Satisfying wanderlust in Death Valley National Park

For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move. - Robert Louis Stevenson

When someone asks me why I traveled somewhere, my answer is usually the same vague, oversimplified question in response: why not?

I recently completed a 1,200-mile road trip to Death Valley National Park for the sole reason of satisfying my inner (chronic) wanderlust. I had originally thought something about the desert was calling me there because I had been thinking about it since June, but it was simply the desire to travel; The need to explore a new place on a long, solo road trip was overwhelming.

Golden Canyon offers a short three-mile round trip hike.

It's amazing how much a solo road trip makes me happy, how much I enjoy camping out of my car under the light of a full moon, of being outside of cell phone coverage in complete silence and going a few days between showers, accumulating the stink of cattle, dogs, sand and sweat. This is essentially a story of how a regular dude travels, as all of you already know.. I didn't pay for accommodation and spent very little on food (a big thanks to my friends and family down there in Tulare County).

According to legend, Death Valley got its name in the winter of 1849 when a group of pioneers climbed out of Panamint Valley, turned around while standing on top of the overlooking mountain and said, "Goodbye, Death Valley." One member of the group had already passed away there.

Earth is home to many hot places, but Death Valley holds the record for hottest temperature ever recorded, at 134 degrees in 1913 at Furnace Creek. I drove through Furnace Creek during my visit, and it's a small oasis surrounded by desolate, barren and rocky terrain. It's as if the environment is constantly baked under extreme temperatures in the summer and melts in the withering heat. As a result, only rock, sand and a few wispy shrubs exist in the hottest areas.

Close to Furnace Creek, home of the hottest temperature ever recorded on Earth.

There is a park entrance fee of $20 and various signs along major roads point to where visitors can pay this fee. But upon my short time in the park, it seems to be based on an honor system because at no time was I specifically asked to pay the fee or actually stop the car to pay it.

The park consists of several mountain ranges and valleys, but Death Valley itself boasts the lowest point in elevation in the Western Hemisphere: 282 feet below sea level at Badwater Basin. This is a massive salt flat which got its name when an explorer riding a donkey couldn't get his animal to drink the water in the small, murky ditch near the edge of the mountain overlooking the plain. He wrote about the "bad water" and the name had stuck to the area.

Above the parking lot and along the reddish-brown rocky cliffside sits a large sign that reads "sea level." I had arrived at this parking lot at Badwater Basin at 5 a.m. and found solitude reading the information signs under the moonlight and light of my tactical flashlight.

The salt in Badwater forms in different shapes, and there is so much of it that the ground looks as if there is a layer of snow. It tastes exactly like the table salt all of us use to season our food at home, and it literally crunches under foot. The salt forms when water rushes down the barren mountainous slopes in flash floods and brings different minerals with it; it's the perfect environment for these salt crystals to grow.

Veins of salt snake around endlessly in Badwater Basin.

Shortly after I arrived, a small group of photographers showed up clutching tripods and cameras presumably to shoot the quickly approaching sunrise over the mountains and salt flat; I eventually followed with my own equipment, thinking that this had to be a convenient coincidence.

During my trek into the basin the sun began to provide light, and I was fortunate enough to see plenty of cloud formations which provided stunning displays of pink, red and purple; it was like the morning sun set the clouds on fire. I was lucky enough to witness this scene in a spot such as this, and was thrilled with the opportunity; the show did not disappoint.

Badwater Basin is a good place for a sunrise photoshoot.

I spent only one night in the park after witnessing the sunset from the Mesquite Flat Sand Dunes. After hiking out of the sand pit in twilight, I drove on into the night. 

Mesquite Flat Sand Dunes provided a nice setting for an evening meal and show.

Having driven for only about 10 minutes, I came across a dirt road leading to Salt Creek where I parked by myself for the night. Salt Creek is a small stream system which flows into the valley floor from the mountains and like most other water sources in the desert, the water is salty. There is a boardwalk which leads visitors on a half-mile loop throughout the creek and provides information about the area. 

I had the boardwalk to myself in the middle of the night under the light of the full moon. Along with the gentle trickle of water and the groan of the boards under my footsteps, I found myself in total silence in the cool darkness. I took that time to focus on my breathing and enjoy being at that place at that moment. 

The desert is so beautiful, and yet there's something sad, melancholy and lonely about it. The word "beautiful" is a bit vague and highly subjective, but perhaps I enjoyed the desert so much because it reflected my inner feelings since I returned from France.

But this is another reminder that the act of travel truly makes me happy. I get my inspiration to write from travel, and operating a camera is much more enjoyable while on the road. Travel (and perhaps riding motorcycles) is the one thing I must be able to do in my life.

Shall I become a truck driver then?