Deja Vu Blogfest!

 

This is a bonus post, because it's time for blogger D. L. Hammons' Deja Vu Blogfest--a day to share a favorite post from the year for a second time. Since this is all about seeing some great posts we've perhaps missed during the year, I'm going to put the linky-list first, and then share my post.

And now for my post. It wasn't easy to pick one, but I decided to share one of my photo pages, even though I'm a writer and it should be all about my writing.

After a bit of looking, I choose...Night Hike to the Panamint Dunes. If you like it, you can see more from the same trip here.

Back in March we visited Death Valley and the environs in search of stunning desert landscapes and spring wildflowers. We found both. The Panamint Dunes are located in the far north end of the Panamint Valley, which is the next valley west of Death Valley proper and part of the National Park.

Night Hike to the Panamint Dunes

Six miles of rough dirt road behind us, and a hasty dinner prepared and eaten, we hoist loaded packs as the last of the evening light fades away. The sun set early behind the Inyo Mountains, and at 8 p.m. the full moon isn't up. Even so, we can see our goal: the Panamint Dunes are pale in contrast to the surrounding mountains and the scrub-covered alluvial fans that surrounded them. Headlamps, even though I forgot to replace the dying batteries, are enough to show us the footing and avoid injuries as we pick our way over rocky ground near the parking area. Bits of the mountains  have washed down the slope toward the dry lake bed in the bottom of the valley. The poor footing for the first quarter mile worries me. If it's like this all the way, it will be a very long hike indeed.

Happily, we soon pass the rocky portion of the fan, and the rest of the 3-mile approach provides fairly smooth footing. We pick up the pace, dodging around bushes and following sandy washes where they angle off in more or less the right direction, abandoning them when they move too far upslope. There are footprints in places, telling us less that we are on the right route than that pretty much any route will do, as long as we keep pointing at the dunes.

The full moon should have risen as the sun set, but the ring of mountains means that the early sunset is followed by a delayed moonrise. We hike for 20 or 30 minutes before it tops the ridge to the east. Light hits the dunes first, giving them a ghostly beauty. When it reaches us, headlamps become a silly waste. The moon is brighter. We turn our lamps off and let our eyes adapt to the night. A deep shadow lies between us and the dunes, but though our pace is fast, the moon rises faster. We never catch the darkness, and move with greater confidence.

Just over an hour sees us over three miles in, 700-odd feet higher, and starting to sink into the sand. Vegetation is thinning and it's time to make camp. The moon allows us to do that still without lights, so that though we realize that others are camped a few hundred yards off (mysteriously, they keep their lights on, even while sitting and presumably enjoying the night) they probably don't know we are there. The night is calm, and the view well worth savoring. When it grows too chilly for comfort, we crawl into our bags, knowing we'll be up well before sunrise.

Morning on the Dunes
Our early start means that we have eaten breakfast and are well up the dunes (which rise only a couple of hundred feet beyond our camp) before the sun hits. The morning is best told in photos.

 Dawn breaks on the Panamint Valley.

Desert mornings can be chilly. We are well-bundled to eat our cold cereal.

 
 As the sun rises, the moon sets over the Inyo Mountains (we really only see the foothills here).

 Dune fields yield endless patterns of light and shadow and texture.

Curves and shadows and contrast with the eroded hills beyond.

Ripples.

 Even footprints add to the textures.

 Low sun turns footprints along the ridge into a braided piping for the edge of a dune.

If you think a dune is a dead place, look more closely. More like Grand Central Station!

Beetle tracks

There were also some kind of ground-dwelling bees, busily digging their holes.

Not the best photo. The bees wouldn't hold still.

Seems like every dune field we visit has a characteristic species. In this case, it was the prickly poppy.

When the sun grew hot, we returned to our tent, broke camp, and hiked the hour back to the car. Just for fun, here's our rather low-clearance Prius trying to cope with one of dozens of small gullies/washes that crossed the road. You can drive a lot of "4wheel drive" roads in a small sedan, if you go very slowly...and can muster a certain indifference to the sounds of the car depreciating beneath you.

©Rebecca M. Douglass, 2016

As always, please ask permission to use any photos or text. Link-backs appreciated!

Spring in Death Valley National Park (Photo post)

A few weeks ago I posted a bit of creative non-fiction from our first night in Death Valley National Park this year (at the end of March). Now I'm continuing with the next two days in the park.

In case you want the short version of the Panamint Dunes post.

After extracting ourselves and our car from the Panamint Dunes area with no major damage, we were facing the hottest part of the day, and some time to kill before the light would be good for more photos. So we decided to head to higher ground, and drove to Lee's Flats, at about 4000', where probably the second-best Joshua Tree forest in the universe grows (more on this when I get to the East Mojave).

Joshua tree forest and Telescope Peak.

Joshua Tree blossom. They are pollinated by the yucca moth.

On from Lee Flats to take care of chores (water and info at Furnace Creek; dinner along the road) and drive south to a canyon we'd read of, where we hiked again away from the roads and made our bed in a dry wash (yes, we checked weather forecasts to be 100% sure it would remain a DRY wash!). We had limited expectations of the canyon, but in the morning it began immediately to have a pay-off, starting with a lot of flowers.

Ghost Flower; looking across Death Valley to the Panamint Range on the other side.

 Morning light,  looking north past Badwater (the lowest point in the US, at 285 feet below sea level).

We soon found ourselves exploring a narrow side-canyon, a true slot canyon but not made of sandstone polished by water like the slots of Utah. This canyon was carved out of "fanglomerate," a conglomerate stone formed from ancient alluvial fans (yes, it was stone, not just dirt walls with rocks embedded).

The spouse in one of the narrower spots.

We climbed out of the slot far up the slope, and found still more flowers. This tiny plant had blossoms a half inch across or less.

 Back in the main canyon, we explored until we couldn't go any farther, and it, too, narrowed into a near-slot canyon.

Easy walking on the smooth gravel.

 Back on the road, we found the last remnants of the "superbloom" on the Valley floor.

Desert Gold sunflower with Telescope Peak more than 10,000' above.

Later in the afternoon, we went looking for flowers, and found them at higher elevations. But some had attracted wildlife that puts an end to them in a hurry.

Nope. No idea what kind of caterpillar.

Night found us camping off a dirt road below Dante's View. Death Valley allows "dispersed camping" at least one mile from paved roads, aside from a few restricted areas. We go equipped with our own table and carry plenty of water to camp where we will.

 Morning proved both windy and cold--in the low 40s where we were camped, and when we drove to Dante's View before breakfast, the windspeed was higher than the temperature.

Badwater at lower left. In the distance, you can see a cloud of dust being kicked up by the strong winds around the Mesquite Sand Dunes north of Furnace Creek.

After we found a semi-sheltered spot to cook and eat breakfast, I dropped the spouse at Zabriski Point and drove to Golden Canyon. He hiked down from above, and I explored Golden Canyon thoroughly before hiking up to the top.

Golden Canyon

Golden Canyon

 Even in the constantly-eroding badlands overlooked by Zabriski Point, some plants insist on making a home.

 An overview of the Badlands, in the low light the evening before our hike.

Next: On to the East Mojave National Preserve, and the greatest Joshua Tree forest in the universe!

©Rebecca M. Douglass, 2016
As always, please ask permission to use any photos or text. Link-backs appreciated!

Night-hike to the Panamint Dunes

There was no Chuck Wendig Challenge this week, which fit nicely with my intention to do a little creative non-fiction, with photos. We spent Tues-Sunday last week visiting Death Valley and the environs in search of stunning desert landscapes and spring wildflowers. We found both. The Panamint Dunes are located in the far north end of the Panamint Valley, which is the next valley west of Death Valley proper and part of the National Park.

Night Hike to the Panamint Dunes

Six miles of rough dirt road behind us, and a hasty dinner prepared and eaten, we hoist loaded packs as the last of the evening light fades away. The sun set early behind the Inyo Mountains, and at 8 p.m. the full moon isn't up. Even so, we can see our goal: the Panamint Dunes are pale in contrast to the surrounding mountains and the scrub-covered alluvial fans that surrounded them. Headlamps, even though I forgot to replace the dying batteries, are enough to show us the footing and avoid injuries as we pick our way over rocky ground near the parking area. Bits of the mountains  have washed down the slope toward the dry lake bed in the bottom of the valley. The poor footing for the first quarter mile worries me. If it's like this all the way, it will be a very long hike indeed.

Happily, we soon pass the rocky portion of the fan, and the rest of the 3-mile approach provides fairly smooth footing. We pick up the pace, dodging around bushes and following sandy washes where they angle off in more or less the right direction, abandoning them when they move too far upslope. There are footprints in places, telling us less that we are on the right route than that pretty much any route will do, as long as we keep pointing at the dunes.

The full moon should have risen as the sun set, but the ring of mountains means that the early sunset is followed by a delayed moonrise. We hike for 20 or 30 minutes before it tops the ridge to the east. Light hits the dunes first, giving them a ghostly beauty. When it reaches us, headlamps become a silly waste. The moon is brighter. We turn our lamps off and let our eyes adapt to the night. A deep shadow lies between us and the dunes, but though our pace is fast, the moon rises faster. We never catch the darkness, and move with greater confidence.

Just over an hour sees us over three miles in, 700-odd feet higher, and starting to sink into the sand. Vegetation is thinning and it's time to make camp. The moon allows us to do that still without lights, so that though we realize that others are camped a few hundred yards off (mysteriously, they keep their lights on, even while sitting and presumably enjoying the night) they probably don't know we are there. The night is calm, and the view well worth savoring. When it grows too chilly for comfort, we crawl into our bags, knowing we'll be up well before sunrise.

Morning on the Dunes
Our early start means that we have eaten breakfast and are well up the dunes (which rise only a couple of hundred feet beyond our camp) before the sun hits. The morning is best told in photos.

 Dawn breaks on the Panamint Valley.

Desert mornings can be chilly. We are well-bundled to eat our cold cereal.

 
 As the sun rises, the moon sets over the Inyo Mountains (we really only see the foothills here).

 Dune fields yield endless patterns of light and shadow and texture.

Curves and shadows and contrast with the eroded hills beyond.

Ripples.

 Even footprints add to the textures.

 Low sun turns footprints along the ridge into a braided piping for the edge of a dune.

If you think a dune is a dead place, look more closely. More like Grand Central Station!

Beetle tracks

There were also some kind of ground-dwelling bees, busily digging their holes.

Not the best photo. The bees wouldn't hold still.

Seems like every dune field we visit has a characteristic species. In this case, it was the prickly poppy.

When the sun grew hot, we returned to our tent, broke camp, and hiked the hour back to the car. Just for fun, here's our rather low-clearance Prius trying to cope with one of dozens of small gullies/washes that crossed the road. You can drive a lot of "4wheel drive" roads in a small sedan, if you go very slowly...and can muster a certain indifference to the sounds of the car depreciating beneath you.

©Rebecca M. Douglass, 2016

As always, please ask permission to use any photos or text. Link-backs appreciated!

Photos: Death Valley #3

I'm out hiking, getting more photos to share! But here is a collection of scenes from our third day of Death Valley adventures--we rented a jeep and drove Titus Canyon, then the long long road to the Racetrack--the only place known where rocks move on their own.

For those interested in how-to, the Jeep rental is at Furnace Creek (by the lodge), and it costs through the nose--nearly $300 per day, plus gas. On the other hand, the cost of, say, destroying multiple tires on your own car and being stuck in the desert can be rather higher--like your life. So if you want to drive some of the gnarlier roads, I do recommend gnarlier tires than are on, say, a Prius. The jeeps seat 4 comfortably and a 5th person if the backseat people are tough.

Titus Canyon is a one-way drive from the hills east of the Valley down to the valley floor north of Furnace Creek. Along the way, we stopped at the ghost town of Leadfield, which lasted just one year.

The jeep.

The road climbs over Red Pass (wonder why that name? :D ) before dropping into Titus Canyon.

Just over Red Pass we found some of the best flowers we saw all trip. The very red soil set them off nicely.

Primrose

In Leadfield, a few building are left to explore. I believe this large shed was the "restaurant." Nice view, anyway.

Mines are what it's all about. You don't want to enter any old mines, but I shot this with a flash looking into the mine. The entrance was lined with corrugated steel, which made the interesting blue reflections.

Thanks to my sharp-eyed sons, we got a real treat--a chuckawalla, sunning itself on a rock. Chuckawallas are large lizards whose main protection from predators is to jam themselves into a crack in the rocks and inflate themselves until they are wedged too tightly to be pulled out. This guy chose to pose nicely for us.

Due to habitat loss and, I believe, a proliferation of crows and ravens come for the garbage people leave, chuckawallas are getting a bit rare.

En route to the Racetrack, one passes a famous spot--Teakettle Junction. I think it started with a single abandoned tea kettle, but now people bring them to leave, decorate them, and even ask you to email photos of yourself with their kettle!

Second Son contemplates the selection of water-heating devices.

Finally reached the Racetrack late in the afternoon. The perfectly flat playa is dry most of the time, but when there is water, it settles out the silt, making the fine mud which dries and cracks into geometrical patterns.

Finally, the moving rocks! If you want to know how and why, read this article.

It came a long way.

We did miss most of the flowers (save that section of Titus Canyon), but the cactus bloom later, so we found some beautiful beavertail cacti in bloom on the Racetrack road.

Our trip took all day--from about 9 a.m. to after 7 p.m., and used a full tank of gas. It was expensive, but totally worth it!

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Copyright Rebecca M. Douglass 2015