Ongoing Waste, Fraud and Collusion in the California Solar Industry
In 2012, I wrote a blog article about the “New Industrial Desert.” The article included mention of the Ivanpah Solar-Thermal Station (ISTS), then under construction in Ivanpah Valley, California. Backers touted the ISTS as the newest and most promising technology for large-scale solar energy production. Until commissioning of the ISTS, Israel’s small-scale demonstration plant was the only solar-thermal plant in the world.
BrightSource Energy, Bechtel Corporation, Google (now Alphabet), and our 
federal government invested $2.2 billion in what turned out to be the world’s largest bird fryer. Estimates are that over 6,000 birds annually fly into the solar flux generated at the ISTS, there to die instantly in flight. Because of the tiny smoke trails the dead birds make in the sky, plant workers call them “streamers.”
Not only were desert bird species decimated by this “new technology,” but 3,500 acres of desert tortoise habitat fell to bulldozers as well. With battery storage and low-cost passive solar arrays just a few years away, it was a case of “birds and tortoises be damned.” At that time, Southern California Edison (SCE) and Pacific Gas & Electric (PG&E) were racing to “go green” with energy production. PG& E signed a fifteen-year contract to buy electrical production from Units One and Three. SCE contracted for power generated by Unit Two.
Not wanting to risk financial exposure, both Google’s $168 million investment and Bechtel’s undisclosed investment in Ivanpah garnered a $1.3 billion Department of Energy loan guarantee. In other words, you and I, the U.S. taxpayers will now pay for this incipient failure.
Over the years, I authored several articles about the Ivanpah project on this blog. As a lifelong environmentalist, I was amazed at the reckless speed in which this half-baked idea materialized. I will not detail all my criticisms here, but a quick reading of my previous articles will update you.
Now, in March 2025, NRG Energy (which sounds redundant to me), is the current operator of the ISTS. Recently, it announced that Units One and Three would cease operation in 2026. Under an undisclosed agreement, PG&E will 
terminate its power purchases before the end of its fifteen-year contract. SCE, for its part, continues to buy overpriced electrical power from Unit Two.
In 2018, faulty SCE equipment caused Southern California’s Woolsey Fire, creating liability for property damage of $2.2 billion. As of this writing SCE transmission lines are under investigation for causing the January 2025 Eaton Fire. Is SCE whistling past the “graveyard of birds” known as Ivanpah? They are afraid to take a financial write-down on their ill-conceived purchase agreement with ISTS.
Even as Ivanpah became a financial and environmental disaster, the federal government continued promoting construction of passive “solar farms” throughout the Desert Southwest. In the Ivanpah/Primm Valley, the Stateline Solar Farm and the Silver State North/South projects have come online since 2016. The three projects combined, all within view of the ISTS, have a footprint similar in size to the failing solar-thermal plant.
To compare net energy production between the solar-thermal plant and its three passive solar neighbors is an exercise in frustration. Since the ISTS requires a gas-fired generator to get it started each morning, the net energy produced by the plant is far lower than the amount it supplies to the grid. Meanwhile, since the addition of 3,500 acres of passive solar near the ISTS, no other solar-thermal plant has materialized anywhere in the world. If BrightSource, Google, Bechtel, and the federal government had waited less than a decade, the ISTS would never have happened.
In California, the Public Utilities Commission (PUC) continues to promote large scale “solar farms” throughout the Mojave Desert. This ongoing industrialization of the desert will require additional electrical transmission lines and further destruction of fragile habitat.
In 2023, the PUC ended “net metering”, which allowed rooftop solar owners to buy and sell electricity to the grid at market rates. Newer home connections buy at full price but sell excess power to the grid for a pittance. Now, the PUC has plans to scuttle net metering, even on older rooftop solar installations. To add contractual insult to financial injury, the PUC plans to allow utilities to charge all rooftop solar owners additional fees. These fees shall be for the honor of connecting to a costly, inefficient, and often dangerous electrical grid.
To finance large-scale additions to the New Industrial Desert, investor-owned utilities, major corporations, and land developers will rely on those fees. As such, the unelected California PUC will continue their financial punishment of all homeowners who have installed rooftop solar.
After thirteen years studying the Ivanpah Solar-Thermal Station, here is my prediction for its future. The reflectors, towers, and their attendant infrastructure will all go to a desert landfill. In its place will arise 3,500 acres of passive solar arrays, providing electrical power to the grid. Next time someone tells you that they have a revolutionary way of producing New Energy, be skeptical of their assertions.
By
James McGillis
at 05:28 PM |
Mojave Desert | Link
A Time of Solace and Solitude in the Panamint Valley
In May of 2020, at the height of the pandemic, there were no vaccines in the immediate offing. Tired of sitting at home, I headed out with my RV to Panamint Springs Resort, which is a private enclave surrounded by Death Valley National Park. As seen in the adjacent photo, Death Valley National Park was closed to all visitors. Highway 190 was still open through the park, but even stopping along the way to take a picture could have netted you a $1,000 fine. No one understood how, when or where the virus could be transmitted, but the National Park Service was not taking any chances, one way or the other.
Since the resort is private and needed to stay in business, they were open for camping and cabin accommodations. Taking advantage of that and being completely self-contained, I booked a full hookup RV spot for several days. When I arrived, the clerk in the general store wore no mask. He indicated that they would be barbecuing ribs at the restaurant that night and that I should attend. "Not on your life," I thought to myself. Although I was largely confined to the resort property, I went on to enjoy the solitude and splendor of spending time in the Panamint Valley.
Three and one half years later, I was in the process of finishing up another trip to Death Valley and Panamint Springs. On December 10, 2023, there were high winds predicted for the southern Mojave Desert. With the stress of having recently spent time entertaining my friends in the desert, I was too tired to break camp and head home in 
a windstorm. Instead, I opted for a quiet day in camp at the Panamint Springs Resort. As I have often said, there usually are no crowds in Death Valley National Park between Thanksgiving and New Years. This year was no exception.
When I travel with my fifth wheel, I always bring provisions for several extra days. If I experience a breakdown or any other form of delay, my fridge and freezer always have enough food to get me by. In this case, my full RV hookup made it easy to extend my stay for one more day. Access to water, propane, electricity and sewer allowed for luxury camping in one of the most remote and previously inhospitable places in all of the United States.
On December 11, 2023 I broke camp and prepared to leave for home. On my return trip I was able to avoid the delays associated with road repair between Panamint Springs and Lone Pine. As it turned out, the Panamint Valley Road to Trona and Mojave beyond was fully open and free of construction delays. If I had known that on my way into Panamint Springs at the beginning of my journey, I could have saved hours of detours and delays. As it stood, my return trip home to Simi Valley took less than five hours. That reminded me of why I like to visit Panamint Springs every fall, winter, and spring. In less than a day, I can transport myself from the city to life in the nearby wilderness.
Panamint Valley may not be as famous as its sister, Death Valley, but it has trails to explore, sand dunes to climb, off-road tracks for four-wheeling and a sense of solitude that you will not find at Furnace Creek, Stovepipe Wells or Badwater. In the off-season, it is my favorite place for kicking back and 
enjoying life, just as it might have been almost one hundred years ago. For those who require instant and constant connectivity, either bring your Starlink satellite system or just enjoy being beyond the fringe of connection to the smartphone world. I do suggest bringing a Zoleo satellite communicator, but that device is for text messaging only.
Although I do everything I can to promote visiting the Panamint Valley during its extreme off season, I do not expect there to be big crowds in early December 2024, when once again, I shall seek solace in the Panamint Valley. If enough people read this blog and decide to visit, perhaps I will see one or two of you there at that time of year.
This is Part Seven of a Seven Part article. To return to Part One, click HERE.
By
James McGillis
at 12:25 PM |
Mojave Desert | Link
Four-Wheeling Thompson Canyon and Stony Canyon in Death Valley National Park
On December 8, 2023 at 10 AM, Don and Natala Goodman were at my door, ready for a four-wheeling adventure. We headed out on the Panamint Valley Road to Minietta Road. There, we took a left turn on an unsigned portion of the road that leads to the very heart of the Panamint Valley. Less than a mile from the highway, we paused and exited my vehicle. When there are no military planes flying over, the loudest sounds in 
Panamint Valley are the braying of a lonesome burro or the rustling of the breeze. Today, it was the silence and desolation that impressed the three of us.
Returning to the Panamint Valley Road, we crossed the highway and took Minietta Road west, up and over some hills. The road is rough and rocky, so the going was slow. Once we crested the hills, we could see Thompson Canyon ahead of us. The portion we could see featured a wide and deep alluvial fan. On a previous visit, I had traveled up Thompson Canyon Road towards Minnietta Mine, which is an abandoned miner’s cabin on a nearby hill. The mine’s name has two N’s, but the road name has only one N.
At the bottom of the first hill, we transitioned on to Nadeau Road, which was as 
rough as Minietta Road. The name Nadeau is rich within the history of Death Valley and the entire Mojave Desert. It was French-Canadian pioneer Remi Nadeau who first used mule teams to haul supplies, ore, and bullion to and from the Cerro Gordo silver mine and other mines nearby. Nadeau Road, or Nadeau Trail as it is also known, still exists as a 28-mile-long part of America’s national system of trails. Nadeau’s concept was to use twenty or more mules to haul heavily laden wooden wagons over inhospitable trails throughout the desert and adjacent mountain passes. His pioneering work continues its lineage in the laundry product known as Twenty Mule Team Borax and the historic radio and television show Death Valley Days.
As we entered Nadeau Road, Don Goodman, the airplane pilot pointed out a faded 
orange windsock by the side of the road. He had identified a wide spot in that road that served as a remote landing strip. With no airplanes in sight, we rocked on down the road. I had hoped to find a wreck of a car that I had found on a previous trip, but navigating in the desert can be tricky. One trail can look just like another. The wreck, which we did not find on this trip consisted of a sports car that had blown a tire in extravagant fashion, flipped over many times and came to rest as a flattened heap of rusty metal and rubber. Could it possibly been going so fast as to wreck right on that spot? With its total devastation, I assumed that it had crashed on Panamint Valley Road and been hauled here, to its final resting place.
Traveling on at a very slow pace, the trail consisted of stones, varying in size 
form pebbles to boulders. To the north, we observed rock abutments that once held a mining road leading out of our lost valley. With their size and fitment, they looked a bit like the stone abutments of Machu Pichu in Peru. The scene appeared long abandoned and the road which they once supported had washed away in several places. The fitment of the shaped boulders still intrigues me.
With the Nadeau Trail being so much easier to traverse, why would anyone take the time and effort to support a dirt road up a steep incline out of Stony Canyon, which was the place where we now found ourselves? After reviewing the area on Google Maps, the rock revetments are even more mysterious. The road that they once supported paralleled the track we were on, but reconnected to Minietta Road closer to our point of entry. Someone had spent a huge amount of time and effort to create a road that was much more difficult .jpg "Telescope Peak, as viewed from Minietta Road in Thompson Canyon, Death Valley National Park - Click for larger image (https://jamesmcgillis.com)")
to drive and maintain.
On we traveled into what one might call the valley of the shadow of death. The going was so rough that Don had to exit the cab of my truck and move sharp rocks from our path. Often leaning out the passenger side window, he would call out “Left” or “right” to miss the most severe obstacles. As we progressed, the rocky terrain became almost devoid of any soil. Boulders and rocks rounded by their journey from the upper canyons to the lower valley were everywhere. After traversing two small washouts, we came across a washout that was too deep to transit.
Stopping for a picnic lunch, we marveled at the mountain and desert scenery. Don walked up the road beyond the washout and discovered an earthwork with wooden cribbing. Apparently, it was designed to load ore into wagons for the 
transit away from the local mines. Looking back on the scene now, I wonder if it was one of Remi Nadeau’s original wagon-loading points. Later, after consulting a map, we discovered that we had stopped only five hard miles in from where we had departed the pavement of Panamint Valley Road.
A few people with shovels and the desire to move some rocks and sand could reopen that stretch of Nadeau Road, but we were not prepared to take on that task. Looking at maps from the comfort of my home office, I now realize that Nadeau Road connects back to Panamint Valley Road a few miles beyond the washout. It also connects further on to Highway 190 Near Panamint Springs. In fact, the portion of Highway 190 between Panamint Springs and Panamint Valley Road is also identified as Nadeau Trail. My hope is that some volunteers from local off-road clubs will caravan to that washout and reopen one of the truly historic roads within Death Valley National Park.
After returning to our base camp at Panamint Springs Resort, we rested and met again early in the evening. Don and Natala had offered to take me to dinner at the Panamint Springs Restaurant & Bar. In all my recent visits to Panamint Springs, either the pandemic or lack of someone to share a meal with had kept me away from the restaurant. How good could a roadhouse originally built in the 1930’s be as a place to dine? I was soon to find out.
As we settled into our table by a roaring fire, I perused the menu. Natala ordered the Cardiac Arrest Burger and Don had another selection. I ordered the half-rack of spare ribs, fries, and coleslaw, for $31.50. While waiting for our dinner, I explored the bar area. There, I discovered a massive redwood bar designed by renowned American architect Hugh Newell Jacobsen (1929-2021). 
It consisted of a single slab of California Coastal Redwood, which was over four inches thick and at least twenty feet long. The root structure from the same tree trunk became the support for the iconic bar. Jacobsen had owned property in the nearby mining town of Darwin, California. The bar arrived sometime in the early 1990’s, but the story became clouded by the passage of time and changes in the resort’s ownership. It is a work of art unlike anything else I have ever seen. If you pass through Panamint Springs, you must visit the restaurant and sit at that amazing bar.
Never judge a book by its cover and never misjudge a bar & grill in the middle of nowhere. The fries were sublime, and the ribs were a culinary perfection. According to the menu, the ribs pair well with a Pedroncelli Sonoma Petite Sarah. Next time I am at Panamint Springs, I will certainly order that pairing.
This is Part Five of a Seven Part article. To read Part Six, Click HERE. To return to Part One, click HERE.
By
James McGillis
at 04:55 PM |
Mojave Desert | Link
.jpg "My Zoleo Satellite Communicator, shortly before I lost it in Death Valley National Park - Click for larger image (https://jamesmcgillis.com)")
Rendezvous With Friends in Panamint Springs - December 2023
December 7, 2023 - Does anyone remember Pearl Harbor Day? That was eighty-two years ago on this date. By Noon that day, I was heading back over Towne Pass to Panamint Springs Resort. I stopped at the top of the pass to use my Zoleo satellite communicator, texting home to report my progress. Next I would be heading down the steep grade to the Panamint Valley. After texting, I irresponsibly left my $200 satellite communicator on the hood of my truck, where it later slid away into the wilderness.
While I was reviewing the many pictures I have taken in Panamint Springs and Death Valley National Park, I came across an interesting image of a camp worker at Panamint Springs Resort from 2017. As we spoke about the Panamint Valley, he told me that there were ancient fossilized sea beds found at the lowest points. Having not yet studied the geology and natural history of the Panamint Valley, I was shocked to hear that this most desolate of places had once hosted a branch of the Pacific Ocean.
I asked to take his picture, to which he consented. He said his name was Brent. Looking at the picture of him now, I believe that the camp worker was Brent Underwood, who is now an international YouTube sensation with his channel, "Ghost Town Living." Brent Underwood now resides in the ghost town and former silver mine of Cerro Gordo, which is only about fifteen miles from Panamint Springs, as the crow flies.
Upon arriving at Panamint Springs, I realized that my Zoleo was gone. Immediately, I retraced my route, searching in vain for my device. Similar to when I get a small ding on the paint of my car, I was recriminating against myself for being so foolish as to lose my 
emergency satellite communicator. Alas, I did not find the device and was forced to use the balky Wi-Fi system at Panamint Springs to communicate back home.
Luckily, I had learned in Furnace Creek that if a Wi-Fi signal is strong enough, I could use it for telephone voice communications, as well as texts. As soon as I arrived in Panamint Springs, I sat down on the porch of the general store and initiated a Wi-Fi call. It worked perfectly. Later, I would learn that the Wi-Fi signal was strong enough to use only if I was seated in front of the store or in the nearby Restaurant & Bar. This was a bit of an issue because my coach was several hundred yards away, making it quite a trek just to call home. At that time I was in denial about an injury to my left hip joint. While preparing for the trip, I had hefted one too many Jerry cans into the bed of my truck.
The result was a shooting pain that would not subside until March 15, 2024, over three months later. At that time, I went in for surgery and a total hip replacement. After I awoke from surgery, the hip pain had miraculously vanished, leaving only soreness from the incision and procedure. With my other hip in the same relative condition, it was only a matter of time before I experienced a similar painful experience, so I elected for surgery on my right hip, as well. On may 31, 2024 I had my second total hip replacement. Now, if I could only fix my torn rotator cuff and detached right biceps tendon, I would be as good as new.
As I sat there, calling home, the friends I had met at Panamint Springs almost two years prior pulled up in their rental car and we exchanged greetings. Don Goodman and his wife Natala have piloted their Cessna 150 airplane all over the continental U.S. and as far as the Bahamas. Don is a retired sales and marketing executive with the Boeing Corporation. At one time, he was responsible for the sale of all Boeing jet aircraft in the South Asia region. Needless to say, Don is an excellent pilot.
Two Years ago, they had landed at the gravel airstrip behind the general store where I now sat. After our first chance visit, I could not imagine seeing them both again at Panamint Springs, yet there they were. Originally, we had planned to rendezvous on this visit for a demonstration flight in Don's plane and a four-wheel drive adventure in My Nissan Titan XD. Because of questionable December weather, they had flown commercial to Las Vegas, rented a car and made their way through Pahrump, Nevada, Death Valley and on to Panamint Springs.
That evening, I prepared barbecued salmon, steamed artichokes, fresh rolls and fine wine for my guests. After dinner, we planned a 4X4 trip for the next day. First, we would venture out into the middle of the deserted Panamint Valley. After that, we would take an off-road track I knew from a previous visit. If all went well, it would lead us down the Nadeau Road, which was the first wagon road through the wilderness of what would later become Death Valley National Park.
Almost lost in history, the French-Canadian mule-skinner Remi Nadeau had pioneered the use of mule teams to pull heavy wagons throughout the Mojave Desert. His caravans brought food and supplies to remote mines and hauled ore and smelted metals back to civilization. The famed Twenty Mule Teams servicing Death Valley and its Borax mine were Nadeau's invention. To drive part of Nadeau Road had always been a goal of mine. Now, with Don and Natala, I would soon make that trek.
During my many visits to Panamint Springs Resort, I have always stayed in a full hookup RV site. Other accommodations at the resort include an updated "Miner's Cabin" on the edge of the Panamint Wash, ancient motel rooms, concrete-floored tents and a handful of “luxury cabins.” With their appealing name, Don and Natala elected to stay in one of the luxury cabins. In this case, "luxury" consisted of a bedroom and a bathroom. Any lounging would have to be on the 
bed. The accommodations were fit for sleeping, showering, dressing and not much else. There was no mini-bar, lounge chair, kitchenette or TV. But there was room heat, air-conditioning, hot and cold running water and electricity.
None of these luxuries had been available in 1849, when those first emigrant 49er's had escaped Death Valley one hundred and seventy four years ago. Compared to those old timers, both the Goodman's in their luxury cabin and me in my full hookup RV site had it good.
After a roaring campfire beside my rig, I bid Don and Natala goodnight. We planned to meet again the following morning for our 4X4 trip around the Panamint Valley.
This is Part Four of a Seven Part article. To read Part Five, Click HERE. To return to Part One, click HERE.
By
James McGillis
at 02:45 PM |
Mojave Desert | Link
Earlier Stories >>
federal government invested $2.2 billion in what turned out to be the world’s largest bird fryer. Estimates are that over 6,000 birds annually fly into the solar flux generated at the ISTS, there to die instantly in flight. Because of the tiny smoke trails the dead birds make in the sky, plant workers call them “streamers.”
Not wanting to risk financial exposure, both Google’s $168 million investment and Bechtel’s undisclosed investment in Ivanpah garnered a $1.3 billion Department of Energy loan guarantee. In other words, you and I, the U.S. taxpayers will now pay for this incipient failure.
terminate its power purchases before the end of its fifteen-year contract. SCE, for its part, continues to buy overpriced electrical power from Unit Two.
To compare net energy production between the solar-thermal plant and its three passive solar neighbors is an exercise in frustration. Since the ISTS requires a gas-fired generator to get it started each morning, the net energy produced by the plant is far lower than the amount it supplies to the grid. Meanwhile, since the addition of 3,500 acres of passive solar near the ISTS, no other solar-thermal plant has materialized anywhere in the world. If BrightSource, Google, Bechtel, and the federal government had waited less than a decade, the ISTS would never have happened.
In 2023, the PUC ended “net metering”, which allowed rooftop solar owners to buy and sell electricity to the grid at market rates. Newer home connections buy at full price but sell excess power to the grid for a pittance. Now, the PUC has plans to scuttle net metering, even on older rooftop solar installations. To add contractual insult to financial injury, the PUC plans to allow utilities to charge all rooftop solar owners additional fees. These fees shall be for the honor of connecting to a costly, inefficient, and often dangerous electrical grid.
After thirteen years studying the Ivanpah Solar-Thermal Station, here is my prediction for its future. The reflectors, towers, and their attendant infrastructure will all go to a desert landfill. In its place will arise 3,500 acres of passive solar arrays, providing electrical power to the grid. Next time someone tells you that they have a revolutionary way of producing New Energy, be skeptical of their assertions.
