The place seemed even more surreal in the chilly desert morning than the previous night. The empty pool in front of the motel, few buildings along the road and the endless desert starting in their backyards. First rule, always have the tank full. Not knowing where the next stop would be, we obeyed. A coffee (undrinkable), water and a pure trucker gas station. We took the 127 and went into the Death Valley. It is still narrow here on the South end, but the sight of the Silurian Dry Lake was enchanting. A scenery we got slowly used to, but never got fed up with. Long straight road of coarse asphalt passing one of the most hostile environments in the world. The valley itself is filled with eroded material from the neighbor mountains, the Panamint Range and the Black Mountains, which change their shape and the shape of the valley due to the constant movements of the Earth's crust. The valley is just one of the marvelous tracks of the Earth's heartbeat. Standing there, with each kilometer we've made, I wished I was a geologist. Perhaps I would go crazy. Even in this harsh environment, with the highest registered temperature of 56.7 C in 1913, years without rainfall and few wells with drinkable water, people found their home. Indian tribes were present already 9000 years ago, the Timbisha Shoshone arriving the last, 1000 years ago. Ironically, the people surviving for so long to the fierce nature's laws, had to wait until the year 2000 to see 300 acres of their own land become their property again, by the law of the white intruder. And now it's so damn fashionably to read and nod with our heads, how a low-impact, naturally-sustainable life as their is the way to be to get in touch with the mother earth and such stuff. Still not admitting how a simple culture can in a given circumstance be superior to the complex monster called the developed culture, still slightly ashamed of the simplicity of our ancestors...
The Death Valley owes its name to the first group of pioneers crossing the valley in 1849, during the California Gold Race (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_Valley_%2749ers). Taking the wrong decision to follow an unknown shortcut and after two months of ordeals crossing the deserts on the East, 20 wagons got into the Death Valley on Christmas Eve of the same year. They could not find a passage for the wagons through the high Panamint Range, so they slaughtered the oxes and burnt the wagons and went on on foot. While leaving the valley, a woman turned and said goodbye to the 'death valley'. That's how the valley got its name. They however still had to cross the big harsh Mojave Desert to reach the gold mines in Sierra Nevada.
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| Dumont Little Dunes, a place to have fun with your dune buggy |
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| Dumont Dunes |
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| Silurian Dry Lake |
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| Shoshone 'downtown' |
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| Shoshone, Death Valley |
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| Death Valley fossils, Shoshone |
From Shoshone, the last gas station with normal prices, as stated in the LP (a complete disinformation), we took the 178 through the Salsberry Pass and the Jubilee Pass over the Black Mountains into the Death Valley at its southern end. Coasting the Black Mountains, a surreal landscape was building in front of our eyes. Colorful mountains, an endless basin, gravel fans dropping from the steep mountain walls, sun and rocks. We got into California just days after they experiences heavy raining and flooding. Death Valley was not an exception, the canyons were mostly closed, filled with mud and debris, driving was allowed only to experienced 4WD, hiking trails were limited, 'flash flood' was the most common warning on the street signs. Our car suggested to stay on paved roads. Anyway, this place would need more time to get explored. So we played the role of typical car tourists.
Badwater is the lowest point in North America, -86 m. It's a small spring of salt water, named 'badwater' by one of the pioneers, because his mule refused to drink it. Wise animal.
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| Badwater Basin, crystallized salt |
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| Desert Holly (Atriplex hymenelytra) |
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| Salt sculptures, Badwater Basin |
I stopped making landscape pictures. Now and then, some, just to keep a memory and to show later the wonders you've seen, but a picture can never capture the landscape as it is the moment you are looking at it. And there will always be a photographer better than me, able to capture that tiny bit of artistic moment. But still, not the place. It's like being at a concert and watching only through the screen of your mobile phone, recording it... for who? How can an image capture the peace of mind when you're sitting on a carved sedimentary ridge, in silence, waiting for the world to change colors, the dusk, involuntarily whispering so you won't disturb the majestic show of the nature. Or to catch the colorful play of rock chemical properties seen at the Artist's Palette, appearing almost artificial. We waited for the sunset at Zabriskie Point, even it's the dawn that is the most beautiful part of the day there. Then we headed to Beatty, where a room was waiting for us at the motel, the last one, as we discovered. The tourist season was high and the motels and the hotels were fully booked, so that call from the Furnace Creek after a heavy meal and a fresh beer was a good choice. And we got to know some people from Beatty, well, they've retired into that town. Desert rats. Friendly and rough, with the best chili I've ever tried, Or perhaps it was the beer, served in some funny glasses, well, jars.
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| Eroded and carved sedimentary rock |
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| Looking South from the Artist's Drive |
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| Artists Palette |
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| Badlands and Manly Beacon from Zabriskie Point |
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| Zabriskie Point |
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| Zabriskie Point |
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| Badlands with Manly Beacon from Zabriskie Point |
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| Sunset at Zabriskie Point |
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| Waiting...., Zabriskie Point |
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| Beer at the Happy Burro, Beatty. Nevada |
