By: Melinda (Journalism Student)
I've been packed since five in the morning. It's now eight o'clock, and I'm riding shotgun in a shaky Jeep heading north up the 405. My spring break destination is Death Valley. My guide for this trip is a man named Michael. Michael has been coming to the desert since the 1970's; he has stayed out anywhere from one day to one month at a time. He generously accepted my offer to split the cost of gas and give me a two day tour of the desert.
Michael tells me it will take all day to reach Death Valley and mentions a few places on the way we would stop. He tells me these are places he has been before and believes I would be interested in seeing. After an approximate six hour drive we have reached the desert. The first place we plan to stop is called Riggs. At one time, it was a fully functioning mine. We must leave the main road and travel over the desert floor to reach it. This is my first experience with "off roading". The jeep bounces and rattles over the remains of a trail, and I could swear from the noise we must have broken an axle or at least a few of my teeth. We stop at the foot of the mountain and walk towards the mine shaft. There is a small shack with the message "Welcome stranger. Stay as long as you like. Please respect the rights of others. Leave things as you found them. Thanks" written on the plywood wall. Michael and I inspect the cabin and find a fresh loaf of bread among other things. He tells me the owners of mine property will often pay someone to "baby sit" and keep an eye on things while the mine isn't being worked. This must be the case here. My idea of old mines is mostly based on Indiana Jones and other Hollywood depictions; compared to those the remains of the mine don't stand out as awesome. There is a concrete pit Michael tells me was used to store water and a rectangular block of concrete that was once a mill. The mine entrance is shallow and the hole into the earth has collapsed, leaving a basketball sized space to what used to be the entrance to prosperity. The bone rattling detour was not wasted despite the anticlimactic mine. The view even twenty feet off the desert floor is breathtaking. Far in the distance, flashes of light reflecting from car windows mark the paved road we left an hour ago.
Besides the old mine, Michael would like to visit a place called Salt Springs. Salt Springs is an actual park in itself. There is a well kept gravel path that borders the creek, along with a wooden bridge and a few concrete picnic tables. The area was once a resting place for Native Americans. Mormons passing through discovered gold and a mine was developed as early as 1850. In 1902, one miner struck a rich pocket of gold that brought him $60,000 in a single week. Although it was profitable, the location of the mine made it extremely hard to transport gold and supplies (BOH). As we wander the path, Michael tells me the Bureau of Land Management is constantly burning a tree called the Salt Cedar. It is "not native to the area and has a tendency to push out the native plants and use all the water available"(BOH). The evidence of this surrounds me. Blackened stumps of trees stand out everywhere amidst the verdant green of the marsh, giving the area the appearance of a recent disaster not yet recovered from.
By this time, setting up camp is becoming a priority. We discuss our options and decide to race the sunset to an area Michael has camped before. We follow Saratoga Springs road until we come across a path that winds towards the mountains. The purpose of this, Michael tells me, is to camp in a natural wind break. It is March and we are camping during the best time. It has been very warm, about 85° F, but a nice breeze has kept the heat from reaching stifling. In comparison, "[f]rom May through September daytime highs are 99.5 F to 116 F. It is not unusual for summertime temperatures including the overnight low to remain above 100F for a week" (Rosga, Hopkins, and Gossard 142).
We travel a little bit further and decide on a place to spend the night. We busy ourselves unloading the Jeep and setting up the tent. We've made it in perfect time, for the sun has dropped its fiery orange head well below the earth by the time we are finished. We begin dinner preparations; Michael sets up the fire and I busy myself with preparing baked potatoes and an onion wrapped in bacon to place on the coals. Glancing up from my attempts at pioneer cuisine I see an enormous rust colored moon rising over the horizon. I have heard how much larger the moon looks in the desert and my breath is sufficiently taken from me. Beautiful does not come close to describing it. You can't help but be awed by a place like this. The silence is so profound your ears ring constantly. Bird calls and bats float through the air. The solitude is at once eerie and comforting. In this place you are forced to leave behind the ideas of bad traffic and bills because there is so much to just take in. After the food is eaten and the dishes are done, I admit I'm nearly exhausted. We hadn't done as much walking as I had counted on, but all the same I'm more than ready for bed. My sleeping bag is comfortable but the night is immense and every little noise sends my adrenaline spiking. I would love to fall asleep, but every time the breeze rustles a tent flap I stop breathing. Somehow…eventually…I fall asleep.
I wake the next morning to find the sun well over the horizon. The only watch I own is on my cell phone (which I have no interest in locating or turning on) so I have no idea what time it is. Michael greets me and tells me coffee will be ready soon. I busy myself with helping Michael prepare breakfast. After a few cups of coffee, bacon, eggs, and a handful of fruit, we are officially ready to start the day. I comment on what could be on the other side of the ridge that served as our windbreak and Michael suggests we take a walk after the dishes are done. The trek up the side of the giant wash we'd been camped in was an experience. We stood at the top of a perhaps forty foot drop and walked along the crest of mountains made of pure sand, dirt, and silt stacked and piled by years of wind and the disappearance of water. The view is amazing. I can see both mountain ranges that border the valley, and the sand dunes that are creeping over them. The vague idea of how enormous the world really is becomes clearer by the minute. Unfortunately, we don't have much time to spend up here. We half walk half slide back down the side of the mountain and make our way back to the Jeep. Everything's packed and ready to go, so we set off for Death Valley.
Death Valley is probably best known because of the casualties that occurred there. A small party of hopeful miners wandered into the valley after they separated from a larger group crossing Nevada. Taking what they thought was a shortcut to the California gold fields, they entered the valley in December, 1849. The pioneers were able to cross the valley floor, but could not get their wagons over the next mountain range. Two men, Lewis Manly and John Rogers were sent to find a way over the mountains in the west. The remainder of the group split up. Some found a way through while the others waited for the two men to return. Eventually, Manly and Rogers reappeared after twenty-six days and six hundred miles in the wilderness. Supposedly, as the two men guided the party out of the valley a woman looked back over her shoulder and said "Goodbye Death Valley" (Schulte-Peevers et al. 482).
During our trip, I couldn't keep from asking Michael if we'd reached Death Valley yet. I was expecting some sort of touristy road sign saying "Now Entering Death Valley". I hadn't realized we'd entered the valley as soon as we returned to the main road from camping. Death Valley is approximately 4 to 16 miles wide and about 140 miles long. It is almost entirely enclosed by mountain ranges, the Panamint Range on the west and the Amargosa Range on the east (Death Valley).
It is unique for many reasons. It contains geological extremes in a relatively small area. At 282 feet below sea level, Death Valley is the lowest dry land in North America (Sharp and Glazner 41). Almost directly across from the lowest point in the western hemisphere, towers 11,049 foot Telescope Peak. It is possible for "[m]otorists [to] drive from sea level to nearly 5,000 feet in a space of 20 miles" (Rosga, Hopkins, and Gossard 139).
Evidence of the valley's geological past appears everywhere you look. The sloping hills that line the valley are marked by strandlines, a geological equivalent to rings left on a bathtub. Death Valley has been a lake many times. During the great Ice Age, the lake was believed to be six hundred feet deep and one hundred feet long (Sharp and Glazner 41).
The valley also contains an astounding amount of life. Besides the average lizards and birds, Death Valley is home to the bighorn sheep "which spends most of its time in the secluded upper reaches of the park's rugged mountain ranges…"(Rosga, Hopkins, and Gossard 141). During the drive, Michael tells me of a herd of wild donkeys which came through his camp. These donkeys are descendants of miners' livestock turned loose. Between 60 and 100 of them still roam the valley today.
Besides bobcats and burros, 1,042 species of plants flourish in the park. 23 species are found nowhere else in the world. The wide range of varieties is made possible by several factors. One is the natural environment, which ranges from dry, hot alkali flats on the valley floor to the sub-alpine region around highest Panamint Mountain summits. A second factor is the great adaptability of the desert plants to the soil and climate conditions (Death Valley). This abundance of life is rarely seen. Rainfall in this 3.3 million acre expanse averages less than 2 inches a year. In some years, there is no rain at all. This year, a record of 6.19 inches have fallen so far (Sahagun, "Lush With Flowers"). It has been the wettest season since records began in 1911. And, now that the sun has come out again, the valley has exploded in deep golden yellows, purples, blues, reds, greens and whites (Death Valley). As Michael and I approach some of the better wildflower viewing spots, the amount of people multiply. "Compared to the normal 4,000 visitors roaming the park's stark geological wonders this time of year… [an overwhelming] 14,000 people [came] through the front door of the park's central headquarters. Even that figure accounts for only a fraction of the influx because not all park visitors go to the headquarters" (Sahagun, "California"). Cars line the sides of a road built without the expectations of a mass number of tourists. Rear view mirrors dangle from cars like snapped limbs on quite a few vehicles Michael and I pass. Everywhere botanists with tripods lowered to a flower's eye view are photographing this rare event.
Michael and I continue the drive through Death Valley. We stop again when we reach the other main attraction. Besides a carpet of wildflowers, Death Valley once again boasts a lake. Although at most two feet deep the area the lake covers is impressive. Everywhere people are walking down to the shore and many are wading in the murky, salty water. Not far from the shore, one lonely kayak floats placidly on the lake. Although the amount of people is irritating, Michael and I leave the car to take a few pictures. After all, who knows when this will happen again.
Eventually Michael turns west and we begin our circuitous route home. We drive in a loop so Michael can point out a few more interesting things like an old ghost town and the area at the base of the Panamint Mountains Charles Manson stayed. In a couple of hours we are back to state highways, McDonalds, and reality.
With any adventure, you must be prepared for the unexpected. I didn't count on Death Valley being filled with fussing families and a line to the bathroom fifty tourists long. What can I say? You have to take the good with the bad, and on this occasion, the good out numbered the bad exponentially. Traveling and camping in the desert was an experience I will never forget. The undeveloped raw beauty of a place considered to be so barren amazes me to this day. The sheer enormity of the place places a new perspective on many things. I often find myself traveling back there, to that camp at the base of the mountain, and to that enormous blood red moon rise that marked a night in my life I will never forget.
Death Valley. 19 Mar. 2005 www.Death-Valley.us Rosga, Karen, Ross Hopkins, Glen Gossard. "Death Valley." National Parks of the West. Ed. Paula Consolo. New York: Fodor's, 1994. 139-154. Sahagun, Louis. "California; Brief, Beautiful Rebirth; Desert Is Teeming With Wildflowers After Record Rainfall." Los Angeles Times. 8 Mar. 2005: B1. - - -. "Lush With Flowers, Lousy With Tourists." Los Angeles Times. 31 Mar. 2005: A1. Michael. Bit of History (BOH). 20 Mar. 2005. http://www.bitofhistory.com . Schulte-Peevers, Andrea, et. al. California. 3rd ed. Melbourne: Lonely Planet, 2003. Sharp, Robert P., and Allen F. Glazner. Geology Underfoot in Death Valley and Owens Valley. Missoula: Mountain P, 1997.