Lost Horse Mountain
Summit #52 of 70
Following our Potato Mountain mash-up on Saturday, Mitch and I met up with Mike that evening at the Desert Rose Collective in Morongo Valley north of Palm Springs. Since we were focused on mountain hikes, we didn't want to get too far out in the desert. Camping in the mountains implied cold nights, which wasn't exactly the reason we'd come to sunny southern California. We can get plenty of that back home. The campground at Desert Rose seemed a good compromise. In hindsight, after waking up the next morning with frost on my tent, I think the mountains might have been warmer.
In any event, we devoured Mike's pre-made dinner, and shivered around a “community” campfire after a minor kerfuffle with two young women who insisted they had dibs on the firepit. We saw just two other guys staying at the Rose, one of whom was from Canada. He and Mitch had much to talk about, having both attended the University of Calgary.
We all shared stories around the fire of travel to exotic places, Mexico in particular, but not the places where tourists often go. Our new geophysicist friend shirked a lucrative career in the oil industry for travel, living for a time in the mountains of Chiapas, then the Baja, selling solar panels to gringos. It was clear from his teasers he had some wild stories to share. He thought he might write a book.
We planned our Sunday adventure over breakfast. Objective: Lost Horse Mountain in the western part of Joshua Tree National Park, an hour's drive from camp. It would be nice being back in the park. I'd hiked up Ryan Mountain to the north of Lost Horse back in April, only my fourth peak of the lot. Sunday's summit would be number 52.
A seven-mile loop hike with around 1,200 feet of elevation gain awaited our intrepid team. The weather was perfect on arrival, and we quickly reached the old Lost Horse Mine about two miles in. The stamp mill where they crushed the ore a century ago was largely intact, with enough artifacts remaining to tantalize the curious. The name derives from the legend of the accidental discovery of a vein of gold when a cowboy, Johnny Lang, was out looking for his horse. The find would ultimate produce over 9,000 ounce of gold.
Just beyond the mine, a short, steep fork led us to our peak. We found a perfect perch for lunch there, along with wide views of a beauteous place that seemingly couldn't decide if it wanted to be mountains or desert. Adding to the confusion, a conspicuous volcanic intrusion known as Malapai Hill rose from the desert floor two miles to the east.
Returning to the mine trail, we continued the loop, a little down, a little up, then a long, scenic stretch among hundreds of Joshua trees, yucca, juniper, and bright, stony hills that glowed in the late afternoon sun.
We were back at the Desert Rose at dark. Fearing another long, cold night, we opted to fritter away some hours at a local bar and restaurant called the Spaghetti Western. It was a perfect choice. Not just because of the beautiful wood interior and local desert ambience, but because it happened to be open-mic night. Well over a dozen brave souls kept the crowd entertained with guitar pickin’ and strummin’, piano and blues harmonica playin’, and scratchy and lily voices singing of struggle, peace and love.
We returned to the Desert Rose around 10:00 pm. The atypical campground also warrants a word or two. The sites are reasonably spaced and fine for tent camping, but don't expect a picnic table or firepit. Instead, the artful-eco-nonconformist drive behind the Rose is all about community. The central area is laid out with copious recycled tables and chairs, funky open-air kitchen and bar areas, composting toilet setup, i.e., a bucket behind a curtain, two community firepits guarded by a Buddha, and a cacophony of artifacts seemingly rescued from the surrounding desert. If that's your thing, man, then go.
So our little peak wasn't quite the harrowing epic to write home about, but our two nights in the desert made it all quite memorable.
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Colorful place and a great read!