Mesquite Sand Dunes, Stovepipe Wells
The following morning I woke up, and because coffee was advertized as "available in the lobby" I went to the lobby. It was 7am. I asked the clerk if she had any idea what time sunrise was supposed to be:"7:17" Okidoki. I grabbed the car keys, the coffee and the camera, and headed out for the third trip. I got there just in time to watch the western peaks start to catch the light, and then to follow the shadow line as it raced down the mountain and across the plain to the dunes. Watching the bush next to me go from shadow to glowing with light in just thirty seconds was like watching it blossom in spring in one of those time lapse photography documentaries.
Mosaic Canyon
Yesterday's hike was such a hit that we agree to pick another one for this morning. It's AMK's turn to choose, and she picks Mosaic Canyon, which has the advantage of being just up the street. It will also get us back on the road in ample time for our 1pm deadline.
Mosaic Canyon
Length: ½ to 2 miles, one-way.
Difficulty: moderate
Start: Mosaic Canyon parking area, 2 miles from Stovepipe Wells Village on graded gravel road.
Description: Popular walk up a narrow, polished marble-walled canyon. First ½ mile is narrowest section. Some slickrock scrambling necessary. “Mosaics” of fragments of rocks cemented together can be seen in canyon walls. Big-horn sheep sighted occasionally.
Having completed the aforementioned narrow half mile of polished marble, the canyon opens up considerably, and offers two markedly different paths. We opt for by far the most interesting-looking, which follows a knife-edge in the middle of the canyon floor.
I was not kidding about the knife edge. At several points there were serious debates between mind and matter and matter only just kept the upper hand. After a while the trail connected with the northern canyon wall, and became narrower and narrower. Click on the picture of John marking the eventual end of the trail. An angel with pony-tail, craggy beard and pipe sat watching the three mountain goats pondering the descent. Angel or devil? He guided us to the absolute end of the trail and then encouraged us to leap. AMK went first, fluttering down like Woodstock descending from Snoopy's kennel. John next, without mishap (surprise). Finally I train-wrecked. We will not be going back that way.
The canyon narrows again, until we're clambering over boulders big as Volkswagons, and finally squeezing through gaps between boulders big as double-decker buses. Time to turn around.
No surprise that we're much faster on the descent. No side trips. We pass the angel/devil who has only moved a hundred yards or so and is still (presumably) dispersing wisdom to another hiker who has wandered into his purview.
Salt Creek
Park Guide: Salt Creek: This stream of salty water is the only home to a rare pupfish, Cyprinodon salinus. Springtime is best for viewing pupfish; in summer the lower stream dries up and in winter the fish are dormant. The wooden boardwalk loops ½ mile through stands of pickleweed and past pools reflecting badland hills.
We saw the stands of pickleweed. John: "salty." But we saw no pupfish.
Next stop Furnace Creek. I dropped John off, and after John's excellent descriptions of why to watch, AMK is keen to watch the game with him. So I wait long enough to confirm one last time that the game really is showing, and then set off on my own to fill in the three hours I'm not allowed to spend watching the game in case it induces the Pats to lose.
Zabriskie Point
Wow. This is bad. There's no way I can't bring John and AMK here, and there's no way we can then go all the way back to take the northern route out of the valley, so this changes our exit strategy.
Actually that last one was the last picture I took, when we returned just in time for AMK and John to experience it before the light faded and we began our long sprint back to Vegas.
Devil's Golf Course
We'd stopped at this sign on the way in, but did not realize yet that any brown-signed object would be worth the trip. But when we checked in the visitor's center we'd seen photographs of the golf course and I realized I needed to retrace my steps if I had time. While John and AMK struggled to urge the Pats to victory I had time.
So I was prepared for the "gnarled crystalline salt spires [that] dot the landscape and look like a coral reef gone amuck. The lumpy salt pinnacles are the residue of Death Valley's last significant lake, which evaporated 2000 years ago." Nothing however would have prepared me for the other visitors I found there.
There were 12 young Japanese tourists including this one, but only two cars. The questions tumbled over each other in my mind, but none made it past my lips.
Artists Drive
There's still an hour to kill, so I can make one last detour. By now I'm a professional, and I stop where anybody else stops, or where there's a sign that suggests this is a good idea.
It's a pretty drive, and very little walking, so there's nothing to add to the pictures. Once back on the road, it is time to return to Furnace Creek. I have a splitting headache which I finally realize is because I haven't been drinking enough, so I buy pills and start drinking heavily. Not beer for once. AMK has had such a good time that she's had two beers, and never even got started on the post cards she was going to write. John has had such a bad time that he's tried wearing his lucky hat forwards, backwards, and taking it off altogether. I realize that there is no way I can stay in the bar, so I take a stroll outside. No sooner do I turn my back than the Pats start to rally. They pull the proverbial rabbit out of the hat. So now John thinks I'm a lucky charm, but Claudia is breathing a sigh of relief that I got myself away from the TV in the nick of time and thereby averted disaster.
We get on the road. We stop at Zabriskie Point just as the sun is setting, then put the pedal to the metal for Vegas. Once back, we take the opportunity of a lifetime to make a pass up and down the strip in the convertible (praying that no one will recognize us) and we're done.