Joshua Tree National Park, Day 1: Lost Palm Oasis hike

We arrived in Barstow late yesterday afternoon after spending three days of camping and hiking in Joshua Tree National Park.

After the intense heat in the Coachalla Valley – up to 35 degrees Celsius – I was ready for somewhat cooler conditions in Joshua Tree, which is up to 1000m higher in elevation than the valley.

Our first stop on Wednesday morning was the Cottonwood Visitor Centre at the south entrance to the park. Here, we got some valuable advice which hikes were suitable for what we had in mind: a combination of longer and shorter day hikes. Asked about his personal favourite the ranger recommended Jumbo Rock campground. He was quite confident that we would still find a spot even late in the afternoon; we would not be there much earlier than that since our first hike was going to take us to Lost Palms Oasis, not far from the south entrance, and Jumbo Rock is a little more than half way into the park.

The sky was overcast, and a cool wind was blowing when we had breakfast at a picnic site on Cottonwood campground – cool enough that I needed a jacket. Already my wish for cooler temperatures had been granted. It was almost a bit unpleasant to sit on the stone bench. Sometimes you have to be careful what you wish for ... For hiking, however, it was ideal, and armed with water – the most important thing to carry on desert hikes – and a few snacks we soon were on our way towards the lost palms.

The first point of interest on this hike was close by: Cottonwood Springs. Here, water close to the surface had created one of several oases in and around the park. Again we found the huge California fan palms, cottonwoods and willow trees, though not as thick a stand as the day before. The indigenous people had used this area for centuries, and several signs explained how they made use of the land. The most amazing feature, to me, were a couple of holes in the bedrock, maybe twenty centimetres deep and almost as big in diameter. Women grinding flour from different seeds, mostly mesquite, with stone pestles had created these holes over time. How many years it must have taken until  these perfectly round holes had become as deep as they were now! What must it have been like, life in a semi-nomadic community in these deserts? I imagined the women kneeling side by side, talking, imagined the steady rhythm of their pounding rocks, going about their daily tasks. 

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After Cottonwood Spring the amount of people on the trail dropped considerably. Just as on our backpacking trips in the Rockies we have found that there is a lot less traffic when more walking is involved.

The trail climbed slowly and steadily for the first little while. The long spurs of the ocotillo sprouted to the left and right, green from top to bottom, quite a few tips crowned with reddish buds already. The ocotillo is an amazing plant, so adapted to its surroundings that it can lose all its leaves and grow a new set several times a year, not dependent on season but solely on the availability of water. Like all desert plants it conserves moisture any way it can.

Many of the yuccas along the trail were in bud and some already in bloom. The flowers are beautiful! From a purplish tinged bud, tight as a fist and reminiscent of an artichoke the cream-coloured flowers unfold. Yucca have a symbiotic relationship with the yucca moth. After mating in the spring the female moth visits a yucca flower, takes some of its pollen away with tentacles around her mouth to another yucca and fertilizes it. There, she lays her eggs. The larvae hatch when the seeds are ready and feed on them. They never eat all the seeds, however, and the rest of the seeds are dispersed by rodents. Thus the moth and the yucca are totally dependent on each other; neither can survive without the other. 

We slowly gained elevation, the trail dipping and climbing, crossing dry washes that can turn into gushing rivers in heavy rains, rocks and gnarled trunks of juniper and smaller bushes our steady companions. We climbed down into a narrow, winding canyon and hiked in deep, grainy sand for a while, then climbed out of the canyon again to continue on higher ground. Finally a sign announced that we had arrived at the Lost Palm Canyon. Below us we saw the first palms already, marching single file down the narrow canyon. The path became steep and rocky, but now it was only a short while until we had reached our destination. Down here we found a few other hikers resting between the huge boulders strung out along the valley. 

 

We, too, took a break here, enjoying the rustle of the palm skirts in the breeze. No longer seemed the palms like something foreign in this landscape for me; they had become part of it and only served to enhance its sparse beauty.

The way back seemed shorter, as so often is the case when we walk a formerly unknown path for the second time. The sun had peeked out a few times, but in general it was still cloudy, though warm enough to hike in shorts and t-shirt. Strange-shaped boulders crowned the nearby hills, and the long slopes with their small shrubs stretched below us into the valley. Far in the distance row after row of mountains shimmered purple in the haze. 

 

Shortly before we reached the end of the seven-mile trail I caught a speck of deepest blue from the corner of my eye. Curious, I stepped closer and found a group of Canterbury bells growing by the side of the trail. I had never seen them before, and the colour is stunning.

Nothing, however, fills me with quite as much joy as when I look at this little globe cactus nestled in the its bed of dry grass.

We arrived at Jumbo Rock campground around 5:30 in the evening. A good part of the 125 sites had been claimed already, but after some searching we found a great camp spot tucked into some huge boulders. All camp spots have picnic tables and fire grates, but we, not realizing how much cooler it would be up here and, even more, how windy it would be, hadn't brought any firewood. We set up the tent, cooked some soup, had a glass of wine and crawled into our sleeping bags at nine. To my disappointment the clouds hadn't lifted even now, only a smudge of light indicated where Venus was hiding behind the clouds. So much for star gazing in the desert. Nine o'clock, however, is very early to go to bed, and I woke up at three. Even not fully awake I noticed how bright it was – the sky must have cleared, then! Quietly I slipped out of the tent. There it was, the glorious desert sky, dark enough to show more stars than I could ever hope to see at home. The half moon just crept over the high boulders to my left; this was the lamp that had been shining in my tent. I stood and slowly turned, taking it all in, and no longer noticed the coolness of night.