Valley to explore with Jeeps and commune with food and drink. This has proved so popular that I’m told there were about 30 rigs at Furnace Creek this time. The Death Valley Desperados. However, we joined with a splinter group that wanted to avoid cumbersome “wagon-train” Jeep excursions. We met up instead in the Panamint Valley, a beautiful area to the immediate west of Death Valley, separated by the Panamint Mountain range. Here’s a shot of that range from our campsite the first evening, with Loni, Renee, and Barbara bundled against the chill:

The Panamint Valley has a very cool formation that looks for all the world like a giant shark facing right. See it? Our rigs are down in that Valley, but over to the left, out of the picture.

We initially were three rigs: us, Larry & Renee, and Art & Barbara; we were joined later by Terry and Elith. We circled the wagons in the middle of nowhere:

Rig-to-rig progressive dinner night (we got the hors d’oeuvres):

This is Bill on the right, a local resident who’s carving his dreamscape 3,500 feet up the Argus Range that forms the west side of the Panamint Valley, alongside a huge hunk of gorgeous stone he hauled in to the site. Art (L) and Larry (R) in the rear.

Our jeeping took us over the Slate Range that runs down the south portion of the Panamint Valley, where we are standing here. Are these guys desert rats, or what? (What.)

The next day, joined by Terry & Elith, we took the Wildrose road out of the Valley and climbed 4,000 feet into the Panamints, cutting over on the Emigrant Canyon Road and finally the Skidoo Trail to the ghost town site of Skidoo and its end-of-the-road rock mill (out of sight around that bend).

Skidoo flourished (700 souls) between 1906 and 1917, pumping in water from 23 miles away. The phrase “23 Skidoo,” however (meaning “scram!”), preceded the naming of town. I can’t imagine hauling materials into this remote area to build an entire town.

The night of the 28th, Loni cooked Chicken Dijon for the eight of us, with a nice green bean risotto and a big salad. Renee helped put the salad together, Elith made a scrumptious dessert, and Art & Barbara supplied the wine. Terry and Elith have a 27 ft rear bath model, so it had plenty of room for eight at the dinette and the lounge table. We are camping in style! We pulled up stakes on the 29th and moved on to Mesquite Springs campground in Death Valley, up near Scotty’s Castle. This is an “improved” campground, with picnic tables and fire rings and bathrooms, but no hookups. We were joined here by a couple more rigs from the DVD group, and are perched on the rim of a large ravine.

Scotty’s Castle may be touristy, but it’s still a must see. I’d never seen it before, so we took off to take a tour. Despite the name, this actually was the winter vacation residence of a Chicago insurance millionaire, Albert Johnson, who came here for his health. Part of that health, he thought, was a steady dose of laughter provided by one Walter Scott, prospector, storyteller, and general prevaricator, who had duped Johnson into “investing” in his alleged gold mine. Johnson caught on quickly, but retained “Scotty” until his death to keep him entertained. Started in 1924, and never completely finished, the place is beautifully crafted, inside and out, and the Park Ranger gave an interesting tour, dressed in period costume.

While waiting for our tour to start, we drove over to check out the Ubehebe Crater about 8 miles away. This baby is half a mile wide and 500 feet deep, formed by a volcanic explosion about 1,000 years ago. No, I wasn’t trying to throw her in as a sacrifice. Honest.

We had a relaxing time around a campfire that evening, which was our last. We left the next morning, but everyone else was staying through New Year’s. If you look reeeel sharp you can see the little white blips of the rigs at the Mesquite Campground in this shot taken on the way out (click to enlarge):