We came back early from Death Valley - bleak and desolate were the first words
that came to mind, but we enjoyed the park nonetheless. It's a stark rugged sort
of beauty, but it's got an undeniable appeal. We didn't enjoy the camping, though.
The park was packed -- we had expected it to be empty, as previous parks we
visited during Thanksgiving had been, but it was full. We camped the first night
in a huge campground, with 1000+ sites, in their "tent overflow" area -- basically
a big parking lot. The next morning, at the park rangers' suggestion, we got up
early and grabbed a spot as someone left another campground. That one was a bit
nicer, since it was only tents, but the campsites were crammed so close together
that the neighbors talking and singing kept me up half the night. (Rudder, lucky
man, is a heavier sleeper). I was enjoying the guitar playing, and they quieted
down at a reasonable hour. Unfortunately they started up again and didn't stop
until 11:30. That's late for a campground; lots of us tend to sit up for an hour
or two around a campfire after the sun goes down and then go to bed. This time of
year, that's only about 8PM. Because I was getting frustrated not getting any
sleep and because we'd seen most of the major things we'd wanted to see, we left
about noon yesterday (Saturday), after getting up early and going to see the
Devil's Golf Course, walk across the Badlands at the lowest point in the Western
Hemisphere, drive to the Artist's Palette, and hike into Natural Bridge Canyon.
That last was responsible for one of my favorite moments of the trip - an ironic
one, considering that we left early because of the noise in the park's
campgrounds. It was early enough that there were only a couple other people in the
canyon, and we were able to just stop and listen to utter silence. It was so quiet
that when a crow flew by I could hear each wingbeat.
The other high
points of the trip were on Friday. First we toured Scotty's Castle. I had thought
it was ironically named, but no, it was a bonafide castle, complete with turrets
and imported Spanish medieval carpets and hangings. It also had some very
interesting cooling and water-powered electricity systems, designed in 1930 or so
by the owner, an insurance tycoon and former engineer named Johnson. (Scotty was
his friend and hanger-on, who first lured Johnson out there to invest in a
fictitious gold-mine. They hit it off nonetheless and Scotty lived at the castle
or a nearby cabin for the rest of his life, while the Johnsons spent winters
there.)
After that, we drove for an hour on a bone-jarring
washboarded dirt road to look at rocks. Small rocks. There are rocks on a dry lake
bed (playa) that move, for no reason anyone understands. The most convincing
theory we heard is that when frost forms, it heaves the rocks -- sort of glacial
action in miniature. When the lake bed has a skim of water on it, it can be very
slippery, so the frost or wind or whatever moves the rocks sends them quite a
distance, leaving tracks behind. We had trouble getting out to them because parts
of the playa are still wet from a big storm three weeks ago, and had to skirt
south along from rocky hills, but that worked well -- from the ridge we could see
several sets of tracks going off in all directions. (One reason I don't think te
wind does it.) That was far more interesting than I had thought it would be. I
hope the pictures turn out.