Helicopters swirl around the base of the mountain. At night, they rip open the silence. They are looking for a lost hiker, or maybe a lost walker, or maybe just a lost soul. All we were told is that someone walked away from his tent on Monday, and now this is Thursday and we still see the helicopters.
Death Valley is aptly named. Another appropriate name might have been Dead Valley, for there seems to be so little life here. The brochures we read sing of the wide variety of plants and animals, but we don’t see it (and we have learned to be careful about trusting the brochures and information about Death Valley anyway).
While driving into it, Vicky remarked that it was like a huge gravel pit. And some parts look just like that.
Others are breathtaking in their raw, hard, stone beauty. Unlike anything I have ever seen—a movie set for a hostile planet in a science fiction film.
It is, indeed, a valley. A huge one with high mountains on all sides that hold in the heat, making this valley the hottest place on earth. The valley extends for some 100 miles or so, it seems, give or take.
As I said, there is less vegetation and wildlife in this desert than in any of the other deserts we have seen. So far we have only seen two birds (one a hawk), three lizards, two butterflies, and one cricket. We didn’t actually see the cricket, but last night, across the gully where we were camping, we heard “a” cricket. I have never before heard just “a” cricket. Sounds travel far in the desert, so perhaps he is lonely and is trying to attract a mate from miles away. He sounded desperate.
We did not hear another cricket in our entire 8 days here.
Cacti are present, but are sparse, and generally very small. Mostly there is mesquite.
We hike carefully here, even more carefully than usual. We always leave with the 10 essentials (Washington State Mountaineers’ 10 essentials) and leave notes at our campsite about where we are going to be and when we are expected back.
At the ranger station this morning, while inquiring about hikes and being told that most are simply of the make-you-own variety, I remarked that they must do a lot of rescues. The ranger said yes. Then we arrived at the campground 50 miles away to see three park rangers walking behind our campsite, which is when we found out that some one had gone missing from it. I’m sure it must be puzzling, where he is—I would imagine that the helicopters are making sophisticated sweeps using GPS and are covering all of the miles between our campsite and where a person could have gone in the 12 or so hours he was missing before they began searching.
The day we arrived we decided to do a short hike out of our campground, a make-your-own variety. We climbed the tall hill behind us, looking to see what appeared to be even ground that gradually ascended for several miles toward the mountains. We started walking up toward them. See our camper down below Vicky?
What we discovered is that what looks flat out here isn’t flat. There are dozens of ravines crisscrossing the area but you can’t see them unless you are up close to them. It was great fun identifying a point far up the hill and trying to get to it, and dealing with the ravines that seemed to appear out of nowhere between us and the point. Our goal was a gap between two hills, which we named Graybill Gap. We made it, and went about half a mile further up the foothills. It was exciting, and very interesting. We had our compass and had set a course between two high peaks on each side of the valley, so we knew where we were at all times.
But it was apparent to us that someone could lie hurt, in a ravine, only a few feet from us and we would not be able to see the person.
Titus Canyon
The next day we went for a hike to a ghost town, except we didn’t make it. So we don’t know if it’s really there. Just like real ghosts.
It was a really interesting, and again another very different hike from others we have done. We drove three miles to the “trailhead” on a very rough gravel road. I drove very slowly, less than 5 mph, to keep the camper from coming apart when it bounced on the pickup bed. At the trailhead the road became one-way, coming toward us. This is where we started walking into Titus Canyon, which could be named for the Titans of Greek mythology, but more likely was named for a miner named Jeremiah Titus or something.
The road goes through a narrow canyon, at times a very narrow canyon, which is why it is a one-way road. We went 4.1 miles toward the summit and then returned. We were certain of the mileage because we started chatting with the driver and passenger in one of the cars that passed us and asked them to leave a note on our car indicating how many miles we were from it. We had hoped to make it to the ghost town that was on the map, but after hiking for this distance, we found out from people driving the road that we were several miles from it. Another day maybe. Next year maybe. But sometime, though, for sure. There are several ghost towns in Death Valley. Dead towns.
The canyon was frequently very narrow. For some places it would not be possible to pull a trailer, even a short one—that’s how tight the turns were. The photos give an idea. Perhaps a few of the photos make it appear that there isn’t a canyon at all. That’s really how it looked—like there was no way to even hike through it much less drive through it.
It was deceiving because it always appeared that if we hiked around another bend we would be at the summit and the road would go down toward the ghost town. All of the mountains/hills in front of us looked to be about the same height, so we were always being teased that we were almost there.
Apparently, as we ascended the pass, the relative distance between the nearest mountain and us remained the same, and those mountains obscured higher ones beyond. It’s all we could come up with for an explanation.
Our first two days here, and we have done two hikes unlike any we have ever done. Little could we guess how different the next day’s hike would be.
Our next morning greeted us with a helicopter landing close to our camping spot, after first spurting out some yellow powder that we learned later helps the pilot know which way the wind is blowing. I can tell him—it is blowing toward us, along with some yellow powder.
The search and rescue teams are now being called search and recovery teams. There is little, if any, hope. Vehicles are all over the park. It is a massive effort.
We have heard that the man they are seeking was part of a bicycle ride organized by some company whose name I can’t remember right now. They all camped here two nights before we arrived. After realizing the next morning that he was missing, the riders went on, leaving a support vehicle that remained for a while before going on also. He was the oldest in the group, in his late 60s, which I am almost. He apparently was not doing well after the ride here—someone theorizing that he had an electrolyte problem from the previous two days’ hard rides.
I hope he wasn’t with friends, because nobody I know would continue with a bike ride until their friend was located. It reminds me of those stories of climbing Mount Everest where, if somebody in the party starts showing distress, the rest just march on over his or her body. Maybe I’m being too critical, because what could they do? That seems so very sad, though, that he might have died alone, with no friends even close by, when all he was doing was trying to enjoy the outdoors like we are doing.
We find it a bit odd that no family members seem to be here either, since this was the campground he was last seen in. Something about this entire business doesn’t make sense. Or, maybe the ranger doesn’t have all of the information.
Ubehebe Crater:
That day we rode our bikes, with full hiking gear, 8.5 miles to the Ubehebe Crater.
We didn’t know what to expect. The ride was hard—windy and lots of hills. And did I mention full hiking gear? The new tires with goop inside them make the bikes heavier and harder to pedal as well. But the payoff was fantastic!
The crater is either 400 feet deep or 500 feet deep and ½ mile across. It is either a 1 ½ mile walk around it, a 2 ½ mile walk around it, or a 4 mile walk around it. It was formed either 300 years ago or 2000 years ago. We realize these are big ranges, but these are the numbers on the park’s brochures (and in the instance of the 4 mile walk, what one of the Park Rangers told us). Somebody needs to do some serious editing of the park’s brochures in our opinion.
It was fun hiking into the crater, and even fun hiking out of it. Here is Vicky, motoring her way out:
Vicky is so strong—it took me 21 minutes to hike out, and Vicky only 17. We both did it without resting, attesting to the improvement we have made in our hiking conditioning. There was a group of college students from Notre Dame in the crater with us, and once they started hiking out, Vicky got competitive and wanted to see if she could catch their group, even though they got a big head start. She almost did. She was gaining ground quickly. She’s amazing. I realize she’ll do a great job of taking care of me when I’m old, so I’m being really nice to her today.
Two of the Notre Dame students took our photo on the way into the crater.
They were taking a one-credit class in Geology over their spring break. What a terrific experience for them. This morning two students from Case Western Reserve stopped by our camper with a box of leftover food and supplies that they were donating to other campers—they were also here for a one-week Geology course. We really scored with them--a pound of ham, a jar of peanut butter, soap, and a great water bottle. I asked if they had any beer they couldn’t use. They said they weren’t sure.
Then, an hour or so later, a car drove by, and a young woman jumped out beaming and laughing, and ran to me with two Bud Lights.
So I casually mentioned to the Notre Dame students that Case Western students had given me beer, and that I always thought Notre Dame was a good school too. He said, defensively, they didn’t have any beer, but I’ll bet he was lying.
Vicky asked one of the older men at the top of the crater if he was the instructor for the course. Yes, he said, he was the “professor.” Well, that clears that up, doesn’t it? Excuuuuuse me, “professor-not-instructor.” That guy needs one of those beers that they don’t have.
Then we walked around the crater—2 to 2 ½ miles. which I calculated myself instead of relying on the brochures and information. (Forty-two years after graduating from college with a math major I finally get some practical value from it—isn’t the circumference of a circle the diameter multiplied by pi?)
What incredible views of it and of the area. There were several smaller craters that you could also hike around and see, which we did.
Signs posted close to the crater warn you either about being careful to not fall into it (we call them signs for stupid people), or we thought perhaps they could indicate that slam dunk contests are not allowed in the park.
That day we had lunch in a crater. Where did you have lunch today? Starbucks? McDonalds? Subway? Home in front of the TV? I’m being mean, aren’t I?
Hunkered down:
That night a storm was predicted to come into the valley. High winds were expected.
And high winds came. And how. Once again we felt safe and snug in our little old funky camper, with it rocking back and forth most of the night. Rain fell, a bit.
Oh yes, I wanted to mention. Yesterday I saw two more animals--a small Vole-like thing and a Jackrabbit. The Vole-like thing was probably a Kangaroo Rat, an animal that does not need to drink water (or Chianti) to survive. There apparently are coyotes here, too. We know this because of a sign that Vicky took a photo of that we think either means don’t feed the coyotes or don’t let the coyotes throw up into your hands.
After they get done with the brochures, they can start working on the signs.
We have seen a few more birds, some ants, some butterflies and, unfortunately, many crows. So there are animals here, but not many.
Yesterday morning I talked with the guy who designed this camper:
We had noticed it the day before, and I wanted to know more about it. It is the prototype. He built it himself.
But he can’t get any company to make it. It is ingenious, because it folds up to be like a topper, yet inside someone my height can easily walk around in it. So it is light, can be used on a ½ ton pickup, and he gets great gas mileage because it is lower than his cab when he is driving so there is no wind resistance.
My guess is that companies don’t want to produce it because they are more interested in the RVZillas where there is a big profit margin. I would think there would be a niche for this kind of camper, though. It is eye catching.
He is 80, and said he is too old to start a business himself, so has been working for 10 years to get someone to purchase his design. Someone won’t produce something useful like this camper, yet someone will produce that solar powered bird light that Vicky won and now is a permanent part of our camping experience for reasons neither of us totally understand?
We dump our microwave to save some weight, and then take this thing out every day and set it in the sun to charge it and then watch it glow at night. Is there a propane leak or something that’s destroying our brains?
On Saturday we spent most of the day in the camper. It was windy, rainy (yes, rainy in 2-inches-per-year-in-Death-Valley) and a bit on the cold side. This was the first time since we left home two months and a week ago that the weather was such that we couldn’t do something outside in decent weather. If you are reading this from the PNW area, I imagine you are saying: “cry me a river.” My response in the trite sayings department is: “eat your heart out.” Shall we stop now and be friends again?
It was nice, though, because after three days of hiking it was probably wise to rest my foot. I am so pleased with how it is responding, by the way.
I started hiking in the PNW five years ago this summer, and had great difficulty. My foot, while not like it was when I was maybe 30, is far better than it was then. Three surgeries. Basically so I could hike. And now I can. And dance.
I’m so grateful.
We also did some maintenance on the camper that day, and Vicky gave me a haircut. First time she’s ever done something like this, and it turned out pretty good, don’t you think? And the price was right.
Since we couldn’t do any outdoor activities that day we drove five miles up the road to a TOURIST ATTRACTION!
We went to Scotty’s Castle, which is a castle-like place (in the Wild West Death Valley?) built by a huckster around the turn of the century named (surprise!) Scotty. He was a legitimate cowboy, and worked for several years with Buffalo Bill’s Wild West show. However, he was also a swindler, taking peoples’ money as an investment in a gold mine that never existed.
He somehow hooked up with a couple from Chicago (the Johnsons, no relation—I think—to Vicky’s family who are also Johnsons) who saw potential in Death Valley for a tourist business.
To convince them that it was still a Wild West place and so they should give him their money to invest, Scotty staged a shoot out when they were traveling through with him. The Johnsons thought it was a real attack.
I guess Scotty used his experience with Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show to set this up. But there was one minor detail he didn’t pay attention to when he worked for Bill—in Buffalo Bill’s show they didn’t use real bullets. For this shoot out they did, and when somebody actually got shot, the whole charade was exposed when both the good guys and bad guys rushed to his aid.
Even after this, the Johnsons continued to support Scotty’s ventures, even going so far as to support his kids (since he was a deadbeat dad) and becoming best friends with him (?). Some people are very strange is all I have to say. I should have been a psychologist so I could understand all of this.
Bernard Madoff seems so boring compared with Scotty, even though they are the same personality type. But nobody liked Madoff after they found out he swindled them—I’m aware of no place called Bernie’s Castle, for example, unless it is a nickname for Stateville Prison.
We weren’t interested in a tour, or even in his castle that much (it wasn’t his, by the way, he just said it was enough times that people started calling it that). We are more interested in the natural wonders of the area. But now we can say we’ve seen Scotty’s Castle, in case anybody asks, which they haven’t.
We noticed on the way there that the cadre of Park Rangers, sheriff’s deputies, and rescue vehicles was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the missing person has been located. I imagine the ending wasn’t good, and hope he didn’t suffer. And that people miss him.
I later found out that they have given up the search. Certainly it is not safe to search in this weather, so that seems wise.
Tomorrow we have reservations at a commercial RV resort that is in the park. We’ll stock up on groceries, recharge our batteries, get ice, take showers, call my mother, take more showers, check emails, and head back to one of the camping areas and find some more hikes. Tonight Vicky is making spaghetti, and we’ll probably watch a movie. The campground is almost empty—I’m sure people decided to not come to Death Valley when they got the weather report, but we’re glad we are here today.
There is something exciting about this storm—the wind has been blowing for almost an entire day, the sky is gray, and at times we can’t even see the mountains because of the dust storms. When we do see them, we can see snow. There wasn’t any two days ago. It’s nature. And we are in it.
Death Valley Part II
So far we have been in Death Valley from Wednesday through Sunday. I had hoped to post a blog entry of this period while we were at the Stovepipe Wells RV Resort, since one of the reasons we chose this place was because it advertised free wifi. While checking in, the person said the wifi was “a little slow.” Yes. A “little slow.” Also, a “little-practically-nonexistent.” Apparently it has been this way for a few days. If I let my Ipad churn away for several minutes I can get emails, but not use my web browser. Nothing works on the MacBook.
Oh well. This gives me a feeling of what it was like in the Old West days. In fact, it was probably even worse then.
I feel like I'm picking on somebody now, but after all of our experiences with poorly written signs this one in the bathroom at the RV Park amused me. It's OK to be in the toilets, I guess, but don't throw trash in them if you are.
This RV Park is another of those that is basically just a big parking lot.
That’s what the one at the other main part of the park is like also (called Furnace Creek). That was where we had first planned on staying when we entered Death Valley, until we saw it, and realized that it was just a huge empty lot where we would spend the day listening to generators running. To use a phrase that I’m sure was used a lot in the olden days in Death Valley—we skedaddled out of there.
The Park Service is uneven here, more uneven than at other National Parks we have visited. For reasons I don’t understand, three private companies are allowed to have businesses in the park (one is Scotty’s Castle), and two of the main campgrounds are dreadful. Maybe the park service gets enough money from these private business ventures that they can do other, more worthwhile things, which is why it is usually best to get the big picture before criticizing. But it is unusual in my experience.
We have also found that the Rangers are not very well informed at times. And sometimes crabbier than they are at other places. And one of our campground hosts was almost snide when asked the kind of questions that hosts at other campgrounds we have stayed at welcomed. Maybe we have just caught people on bad days.
Mesquite Dunes:
I have already mentioned how information in the brochures and signs is frequently inconsistent. Here is another example. Yesterday we explored the Mesquite Dunes. Lots of fun. The sign at the parking lot said the highest dune was one mile away. The brochure we have says two miles. That is a huge discrepancy.
We can clear it up for you though, in case you are interested. Judging from our pace, it is probably a mile away.
We played around on the dunes for a couple of hours, and eventually found ourselves on the other side of them, so we walked about a mile out into the desert. Right in the middle of the big valley.
The drive to Wild Rose Campground
After we left the RV park, we drove to Wild Rose Campground, thinking we might stay there for a night or two. What a drive! The 21-mile road rose quickly from sea level to over 5000 feet. The brochure (we flipped a coin and decided to trust it) said no vehicles were allowed on it that were over 25 feet, so we qualified. We could see why. The turns were very tight at places. If someone tried to pull a trailer over that pass it could be a disaster. A traffic jam in the middle of Death Valley. But what incredible views!
When we arrived at the campground we found almost nobody there. That’s probably why small RV campers were allowed even though the brochure said only tent campers were allowed (however there was a sign there indicating hours that generators could be used which seemed inconsistent). And we knew why it was almost empty. It was cold. 40 degrees. We imagined ourselves walking around a little, and then spending the rest of the day burning propane to keep warm. So we decided to head back to Mesquite Springs Campground, where we had spent four days.
Back to Mesquite Springs Campground & the hike up the gully:
It was like coming home again, even though we had been gone for only two days. We both were so happy to be, once again, in a campground that wasn’t a parking lot and that had beautiful views in all directions. We got a spot right next to our previous one, and settled in for a few days of hiking. The campground is, once again, less than half filled. We can’t figure out why more people don’t come up here—although the two main campgrounds are close to RV resorts, with stores and so on close by and I’m sure that matters to many people.
Not only that, the solar-powered machine for paying for the site was broken, so a sign on it said that camping was free that night. Saved $6!
We got in early enough to take another hike. For the hike today (about four miles we estimate) we identified a large wash and just walked up until it ended. It’s great fun—another make-your-own hike. And perfectly safe because we knew where we needed to go to get back. It feels like such an adventure to go places where not many people go, and to do it in our own way.
Tomorrow we are driving a few miles up the road, parking the camper, and doing another make-your-own hike into some canyons we can see from the road. We have no idea what to expect. And that is the fun.
Vicky said the whole thing is like being a kid again, where you know you are going to have fun with your playmate, but you don’t know, or need to know, much about what you are going to do that day. You just know you’ll play.
Also, tomorrow, we will pass the 100 mile mark of hikes on our road trip. We may have exceeded 100 miles because when the hikes aren’t marked, we tend to be conservative in our estimates. We’ll do some sort of celebration.
100 miles: Our hike to the red rocks
Today we went where perhaps no one has ever gone. Truly. What an experience.
First of all, the park camping machine was still busted, so we got another free day of camping. Wahoo! What will we do with that six bucks?
What we did today was identify a part of the hills we wanted to explore, and then headed there. Another make-your-own hike. About 7 miles from our campsite we had seen some hills that looked interesting because there were red streaks in them. We thought it might be fun to walk around inside of these hills—we had no idea what it would be like. Little did we know what we would find.
We rode our bikes the seven miles, and chained them to a road sign. Then we started walking east. For the first mile it was fairly flat, until we got to the foothills. Then we followed ravines higher, and higher, and then still higher. We thought we would reach places where the hills (mountains) would block our way, but instead what we found was smaller and smaller ravines.
After awhile, we estimate a mile more, we were no longer hiking but were scrambling among the red rocks that we could see from the road. The passages got narrower and narrower. Vicky was using her poles, and I was using my hands to climb.
Has anybody ever been here, at this particular spot? Or are we the first ever? Probably someone else has been here. But how do we know? We picked a spot more or less at random, there was no trail, and we saw no footprints. And the park is huge. Enormous. There are probably tens of thousands of these ravines, maybe hundreds of thousands more if one gets higher and even farther from the road. We may have seen parts of Death Valley that no human has seen for hundreds of years, for all we know.
We finally reached a point where it appeared we were 15 or so feet below the summit. At that point, the “trail” had gradually changed from a scramble to more of a climb, and since neither of us felt we had to get to the summit to accomplish anything, we stopped. Of course, we also knew that we were actually thousands of feet below the real summit, but it sure looked like if we could get up those 15 or so feet we could look down on the other side. Here is what it looked like from where we stopped. Doesn’t it look like if we could get up there that we could see all the way down the other side of the mountain?
It was an amazing experience. And what a way for us to celebrate 100 miles of hiking since we left Whidbey Island on January 10, two months and 10 days ago. We celebrated with a small bottle of Kahlua. Here’s to us!
We love Death Valley. There are probably thousands of hikes we can take like this one—all safe except for the risk of a turned ankle, and many areas probably never explored by anyone else.
We have stayed in Death Valley longer than we had anticipated, and our food is running short. Vicky said this morning that we may have to slaughter our F250 pickup and try to carry our stuff out.
I know this is just going to lead to a big argument over who gets to carry the bird lamp.
Tomorrow we bike, to give my foot a rest, and because we want to get some bike miles in for training for the STP.
Training for the STP in Death Valley
Well, THAT was an experience. We decided we wanted to do 50 miles today. What we soon realized was that it would be about 25 miles down, followed by 25 miles up. Boy the down is fun! Boy the up is hard!
We have a program on our IPad (excuse me, I mean we have an “app” on our IPad) that registers altitudes. We used it on our way out of the park, since we went the same way we did on our bike ride. We knew how many miles we went, but we wanted to know how many feet we climbed.
2300 feet. Plus 400 the other way. A good day.
And it got HOT! We had taken what we thought was plenty of water, but about an hour and a half away from finishing we were really going through it quickly. We looked up the road to see a man setting up a tripod behind his car, and realized later that he was taking a video of us. We stopped close by to take in water, and he asked us some questions (age, how far we had gone, etc.) and Vicky said “have anything to drink?” I love her.
He produced a liter of ice cold water and a can of ice cold V8 juice, which neither of us likes but was about the best thing I’ve ever tasted. The cold water brought down the temperatures in our cores, and was extremely refreshing. We have learned, though, that in the future when we can anticipate these kinds of rides we should cache water along the way.
We did it, though. Uphill for miles and miles in the desert heat. It was as hot as it was on the first day of my first STP, so it is something to get used to. What was different from that day is that there weren’t many breaks when you can just glide down the other side of the hill. And there was no shade. And there weren't people standing along the road with water hoses misting us down. We were, in essence, climbing out of Death Valley, not doing PNW hills.
That's Vicky up there--the little speck in the huge valley.
Having lunch in the only shade within 25 miles--a "point of interest" sign along the road.
This may not sound like fun to everybody, and in a way it wasn’t fun at all, while at the same time it actually was. The next morning Vicky talked about how being at the finish line of the STP is what made her want to do it. And I know how much more fun that ride is when I am in shape. So part of the fun is the anticipation, the feeling of growth in your body as you make it do something that it doesn’t want to do, thinking about the big reward several months from now. We whined about the heat and the hills, but neither of us complained in such a way as to ruin the experience for the other person.
We are completely ready for the next phase of training for the STP, which is seat time and doing 100 milers. Today’s ride was harder than either of the two days of the STP so I am confident we can do it with Jules in July.
Once again, Vicky set the pace. She is an incredibly strong woman. She amazes me in so many ways, and her physical strength and stamina are two of them.
We are leaving Death Valley tomorrow. We got a third day free because the payment machine still wasn’t working. We don’t want to push our luck. We are, sadly, gradually heading home. Tomorrow we will head for the California coast, and work our way up toward Whidbey Island over the next 10 days or so.
Talked with the camp host tonight who said that today they found the man who was missing—just a mile from the campground. Today we did a bike ride almost identical to the one he did that day, and so we know it was a really hard ride. If someone acts disoriented after a ride like that, it is time to call family or an ambulance—you don’t just let him tell you he’s going to bed and then count on a good night’s sleep to make him well. It has got to be taken more seriously than that. I hope I have an incomplete picture of what really happened, and I’m sure I do.
We have done so many things, and seen so much beauty in Death Valley. And in an odd way, experienced why it is named that. We will be back next year. We hope our favorite camping spot will be available, even if we will have to shell out $6 a night for it.
Boy, am I thirsty.
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