Category: Out of the Basement and Into the Wild

Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks, CA

“Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice.” Robert Frost’s apocalyptic observation may have merit, but in this part of California, this dichotomy of extremes lives on annually, millennially, perennially. As I travel through the wooded, mountainous areas of western Sierra Nevada, I believe more and more that the world will continue and endure, bouncing between fire and ice far after we are all gone.

However poetic these two forces of nature are, they are more than metaphorical on my journey. One of the more unfortunate things Ella and I are experiencing is that our schedule takes us to some of the parks when they are not at their best. During winter for many of the mountainous parks, roads remain closed, and many of the most popular attractions are not accessible. It is March now, and many of the roads are impassable until Memorial Day – the official start of summer. Even if the region hasn’t seen snow for weeks and temperatures have caused a nice, prolonged thaw, the roads will not be plowed for another month.

Additionally, here where wildfires have gutted so much of the land, the lack of vegetation and wet soil mean rockslides and landslides are inevitable. Snowplows move the snow and clear the roads of natural litter and debris, and as they do, they reveal repairs that need to be made – rough roads, potholes, and washouts. There is a lot of maintenance that goes into reviving winter roads in the National Parks.

I have resigned myself to the fact that I will miss some of the best parts of some of the parks we visit. The consolation is that I get to see them in their wintery, rawest form. The very best part of winter park visits is the lack of crowds. Sometimes Ella and I are the only ones visiting at that moment, and it feels serene. A close second-best part of winter park visits is the snow, which we Alabama girls don’t see enough of!

Driving from Yosemite to Kings Canyon and Sequoia, Ella and I pass a lot of burned and charred trees. Bleak and stripped stands of pine and cedar trees are the devastating result of lightning strikes that spark wildfires. These trees, some black where the bark is still clinging and some white where the bark has fallen off, look like oversized bottle brushes and pipe cleaners. Even with the devastation, the distant views of canyons and valleys are beautiful.

Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Parks are both situated along the same park road, almost contiguously. Except for the signs, it’s hard to know when you are leaving or entering national forestland or the adjacent parks.

As is much of the case with wintery visits, many of the side roads inside the parks were closed, not to mention Ella was not permitted on the trails. Our visit to Sequoia and Kings Canyon was limited to driving the scenic route and taking short walks at wildly natural overlooks or perfectly landscaped attractions along the way.

The first thing you notice in Kings Canyon is the beautiful, renowned sequoias. They are huge and loom high above you as you crane your neck to look at the tops. On the ground, broad, flat stumps of several of the “old guard” that have been cut down are a representation of the sheer size of these behemoths. Easily 20 to 30 feet in diameter, the stumps will take many decades, maybe centuries, to decompose and disintegrate. The sheer size of these monster trees is overwhelming and awe-inspiring.

Some of these trees have been here for thousands of years – the oldest is 3,500 years old!

They can grow to be 300 feet tall and 100 feet in circumference.

Their bark is reddish-orange and is parceled-looking, like pine but in a larger, patchwork pattern. Their branches, minimal and primarily at the very top, don’t spread out but stay close, as if trying to be unassuming and humble – absurd for a tree so huge.

And here’s the interesting thing. They need both fire and ice to survive.

Wildfires burn the surrounding trees that spread their shady branches. They also burn the underbrush that soak up resources from the soil. Fire effectively takes out the sequoias’ competition. Additionally, heat from the fire causes their cones to open, and the seeds then fall to the bare, charred soil, ensuring they have the highest chance of germination.

Ice and snow accumulate all winter while the trees are dormant. As the days begin to lengthen and temperatures get warmer, the melting snow provides the required thousand gallons of water every day for each awakening tree. If fire and ice is a theme here, so is ancient and nascent. The old and new sequoias together create an array of different shapes and sizes and provide a reminder of the continuity of life year to year, decade to decade, century to century, millennia to millennia. It is an extraordinary life for these trees, not only enduring but thriving in the extremes.

The road to the General Sherman, the world’s largest and most famous sequoia, was snowed in, but we did see the General Grant. Showcased on a beautifully landscaped, winding trail, it was massive and magnificent! Tall, thick, and powerful, it looked like a redwood on a grand scale.  At the very top of the tree, each of its branches shoots upward, creating a very narrow canopy. In fact, the branches look like small trees on top of a giant stalk. It is nothing like the sprawling oaks of home. General Grant’s trunk was enormous with scorched-blackened gapes and gnarls that had been forged over three millennia of wildfires. It was jaw-dropping, eye-popping, and mind-blowing.

Amazeballs.

The hiking trails in both parks were just starting to bloom with bright green shoots and buds, so Ella and I walked where we were allowed, enjoying the glimpses and promises of spring. Ella would skirt along the edges where a little snow still lined the paths. The real show was those massive trees though, young and old. 

The sun was starting to go down, so Ella and I began looking for dispersed camping. My free camping app showed a campsite at the end of the road just before the road closure on national forest land. I was so happy because it was close and there was no one else around. Both plusses in my book! It was a bit off the road and there were several flat places, just right for the kind of camping I like. We got out to walk around, and it just felt off. I could give myself no reasonable explanation why, but I just did not want to stay here. Normally I love secluded places off the beaten path, but this one activated my Spidey-senses. The online reviews were outstanding. The views were bar-none. Maybe I shorted myself here, but I decided not to stay. I still have no rationale and will never know.

There were no other immediately available desirable locations, so I decided to go on to Sequoia. It was right around sunset. As we were leaving Kings Canyon, the smartly uniformed Ranger was taking down the flag. Very ceremonially, he snapped a salute to Old Glory. Amid the snow flurries, he walked very deliberately, squaring his corners by pivoting on one foot, toward the flagpole. He lowered the flag and took his time removing it from the clips. Then with measured, slow, purposeful, marching steps, he disappeared into the Ranger station. Day is done.

The sunset views through Kings Canyon to Sequoia were lovely. The road was lined with tall sequoias and pines on both sides with steep snowy banks creating a corridor. The sun peeked out between the trees on the horizon until there was now an orange, hazy glow over the valley. Colors fade into pastel pinks and auburns. Ella and I stop every 100 feet or so to get a good view of the valley and the sunset.

There were so many burned trees on our winding road through the mountains. The hillsides were sepia colored in the setting sun. In contrast to the gorgeous sunset, the ominously burnt branches, stripped of leaves and color, gave an ethereal feel to the drive. Our twisting descent took quite some time.  It was so steep we could only travel 5 mph, and the sky turned black before I knew it. The sound of crickets came and went as the car rounded looming hillsides. Ella slept soundly in the backseat. It had been a long day, and I had just about had my fill of driving on narrow, mountain roads.

The end of the day has made me thoughtful, especially about the dichotomy of extremes so well illustrated in the life of the sequoias. Robert Frost uses the fire and ice metaphors to signal the intemperate end of the world, either in torrid desire or in icy hate. The sequoias are indifferent to those emotions. In nature, fire and ice and their accompanying discomforts bring life and vibrancy despite the death and dormancy they cause. The ancient and the nascent benefit. The trees stand in one place, adapting to their surroundings, relying on the extremes, year after year for thousands of years. They are firm, unmovable, immutable. Reemergence is guaranteed.

That night Ella and I stayed in a hotel, and we were both happy to have a soft, warm bed to sleep in! All is well. Safely rest.

God is nigh.

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!

Las Vegas

Because I had never been to Vegas before, I decided to book a hotel on the Strip, board Ella with a Rover sitter, and experience the City of Sin with reckless moral abandon. Many will tell you there is no right way to do Vegas, as long as you let your Id out of the box, cast your Superego into the abyss, and let your freak flag fly. Hedonism, for the win!

After dropping Ella off at the Rover sitter, I settled comfortably into my hotel. I had booked several days to really get the most out of my experience. The first day I spent pampering myself and sleeping in a clean, comfortable, fresh bed. Heaven! The next day I ventured out for a walk of the town in the daylight. Most of the people milling around were sightseers like me getting a load of the iconic images – the Welcome to Las Vegas sign, the Strat tower, the fountains of the Venetian, the Chapel of the Bells.

Back at the hotel, I met a man, an actor/performer/musician who looked like Johnny Depp, who lived in Vegas and was well-connected in showbiz. He was lovely. He looked younger than I – smooth face, long, straight, black hair, close-cropped black, circle beard – but he was several well-preserved years older. He was a wealth of information about the area, and I felt a kinship immediately. There was no romantic spark, but he was an instant friend. We had drinks and talked about deeply personal things – the kind of connection you make when you let your guard down and don’t worry about how people see you. The kind born of the Vegas ethos – I can make a fool of myself, and no one will care, remember, or tell.

We had easy conversation until he had to leave, and I turned my attention to the people on the other side of me at the hotel bar, two men vacationing with their families. Conversation flowed. So far, so good. I had made safe, comfortable, connections with several people who were sane and fun to talk to. My plan was to hang out there until the sun set, then walk the Strip to see the night lights and people watch. Maybe I’d venture into a casino.

The two men’s wives came in after a day of shopping with their young children. Introductions all around, a little small talk, and the wives and children were off to their rooms. In the corner of my eye, as I was exchanging pleasantries and saying goodbye to the wife of one, I saw the other gentleman point to me and whisper something to his wife. She smiled to him, nodded, and was gone. Left again to ourselves, the three of us ordered another round. Then the whispering man told me he and his wife were into threesomes. They were awesome. Saved their marriage. Did I want to join them?

Huh.

I wasn’t really sure if I should be insulted or flattered. I can’t remember my actual response, but I think it was something like, “Wow, Cheers!” while raising my glass. Flustered, I said it was time for me to venture out into the night. The fella gave me his number on a napkin and invited me to give him and his wife a call when I got back. I thanked him, lol.

Outside, the night was starkly different from my daytime walk. The smell of urine and weed was overpowering. I walked for a good way in one direction, people-watching and gauging the city’s energy. People of all ages, sizes, and colors were bustling everywhere. Showgirls in leotards, heels, and giant head- and tail-feathers ran from one side of the street to the other. Bright video displays on the streets and on the sides of buildings advertised upcoming show schedules and drink specials. Every hotel casino was built around an extravagant, luxurious theme, and music blared. Lights flashed double-time, blindingly, trying to lure passersby in. The prolific and flagrant flaunting of wealth was overwhelming. Without exaggeration, on every corner there was a homeless person, sleeping in their filth, hair matted to the sidewalk, smelling of vomit and feces. The jarring juxtaposition of opulence and destitution was utterly heart breaking.

I had to get out. I didn’t belong here.

I definitely have my own freak flag, but it’s in the wilderness, wild and free.

I am here to present to you the right way to do Vegas.

Calico Basin Trail and the Desert Wildlife Preserve

In the bright sunny daylight, Ella and I went to Red Rocks Canyon and hit the Calico Basin Trail. The mountains were dotted and speckled with black, red, pink, and orange, looking every bit like they were draped in colorful gingham. That night we setup camp at a National Wildlife Preserve, an open range for wild horses and oxen, and I felt once again like I could relax. We stayed there a few days, exploring the wilderness and marveling at the range of mountains that surrounded us on all sides. The desert basin was flat, rocky, and thorny, and we were the only ones for miles.

From our campsite, I had a view of a classic, gray, snowcapped mountain range to our west, a colorful, rocky range to our north and east, and the lights of Vegas reflecting on the horizon to the south, with miles and miles of empty space in between. The ground was beige and gray dirt and rock, covered with low, dusty, thorny plants. Ella could not venture off leash because of the thorns and cactus, so she and I walked miles of dusty trails. The wind was strong with nothing to break the blow, and the March air was cold even though the sun was very warm on my skin. This is the best way to camp – nobody else around, no creature comforts, total nature. Heaven!

I was determined to visit that snowy peak to the west, but first there were a few nearby spots I wanted to check out. After breakfast, Ella and I took off in the Subaru to explore.

Hoover Dam and Valley of Fire State Park

Lake Mead, formed by the Hoover Dam, is a sprawling reservoir that reaches in several directions, providing the Las Vegas area with recreation opportunities and gorgeous views. Ella and I camped there several days prior on the way into Vegas, and I wanted to go back to see some of the surrounding areas we had missed.

We stopped at the Hoover Dam and took in that engineering marvel. At an overlook, Mead Lake was brilliant-blue and beautiful, and the mountains – so different from others in the area – looked like giant piles of garden soil, like a gigantic 5-year-old was playing with Tonka trucks and left the dirt to play with later. The dam is enormous, and crowds of people were lined up to see the inner workings. Ella and I walked around a bit, then headed to Valley of Fire State Park for the day.

The Valley of Fire is amazing! It is a spectacle of differently sized rocks, boulders, mountains, and hills formed of red sandstone that have been uniquely weathered and eroded over eons. Black and gray mountains in the distance form a beautiful contrast to the almost playful looking formations. Some are rounded and seemingly tenuously stacked while others are solidly anchored in the ground. Small holes that look like they have been scooped out by a great melon-baller cover them and make homes for small mammals and birds. Where the rocks were not jutting out of the earth, the valleys were flat and covered with dusty, gray-green and yellow shrubs.

The formations have fun, descriptive monikers like Seven Sisters, Elephant Rock, Mouse’s Tank, and White Domes. Ella was allowed on some of the trails, so we walked through the soft sand in the hot sun, marveling at the variety of shapes and textures. Petroglyphs were etched on boulders lining the trails, evoking a sense of wonder at the prehistoric peoples who had been here before us. The air was super dry, and we couldn’t drink enough water, try as we might. We stayed parched.

After a scenic drive from one end of the park to the other, our eyes stuffed to the gills by the visual feast, we headed back to camp. On the way out of the park we saw a bighorn sheep on the side of the mountain, climbing the rocks, foraging. Then we saw another, and another. It was a whole family – in fact, a herd. A few began to cross the road and stopped traffic. Ambling around without a care, they were oblivious to the cars. They are big animals that look like mountain goats but have massive, curved horns on the sides of their heads that wrap around each ear. They are peaceful looking, but I sure wouldn’t want to get too close! Once the bighorns made their way down the road, we picked up the pace again. Then, up ahead, another herd was grazing along the roadside. Enthralled from the back seat, Ella liked that part of our day the most!

Mount Charleston

The following morning, after breaking our wilderness camp, Ella and I set off in the Subaru for the snowy mountain we could see in the distance, Mount Charleston. With every bit of elevation change, the vegetation and landscape changed. It went from stark desert with very few shrubs, to shrubberies and cactus, to cholla, to Joshua trees, to junipers, to pine trees. At each thousand-foot elevation change, the vegetation changed and rarely mixed. You can tell how high you are by the plant life.

As we continued to climb, the temperature continued to drop. It was a lovely mostly sunny 50F when we set out, and clouds were visible on top of the mountain, partially shrouding the peak. When we reached our destination, snow flurries swirled around us, and our campsite in the distance was lost in the fog.

We enjoyed exquisite views from the overlooks – layers and layers of mountains and valleys peeking out of the sunshine and shadows. After a day of enjoying those high views, it was time to head on. We traveled from close to sea level to over 7,000 feet in elevation, then turned around and went down again, through the twists and turns, past the changes in vegetation and temperature.

At one point, as we were rounding a turn, there was a horse trotting toward us on the road. There was no human; there were no fences; it had no riding hardware at all. Just a wild horse, enjoying the scenery, just as we were.

That, ladies and gents, is how you do Vegas!