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While hanging around Victorville, CA had it's benefits, I really needed to get moving again. I had a couple of options. There were some areas around Barstow that I would have liked to explored but looking on the map I was having a hard time figuring out access. I was also dragging my travel trailer around which somewhat limits where I can go. I had been hoping to drop it somewhere to stay in while I explored. My friend Harvey, who lives in Victorville, warned me against leaving the trailer unattended as thieves would steal the propane tanks, the spare tire and anything else they could get away with in short order. Staying in a commercial campground would have been the answer but I didn't want to spend the $50 or $60 a night. With further study of my guide books and charts, I decided those parts of the Old Spanish Trail were actually part of Lewis' route and not part of the route I was following.

Fair enough.

I decided to go to Baker and spend the night in an empty lot I knew about. Between Las Vegas, NV and Southern CA, Baker is probably best known for the Mad Greek Cafe and the largest outdoor thermometer in the world...or so they claim. I don't know. It is tall though. 134 feet tall. Baker is also the gateway to Death Valley on Hwy 127. That's where I was headed. Not all the way to Death Valley but in that direction.

Pulling into the lot I had found on the app on my phone, I got out, walked around and stretched. Two semi's were in the lot as well as a worn out motorhome with some shady looking characters hanging out around. Looked like they were broke down. The lot is right next to a service station so they had access to help...if they needed it.

I decided to move on and find something quieter and by myself.

Not far out of town I found just such a place. About 6 or 7 miles out on 127 I found a wide spot in the road and pulled over. It wasn't dark yet, and as I walked around I noticed something odd  about 200 hundred yards out into the desert. I walked the old path out to it and found what would make a great spot for the night.

Part of the problem in dragging that trailer around is having to be careful where you drag it. I had learned that Mojave Desert sand is easy to get stuck in. This old path looked solid enough and there were other tracks on it so I pulled the trailer and parked it next to an old cemetery.

That's right. An old cemetery out there in the desert. How cool is this I thought.

While I still had daylight I walked through the graveyard. Maybe 18 or 20 graves. Some old and a couple of recent ones. Many were unmarked so who knew how old they were.  Most were decorated with fake flowers and about half of them had beer bottles on them. Little shrines. An old watch was on one. A bottle opener was on another and a pair of pliers on another yet. Hmmm...maybe mementos. Who knows.

The setting sun bathed the desert landscape in a golden/orange hue. Popping the cap off of a cold one, I just walked around in amazement. The Old Spanish Trail was out here somewhere.

Over there? Closer to those hills?

Maybe over here, near these hills.

Maybe right here where I was camped.  

Could it be? HaH! Maybe, although there were lots of tracks out here in the desert.

I popped another cap off and sat down to watch the light fade from the sky, imagining...

One thing was sure. I was falling in love with this desert.

That night I stayed up way late reading through my guide books and determined that it was very likely I was right on the trail, or very close to it anyway. The next day's weather looked promising so I decided to stay a couple of days. Why not? I had the place to myself, with the exception of those buried behind me but they were no trouble. A quiet bunch.

The highway was off in the distance. There was little traffic...and the scenery. I had to do a sunset painting so I had to stay over at least another night.

The next morning the sunrise was just as spectacular as the sunset the night before. but the soft pastel colors faded quickly as the sun rose higher in the sky. I wasn't quite ready but got my easel set up and did as best I could with the light.

At the base of those mountains over there was a dry lake bed. Silver Lake. Apparently there is still an active mine back in there somewhere. I could see haul trucks coming and going off in the distance.

After a breakfast and coffee I walked around a bit, exploring the desert out in front of me. I came across what almost looked like an improved gravel, sandy road bed. Just beyond was a dugout of an old shack. Somebody had been living in it but with the dry desert climate, who knows how old it was.

I whiled the day away, relaxing, physically and mentally going over everything I had covered in the last couple of days.

There was still a sunset painting to do.

Later in the day, I heard a vehicle pull up behind me. A older fella got out and stood over one of the graves. I started to go over to ask him some of the jillion questions I had on my mind but he waved me off. It was obvious he was a bit emotional, so turned back to my trailer and left him to his grief.

When he was finished, he did pull around to my side of the trailer and we chatted a bit. He said that the graves were some people from Baker, his daughter was one of them.

I told him what I was doing with the Old Spanish Trail and he mentioned that the old T&T rail bed ran right through here. I smiled and nodded but before I could delve any deeper he said he had to go. Looked like he was tearing up again.

The T&T rail bed had been mentioned in one of my guide books. Reading through it again, it was hard to tell if  the rail bed  followed the OST, or not. If it did...then there it was. Right there where I was camped.

T&T was for the Tidewater and Tonopah rail line which was established to haul ore out of the mines in the area.

I later learned that the cemetery served the community of Silver Lake, an old mining town. I'm left wondering where the remains of the old town were. Perhaps that dugout shack was part of it. I should have walked around a little more.

A good reason to go back someday.

That evening, I was ready for the sunset and captured what I think was a pretty good painting of it.

Sorry for the canted angle.

I again spent the evening watching the sunlight fade across the desert. Oh my. I could watch this over and over and over...the soft colors...I learned to appreciate those barren rocky mountains. The ruggedness. No vegetation. Just dry barren rock...but oh so beautiful in the right light. I even grew fond of the desert scrub brush. Again the soft pastel light on these whips of bushes...oh my.

During my reading that evening I learned that one of the mountains to the west of me, across the desert was Mt. Amargosa, a noted desert mountain mentioned in the guide books. It played a prominent role in the history of the area.

The next morning with coffee in hand I watched the light on Mt Amargosa and did another watercolor.

The old gentleman who had visited his daughter's grave the previous day had identified the mountain for me. He said they have introduced Desert Sheep up there and he knew where to find them. Said he'd been all over that mountain. Hard to believe there would be anything up there to eat much less any water.

Not being in any hurry, I took my time and reluctantly packed up and left, dragging my feet as mush as possible. The weather was fantastic. Low 70's. Why would I want to leave?

Up ahead there was more trail to discover.

I passed a number of land marks on the way. The problem was that there was little place to pull over especially with this trailer behind me. The trailer is about 30 feet long and the big dual cab long bed F350 diesel pickup is another 20 feet so it takes some space to fit far enough off the highway. Another painting or two would have been nice but I still had unknown territory ahead of me. I was headed to the town of Tecopa and Emigrant Pass, near the Nevada border.

The highway into Tecopa is called the Old Spanish Trail highway and sure enough, there was the sign. If I had stayed on 127, I would have continued on into Death Valley, but I had other fish to fry. Tecopa is in the Amargosa River Valley. A broad desert valley with the Amargosa river running through it. This river, like the Mojave River, is largely an underground river, surfacing in a few places in the form of hot springs.

Not far up the road was Tecopa which is best known for it's hot springs. Apparently a popular spot complete with campground....clothing optional the sign said...the hot springs. Don't know about the campground but...fair warning was given.

Tecopa isn't much. Several abandoned buildings, businesses and residences alike. Then again, maybe they weren't abandoned. Maybe that was just life in the desert. There was one roadhouse/bar open where there were several OHV's parked outside. Lots of revelers in various stages of dress out on the patio. Mugs of an amber liquid on tables and in the hands of all present. Looked like a good time was being had by all. Maybe the tavern was clothing optional also.

Just creeping along, I tried to imagine what life was like in Tecopa.

I had been given the name of a local who could assist me in my search. I found her place on the outskirts of this little burg but I had just missed her. Gone for the day.

No worries. I'll find Emigrant Pass on my own.

Following the Old Spanish Trail Highway out of town, I knew I was on the right road. It gently climbed into the surrounding hills. Desert all around. Palm trees in some places. Life out here had to be harsh during the summer. I imagine folks left for the summer and returned during the cooler months. No doubt there were others who stayed and relished the heat. Desert rats as they are known.

The two lane road narrowed as it climbed higher and soon I could see what I thought was probably the summit, where Emigrant Pass should be. Just as I crested the summit there was a small turnout on the right. My pickup and trailer JUST fit. It was narrow but there was little traffic so I felt I would chance it. I crossed the roadway and climbed the hillside. Looking back the way I had come, I could see a cut in the hillside below the pavement. I was told that there would be remnants of the Old Salt Lake Wagon Road. That must be what that was. Supposedly the original trail could be seen as well. I climbed a little further on what was a graded dirt roadway blocked by a locked gate with a sign that declared wilderness beyond. I climbed through the gate and further up, the road leveled off with what had been a parking area. Beyond was a commanding view of a broad desert landscape with assorted mountain ranges scattered about. The remnants of a trail or wagon road could be seen crossing the area and disappearing into the far mountains.

Could that be the trail? Knowing that the trail largely consisted of a network of trails in most places, I felt confident that it was a portion of the trail.

I had also been told that there was a concrete marker put up there by the Old Spanish Trail Association some years earlier. It could or could not be there as many had been stolen or shot up.

There was no marker that I could see.

Remembering that I had been told to follow a trail to the left along the ridge, I looked in that direction...low and behold...faintly I could make out the trail...and further on, way out there was a marker. I'll be darned. To my left, I noticed a trail on the other side of the drainage from where I was, and it led right to the marker. That was it. The Old Spanish Trail. Shivers ran down my back.

If you zoom in off to the far right, follow the trail and there is a white concrete marker about 5 feet tall. See it?

It was quite a hike out there but I decided since I had come all that way...hoping the truck and trailer would be safe down on the highway I began my trek. Following the ridge line I kept the OST to my left.

Finally I got to it.

Somebody had placed an old shoe on top. I left it there.

This marked the spot where the OST crossed over Emigrant Pass. 

Off to the east the view was expansive and I could easily make out the trace of the trail and later Salt Lake Wagon Road.

Again, zoom in. Can you see it?

In all actuality, since we are looking east, this is the view those who were returning had. Never-the-less it is the way those traveling west would have had to come. Impressive either way.

The modern day highway snaked out across the desert. The Nevada border down below somewhere.

My stop for the night would be at Stump Spring. I had read reference to this location in one of the guide books but I didn't know where it was. I was on the lookout for a place to spend the night when I came across a turnout with a sign kiosk. Pulling over I was surprised to see that it identified the location as Stump Spring...on the Old Spanish Trail.

As luck would have it, the spot was big enough to accommodate the truck and trailer. The highway traffic was minimal, just an occasional car. I was out in the desert somewhere...what more could I ask for? 

Besides, I was on the Old Spanish Trail...

Could that dirt road disappearing  off into the distance be the OST?

Could it be?

Besides, the views were to die for...

and then there was the sunset

Again I was caught short for the painting but the next morning I was ready for the sunrise.

The night passed quietly. Surprisingly I had cell service and connected with Lewis. He said he would be in Valley of Fire between Las Vegas and Mesquite Nevada about midweek. It was currently Saturday evening. Watching the weather, I could see a front blowing about then. Strong wind advisory for the area.

The next morning, the morning of the above sunrise painting, I headed toward Las Vegas and the Valley of Fire.

Apparently there is, or was, a pretty good spring at what is now Las Vegas. The trail goes right through Sin City and out the other side where it joins the Armijo route that Lewis was working on. Records show it running along where Lake Mead is. The two trails joined briefly past Lake Mead, along the Virgin River. This is what brought Lewis to the area and why we were going to rendezvous.

Although it was a Sunday, the traffic was bad as I made my way through Las Vegas. Fortunately my Garmin GPS got me through the maze and out the other side, on the road to Vally of Fire.

I had no idea of what to expect. I had looked the place up on the world wide web while I had service, using my cell phone as a hotspot. There was camping. I thought I would spend at least one night there just to say I had, while I checked with Lewis to see when he would be there. Plus I had that front and high winds blowing in. I really didn't want to be on the road during that wind storm.

One of the hazards, or benefits of being on the road like that is you tend to forget what day it is. I had been out by myself on the desert so long that it never occurred to me that the Valley of Fire would be anything other than another beautiful solitary place to camp for a few days.

I was sure wrong about that. I came over a hill and much to my surprise...

 Way down ahead of ALL OF THOSE cars is the pay station.

Are you kidding me?

To make a long story short, I didn't find a place to camp. I couldn't even find a place to pull over and gather my thoughts and come up with a Plan B. I clearly wasn't going to be able to stay here for a couple of days waiting for Lewis. Who knew what it would be like when he showed up.

It was clear that I'd have to come back to finish my work in the area, and with that storm breathing down my neck, I decided it was a good time to head back. I could be home by Monday evening. That storm was supposed to be rolling in to the area Monday and if I left now, maybe I could beat it.