“High Clearance Vehicles Only”: Can A Stock Promaster Van Make It To Saline Valley Hot Springs (And Out Again)? – Death Valley Days

Saline Valley is adjacent to Death Valley and part of DV National Park, but it is exceptionally remote without any services or development and can be difficult to access. The National Park Service specifies that Saline Valley Road and Warm Springs Road require a high clearance vehicle. Can a stock, long-wheelbase Promaster van master the large loose rocks, wash-outs, endless washboard and soft sand to access the splendid natural hot springs and other attractions as a reward?

In 2019, we managed to get into the valley and (just barely) out again, but we never got to the springs. When my friend Dimitry (CC’s “dman”) invited me to join him and his lifted AWD Transit van (and possible tow vehicle) for another trip there and some other nearby attractions, the answer was obvious. And although the road was in worse shape than in 2019, the Promaster survived a couple of hard clunks to its undersides and made it back out. But not before we spent four superlative days hiking, exploring and soaking in the springs three times a day.

In 2019, we were returning from an extended van trip to Arizona, and quite impulsively decided to come back via Death Valley. I had read about Saline Valley and its remote hot springs, but had no proper maps or any navigation system. I wrongly assumed the springs would be on the main road. It was already late in the day, and the road was in much worse shape than expected. And I hadn’t filled up my tank. I set myself up for failure.

This is where we were parked on Saline Valley road for the night, well past where the turnoff to the hot springs would have been. I was very disappointed but it was all my own fault. And the drive back out via the South Pass was hairy, as there was still some snow in the upper sections. I had no chains and regular tires. But I was determined to come back.

Dimitry and I met in the little town of Big Pine in the Owens Valley, gassed up and found a campground in the nearby hills off Highway 168, which leads to the North Pass access to Saline Valley.

We all needed to stretch after long drives (mine was 11.5 hours), and the dogs, Wanda and Riley, had a chance to reacquaint, chase each other around and check out the coyote poop on a walk up to a little overlook.

The sunset view at the top was superb, looking directly across Owens Valley to the wall of the eastern Sierra. Dogs aren’t really into long distance views though.

The next morning we headed out, turned off onto Saline Valley Road and began our initial descent.

On the way we encountered an abandoned mine, one of many in the Death Valley area. Of course we stopped to check it out. There’s almost always some automotive-related relics to peruse. This one did not disappoint.

There was the typical detritus left behind, everything from an (unidentified) rear axle, bed springs and other once-useful items.

Like a blue front fender for a Scout II.

And a hood for a ’62 – ’66 Chevy or GMC truck.

Need a Falcon six? This one looks like it might be salvageable.

Here’s a Waukesha industrial four cylinder engine.

Strictly speaking, Saline Valley is not really a valley, as it has no drainage out, like Death Valley and others in this area. Geologically speaking these are all graben (borrowed from the German ‘ditch’, ‘trench’ or ‘grave’), with mountains and high passes on all sides. North Pass is over 7,000′ in elevation and often has snow in the winter. It had not snowed for some time, so that was not an issue now, but I did have chains along this time as well as a recovery strap.

Saline Valley Road via North Pass turned out to be quite a bit easier than the exit via South Pass; this was about as bad as it got. It’s a long descent, losing some 6,000′ of elevation.

 

Of course the washboard once we were on the valley floor was brutal, although not so bad in this shot. Here’s a snippet from adventuretaco’s drive into saline Valley:

And this is where every mile you put on the odometer puts about 10 miles on the truck. Saline Valley road now takes first prize for “Worst Washboard Road Traveled,” previously held by Cottonwood Canyon road. Ultimately, I channeled my inner-twenty-something and pressed the skinny pedal, knowing that I had to be ultra-alert for any washouts or larger holes in the road.

We were now in the valley proper and could see the salt lake shimmering in the distance.

We stopped at the junction to Warm Springs Road, which I had missed back in 2019.

Dimitry’s Transit is much better equipped to take on rough terrain, with AWD, limited slip rear differential, 2″ suspension lift, skid plates for the engine and rear differential and beefy 245/75 R16 AT tires. And it has a shorter wheelbase than the long and low FWD Promaster’s 159″ wheelbase with a meager 6.9″ of ground clearance. His Transit also has the optional 310 hp Eco Boost twin-turbo 3.5 L V6 and 10-speed automatic, a much more ambitious drive train than the Promaster’s Pentastar 3.6 V6 and clumsy 6-speed automatic. It’s quite a compelling package for off-road vanning. So far, the Promaster hasn’t let me down, and it was a lot cheaper and gets better mileage. But the idea of a genuine off-road capable van is compelling.

We stopped again for the distinctive bat sign that signals the approach to Warm Springs, as there was some mechanical detritus to examine.

That consisted mainly of a big three-cylinder air pump and a generator. Wanda was apparently not impressed.

In the late ’60s and early ’70s there was a community of hippies that lived here at Warm Springs and built some of the pools and such. A caretaker has lived here ever since year-round, and keeps things very orderly even though there are times when large groups gather here. But it was very quiet the week we were here. After the National Park Service annexed Saline Valley in 1994, they allowed the springs and its caretaker to continue on pretty much as before and looked the other way about the nudity. This is the caretaker’s residence behind the hot tubs.

The main tub is surrounded by palms. The floating Lego blocks are not Dimitry’s; there was a family with three very cute young kids there. There’s an outdoor shower and a sink for cleaning dishes and such, and even a little library. Behind the palms is another pool with unobstructed views where we met every morning at 6:45 to await the sun as it popped over the mountains.

We camped nearby. At night the full moon made the white soil look just like snow.

The next morning we headed out for a hike up the very rough and strictly 4×4 Steel Pass Road. A couple of miles up we came to the third hot springs, the Upper Warm Springs, where there is a small secluded pool surrounded by vegetation and palms. It’s surrounded by a fence to keep out the wild burros, which we saw regularly.

A blooming prickly pear cactus provided some stark relief from the endless rocks and scrub bushes.

From our turnaround point we had an excellent view of the valley. The Warm Springs are in that patch of light ground to the right of the lake bed. The palms are a tiny dark speck.

On the way back we stopped at Palm Springs, which is about a half mile past Saline Warm Springs. There’s several more pools here and more camping areas. We had another long soak.

On the way back I spotted this very nice old Toyota 4×4 pickup from the 1980-1983 era. These old Toyota pickups are prized possessions nowadays with off-roaders. Wanda had to say hi to the owner’s dog.

The next morning we headed to McElvoy Canyon, a narrow slot that eventually opens up some and has several waterfalls and remnants of long-abandoned mining activity. But most intriguing, there are remnants of two cabins built by “The Beekeeper of McElvoy”, who spent winters in the canyon harvesting honey made from rabbit brush in the lusher upper regions.

These cabins and some wire ladders placed on vertical cliffs were found by climbers in the early 1980s, to their great surprise. The cabins were still stocked with food and other supplies. It took some digging to find who this beekeeper was; it turned out to be one Marion Howard, who was unhappy working for a Chrysler auto plant after the war in Detroit and so came out west. He picked strawberries in Oregon in the summers and lived in the Owens Valley in winters. One day he just headed up a canyon on the west (Owens Valley) side of these very rugged Inyo Mountains and worked his way deep into the canyon. He was completely unaware that there were trails or that there was a road into Saline Valley until one night he saw some headlights on the road.

Over time he hauled in all his supplies in a duffel bag on his back and built the two cabins out of rock and branches and such. He kept bees until about 1980, when he “retired” to camping on public lands in this little trailer near Lone Pine, moving it s needed with an old yellow Chevy pickup.  He passed away in 2002. There’s a full write-up of this fascinating character here.  And another bio is here.

Unfortunately we didn’t make it to even the first of the two waterfalls, as a massive storm a few years back created several slides, blocking the trail that once led up into the canyon.

I made it up a loose steep slope in search of a route, but it was not safe to go any further.

This is as close as I could get to the first waterfall and the green hanging garden it feeds. Odd to see moss and such in such a dry place.

After we came out, we walked across the road to the Saline Valley Dunes, which are modest in size but make for great visual texture when seen from a distance. I’m still wrapping my head around how Marion Howard routinely climbed over this 9,000′ pass and vertical cliffs that require through technical climbing skills while hauling his supplies to his cabins and hauling jars of honey back out. They don’t make them like they used to.

After another soak or two and a peaceful night, the next morning we decided to climb the red volcanic “Peace Mountain”, named for the large peace sign that had been made on its side by the band of hippies living here back in the late ’60s.

We were joined by Chris, whom we met in the pools the evening before. We hit it off—he had some great car stories to tell; his first car was a Fiat 1200 cabriolet. He was astonished that I instantly knew what that was, the first person he’d ever met to know it. They were rare in the US, but I had found one (a 1500 version) and wrote it up here. He also shared a wild story involving a Citroen DS in Gibraltar. And a few others…

The warm springs are that dark cluster of palms in the middle of the white soil area.

We decided to come down the back side, which involved picking our way through this steep rock garden.

After three very relaxing days and nights at the warm springs, we somewhat reluctantly headed out, towards the south pass.

We stopped and poked around at this long abandoned borax processing facility. It was established in 1874, and hauling it out on mule wagons via the now abandoned Wacoba Canyon Road with some 6,000′ of elevation gain took great effort. A bit too much so.

We noticed but didn’t stop to shoot these three mailboxes, two with their outgoing mail flags up. No, nobody lives here; it’s a bit of a gag, a lure to get folks to stop and look inside them to see what could possibly be getting mailed.

It’s little notes and goodies for the curious traveler. These photos are from adventuretaco’s write up on Saline Valley.

A little further down the road are a few remaining towers of one of the most amazing engineering feats in this part of the world, the Saline Valley Salt Tram. The lake at the bottom of the valley had been precipitating salt for eons, and this salt is 98% pure. One of the partners of the borax operation realized that this salt had significant value as table salt and started mining it. It too was hauled out on wagons via Wacoba canyon Road, but it took two days per load, making the salt too expensive to sell profitably.

A few decades later a group of investors organized the Saline Valley Salt Co. and after considerable research, decided that a cable tramway was the solution to hauling it over the steep Inyo mountains to the rail head at Swansea in the Owens Valley. The 13.5 mile long tram was the steepest in the US, climbing from 1,100′ up to 8,700′ and then down the west slope to the terminus at 3,620′. It was engineered and built by the Trenton Steel Works in New Jersey, a licensee of German tram patents.

Construction started on the relatively less steep western side, leaving the dizzyingly steep walls of Daisy canyon for last. This amazing photo shows the steep switchback trail up the canyon, and some mules are visible coming down in the upper section and some men are on the trail further down. Somewhat surprisingly, there are no records of any fatalities in the two and a half year-long building process.

The salt was dried and piled up, ready to be hauled out.

And then sent on its long way up the mountain, starting in 1913, often hundreds of feet above the terrain. Unfortunately the grippers on the trollies were not designed properly, and they could only be filled two-thirds full until they were redesigned a few years later. When upgraded, the tram could haul 20 tons of salt per hour. But the huge investment led to repeated stress on the company, and it was taken over by another. It too eventually failed. The tram lay still for some years, then it was started up again in 1928 but it eventually failed during the Depression due to very low prices for salt and other commodities.

There were several transfer stations; this is the one at the top, which is still somewhat intact. There’s a very rugged 4×4 road up to the top from the west side. Saline Valley is far below. Each transfer station had its own electric motor. It is a truly remarkable piece of engineering.

There’s a lot more detailed history and pictures of the Saline Valley salt Tram here, and here.

Many of the towers and artifacts have been damaged by vandals. In 2024, someone drove past the warning signs here in their SUV and of course got deeply stuck in the extremely soft mud/salt crust at the edge of the lake. They tried to pull themselves out of their graben that Riley is looking into with their winch, attaching it to this last tower. Not surprisingly, it collapsed. It’s been tilted back up some, but it’s worse for wear. Just some 20 years ago, these towers and other remnants of the operations in the valley were still mostly all intact as well.

Ideally I would have liked to climb up the canyon to the first transfer station, but it was time to head out, and not without some trepidation. I knew there was about a mile-long rocky section ahead, before the road entered Grapevine Canyon. Dimitry got out and took a couple of shots on this section, and while it does show the size of the rocks, at least this section was actually quite intact and not all that hard to navigate through.

Further on from this section there were several washouts, both perpendicular to the road as well as parallel, meaning long extended deep ruts and sections of the road dropping off to one side. Sorry, but I was way to busy trying to place the Promaster on and between the rocks and ruts to think about photos just then; it really was quite challenging. The low rear axle clinked on rocks a couple of times and I bottomed out on a rock at the front pretty hard at least once. That was a bit worrisome as the oil pan hangs low. A later examination showed the strike was on the exhaust downpipe for the front cylinder bank; no actual damage but some shiny dings where it hit.

I’ve taken the Promaster through some difficult terrain before, but this was the most challenging yet due to the rocks, which were also often loose, meaning they would often roll out from under one of the front tires as I gave it some gas to get over it. That’s what caused the CLUNK under the front end. And of course one has to worry some about the tires too, as flats on this road are an all-too common phenomena.

Obviously we made it. And I am going to give some serious consideration to installing a front skid plate.

We headed up into the canyon, which turned out to be easier than the rock garden, although there were a few tricky washout spots too, due to the heavy storms about a month earlier.

At the top of the pass, after a 5,000′ climb, we had a clear view of our destination: Panamint Valley. The Panamint Dunes are quite visible down there; we would be hiking to them tomorrow after camping down near those dark little hills in the middle of the valley floor.

After days of crashing around on rocks and washboard, hitting the paved highway through Panamint Valley felt like this. One forgets how quiet and smooth our paved highways are (most of the time).  But it was short lived.

 

We turned off all-too soon on another rough and repeatedly washed-out road to the dunes and pulled off in a little spur to camp for the night. As always in the clear dry desert air, the stars were phenomenal. It’s pretty spoiling to not have to set up tents and all after a long day hiking or driving.

The next morning we drove another mile to the end of the road and started hiking cross-country towards the dunes. It was several miles through the scattered brush, but easy walking compared to the rockier terrain in Saline Valley. And it was a bit warmer; it got close to 80 on this day, but there was a breeze.

That’s me and the dogs on the summit, some 1000′ feet higher from where we had started in the valley below.

There was a stiff wind at the top. The dogs got a bit manic and started racing around chasing each other.

Here’s the view back int the valley. Really sharp eyes might just barely be able to make out the Promaster way down there, a bit over three miles away.

Instead of going straight back, we now headed in an easterly direction to the Big Four Mine, up there somewhere against that mountain, above those two dark rock piles.

It wasn’t all stark; there were a few flowers blooming and there is talk of a “superbloom” in the Death Valley area a bit later this year due to the heavy rains earlier.

It was another couple of miles up a steady uphill.

We found the usual rusted but still intact steel debris, this mostly from an old car. These old cars and trucks were rugged to make it up the rough roads that were carved out. High clearance, yes, but no four wheel drive.  Apparently we didn’t go up far enough, as we found out afterwards that there’s more serious mining equipment around the bend, including mine trolley tracks and such.

We walked back down on the mine road, which was mostly still fairly intact. In all, we hiked some ten miles on this outing.

We decided to head on out in the vans, but not before stopping at these two old derelict car skeletons that have been sunbathing here for quite a while now.

The Buick looks to be a 1955 Century four door sedan that has had its roof cut off for some reason.

Its 322 cubic inch “nailhead” V8 has lost one of its oddly-shaped cylinder heads, and sand has filled up the bores. The one aluminum piston showing has some dents on it; presumably from someone striking it with a hard object.

The sun and weather have stripped the Buick of every last molecule of soft material other than the steel, which exposes its underlying components quite handily. No soft touch plastics or fabrics here.

That applies to the dashboard as well. This is the ultimate “stripper”.

The other one is a Buick too, a 1941 Special Sedanette, as best as I can tell. But it’s lost its frame and drive train somewhere, so there’s just the body shell.

I had initially guessed it was a Pontiac, but these distinctive fender vents place it on a ’41 Buick.

Wanda wondered what had happened to its rear axle.

She wasn’t the only Wanda that expressed interest in the ’41 Buick. This one from Maine was here in 2022.

The dogs used the shade of the bullet-riddled Buicks to good advantage. It was getting a bit warm.

We could have made it to Lone Pine for gas, but we were shocked to see that gas at the Panamint Springs gas station was only $4.99 a gallon. It usually runs at least 50% or more of what it costs in the Owens Valley, but this was about the same so we filled up and took in the sights there as well as some ice cream. A fine old International KB-5  truck was sitting at the head of a line of old generators and pumps.

A GMC DD 6-71 genset made a good support for their marketing efforts.

We headed up 395 to Bishop and then towards the Sierras where we found some dispersed camping sites, but not before another dip, in the “Hot Ditch”, the natural outflow of the commercial Keough Hot Springs. Our campsite was a beautiful spot by a creek and the moon was just setting over the mountains in the morning. After breakfast we took a hike up closer towards the peaks. I could have just kept going…I have a magnetic attraction to the high mountains.

I had contemplated heading home this morning, but it was so beautiful, so why? So we then decided to check out a couple of more natural hot springs, these closer to Mammoth. We headed up the long Sherwin grade and pulled off in the snowy high plateau there. The icy road was deeply rutted and we didn’t know if it would get worse or if there was a turnaround, so we found this wide spot to turn around and left the vans to walk the rest of the way. Naturally, the road got better…

There was just one small rocky pool there, and fortunately we were the only takers. It was a sublime spot, although the water was not quite as hot as it ideally would have been given the temperatures in the low 20s.

I was mighty glad we had decided to extend the trip for this. Why do I tend to rush? I need to work harder on this whole retirement thing.

So we headed to another hot springs, this one involving about a one and a quarter mile walk through the snow. And these were properly toasty! Getting undressed and dressed quickly in the cold is always a bit of a challenge.

Time to hike back; the dogs frolicked in the snow.

We arrived back at the vans and decided to hit our respective roads home, but not before we stopped at June Lake for a hamburger, our first meal out in over a week. I had a long way home (600 miles), which I broke up into two half days with an overnight in the Modoc national Forest.

I’m indebted to Dimitry, who has been exploring this part of the world since the late 1970s and was a superb guide and companion. We’re finally getting some rain here in Oregon now and I’m already missing all that sunshine.