Mount Dunfee
7064 ft (2141 m) – 1647 ft gain
2024.11.13
I am on the road again. Having arrived home from northwestern Nevada only recently, I need to be in southern Nevada for some time in our Desert Branch office and a quick bit of fieldwork near Rogers Dry Lake in southeastern California. It is one end of the state to the other, and from the Great Basin Desert to the Mojave. I enjoy the quick transitions, one ecology to another, Basin and Range to the Walker Lane tectonic silliness, and the travel day provides the opportunity to explore another high point without much of a detour. South of Goldfield, Nevada, I turn west at Lida Junction before heading into alluvial expanses below Slate Ridge.
This small, circular range is a tilted block of limestone and volcanic rocks, with actually very little slate, but for dispersed outcrops east of Mount Dunfee, the range high point. Not only is there little slate, Slate Ridge is not much of a ridge either. It has some fantastically dramatic outcrops and steep slopes, but it is really a complex jumble of hills and volcanic plateaus; however, from the historically minded town of Gold Point at its base, the western prominence of Slate Ridge is nicely imposing and ridge-like, if not slatey.
Vague roads head toward various prospects visible on the slopes at the mountain front. I follow a maintained route before parking where a two-track intersects and provides a good start point. I have some wide bajada to cross before the steeper slopes begin. A bajada is a typically broad, mountain-front apron of coalesced alluvial fans, each emanating from its own canyon. Individual fans have their own source areas, with rock types in the fans matching the geology of their canyon sources generally. Because this region remains tectonically active, each tectonic jump or sheer along the mountain-front tilts the fan upward or moves the source canyon aside. The actions are quick, and the fans continue to build in the long quiet intervals in between – weathering and flashy floods cutting into and delivering sediment to the fans of the basin below. The lifted fans are isolated as gullies incise, and we can look at the degree of surface weathering and incision to place each fan and each tectonic change in time. The fan patterns are evident in aerial imagery, but there is nothing better than walking across the landforms themselves. It is why I visit these places.
And, yes, there is the high point to reach. There are mining prospects where the fans intersect the mountain front, and the slope steepens into a nice climb. I soon notice circling raptors as I gain the ridge leading to the Mount Dunfee summit. There are several large birds, but one stands out, and its prominence does not go unnoticed by other birds who are doing their best to alter the larger bird’s slow, soaring path. The Golden Eagle merely shrugs at the swoops and dives of the Red-tailed Hawks; it looks as if the eagle is just passing through, veering close to the roosts of the juvenile hawks unknowingly. The Golden continues its straight-line glide path unperturbed.
I am soon on the summit of Mount Dunfee, a rounded dome among a scattering of cliffs. But something seems wrong. This is the named location of Mount Dunfee; I can, however, see a clearly higher summit to the northwest. It is, maybe, a half mile away, and one of the hawks is perched there. It is a sign!
It is not unusual to have a few summits of similar elevation in a summit cluster, especially among the smaller groups of hills or even along the high ridge of a prominent range. I am often, therefore, second-guessing the labels shown in map apps and other sources. I tend to trust the USGS topographic maps, but even these sometimes mark a named point that is not the high point. This seems to be the case along Slate Ridge. The hawk sensed my brief confusion and helped me out; it seems so, anyway.
The actual high point is more dramatic and precipitous than its rounded, illegitimate twin behind me. The hawk remained perched on the pinnacle until I got close. I hated to disturb it, but it had been watching every movement of my approach, so it was not startled or stressed. Its job done, I found the summit register, and I could enjoy the expansive views toward the Sierra and deep across the ranges of Nevada. There is just enough wind to lift the several hawks – the eagle is far away now – in various swirls and glides among the cliffs and canyons surrounding me. There are at least six raptors close by; maybe more, but I cannot turn quick enough to decide if I have counted that one or that other one, once or twice. A pleasure to watch for a while, nonetheless.
It is another wonderful day in a small, generally unknown group of hills in the midst of Nevada. I could digest the setting of the mountain-front alluvial bajada before reaching heights enjoyed by a kettle of raptors (yes, I looked up ‘kettle’). The descent is easy, and I can soon continue my drive toward Las Vegas Valley and points beyond.
This might be my final high point of 2024. I made it to 13 this year, so far, and I am very happy and fortunate to be able to wrap so many summit excursions into my general travels. I hope for one a month, if only to keep the discipline of getting out, being curious, and learning.
Here’s to more high points in 2025. Thanks for coming along with me here at TrailOption; I look forward to hearing from you and, maybe, seeing you out there.
Keep going.
Please respect the natural and cultural resources of our public lands.