Death Valley, CA
I’m not afraid of getting lost. In fact, the purpose of this trip is to be agenda-free, to see what comes next without much of a plan. Let life unfold, so to speak. Getting lost is part of the journey, in my humble opinion, so I don’t mind it. Good thing, too.
Much of the time that I am driving between parks in the off-season, I am the only car on the road. The fun part of traveling the spaces between the parks is the sheer variety of topography, very different from interstate driving. On stretches of highways that wind through desert mountains and valleys, I won’t pass another car or even a town for hours. On the way to Death Valley from Las Vegas, this was the case, and it heightened my sense of adventure and of agency and self-sufficiency.
I was driving from Mt. Charleston, where it was foggy, moist, cold, and green at 7,000 feet. Death Valley, on the other hand, is a sea level, dusty, dry, hot moonscape. Tan and beige, with no shade, the land is baked by the relentless sun, even in March. The mountains were similar to those we’d seen all along the Southwest – desert browns, some like giant dunes, a few ridges, very little vegetation.
As I get closer to the entrance to the park, I pass an area with several campers and RVs on my left, nestled up against a mountain ridge, a bit off the beaten path. I chuckled a little because I had seen no other campers anywhere and this did not look like a legit campsite – no sign and not far enough off the road to be BLM (Bureau of Land Management land). Rather, it looked like campers unofficially claimed the area. Squatting maybe. I thought to myself, “Well, if I don’t find anywhere else to camp, I can always come back to this sketchy place, haha!”
The first stop you come to in Death Valley is the 20 Mule Team Canyon where borax was mined back in the day. It is a scenic drive, a dirt road cut through hard packed, dry sand, with no plant life. Under a blue sky with a thin layer of high, streaky cirrus clouds, the sand looks almost white. Every once in a while, there is a glimpse of dark mounds of earth interspersed with the beige and white-washed sand.
Driving through, the route looks pretty homogenous and monochromatic, but when we get out of the car and climb around, the views from some of the mounds are striking. Ridges, valleys of all sizes and varying shades of tan, brown, and black give the place a rugged, ruffly flair. There are only about 30 days of rain here in Death Valley each year, and I imagine rivulets and flash floods deepening the numerous ruts and washes.
I marvel at the pioneers deciding this was a suitable place for exploring. No water, no shade, no vegetation, only heat and bone-dry earth. Temperatures ranged from 32 to 85F in this single, winter’s day. Summer gets brutal with intense temperatures into the 130s.
Further on down the main road, Ella and I explored a canyon overlook. The wind was blowing so hard my favorite hiking hat blew off into a deep, narrow canyon. I followed with Ella, flouting the rules to have her off the trail, but I’m determined to find that hat. No dice. It’s gone forever, lost in Death Valley. The wind blows in heavy gusts and threatens to push us into the canyon as well, following the fate of my hat. We abandon the search. If any of you know the deep bond you form with the perfect hat you will understand. It fit snugly, but not too snug. The bill was the perfect shape and length to shade my eyes and face. The cap depth settled just above my ears so they didn’t poke out too much. It didn’t give me a headache after wearing it too long. It was easy to adjust on the fly. Also, it had the super-cool logo of my favorite homeboy band, OTI, who play RUSH like a boss. I am heartbroken.
I put on another hat with a chin strap, and this one threatens to blow off as well. As Ella and I continue through the park we pass destinations such as Desolation Canyon, Devil’s Golf Course, Furnace Creek, Stovepipe Well, and Dante’s View. The scenery changes and the mountains become more defined and more colorful. Turquoise, lavender, and vermilion show themselves in mesas and stacks. We reach sea level, and a field of green shrubs emerges out of the sandy soil – a surprise to be sure. Black hills adorned by loose rocks that look like charcoal are the unlikely backdrop.
On a stretch called Artist’s Drive, rocks and hills display a variety of colors and textures not seen at the 20-mule-team canyon. The colors start as light pastels and get richer the further you go. At an overlook, the Artist’s Palette, there is a subtle but lovely array of pinks, corals, teals, and ambers in mesas, ridges, and crags. Every now and then there is hill that looks like a mound of coffee grounds. It is a fun drive!
The air was very dusty because of the wind, which made it impossible to see in the distance. On the Natural Bridge Trail, the wind was so strong it forced its way into my nostrils and felt like I had water up my nose – strange to feel that summertime swimming nostalgia here in this dry place.
At the far end of the park, Badwater Basin is a salt flat that is below sea level, white with minerals. Ella was not permitted on the trail, so we had to stay in the parking area, but the views were still phenomenal – so different from the painted hills. No life, desolate except for spectators.
I have no sense of direction. It is no secret. I have come to accept it and rely on my GPS to an inordinate degree. When I have no cell service, I have a map, and I can (usually) decently orient myself to get out of a jam. I continued on what I thought was a northern course, expecting to wind my way out of the park on the north end. This was perfect because my next stops would be Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Parks – both right next to Death Valley on the map. There were two things I didn’t know: 1) the park road had made a U and I was actually traveling south, and 2) the Sierra Mountains were between Death Valley and the two beautifully wooded, lush parks I was planning to visit next.
On this trip, I have no set agenda, I’m up for the adventure, so, without cell service and my GPS, I followed that road out of the park. I drove for over an hour. There was nothing, no cars, no towns, no crossroads for 80 miles or more. The views of mountains, desert, and cactus were beautiful, and I was satisfied that even if I didn’t know exactly where I was, I was happy. While I was in the heart of the park, I stopped for gas – it was $8.99 per gallon. I opted not to fill up there even though I was on half a tank, because OMG WTH!? So, I take the chance.
Turns out, the reason it’s so expensive is because there are NO gas stations around for 80 miles in any direction. That’s ok; I had enough to get me where I was going, although I wasn’t quite sure where that was! A few months after my visit to Death Valley, news reported a tourist had died right here after running out of gas and getting dehydrated from the heat and sun. Summers here are 130F, but this is a temperate day and I know I have enough water and supplies.
Finally, I make it to a crossroad with a gas station and a weak cell signal. I pull up my free camping app and there is a campsite about 45 minutes up the road. It’s not actually BLM, but it’s free, and I’m game. On the way there, things start to look familiar. I realize I’m retracing my steps going to the park. How ironic, I think to myself. I have been driving all day, have gone all the way through and around the park to end up where I started. Even more ironically, the campsite turns out to be the very one I passed on the way in!
The campsite is known as The Pads, and it was pretty cool. It appears to be the beginnings of an old company town – pads of concrete laid out in several blocks like a small neighborhood, with very rough roads running between them. No one knows who owns the land. It is not claimed by BLM or by any private entity, so campers use it for overnights and very extended stays. It was a friendly camping spot, comfortable and full of families with dogs. The night was super windy, and my Subaru and rooftop tent were rocked, pummeled, and buffeted all night long. The mountain views were beautiful though, and the morning sunrise was warm and inviting. Ella and I enjoyed the company and conversation before heading out in the morning.
When I put Kings Canyon into the GPS, it is 8 or 9 hours or something ridiculous. The map takes me way north, over a mountain pass, then back south. Ok, no worries, Yosemite is up that way – I’ll go there first.
Driving back through Death Valley, we pass some fascinating mesquite dunes. The sky was bright blue, streaked with intermittent alto cirrus clouds. The drive out of the park continued to fascinate, winding through views of all sorts of mountains, vistas, and canyons. Climbing in elevation again, we drove the twisty road to the Sierra Nevada mountains.
Ella and I stopped at the Father Crowley Overlook in Rainbow Canyon, aka, Star Wars Canyon, nicknamed because it looks like Tatooine. The views of the Mojave Desert were extraordinary! Ella and I walked to the end of the point where the wind was super strong, and the air had a chill. Looking down on the valley we saw the beautiful colors, the multi-dimensional textures, and the distant layers of mountain views. It was a beautiful snapshot of where we had just been.
Now, on with the journey! I just can’t wait to see what’s next!