One of the Indians brought in a wild lamb that had lost its mother. The baby bighorn mingled with the goats they raised on the Indian Ranch and became the special pet of Mabel, George's niece. One day the lamb discovered he could leap the fence. After that he came and went. Eventually he heard the call of the wild, bounded up a ridge of the Panamints, heading for the skyline. Though Mabel watched and hoped, he never came back. Wm. Caruthers in Loafing Along Death Valley Trails, tells of stopping at the Indian ranch to give George some oranges. He found the old Indian irrigating his alfalfa in a temperature of 122 degrees. "Heavy work for a man your age in this heat, isn't it?" asked Caruthers. George bit into an orange eating peeling and all. "Me papoose," he grinned, "Me only 107 years old." Panamint George died in 1944. Many of the younger Indians had gone to war or to work in defense plants. The ranch passed out of Indian hands. Hundreds of climbers have written their names in the cast aluminum register box which the Sierra Club placed on Telescope Peak in 1934. The 51 who reached the top in May 1952, constituted the largest party to date. Unusual also was the number of families and the ages of some of the children. Judith Delmonte, 8, is probably the youngest to have made the top of Telescope Peak under her own power. Judith began mountaineering at the age of 2-on her father's back.	A trip to Telescope Peak offers enjoyment for nearly everyone. The drive-240 miles from Los Angeles- through Cajon Pass, Trona, over the Slate Range, approached the peak from the Panamint Valley side. A sign reading "Indian Ranch," pointed up a dirt road running toward a distant clump of cottonwoods. We turned off the main highway, right, up a dirt road into Wildrose Canyon, where a symphony of wildflowers delighted our eyes. Yellow predominated-tiny pincushion daisies, brown-eyed. Panamint daisies, and eight-inch poker-like spears of aloe. In a wash an apricot mallow grew beside a beavertail cactus that flaunted 16 red pompoms and nine buds. Layendar phacelia smiled, everywhere underfoot, accented with the sharp red of paint brush and the royal blue of lupine. Swarms of Brown Monarch butterflies fluttered about in quest of nectar. In 1880 the Modoc Mines in the Argus Range needed charcoal to reduce ore. The nearest timber, juniper and pinyon pines, grew about 10 miles up Wildrose Canyon. There they built ten stone ovens, shaped like beehives, 35 feet high, 35 feet at the basal diameter, and two feet thick. This activity brought the first wagon-road into Wildrose Canyon. Several hundred men once felled trees, split logs, stoked the ovens, tested charcoal and freighted it across Panamint Valley with teams. All that is left today are the ten ovens, remarkably well preserved, and a timber-line on	the hillside above them showing how far up the cutters went. Above this line the junipers and pines are larger than below it. Fortunately, conditions in Wildrose Canyon have favored reproduction and new trees clothe the scar. The "Beehives" are being preserved as a historical monument within the Death Valley National Monument. A couple of miles above the Beehives a road ended on top of a ridge of the Panamint Mountains. Some cars boiled the last mile. Our waterless campsite at the end of the road on Mahogany Flat perched 8000 feet above Death Valley. Dead branches of mountain mahogany, juniper and pinyon provided firewood. Unscrambling food and sleeping bags out of car trunks-building fires-the smell of juniper smoke, beans, ham and coffee - Mrs. Delmonte feeding her family of six a combination of noodles, peas and tuna warmed up together - songs and stories around the campfire - camera enthusiasts readying their equipment before crawling into their sleeping bags, in anticipation of a magnificent sunrise. The seven mile trail from Mahogany Flat to the top of Telescope Peak has an easy grade. The CCC's built it in 1935. Before that an improvised trail existed. probably started by Indians. Anyone able to walk may saunter out on this balcony that hangs 8000 feet over Death Valley. The mile and a half to the next saddle is well worth the effort. Having gone this far-who knows? - one might be tempted to continue up-and up-and up.
8		DESERT MAGAZINE

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