With several wilderness areas and the Bureau of Land Management's implementation of a "Closed Unless Posted Open" policy, many existing roads to the high country have been decommissioned. That is a political way of saying, "Closed to all mechanical travel (including mountain bikes)." The bureau does allow foot traffic, but as we learned from our predecessors, conditions are not conducive to foot travel, and modern-day time constraints seldom allow the weeks needed. So, it is effectively closed.
From a saddle between two peaks, we descended to a valley to the west. Harris pointed out long striations across a limestone ridge, evidence of steel wagon wheels descending the ridge. Approaching the entrance to High Rock Canyon, we appeared to be at an impasse. The valley floor narrowed and the trail became barely wide enough for our rigs to squeeze through. Fording a small creek several times, the sheer canyon walls rose 400 feet to either side. Writings of early settlers can still be seen along the trail and in several small caves (except for a few that some moron defaced). Over lunch, Uncle Willy shared tales of the days gone by. It is said that on several occasions, the Paiute Indians rolled large boulders from the cliffs onto settlers resting in the shade beneath, scattering livestock in a mass of confusion. As the canyon widened, deep ruts in the valley floor, evidence of the passage of hundreds of wagon trains, paralleled our sandy two-track.
The valley winds to the northeast and is joined by numerous small tributaries. Near Yellow Canyon, named for the heavy concentrations of yellow sulfur in its northern banks, we stopped at an old ranch building named the Garage. The vehicle-size portal was just the right size for a small rig. Constructed from walls of stone with a roof of timbers, mud, and grass, it's slowly yielding to the elements. Visiting several old miners' cabins, we made our way back to an abandoned cattle ranch at High Rock Lake. By midsummer, the lake has usually long vanished in the desert sun. We took the opportunity to scavenge for artifacts and arrowheads on its now-dry shores.
Back on the main route to Double Hot Springs and returning to camp, we were glad to be doing so in the comfort of our 4x4s. We had traversed more than 350 miles of dirt roads, salt flats, and two-tracks in a span of just three days. Envisioning the plight of the pioneers, we could only imagine their hardships, trials, and tribulations, and the overwhelming sense of accomplishment they must have sensed after surviving the unforgiving Trail of Death and High Rock Desert.