desert – Page 4 – The MoHo and Other Traveling Tales

Pahrump, Shoshone, and the China Ranch

The drive from Laughlin up the hill to Highway 95 toward Vegas is steep, but not really very long and we rolled up the hill in the morning sunlight. Another possible stop on our route was Boulder City, where a soil scientist friend had promised a cold drink and a copy of his presentation on the Spirit Mountains. Again, it was not to be. I only heard about the RV search at Hoover Dam after we had already decided to re-route around Las Vegas traffic as much as possible and skip the drive across the new bridge at the dam.

The drive to Pahrump was short, just under 160 miles, and the road was great. We managed to skirt the worst of the Las Vegas traffic on the south side of the city, staring in awe at the miles and miles of low brown stucco homes covering the desert. Highway 160, west from Las Vegas, is part of the Old Spanish Trail and winds through the Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area and crosses the beautiful Spirit Mountains at Mountain Springs. Once through the pass, the wide desert vista of the Pahrump Valley opens up to the west. As Mo drove the smooth, even highway, I started checking out the Streets and Trips listings of Camp Club USA parks in Pahrump. We called a couple of places, discovering that once again, no one had cable, but the Charleston Peak Winery RV Park was on our list, and had an opening for our club, 1/2 price at 20 bucks once more.

There are many RV parks in the area, and we toured around town checking them out the next day, but still were happy with our choice, especially at the price. Once settled in on the high fan above town, with an unbroken view of Charleston Peak to the east, we were especially tickled. The swimming pool was closed for the evening, but it was just a few hundred yards to the tasting room at the “only” or “first” winery in Nevada. I am still not sure which, but I suppose I could look that up eventually. The winery said one thing and the chamber said another, so which is true?.

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Seven tastings are offered for free, and even though they no longer grow their own grapes except for a very small vineyard, they made some award winning cabernet from Sonoma grapes. The original vineyards planted were destroyed a few years ago by wild horses. Mo stayed with Abby and I enjoyed sitting in the unpretentious, intimate little tasting room with award winning wine while Mo settled for a glass of chardonnay in the MoHo.

The evening was much cooler than any we have experienced in a couple of weeks, with a wild, blustery wind blowing across the desert. I’m not quite sure why, but even in that wind our slide topper didn’t seem to flap too much. Maybe it’s a different kind of construction than some. So far it hasn’t been a problem. Charleston Peak was brilliant snowy white against the dark cloudy skies to the east, with the western skies clear enough for a gorgeous sunset.

Sunday was our day to relax and explore more of the area south and west of Pahrump. When we traveled to Death Valley in 2004, we had a rented car, (pre MoHo days!) and spent a lot of time exploring the park. It was time for something different, and with the help of the excellent Discover Pahrump brochure, we mapped out a route.

West of Pahrump, Highway 372 changes to 178 when you cross into California, crossing a small range of mountains and opening up to another valley. The tiny community of Shoshone lies in the heart of the valley, a pleasant stop for folks traveling farther west or north into Death Valley. It was a nice stop for us as well, and with the price of gas, we were glad we had filled up the tracker back in Nevada and a mere 3.69 per gallon. Shoshone is full of crusty characters, and has a history of fascinating people. The museum there is tiny, but wonderful, with a special section devoted to Death Valley Women, with photos, newspaper articles, and stories. In the back of the museum are the collection of bones once thought to be mammoth bones, but later identified as several different animals probably washed into the Pleistocene lake from several different areas.

Shoshone lies at the edge of the ancient lake, and the area is riddled with soft sediments from the old lake bed, then uplifted and eroded into washes and gorges and mesas, surrounded by more wild volcanics, ash flow tuffs, and even obsidian. Suddenly in the cliffs, we saw caves that were obviously man made, and got out to explore. Later, the museum volunteer pointed me up a dirt road west of Shoshone to view more of these man made caves. Near town, in addition to a very strange and wacky looking cemetery, we found what was left of hand carved homes inhabited by desert dwellers in the 20’s and 30’s. They looked ever so much like homes carved out of the volcanic tuffs in the Cappadocia region in Turkey. Certainly not as old, and not as artistic, but the idea was the same. Carve out a safe home, warm in winter, cool in summer, using what is available.

Apartments carved in stone in the desert near Shoshone, maybe a little over 80 years old?

click here for many more photos of the area around Shoshone and the cave homes.

Apartments carved in stone in Cappadocia, maybe over 1200 years old?

Click here for more photos of the fantastic home in the Cappadoccia region of Turkey

After exploring the cave apartments, we continued up the wash toward the volcanic hills. The road ended after a few miles, but yielded a wonderful array of blooming wildflowers.

Yes, Mo and I did plenty of tent camping before we got the first MoHo in 2005

Back on the highway, we continued south toward the small community of Tecopa, site of several hot springs resorts. I say “resort” with tongue in cheek, because these places were not fancy in the least, just dusty campgrounds with faded signs that said “hot mineral baths” or “massage”. The springs are known for their healing properties, and have been used by humans for centuries, but they didn’t look all that tempting to me. My favorite spring is still up in the mountains of eastern Oregon, in the middle of a meadow at Hart Mountain. But that’s another story, prior to MoHo days, when Mo and I tent camped up there.

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Beyond Tecopa to the south and east on the Spanish Trail, is the desert oasis of China Ranch. The road into the valley is twisting and winds between fantastical apparitions of the badlands. Once through the tiny canyon, the small valley opens up, green and lush with date palms and irrigation. It wasn’t very clear about where to go, and we followed a dirt road and a sign that pointed to the gift shop. The parking lot was almost full, but the gift shop was very small and didn’t seem to be near the date palms at all. There were a few signs pointing to the river, but we really had no idea where to go, and of course with Abby, we needed to check on the dog friendly areas, if they existed.

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I went into the tiny, crowded gift shop, where one person was busy making date shakes, and no one else seemed to be around. I finally asked a customer if they had any idea of what you were supposed to do in this place and she gave me the 50 cent trail brochure. Ahha!! No restrictions on dogs! We didn’t even see a leash sign, but kept Abby on her leash anyway. The maps on the brochure were fairly primitive, and even as a map maker I had a hard time figuring out where to go. We ambled up the lane toward the date palms, trying to find a circular route which eluded us, and trying to avoid the hot badlands which didn’t sound all that great on this hot mid afternoon.

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The palms were beautiful, graceful and gentle in the desert. Each variety had an informative sign explaining it’s origin, something we had seen at the Oasis in Indio, but of course here everything was much more rustic and casual. After hiking an hour or so, we walked back to the shop for a cold drink. I kept thinking I wanted a date shake, but every time I would slip inside the line was too long, and the poor guy was still doing everything by himself. Mo and I settled for a cold diet pepsi and some time on the shady bench outside the store.

Our trip home followed the original path of the Old Spanish Trail back to Highway 160 south of Pahrump. There are great signs about the trail in two places, but each of them comes up suddenly with no warning, so you have to be ready to whip in or turn around to read them. It was sobering to stand in that wide open, hot, dry desert basin, with range after range of rugged mountains in every direction and envision hardy travelers following this path from Abiquiu, New Mexico to Los Angeles in 1829. John C Fremont, another hero of mine, passed on this trail in 1844. In 2002 it was designated by Congress as a National Historic Trail. Our circular route back to Pahrump followed much of this path, and even I-15 follows along the historic trail for some distance in Nevada.

Once home again in the late afternoon, we settled in to reading and relaxing before our planned outing to the Pahrump Nugget Steakhouse for their highly touted best steaks around. Sometimes Mo and I skip lunch entirely and eat a very early supper, but again, this time we were considering Abby and our opportunity to eat out required dark night skies. The casino was fairly quiet on a Sunday night, but the restaurant was full to the brim with a big bunch of bikers who were staying in a nearby hotel. At first we though the whole idea might have been a mistake when the waitress said there would be an hour wait. The restaurant didn’t even look full, but all the wait staff was in the back room with the bikers. We said we would be happy to sit in the bar, actually just a couple of tables next to the restaurant, and settled in to watch all the frustration of the employees trying to deal with a lot of people with not a lot of staff. Finally we managed to get a couple glasses of wine and then a sweet young man, who turned out to be the off duty chef, came over and took our order. Once they figured out that someone needed to wait on us, everything went great. My steak was perfect, and I have 3/4 of it left for our dinner tonight.. Once back home, we felt like it was a perfectly lovely day and we were ready to settle in to the slight evening breeze.

Our trip is coming to a close. As I was writing this entry, the wild crest of the Sierra Nevada Mountains opened up to the west, and the snow capped ranges of western Nevada are framing my view to the north as we approach Walker Lake. Not sure yet where we will stop tonight, but I do hope it is on a big alluvial fan somewhere in the Nevada desert, with a view for miles and no lights to be seen.

Laughlin, Forgettable. Pahrump, Memorable

We are heading north on Highway 95 now, on very smooth, very straight 2 lane road. Mo is driving and there is very little traffic. As our trip is winding down, both of us are a bit ready to just hit the road and keep moving rather than lingering much longer. The original plan included a possible trip into Death Valley and a possible route north on 395. We both love Death Valley and have spent time there, and we have traveled 395 many times. 395 is gorgeous, and the Alabama Hills near Lone Pine is one of our favorite places. But we have been there. Somehow this time the open spaces of Nevada called us with the direct route north.

I love traveling through this part of Nevada. The vistas are so wide, huge alluvial fans as far as the eye can see, sloping gently upward to the contorted rugged volcanic ridges, broken by layers of uplifted sediments, and subtly colored by all the eternities of evolution of this landscape. As a soil mapper, one of the indicators we use to identify soil change is the vegetation pattern. Here in this part of the world those subtle changes are easily visible.

Crossing a playa with crusted salt surfaces, up a bit more to a low basin covered with greasewood, tells me it is still salty. In the distance, at the foot of the contorted hills the greasewood drops out and creosote appears, a faint hint of filmy green across the distance. Less salt. Rising higher, the gray mounds of low sage and an occasional Joshua tree. Each of those variations will indicate to me that the soil is changing, not only the salts on the surface, but the hard petrocalcic layers below the surface, the mixed up crazy gravels and cobbles of the alluvial fans, the shallow bedrock soils of the ridges.

Mapping soils in the desert is a beautiful thing, at least if you have a 4 wheeler and access. In this day it seems that unless the mappers are on federal lands, the access in extremely limited. People are protective of their rights, their property, and no longer trust the government. A geologist or a botanist or a soil scientist may be a threat and not a help in their minds. It’s a bit of a sad thing for the young soil scientists coming up now, trying to do their jobs, constantly hindered by suspicious landowners. I was lucky. I mapped almost a million acres of ground, much of it wild and free lands in the Pacific Northwest, just a tiny bit of southern deserts. Lucky me!

Traveling north from Phoenix to Laughlin was uneventful. We took Highway 60 northwest and avoided the fast pace and crowded traffic on I-17, but once we arrived at I-40 near Wickenburg the RV’s were almost bumper to bumper. It was the mass exodus of the Canadians in full force. Alberta, British Columbia, Manitoba, Saskatchewan plates in abundance. I never saw a Quebec or Ontario, though. Laughlin wasn’t far from the Interstate, and before long we were dropping down to the Colorado River and the town of Bullhead City. Right before our turnoff to a possible RV park we found the Mojave County Park, with what looked to be fairly nice sites along the river. With a fee of $21 for the night, we settled in to a back in site near the river. The temperature read 99.9 degrees and within a few minutes it read 100. March 31, and 100 degrees! We pulled the shades, turned on the air conditioner and napped and read in the cool dim light until 6:30 that night!

When the sun finally let up a bit, we took a walk down to the river so Abby could cool off and swim, and got in the Tracker to check out Bullhead City and then cross the bridge to Laughlin and the casinos. Twilight was deepening and the lights of the casinos looked dramatic and lovely reflected on the river. Laughlin itself wasn’t much to speak of, especially with the extensive construction on Casino Drive. The marquees said nothing about shows, only advertising their buffet dinners and hotel rooms. We drove up to Harrah’s and almost left before we finally found an entrance to the Casino. We can at least do things like this at night now and then, because Abby seems to be content to settle down and sleep in the car if it is dark outside.

Mo and I like to play the slots a bit, and to us it is a win if our 20 bucks each lets us play a couple of hours and have fun. Cheap entertainment. Neither of us is likely to go over that 20 limit and we rarely win anything, but I still like the lights and the glitz of the casinos. It’s especially fun to watch the people there. We saw one very old lady, very skinny, dressed up in diamonds and sparkles, with shiny reflective leopard skin jacket. leather pants, and sequins everywhere. After a short time at Harrah’s, we went to the Royal Palm Casino, with it’s marquee shouting out that it had the newest slot games. Here we found a sign to the River Walk, which I had heard was a nice thing to do in Laughlin, but it was dark and buggy out, so we decided against it. Another move into the Colorado Belle Casino, dolled up to look like a big riverboat was our final destination for the evening, with our $20 increased a bit with some bells and whistles and then again finally gone.

Originally we thought we might stay two nights in Laughlin, having heard and read much about it from RV’rs and travel magazines. Not for us, I guess. We aren’t enough into gambling and town camping to really enjoy it that much. we also didn’t bring our kayaks along on this desert trip, and the Colorado River here was wide and fast. It seemed there were lots of water craft around, including noisy jet skis. Instead we decided to spend our extra night at Pahrump, another place much touted by RV’rs for the winter. I guess we would find out the next day.

Surprises are good

I love it when life brings a surprise, especially good ones, surprises without drama, unless it is just the drama of the landscape. Last week when we arrived in Phoenix at the Royal Palm, life did just that. As I wrote previously, on Wednesday afternoon we read about the fifteen best things to do in Phoenix, and didn’t even finish reading the list when we decided to travel the Apache Trail, Arizona Highway 88. I wonder how many bloggers pored over those old Arizona Highways magazines as much as I did in my youth. I would read every story, ogle every red rock photo of Sedona in awe, wonder at the flowers in the desert. Today reminded me of an Arizona Highway day.

Getting out of Phoenix, however, takes a fairly long time. The huge valley is wide and sprawling, with freeways bisecting the city and Highway 60 taking off toward the east and Apache Junction. After many miles of hot desert, we arrived in Apache Junction, another sprawling metropolis populated with RV’s and what are actually called “Travel Trailer Parks”. The community has been high on the list of places to be for snowbirder’s, maybe just a hair below Quartzite in the winter. We only traveled through, with the Apache Highway as our destination.

Long before we reached the town, however, the mythical Superstition Mountains rose against the eastern sky. Highway 88 is a pleasant 2 lane highway, with the actual mountain itself on the eastern edge of town. Before we had traveled any distance at all, suddenly there appeared what seemed to be some kind of ghost town. We whipped around to get back to the entrance. Sure, it was probably a fake, and probably very commercialized, but it looked fun, and the buildings looked really old and authentic.

The built up commercialized town of Goldfields didn’t disappoint us one bit. Especially when we found the tall glasses of frozen lemonade to ward off the afternoon heat. I had a bit of a time tracking the history of the town, but eventually found out that it was indeed a real ghost town, where many of the buildings were reconstructed, but much of the machinery was from the original town.

After wandering around and enjoying the views, be again got on the Apache Trail heading east toward Roosevelt Lake. When I say the day was a surprise, it was because I had never heard of the Apache Trail until a casual mention by Wes last week asking if we had driven that road. Here is a quote from Theodore (not Franklin!) Roosevelt: “The Apache Trail combines the grandeur of the Alps, the glory of the Rockies, and the magnificence of the Grand Canyon, and then adds an indefinable something that none of the others have. To me it is the most awe-inspiring and most sublimely beautiful panorama nature has ever created.” Well, coming from Teddy, one of my favorite historical heroes, it must be really something, since he explored so much of the world and saved so much of it for our viewing pleasure.

Initially the road was paved, two lane highway, a bit winding, and steep in places, but not unmanageable. As we continued east, however the vistas got bigger, the canyons deeper, the colors brighter. After taking many photos of blooming cactus and distant mountains, we reached the unpaved portion of the road. Another 22 miles were ahead of us before we again would travel on pavement at Roosevelt Lake. I have to say that Roosevelt Lake was another surprise, since in all the blogging about the world of Arizona, I don’t remember ever even hearing of this place.

I think it took us about 7 hours to traverse the entire route to Globe and connect again with Highway 60, and it was enchanting every single moment. The most exciting moment was rounding a steep long curve and seeing the face of the Theodore Roosevelt Dam looming right in front of us above Apache Lake. I somehow had no clue there was a dam there, although a closer inspection of my maps would have shown them. All that water in the desert, silly, of COURSE there is a dam there, and a big one. This dam was built of bricks, yes bricks, and is the largest masonry dam in the country, probably because they don’t do that any more. It was started in 1903 and completed in 1911, and the Apache Trail then became a tourist route for scenic drives. Can you imagine those old cars on this road??

Once beyond the dam, the beautiful vista of Roosevelt Lake opened up before us, with the Roosevelt Bridge framing the view. Another wonder, this bridge was built to route traffic across the lake so that repairs could be made to the dam. Someone said that the dam is almost always in some state of disrepair and repair. The graceful bridge is listed among the 12 best in the United States, along with the Golden Gate and the Brooklyn Bridge. Again on pavement, we traveled quickly east past the Tonto National Monument, too late to go up the road behind locked gates and view the cliff dwellings, another surprise, since I hadn’t heard of this place either. Arizonan’s will probably think I must have been under a rock to miss all this, but in all my years of traveling the southwest, I never learned of these places. What a treat to find an unknown world right under my nose.

I wished for more time to go into the visitor centers, to see the cliff dwellings, to learn more about the building of the road and the dam. We intersected Highway 60 about 3 miles west of Globe, and it was almost dark, so the scenic highway was merely fantastic silhouettes and shadows as we hurtled down the steep canyon back to the great salty valley that is home to Phoenix. Once again on the freeway, we were subjected to the erratic, speed demon fast, pass you in the right lane going 80 kind of traffic that seems to be the norm around Phoenix. Once again we drove into a dark campground and found the cat waiting patiently on the dash, meowing at us indignantly.

It was a great day of driving and short hikes taking photos, and being back in the wild world of the Arizona desert mountain landscape.

Eventually the internet will smile on me and I will have a connection that will allow me to upload the photos to Picasa. For more vistas of the highway, check here.

From hard to soft, canyons to badlands

Wednesday was all about hard granite, steep canyons, rugged mountains and wide alluvial valleys formed on the western edge of the park in beautiful granite full of quartz, mica, and sparkling fools gold. Our extra day of exploration at Anza Borrego led us into an entirely different environment of barren dry lake beds, and badlands formed in soft sediments, riddled with complex arroyos, and washes, and sudden surprise overlooks.

The skies were clear when we left in the morning, with just a slight breeze in Borrego Springs. Even with our 9am departure, we weren’t early enough to catch the early morning shadow light and by the time we rolled onto the Clark Lake area the winds were blowing hard. Right away we found the oven Al mentioned last month and Laurie and Odel wrote about. I had just started following Laurie’s blog when she wrote about camping here and building this oven, so it was with a special fondness that I took a photo of the well known boondock site.

We continued east on Highway S22 to find Font’s Point. Even with the recent rain the wash was filled with deep sand, enough that we were glad for 4 wheel drive. We wondered about the suggestion to come here for sunset, since driving back in the dark might be a bit challenging. I think someday I might try sunrise instead. The view was worth every moment of the drive through the sandy wash. Each of the geologic formations are immediately distinguishable and I wished for a good geology book to remind me of what I had read in the park visitor center. “Hmm, bottom tier clams. Top tier mammals. Wonder if that one has the horses and camels? Miocene? Sure is lots of stuff around the west that is Miocene era formations…yadayadayada….” Mo just said, “Pretty!”

The cliffs are extremely steep and the drop offs sudden on the soft barely coherent rock. Abby was all excited, and since we were alone, we didn’t leash her up. Next time we will. She rarely unglues from Mo’s side, but for some reason the expansive views got her all excited and she kept getting way too close for my comfort.

We continued along Fonts Wash to another turn east on Short Wash looking another viewpoint ahead. The map I bought from the visitor center was excellent, and we were both impressed with the small and simple, but effective signage out there in the middle of nowhere. In just a few more miles of sand, and one major drop off that required a bit of maneuvering, we were at Vista Del Malpais. The view from here was a bit different, not quite as high, but more from a vantage point within the badlands rather than completely above them. Here again I wished for a good geology book to ferret out the details of the formations.

Another examination of the map showed our wash continuing farther east to the 17 Palms Oasis. “Wanna try for it?” “Sure, lets go” It would be an in and out trip, past the primitive campsite at Arroyo Salado, but who knows what we might find. We haven’t seen an oasis palm yet. We hadn’t read anything about this site previously, and were surprised to find that it had a great little story. It was an historic stopover for weary badland travelers, and sometimes people would leave glass jars of water sitting about since the spring wasn’t always reliable.

There was also the “Oasis Post Office”, a wooden barrel wedged between two palms, where travelers could leave communications and notes for each other, a tradition that has continued. We found the “post office”, filled with journals and notes, and three bottles of water. We added our own little note to the journal, and noted that Libya was exploding, Fukushima was radiating, and the palms were still here, safe in the desert.

We reversed our route to the highway and continued east on pavement to Salton City. Ugh. Salton City was all the ugliness of the desert that we have seen too many times. Dirty, brown, with some new housing developments of low flat ugly houses surrounded by telephone poles and wires and no vegetation. It was the worst of the desert very close to the best of the desert. We didn’t bother to go down to Salton Sea, since we knew about the smell and the dead fish lying around.

All along the route south back to highway 78 the desert looked dry and barren, with no sign of flowers anywhere. To the west of us, stretching all the way to Anza Borrego was the Ocotillo Wells recreation vehicle area. Another word for 4-wheeler heaven. I have nothing against 4 wheelers, in their place. I have used them for soil survey, I totally get it, they are indispensable for farmers and ranchers with large acreage to manage and animals to care for. Tearing up the wilderness with a vehicle is another story. I am truly grateful for places like this huge area of Ocotillo Wells for 4-wheeler folks to play and have fun with their toys. It’s great. There should be more places like this, where I can stay out of their way and they can stay out of mine. Perfect.

As we continued south and then west, I noticed on the map that we were 175 feet below sea level. Looking a bit closer I saw a fine line called “ancient beach line”. 38 feet. A bit more research led to the fact that we were in what was once the Gulf of Mexico, the Sea of Cortez, extending all the way north, creating the Imperial Valley with all it’s rich alluvial soils. Rich and fertile, but still ugly at the moment. Once west of Ocotillo Wells, however, we breached the old beach line elevation and the landscape filled with gorgeous desert, unscarred by ORV tracks, and covered with the red haze of blooming ocotillo. Anza Borrego State Park is huge. We had only tapped the northern half and very little of the mountains. What an amazing treasure this park is to the state, the country and to the world. I’m so glad the powers that be haven’t let it be destroyed or lost to temporary budget troubles.

Once home, we were fairly worn out after all the bouncing around in washes, and just settled in early for a good spaghetti supper (from home again) and a movie. We decided to dump the tanks and get ready to go for this morning’s departure so it would be quick and easy.

This morning we were up early enough to see a magnificent sunrise punctuated by rainbows over the mountains and we were on the road by 7:30, heading for Tucson. A lucky break for us, however, that we didn’t leave earlier. Just as we started around the Christmas Tree Circle, we noticed that the Farmers Market mentioned by Kelly had already begun. It was so simple to pull over and park on the circle while we walked across the lush green grass to the vendors. I had read about the 3 buck bags of grapefruit, and the farmer from just north on Borrego Springs road was happy to give us a taste of his sweetest. Of course we bought a bag, along with two kinds of hummus and some soft pitas from a Moroccan man, and some local orange blossom honey. Yay for the Farmer’s Market! On to Tucson and a new experience camping at one of the Military Family Camps at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base on the northeastern heart of the city. We have friends and family to visit in the Tucson area, so this should be a good central location, and cheap!

At the moment we are crossing wide, open, rather boring land between Yuma and Tucson, and the air is thick with smog or smoke or what they try to pass off in the West as haze. It could be dust from all the recent storms, or it could be the sad state of air quality around Phoenix, but either way, I am especially grateful for the extra time we spent in the pristine world of Anza Borrego.

Anza Borrego State Park and Coyote Canyon

As expected, I took nearly 200 photos, if you want to check them out here.

Our rig faces northeast, with an open view of the mountains past the low lying, almost invisible buildings of Borrego Springs. Watching the morning sun stream in the windows, listening to all the birds, sipping morning tea in all that desert light was delightful. The day stretched ahead, with predicted temperatures in the 70’s and clear skies until late afternoon, when a bit of wind and showers could appear.

We knew that the park was huge, with miles and miles of dirt roads, some we could manage, and others maybe not. We also knew hiking is something we love but not sure where we could go with Abby. So first stop on the agenda was the main Anza Borrego State Park Visitor Center, just a hop up the road from where we are staying here at the Holiday Borrego Mobile Home Park. After a couple of nights near freeways and truck stops, the silence and darkness of Borrego Springs makes for amazing restful sleeping. In fact, Borrego Springs is listed as one of only two “dark sky” communities, and one of the ten best places for viewing the heavens in the United States.

The visitor center is beautifully done, with interesting displays, excellent volunteers providing information about where flowers are blooming, what roads are passable, where the sheep are located, and yes, where we could walk with Abby. All park roads, dirt or paved, but no trails. I especially enjoyed the geologic maps and prehistory of the area. There is so much to see here, and after buying a hat for Mo and a tee shirt for me, (oh my, will it end up in a quilt someday? I just can’t seem to resist those gorgeous park tee shirts.), we walked around the lovely naturally landscaped grounds before embarking on our chosen journey.

Coyote Canyon seemed to be the best choice, with many flowers in bloom right now after the rains. There were several people in the center, many of whom had only two wheel drive vehicles, but with our little Tracker we thought we could manage at least some of the 4 wheel drive routes.

The road north from Borrego into the park is straightforward, that is until the prehistoric animals start to appear. I recently saw photos of these critters on another blog, but it still didn’t prepare me for the surprise. With the sponsorship of Dennis Avery, a Borrego Springs philanthropist, the Mexican artist Ricardo Arroyo Breceda has created amazingly intricate and detailed iron sculptures that appear as though they just emerged from the landscape as it was a couple of million years ago during the Pliocene, Pleistocene, and Miocene eras. We hope to explore other areas of the park where fossils of this time period have been found, but today our journey was into the granite batholiths of the San Ysidro Mountains along Coyote Creek.

When the park says 4×4, high clearance, they mean it. Although that can mean two different things. We saw sedans crawling along the sandy wash road with success, and then we saw them turn around at “first crossing”. The Tracker made quick work of that one, and on to “2nd crossing” without a hitch. Good little Tracker. We saw a few Jeeps, real ones, not the SUV kind of Jeep, with explorers heading for the deeper reaches of the canyon, but when we reached “3rd crossing”, we decided it might be prudent to check it out and walk. We wanted a good hike today anyway, and this was perfect.

	Park volunteers warned of soft sand, but it wasn’t a bit of a problem for the Tracker
	This was second crossing, still no problem for the Tracker, even though there are some good sized rocks hidden in that foot deep water
	We started walking at third crossing, where the road followed the creek, but had no real clue just what was ahead of this part

Third Crossing was a bit of a surprise, since it followed the path of Coyote Creek, quite full after the recent rains. As we walked (and Abby swam) along the road, we came upon a young man walking back checking for parts that might not be as deep as others. He had driven across, but it was up to his tail pipes and he wanted to avoid an engine cutting out. We watched him plow back through the water and thought, “Good Luck!”

Continuing on with our hike, we noticed a trail of oil running down the center of the road. UhOh. Wonder if he knows he broke something. Then as we hiked up a couple of very steep very rocky grades, we knew that 4×4 definitely means something other than even a little 4 wheel drive Tracker in some parts of this park. We hiked high enough above the Lower Willows area to look down into Collins Valley and up the wild open distance of Upper Coyote Canyon. We didn’t make it as far as the hike into Sheep Canyon or Salvador Canyon with it’s hidden palms. In fact when we looked at our excellent purchased park map, it looked as though we just barely tapped into the wild distance of Coyote Canyon. The best part about all this was the perfect hiking temperatures, and the fact that Abby could be with us, and enjoy the refreshing stream. Not often you see and hear burbling water in the desert.

Once back to the car, and driving out, we saw many more vehicles, some parked having picnics, another big rough jeepy tour thing with six folks hanging on for dear life as he dropped down into third crossing. We wondered just how it might feel for those folks bouncing around in the back of the open jeep when they started up the steep bouldery road into Collins Valley.

This park whetted our appetite for a lot more. Like many others who come here, we looked at each other and said, “This place calls for at least a month in the winter” . We want to come back and explore so much more. Before settling in to our home, we drove around some of the neighborhoods around town. There is a stillness here, even in town, that is so rare in the desert any more. It reminds me of the California desert I knew as a kid, before the sprawling thing happened to Lancaster and Palmdale and Palm Springs. The buildings are low, there are no stop lights, no big box stores, very few stores at all, although we did find the ice cream store on the way back to camp. We loved the way homes here are scattered about the desert in a pleasing manner, that feels as though they emerged naturally.

It’s much different than the overgrown trashy desert rat kind of desert that is becoming the rule rather than the exception. Looking out over the landscape here, we saw no trash, none anywhere. From the quiet dirt roads around town, the desert vistas expand all around in all directions, clean and clear and silent. It is all that I dream of when I dream of desert in winter. It’s a place to soothe the soul and quiet the spirit.

After putting together a great supper with some of that pulled pork I made before we left, we enjoyed sitting out behind our rig on the edge of the park watching the light play on the mountains. Our plans were to leave for the Tucson area Thursday morning, but that just seemed silly. “What is the rush, I said? Why don’t we stay here one more night and take some time tomorrow to go find some of the places we couldn’t see today?” Mo was up for that idea, and we went to bed with the great feeling that the next day would be relaxed and fun, and we would have time to go find all those “points of interest” that we saw on the park map.