Gold to Grand Loop - Day 1 - Exploring Little Finland
Date: November 8, 2024
32 Miles
2,821 Feet of Gain
Whitney Pocket to Gold Butte Townsite
I planned, mapped, collaborated, and then scout-rode the Gold to Grand Loop in February 2024 with Janna. Whenever I assemble a route, that first ride is always a mix of excitement and trepidation. Especially in desert areas with low water or remote areas with little beta on backcountry conditions. This initial ride was both. What I found floored me though: sprawling Joshua tree forests, massive views, solidly-spaced water, and gorgeous Colorado plateau geology smashing up through the ground. The roads turned out be mostly well-kept, and I started some relationship building with Aravada Springs for bikepackers at a crucial water and camping point. Janna and I finished that trip, and all I could think of was getting back out there. I had a few goals in mind to improve the route. (1) I wanted to first ride it again in autumn after a dry summer and see what the water conditions looked like for future riders, (2) I wanted to see what the road conditions were after an arid fall, (3) I wanted to get more of the route off pavement for the climb to Whitney Pocket (plus add a possible water source at Government Spring that I wanted to confirm), and (4) I wanted to get some other riders on the route to get their impressions.
Fall arrived and I started plotting for a return to polish the route. I posted on social media seeking riding partners - Josh and Russell responded. We aimed for Veteran's Day, and I planned out the new route changes and where we would meet. School leading up to that week was tremendously busy. By the time Thursday arrived, I was utterly exhausted by the drive from the South Rim to Mesquite. Janna joined me on the drive but was planning to spend the weekend in Vegas exploring Red Rock State Park. She was pregnant at this point (and we hadn't yet gone public about it), so she didn't want to take the risk of bikepacking. We informed the guys that she had a meeting in Vegas which is why she wasn't joining.
Friday morning came cold and bright under the Mojave desert sun. I woke up early and grabbed some continental breakfast from the hotel before jumping in the car and starting the drive to Whitney Pocket. Both Russell and Josh had spent the night camping out in the area and would be meeting us there this morning. We pulled up to the iconic sandstone butte at 7:40 am where the two came over. Josh lives in nearby Henderson and had been wanting to ride out here for some time. Russell, it turns out, also lived at the South Rim, but we had never crossed paths before. The three of us made introductions while I set to task getting my bikepacking rig set up. An SUV pulled in while we were packing, and a representative from the nonprofit Friends of Gold Butte hopped out. He beelined it towards us with surveys in hand. It turns out the organization was trying to get some stats and feedback on users of the National Monument. He was especially intrigued that we were going to bikepack into the backcountry; mountain biking was simply not one of the main choices on the survey sheet. I took the opportunity to talk to him about bikepacking, Gold to Grand Loop, and the hope to get more cyclists out in the fabulous landscape here. He excitedly pulled out maps and began walking us through a few options we should consider on our ride. Most of the POIs were already embedded in my route, but his suggestion for seeing Little Finland along an alternate hiking path starting from an old corral caught my attention. I had a current ride to Little Finland along the route that was sandy and rocky. The hike he was suggesting would shorten the detour and provide a quicker dive into the heart of the Aztec Sandstone formations. Russell was stoked - Little Finland was his #1 priority for viewing exploration on this ride. I asked the volunteer a few more questions about how to access the trailhead, and we all thanked him profusely before scuttling back to our respective bikes and finishing the set ups.
The three of us roll out by 9:30 am and begin the descent down into Gold Butte. The road was fast, wide, and in great shape. The buzz of new experiences was in everyone's speech. As we descended, we all chatted about our bikes, setups, and expectations. Josh had wanted to explore a ride around Gold Butte for some time. Russell loved the sandstone outcrops at nearby Valley of Fire State Park but had heard they were bigger and more expansive here in Gold Butte, so he was looking forward to that. The miles spun under our wheels quickly. The wide Mojave desert mountain hills around us were dusty and dry after an arid summer and equally parched autumn. A few Joshua trees began to crop up. We sped down into the Wechech Basin, crossing Pussy Willow Wash that was kicking sand up over the road. And quickly we arrived at the Devil's Throat.
The Devil's Throat is a massive sinkhole that carves down a chunk of desert. We parked our bikes and walked up to the edge for a careful rim-side look down in. The massive crater ate up the view of the landscape, and we walked part of the perimeter to find the best vantage point to the bottom. Everyone read the placard set up by the BLM nearby and then ate a snack. We jumped back on bikes and sped across the Mojave on relatively smooth doubletrack undulating between creosote towards some distant peaks. I kept reveling out loud about the absolutely perfect weather - blue skies and tawny Earth all at about 70 degrees. Russell pedaled quickly ahead in anticipation of Little Finland while Josh and I hung back talking about the desert. Our route merged with Mud Wash as we entered the narrow choke between the adjoining peaks where sand took hold of our tires. We caught Russell who was admiring the geology here. The three of us pedaled down the wash until the first of the red Aztec Sandstones started jutting out. We pulled over in the shade of some where Josh let us know he had once driven a car down and camped the night with his kids nearby.
The pull of Little Finland was calling, so we continued pedaling down to the old corral where the rep from Friends of Gold Butte indicated a trailhead into the sandstone world could be found. We pulled off and parked our bikes out of view behind the corral, grabbed a water bottle each, and started hiking down the skinny trail towards the red hills. The faint footpath coursed into the rusted soillands and wound between bushels of creosote before tracing a drainage to head along the walls of jagged Aztec Sandstone formations ripping the air. Suddenly, the trail crested a small gap between eroded hill-mounds to reveal the sanguine shades of petrified dunes that make up the heart of Little Finland. The place is so-named for the frequent and whimsical "fins" of red rock shaped by wind and water that dramatically rise across the landscape. The trail skirted a rise above a wash where an old fence shot across the landscape in an effort to keep livestock out of the delicate geological area. The three of us took the trail around the steep edge of the rise, inside the fence, and descended to the bottom of a wash where large fan palms grew verdant from a spring spitting mud and water from the Earth. I went over to investigate the water source but concluded it was most certainly alkaline given the amount of mineral deposit around it.
The trail to Little Finland then diverged with one fork going high up on rock outcroppings and one staying low in the wash. Josh stayed low while Russell and I went high. Quickly did the trail spill us into the heart of the Aztec Sandstone. And it was insanely gorgeous. All burnt red, a rust of contrast against the blue sky above. White striations of mineral deposits bleached sections beautifully. Josh climbed us to meet us. The three of us stood amid the floorboards of the Earth and just stared with stoke and awe. I got low and inspected the stratified curves of the wind- and water-swept rock-dunes, all sculpted smooth and eye-catching. The stone colors transitioned from chocolate brown, to ochre, to blood orange all set against a backdrop of tope Mojave hills and that azure cloudless sky.
The next two hours were simply spent wandering but a small amount of this incredible place.
We headed over to the north end of the trail where the terminus of the dirt parking area could be found. I noted that our hike was a far superior access point to Little Finland and to move the route when I got back. I headed into the rockscape and quickly was absorbed into giant jagged amphitheaters and cul-de-sacs of red sandstone. We were careful though to avoid walking on any cryptobiotic crust performing its crucial role of stabilizing the sandy soil; instead, we stuck to solid, durable rock on the hike. The hour of morning and slanted light definitely lent to the colors as all hues were saturated and rich. I kept reflecting on how that time out there was fulfilling in all the best ways that affirm the start of a bikepacking trip.
Little Finland proved all the reasons I had fallen in love with Gold Butte National Monument.
But the day was getting on and we had some big climbing ahead. The three of us hiked back to our bikes and then set up shop in the shade of the corral to eat a proper lunch. I pulled out snacks and plopped a seat on the ground with Josh while Russell pulled out a packable chair. We talked about our lives, jobs, and backgrounds - the material that beckons the beginning of knowing new people. I knew we had some big miles to cover still and some significant climbing so I was itching to go. Josh and I decided to head on shortly thereafter while Russell opted for a longer rest/relaxation behind the corral saying he'd catch us in a bit. The two of us jumped back on the soft doubletrack that extends down the length of Mud Wash. In the arid fall, the sandy tread slowed us a bit. But it was well worth it as we hit the northern hairpin of this section and came up against the crumbling colorful face of Bitter Ridge where sandstone and creosote melted strikingly together.
Josh and I started the official climb at the base of Bitter Ridge towards Gold Butte proper. We were soon rhymically pedaling among the spaced plant life and passing large Bundy cows illegally grazing here in the National Monument. Russell soon caught us as the folded red rock rise of Seven Keyholes Slot Canyon reared from the desert. It was already nearly 2:30 and we had only a few hours of daylight remaining. The three of us all wanted to get into camp with enough time to set up before darkness fell. We stopped but the discussion was short: keep riding and everyone will need to come back another time to check that view out. Russell had been stoked to see Seven Keyholes but used its passing to justify a return trip with his partner. We dipped in out of washes as the climb carried us up. Russell and I kept pace and fell into a lengthy discussion on living at the South Rim, both pros and cons. I kept stopping all gobsmacked by the arid contrasts of cacti spines swiveling from the ground against the tanned hills. Lime Ridge all slacked and yet rigid directly to our rights. The sun hammering heat and light while the cool play of late afternoon touched my skin. Every morsel of grass was dried lemon-yellow dust strewn across the foothills.
The first Joshua trees popped up shortly after we crested a momentary pass. And then the yuccas came on all heaping and wizened. The trees stood sentinel amid a brushy undertow of puffball yuccas and twisting chollas. In that slant-light of early winter sunfall, it was a dramatic wash of Mojave hues that kept me staring. I stopped for photo after photo - as did Russell. We rounded a few more bends to catch Josh on the last push uphill where Gold Butte rose chunky and toppled at the saddle. Historic mining cans littered the ground around us as we made the final climb to Gold Butte Townsite. There was no one out here but us.
No sooner had we pulled in and found a suitable camp then the sun's crashing rays lit the dry landscape like an orange sulfur light. We dazzled at the perfect evening colors while laughing, eating food, putting on layers, and pulling out shelters. After those last rays cooked behind the distant mountains, Josh went right to sleep. Russell and I were buzzing too much about the day's beauty, so we went for a night hike along the road and walked our way over past the historic mine equipment to Granite Spring in an effort to scout water for tomorrow. Despite the spring have an overflowing trough back in February, the husk was now bone dry after a summer's wilt. I noted the important find for future riders: water likely in winter/spring after precipitation but completely dry in late summer/early fall. No matter - the three of us had carried extra water just in-case. We hiked back under a banner of stars and the distant twinkling lights of Vegas lighting up a far horizon desert floor.
