Backroads: Ophir and Out

...well, to Middlegate, anyway.
We're on the downhill run from Ophir Summit to Middlegate, NV, trying to beat the sun. Middlegate is beyond that first mountain range, the Shoshone Mountains, and beyond the ranges seen to either side of the high part of the Shoshones: the Paradise Range and Desatoya Mountains — two semi-contiguous Basin-and-Range mountains that happen to have different names. It's a long way to go, and we've already estimated that there's about 2 hours and 15 minutes to actual sunset, which would put sunset at about 6:55 pm.
We'll be going into Reese River Valley, toward the center of the photo where it looks as though several roads (and one river) are coming together. The predominant line running through the valley, from south to north, is the Reese River.
In a somewhat zoomed in view, the Reese River is behind the partially turned aspens. No, we won't be following the road through the aspens.
The road on the what I think of as the downhill side (west) of Ophir Summit is much gentler than the road on the east side, because of the often assymetrical uplift of many Basin-and-Range ranges. The Toiyabe Range horst block is steeper on the east side where most of the uplift has taken place, and the whole block tilts westward — except for the part of the range just south of Austin, where the mountain is steep on both west and east. The steep eastern side near the mouth of Ophir Canyon, with faceted spurs, can be seen more clearly in this post showing the more recent faulting and uplift on the east side of the range (also see the Google Earth image below with Quaternary faults of various ages).
Google Earth image, with reference cited below, and color scheme for faults listed, as given here.

This image is from: U.S. Geological Survey and Nevada Bureau of Mines and Geology, 2006, Quaternary fault and fold database for the United States, accessed 10-27-2008, from a no longer active website. (All faults in the Toiyabe Range are now shown as green on the new active interface.)

Historic faults are the most recent, with known movement being less than about 150 years (in red).

Holocene to Latest Pleistocene faults are younger than 15,000 years (in orange).

Late Quaternary faults are younger than 130,000 years (in yellow).

Mid to Late Quaternary faults are younger than 750,000 years (in green).

Quaternary faults are younger than 1,600,000 years (in blue).

We're farther down the west side of the Toiyabe Range, now, looking off to the south. And whether or not I've got the picture tilted somewhat, you can see how this side is dipping off to the west less steeply than the steep eastern side we drove through earlier, and you can also see the somewhat planar nature of the westward-dipping surface, as though a relatively low-relief erosion surface had developed across the area prior to Basin-and-Range faulting.

We'll be down in that colorful aspen grove soon, where a small hunting camp is ensconsed.
We've almost arrived at Point B on the embedded map below, inside the Yomba Indian Reservation in Reese River Valley, and we're looking down the valley toward the headwaters of the Reese. The headwaters of the Reese are more than 15 miles SSE at the western base of Toiyabe Dome (Little Jett Creek and Trail Creek) and more than 15 miles to the south (Indian Creek). The headwaters, and especially the upper reaches near Little Jett Creek, are a wonderful place to visit in spring to mid-summer. I'm not sure how far in one can drive anymore: the map shows a jeep road or pack trail.
At Point B, we jogged across the main paved road through Reese River Valley — which may or may not be called S.R. 21 or 22, and may or may not be paved everywhere — over to this turnoff to Ione. This is one of those famous Ione signs out in central Nevada, except that this time we're within striking distance: only 8 miles away! It's now 5:26 pm, and the sun isn't down yet.
We arrive in Ione (Point C) at 5:40 pm...
...and pass through without stopping, although "The Town That Refused to Die" looks like a good one in which to spend more time.
Okay, here we are at Brunton Pass (Point D); it's 6:01 pm and the sun is looking pretty low.
In fact, as we're heading down the west side of the pass at 6:10 pm toward the Point E junction where we turn north onto S.R. 361, the sun is going behind the far mountains.
At 6:24 pm, while we are about half way between Gabbs and Middlegate, the sun has gone completely behind some mountains over near Rawhide, and is probably down below the horizon.

What was our estimate? We estimated sunset at about 6:55 pm. Sunset in Fallon, some miles to the WNW, was at 6:16 pm. We were at least 20 minutes off, and because darkness was enhanced by western clouds, we should have used a more conservative time if planning to make camp by our estimate. Generally, one can add about 45 minutes to the estimate because darkness doesn't come right after sunset. Fortunately, we would be staying in a room at Middlegate (Point F) rather than making camp in the dark.

And thinking about this, one usually doesn't make a sunset estimate at above 10,000 feet on one mountain range and then drive toward the setting sun while dropping about 4500 feet in elevation. Not sure when the alpine glow would have hit Ophir Summit; would have to use sun mode in Google Earth to find out, perhaps. And that time (according to Google Earth, which may not be precise) was somewhere between 6:18 pm and probably 6:35 pm, with total darkness by 6:55 pm.

The Moral: be conservative in making your estimate, or calibrate your hand before using it.

The Hand Method: Place your arm straight away from your body toward the setting sun, then place your hand sideways with the fingers essentially parallel to the horizon; measure one hand down from the sun for each hour, which means that each finger is about 15 minutes. I measured 2 hands and one finger at the top of Ophir Summit, which = about 2 hours and 15 minutes.
It turns out that we were lucky to get a room in Middlegate. (We've always just dropped in and have never made reservations.) The motel was booked the next night and into the weekend: it was prime rib night!

View Ophir Summit to Middlegate in a larger map

Friday from the Road: The Road to Gabbs

Before going off onto another part of the old story, here are a few more pictures from the road to Gabbs, that is, from Middlegate Junction at Highway 50 south to Gabbs on S.R. 361.

This particular stretch of highway is unusual for Nevada because it passes into three counties in short succession, although not all the way through any of them. The road starts in one county, passes through another, and then passes into yet a third – an unusual feat given the relatively large to huge size of most Nevada counties.
Leaving Old Middlegate Station at 1:30 pm that spring day two years ago, I came to this first county sign 20 minutes later at almost exactly 1:50 pm. I was about to enter Mineral County, having driven about 15.7 miles on S.R. 361.
The sign on the other side of the road facing back to the north indicates that I just came through Churchill County.
A little short of five minutes later, I arrived in Nye County, the largest county in Nevada – and third largest county in the U.S., not counting boroughs in Alaska.
About 10 or 15 minutes later, a side road heading east toward Lodi Valley came into view. Lodi Valley runs north-south between the Lodi Hills in the left middle ground and the Paradise Range in the background.

The Lodi Hills was the site of my first submittal evaluation back in the late 1970's or early 1980's. Whether the submittal was for uranium or gold is something I no longer remember. I do remember a large quantity of quartz vein material, both lying around as float and jutting out as outcrop. I also remember something about barely making it uphill through newly fallen snow.
I drove off the road a little ways to get a good look at the nicely graded gravel road into Lodi Valley – okay, it's a little bit washboarded, but doesn't look too bad .
Just past that turn-off, the main part of the Downeyville mining district comes into view to the east. Downeyville is an old silver-lead-zinc-gold district, which had more zinc production than anything else, though the historic records are spotty. It's also an old ghost town. Directions and a couple pictures here.
About 29 miles south of Highway 50, one of the several signs for Ione that you can see scattered here and there around west-central Nevada comes into view, pointing off to the east. If you turn onto the side road, you'll be on S.R. 844, the Ione Road, formerly known as S.R. 91. Follow the road and you'll go over Brunton Pass, down into Ione Valley, and from there onward to Berlin-Ichthyosaur State Park, and then north to Ione. Gas is not necessarily available in Ione, check local sources or fill up in Middlegate or Gabbs.
Then, at 2:15 pm, almost 31 miles and less than an hour from Highway 50 – and closer to a half hour not counting photo stops – I arrived at the signs for north Gabbs.

An aside: There are lots of signs pointing toward Ione in central and west-central Nevada. Generally, the town seems to be about 20 to 50 miles from wherever you happen to be. I'm not sure I've ever been there, although I've been as close as Berlin-Ichthyosaur. Maybe someday I'll do a post about the many roads to Ione and the many signs pointing the way. I'll have to do a lot more sign collecting and backroad travel to get them all.

Finding a Thesis: Pole Line Road

I first drove by the then undiscovered Paradise Peak gold deposit way back in 1976 when searching for a thesis area.

Photo: Paradise Peak Mine (inactive) as seen from the Pole Line Road, 2008.

I cruised into Gabbs from the north, after driving down from Battle Mountain, where I had already checked on some possible thesis areas. I came via old Highway 8A, Highway 50, and old Highway 23.

Between Battle Mountain and Gabbs, I had gone from an area of good, detailed 15-minute (1:62,500 scale) and 7.5-minute (1:24,000 scale) topographic maps to the middle-of-nowhere area in Nevada where only 2-degree map sheets (1:250,000 scale) were available. I wasn’t used to using 2° AMS sheets, and the sudden switch from one venue to the other left me somewhat confused: my mind hadn't made the scale switch well at all. What I didn’t know then, but do know now, is that the Tonopah 2° sheet showed roads that were no longer in use; it showed roads that, even if I had found them, were probably not drivable in an Opel; and it failed to show new roads accurately, or sometimes at all.

This explanation is really a poor excuse for a geologist who got lost near Gabbs, trying but never finding a certain road while using a topo map, a skill at which geologists, including myself, excel.

Photo looking southwest toward the Cedar Mountains on the left and the Gabbs Valley Range and Pilot Mountains on the right.

On my quest to find some silver prospects and old mines in the Cedar Mountains south of Gabbs, I started just a few miles southwest of Gabbs on the paved Gabbs Valley Road (then S.R. 23, now S.R. 361) which goes from Middlegate Junction through Gabbs and on to Luning. From pavement, I turned to go south on what is called “The Pole Line Road." The Pole Line Road (C.R. 89) was and still is a major dirt road between Gabbs and Tonopah.

I measured the miles on my map, then headed south until my odometer said I should turn right and southwest into the Cedar Mountains. There was no road. I examined the map for a second time. The topography seemed quite vague and generalized, I wasn’t able to tell where I was or where I was supposed to be, and the Cedar Mountains looked farther away than they appeared on the map. I knew that topo maps don’t lie, and realizing that something — but what? — was wrong, I turned around and went back to the junction of Pole Line Road with Highway 23, and started over, once again driving south toward my elusive goal.

Looking at the photo showing the Cedar Mountains and the Gabbs Valley Range behind them, it's possible that I mistook the higher Gabbs Valley Range for the Cedar Mountains. The Gabbs Valley Range would not have been visible on the Tonopah AMS sheet, only on the adjacent Walker Lake sheet to the west.

Tonopah and Walker Lake 2° sheets from the USGS via MSRMaps.

Realizing that I was essentially lost, without being really lost, I kept turning around to drive back to the northern beginning of the Pole Line Road at its junction with the paved Gabbs Valley Road. I could pinpoint my location while at that junction, so I drove back to it at least twice, possibly three or more times, in hopes of recalibrating my miles and my addled sense of scale.

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Prior to my last reversal, I drove west on a dirt road that seemed to point toward some distant hills or mountains that I hoped were the Cedar Mountains, and which probably weren't. I drove a little ways — less than a mile, in fact — and realized that my chosen route wasn't going to do what I wanted it to do. It either was too obviously jeep-trail-like for my Opel, or it turned in the wrong direction. I stopped at an old headframe located on the north side of the road and on the south side of a hill or knob, and turned back toward the Pole Line Road. My stopping point may have been the headframe to the mercury mine on the south side of what would later become the Paradise Peak ore deposit, after it was discovered by FMC Gold Company in 1983.

Had I turned around at the undiscovered Paradise Peak gold deposit? Who knows. [I could also have been at the Gold Ledge Mine to the north; and if I was, it would have meant that I was measuring 6-mile townships on the AMS sheet as one-mile sections.]

After getting back to the Pole Line, I drove north for what turned out to be one last time, making my way toward the junction in order to regain my bearings. Before getting very far, two unfamiliar animals crossed from right to left in front of my car. I slowed so I could see them better, thinking they were marmots or some kind of rock chuck. As I got about even with them, they gave up on crossing the road in favor of turning around, baring their sharp pointy teeth at my car, and hissing. They lunged at my left front tire and set about trying to attack the tire!

After hanging my head out the window and watching these fierce savages tentatively but repeatedly strike at my tire for a while — they never got quite close enough to actually claw or bite it — I decided to blow off the whole area. I turned south and hastily escaped toward Tonopah. I found out later that I'd had my first run in with two feisty badgers.



To be continued...

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A Bit About 2° Sheets:
Two-degree topo sheets, each of which covers an area consisting of 1 degree of longitude by 2 degrees of latitude, are sometimes called "AMS sheets" because they were originally mapped by the Army Mapping Service (now NGA) instead of by the U.S. Geological Survey. Two-fifty thou sheets (as they are also called) often show roads that don’t exist any more. Old dirt roads that that are barely visible on the ground, and which may not be drivable, can look like main roads on an AMS sheet. New roads may not be shown at all.

The "new" Tonopah sheet I have in my possesion is dated 1956, revised 1971; the Walker Lake sheet is dated 1957, revised 1969. In 1976, some parts of Nevada were covered only by these AMS, 2-degree-scale topographic maps.

A Bit About 15' Topo Quads:
Some of the old 15-minute maps are topographically a little inaccurate, but many are topographically more precise than newer maps being printed today, especially when it comes to showing old mines and prospects, some of which are inconveniently left off some of the new topo series (1:24,000 and 1:100,000 maps, I'm looking at you).

Seen in the Field: A Preserved Headframe

This headframe-ore bin from the mercury diggings at the [Paradise Peak] mine-site provides a strong contrast to the mining and ore processing techniques used in the industry today. The bucket was used to lower miners into the shaft and to lift out mercury ore which was then dumped into the ore bin for later handling. Though the technology of mining has changed, the perseverance and determination of the Nevada Prospector has never wavered. FMC Corporation has preserved this headframe - ore bin in recognition of Nevada Prospectors' dedication to their profession in years past, present, and future and for their continuous contributions to the mining industry. [sic]

Whew! I think the sign verbiage must have been written by someone in the PR office back east.

There are several interesting stories behind this sign, which is located just outside the fence of the old Paradise Peak Mine millsite about eight miles south of Gabbs in west-central Nevada (MSRMaps aerial B&W, Google Maps aerial color). One story tells of the old mecury miners, who stopped their underground diggings within 50 feet (or less) of gold ore, not knowing it was there; another story tells of the two Nevada Prospectors who brought company geologists into the district, which caused the claims to be staked, which caused the soil samples to be taken, and so on. There are many stories about the discovery of the gold deposit, about the geologists who discovered it, and about those who didn't. I won't get into all of them here — I'd need to do just a little more research. One discovery story keys in on the several names by which the ore deposit has been known.

After gold was discovered outcropping on top of a small, now mined-out hill, the geologists who did the discovering exclaimed, "Even a blind pig could have found it!" They said this because the mineralized knob or small hill was easily visible from the Pole Line Road — the main dirt road between Gabbs and Tonopah — and because rock samples from the top of the hill contained as much as 0.25 ounces per ton gold. (I think some samples ran as high as 0.35 opt Au.)

The unnamed knob was located near the north edge of the Granny Goose Well 1:24,000 quadrangle — the knob was split in half by two topo maps, and it was within three miles of the corner of four sheets, thereby meeting one of the rules every mine needs to meet (see below). The mine was first called "Granny Goose" or "The Goose" for short, named after the well or the topo sheet. Corporate types back east decided that "The Goose" didn't match their company image, so various fake names, labels, and other appellations were considered until the alias "Paradise Peak" — stolen from a nearby, often snow-covered peak located several miles to the northeast — was selected. The topographically misleading name fooled a few geotypes into looking for the newly discovered deposit in a totally incorrect location.

In order to preserve some sense of accuracy, and to register outrage at the incorrect labeling of their gold deposit, certain geologists wore football jerseys sporting the team name The Goosers, and some wore baseball caps imprinted with hill, headframe, and the saying, "Even A Blind Pig Could Have Found It!" Sometimes the knob was called Blind Pig Hill, most often it was just called The Knob.

The hill is entirely gone now, replaced by a relatively small hole in the ground. Stripping ratio, because the ore deposit stuck almost completely out of the ground the way it did, was almost negative (well, not really, that's a mathematical impossibility).

Some Locations:

Granny Goose Well - U.S. Board of Geographic Names

Granny Goose Well - 1:24,000 USGS Topographic Map, 1980.

Granny Goose Well - MSR Maps.

The knob and original location of the headframe - MSR Maps, the south end of the knob and headframe on the 1980 Granny Goose Well topo map.

Paradise Peak, the peak, and the Paradise Mine (not the Paradise Peak Mine) - on MSR Maps.

Some References:
John, D. A., 1988, Geologic map of Oligocene and Miocene volcanic rocks, Paradise Peak and western part of the Ione quadrangle, Nye County, Nevada: U.S. Geological Survey, Miscellaneous Field Studies Map MF-2025, scale 1:24,000.

Sillitoe, R. H., and Lorson, R. C., 1994, Epithermal gold-silver-mercury deposits at Paradise Peak, Nevada; ore controls, porphyry gold association, detachment faulting, and supergene oxidation: Economic Geology, v. 89, no. 6, p. 1228-1248 [links to abstract].

Some Requirements for Finding a Mine:

1. Be located within 5 miles of a paved road. ✓ The ore deposit was 2 air miles from pavement, 5 miles on dirt from pavement, and less than a mile from a main gravel road.
2. Be located at or near the corner of 4 topo sheets. ✓ In fact, the ore deposit was bifurcated by two topo sheets and within three miles of the corner of four.
3. Be located less than 30 miles from a bar. ✓ The knob was about 7 miles from a then active, now defunct bar and mini-mart.

The now defunct bar, where many rounds of no-slop, bank-the-eight were played (Austin Rules).