Photo Essay: Secrets of Death Valley

There's an area of Death Valley National Park that's so fragile, so archeologically significant, that the National Park Service has erased any trace of its existence. They've removed it from the maps. They've omitted it from the guides. They've filled in the roads leading to it and dismantled the signs pointing to it.

But every now and then, a park ranger or a paleontologist takes a small group of people through the area, and points out what the casual traveler might miss, or accidentally step on and destroy forever.

As it is, the dryness of the desert, the hotness of the sun, and the erosion of time has rendered the rock paper-thin, peeling away in layers of time.

For the preservation of the area, I'm not going to say what it is, where it is or how to get there. But I will show you what I saw.































Life was once more robust in Death Valley, around its many lakes, than one can ever imagine. And few traces remain of it...but not for long.

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Sanity Check

A recent Wall Street Journal article asked a number of successful C-level executives what their secret to time management was, and amongst suggestions of prioritizing and budgeting time stood out one insightful instruction: make time to think.

For a go-getter like myself, it's hard enough to make time to do all of the things that I want to do. Mostly when I take time to think, I'm thinking about what I'm going to do, making plans, budgeting money, strategizing driving directions, juggling schedules.

But it's so easy to become so rapt in the doing that you don't even notice that you no longer want to be doing what you're doing. You're in a job that you find no longer satisfying, but it's your job, and you don't have another job, so why stop? You're in a marriage that you no longer find passionate, but she's your wife or he's your husband - you're married - and that's the plan, that's what you're doing, and that's what you're going to be doing. Inertia takes over. There are no stop lights.

There's a moment when you're about to have a one-night stand or sleep with a friend or someone else's boyfriend, and you're so caught up in what you're doing that you don't think about the consequences to all those involved, much less to yourself. And then you are overcome by the urge to pee.

And sitting on the toilet, you take a moment to think, you pause for a sanity check.

And when you emerge, you get dressed, and either collect your belongings or kick your companion out, and go to sleep alone, as you're destined to do.

Because as exciting as spontaneous is, it's somehow always better to plan ahead.

And when you find yourself on a path you don't really want to be on, it's OK to make a change of plans.

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Alive in Death Valley

In my vehicular tour of Death Valley, I stopped at Father Crowley Point to gaze out onto the Panamint Valley area of the park.

I'd been a little trepidatious to return to Death Valley, the precipitant of my existential crisis four years ago, where I felt so small and surrounded by...well, death.

But upon my return, invigorated by the heat, finally free from my office, I felt more alive than ever.



I was surrounded by more people this time, a bit earlier in the season, but still only a few...



And the occasional blooming creosote bush or other green plant.

And although I frequented ghost towns and invited desertion into my weekend, I found some friends along the way.

Death Valley felt vibrant, lively, shifting, evolving. The hot wind breathed on my neck. The rocks glowed. The creeks swelled. The dunes cascaded.

And I was living.

Related post:
Overlooking the Badlands

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Try to Love

"He loves his girlfriend, but he wants to have sex with me," I told a friend tonight. I was talking about one guy in particular, but I could have been talking about any one of dozens.

My friend nodded.

"And I don't want that. I want someone to love me. Or, at least, I want someone who wants to love me. Or, at least, to try to."

And for the first time ever I think, I meant it. I wasn't settling for scraps, any offhanded affection or late night intention thrown my way under the table.

Is that too much to ask? For someone just to try to love me?

For all the guys out there who just want to be friends, who don't want to get involved, who are in relationships with someone else, who are working too hard, drinking too much, and disappearing for two months at a time, I have to keep my eyes on the prize.

I am not your secret to keep.

You should be proud to have me in your life.

And if you're not, I have to move on.

Related post:
Open Letter to the Wrong Tree
The One Who Loves Alone

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Photo Essay: Ghost Towns of Death Valley

One of the main attractions of the Death Valley area is its numerous ghost towns, both in the park and in its surrounding areas.

Some of them you can only hike to. Some of them require four wheel drive to access them (e.g. Skidoo). Others have nothing left but a historical marker (e.g. Garlock).

Most of them were built for some kind of mining endeavor (gold, lead, borax, etc.), and when the industry dried up, so did its thriving population.

Some are well worth a visit, and a friendly hello to whichever caretaker keeps an eye on things.

Randsburg, CA - Population 65




Ballarat, CA - Population 2, including the town caretaker, Roc


















Darwin, CA - Population 30ish










Leadfield, CA (in Titus Canyon, Death Valley National Park)


Death Valley Junction, CA






For the full set of photos, click here.


Related Post:
Haunted by Death Valley

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Change of Plans (Updated for 2021—A.K.A. The Search for Goat)

I try to be spontaneous. I try not to be too terribly rigid. I try to listen to the Universe.

But when it comes down to it, I'm a planner. When I am spontaneous, it's because I planned to be so. I anticipate every outcome like a chess move. I'm rarely surprised.

That makes my little road trips extremely organized. And I don't really like to go off course. Unless I planned to do so.

For my Death Valley weekend, I planned to leave work as early as I could, hustle north for dinner at the Indian Wells Brewing Company (which I made 20 minutes before the kitchen closed), and land for the night at the Randsburg Cottage Hotel, a B&B in the old gold mining town that currently houses 65 residents, rendering it pretty close to ghost town status.

I left a little later than expected. I arrived a little later than expected - after 10 p.m. - let myself in, and found myself the only person staying there.

Soon thereafter, I was greeted by my host, Goat, who stopped by to turn off the lights and close up shop for the night. He offered me a Bud Light and asked if I was OK. He invited me to come drink with a cabin full of guys that were staying at one of the residences up the road. But, already in my pajamas and tired from the drive and the beer, I declined.

The next morning, Goat was sweeping the doorway when I emerged from the Rose Room, ready to toast a cinnamon bagel and peel a mandarin orange. I must've turned down his offers for coffee a half dozen times.

But when he offered to show me around town, I accepted gladly.

Goat is a former professional motorcycle racer who doesn't really need to run a B&B for the money. He takes ramshackle cabins and restores them way beyond their original splendor simply for the joy of it. He offers for people to stay at his place for free.

The whole morning - between showing me the old church, the jail, his finished cabins (and their weekend occupants) and his works-in-progress (as well as his workshop) - Goat kept inviting me to stay another night. He even offered it at no charge. "I just want you to have a good time," he said.

"Thank you so much for the offer, but I really want to move on," I said. After all, I had my whole big trip planned. I had to go to Trona Pinnacles. I wanted to see Ballarat. And I desperately wanted to go back to Death Valley.

"She's staying again tonight," Goat would say, as he introduced me to various folks around town. I just shook my head.

Goat then took me to an almost finished cabin he's been working on for some time, right in the middle of town. We sat on the porch, on benches he handcrafted of wood himself, watching nothing go by. "Money doesn't matter," Goat said. "The only thing that matters is making people happy."

I looked at him with gravity, and I said, "I'm sorry I'm not going to stay tonight, but I will be back."

And I wondered whether I should've accepted the invitation to stay one more night, but I felt I had so much more to see, so much farther than Randsburg. After all, Randsburg was only two hours away from LA. Death Valley was so much farther, with temperatures more forbidding for the rest of the year.

As Goat bid me farewell, hugging me and again offering me a cup of coffee to go, I promised him again, "I will be back," and then I moved on, as planned.

I think I did the right thing.

But I guess we'll never know.

Update 10/9/21 10:23 PM PT—I was sad to discover today that Goat Breker no longer owns or runs Goat's Sky Ranch, which is now operating as the Cottage B&B. I'd love to know what happened to Goat and where he ended up. 

Photo Essay: Amargosa Opera House & Hotel, Death Valley Junction

There are very few places to stay overnight when visiting Death Valley, if you're not going to camp. There are four places in the park itself - including the Panamint Springs Resort where I spent two haunted nights four years ago - and then there are a variety of small towns around the periphery of the park, all at least a half hour's drive from the park boundary.

After spending one uneventful night in the popular stopover town Beatty, NV, I spent the last night of my Death Valley weekend in a far more remote location: Death Valley Junction, a ghost town whose only remaining business is the Amargosa Opera House & Hotel.



Designated a National Historic Landmark, the Amargosa was originally built in the 1920s as a borax company town for local workers. It had residences, a coffee shop, a hospital, a rec hall, a store, and a garage across the street.

In the 1960s, actress/dancer Marta Becket moved from New York City to Death Valley Junction and rented out the original hall to turn it into an opera house, where she performed dances and mimes for over 40 years, until her retirement a few weeks ago.

I never got to see her perform, and now the opera house is officially closed.

But after a bit of begging, despite my late check-in, I managed to get myself a tour.







The walls of the opera house are covered in Marta's paintings...



...illuminated by lights hand-crafted out of coffee cans.







Many of Marta's personal possessions - including old costume pieces - still linger backstage, access to which is forbidden.





Apparently Marta, now in her late 80s, still lives onsite - somewhere - in an undisclosed location.

You can almost feel her watching, as her paintings stare out at you from the walls of the hotel hallways.

And you can still see her dance, on the TV screen in the lobby, which shows old VHS tapes of her performances.

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The Road Not Traveled

When out hiking, I'm always looking for a proper trail. I'm comforted by placing my feet into the footsteps of others, knowing where I tread is somehow established, official, sanctioned, safe.

But at the Mesquite Dunes in Death Valley, I kept walking until I could find the dune with no footprints. Maybe someone at some point had walked there before, but wind, shifting plates, weather, whatever had eradicated their traces.

And so, for me, it was the road not traveled.

I'm not trying to be weird. I'm not trying to isolate myself. I'm not trying to pioneer anything.

I'm just trying to do something, and have something to show for it. I'm just trying to leave my mark.

Even if it's just a lone set of footprints.

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Today's Moment of Clarity: Get Out of the Car

BALLARAT ->

STORE MUSEUM INFO

DRINKS RESTROOMS

CAMPING SHOWERS

You LEARN NOTHING BY

SITTING IN The CAR

Out here in LA, it's easy to get wrapped up in the car culture that has dominated the West since the mid-20th century.

Although I don't have a long morning commute to work - living only about a mile away from the office - I still drive it every day, even though it's easily walkable and bikable.

I drive six hours each way for a brief weekend getaway.

And sometimes, barreling down the freeway, I have to force myself to pull over and go look at something, go climb something, instead of hypnotically following the road.

And as Roc, the caretaker of Ballarat, a ghost town outside of Death Valley, reminds us: you learn nothing by sitting in the car.

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Squeezing Through Titus Canyon With Low Clearance

[Last updated 9/8/19 10:41 PM—old photos added]

I'd been to Titus Canyon before.

In 2008, I'd parked at the wrong end of the one-way road that led out of it.

I'd walked a bit into the slot canyon, but without knowing how far it went or what I'd see, I aborted my hike and turned back.



And for four years, all I wanted to do is drive the right way through Titus Canyon.



At first, I was slightly daunted by the recommendation of a high clearance vehicle, but I figured if four-wheel drive wasn't required, I'd be OK.



At the very least, I'd spend the night in Beatty to render myself close to the entrance. I'd take the turn-off from Daylight Pass Road and see how far I could go.



I'd drive until I could drive no more. And the funny thing is, I just kept on driving.



Sure, it was harrowing at points. With only 2WD, I was ill-equipped for sand, gravel, uneven terrain, and rocks undertire. But with a low center of gravity, I held my ground steadfast, and, though rocking side to side, continued to move forward.



I never felt like I was going to get stuck. I giggled nearly the entire way.



I wondered how many people hadn't even tried to make it through.

I wondered how many people hadn't made it through at all. What had happened to them?

I rounded corners, climbed hills, and teetered along ridges.

I squeezed between walls that were only 20 feet apart.

I passed hikers who peered at me quizzically.

Finally, I emerged from the mouth of the canyon with an enormous sense of accomplishment.

See the last 1.5 miles here:

Squeezing Through Titus Canyon With Low Clearance

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I Have Complete Control of the Vehicle