Joshua Tree National Park, Day 2: Lost Horse Mine hike

We decided early in the day that we would stay another night at Jumbo Rock campground. It was well enough situated for any other hike we chose to do, the tent was set up, and we could leave part of our stuff at the campsite.

At the visitor centre we had found out that there was going to be a ranger talk at Barker Dam on Thursday morning. We attended this 1 1/2 hour interpretive hike, and also the one on Friday morning that started at Skull Rock. Both were highly interesting and very worthwhile, as we have found ranger talks to be in general, but I won't dwell on them now and instead move on to our hike on Thursday afternoon.

Again on the recommendation of the first ranger at the visitor centre we chose the six-mile hike that would lead us to Lost Horse Mine and then loop back to the parking lot. The loop was one option; the other, chosen by most visitors, would have been to return the way we came, which sounded less enticing.

This time the sun was blazing down and the sky a deep blue, the promise of the starry night fulfilled. The hike to the mine – named, supposedly, after miner Johnny Lang's search for a lost horse that led him here – led through an area where a fire had gone through. Blackened tree trunks and chollas, hillsides even barer of brush than we had seen before seemed a bit dreary at first sight. Yet the soil seemed more fertile, almost moist at times, and everywhere we looked it had started to green up. Yucca, grass, phacelia, desert paintbrush,

tiny purplish flowers, small tufts of herbaceous plants – this was well on its way to recovery, even if it would be a long, long time until the trees and shrubs were growing again. Birds were singing from outcrops of rock along the way, and like everywhere else lizards darted across our path.

 

The mill itself is surrounded by a page-wire fence because of poisonous materials still present in the soil, but also to conserve the site. From 1893 to 1936 gold was mined here with the help of a ten-stamp mill, 9000 ounces of it. The different parts of the machinery are still well recognizable, and a ten-stamp mill must have been a very effective and progressive way of mining.

One of many abandoned attempts

All over these hills is evidence of mining, by far not all practiced at such a great scale. Here, too, I tried to imagine what it might have been like for those solitary men to come here into this waterless wilderness, to start digging again and again, every time full of hope that this time it was going to be the big find. How many times did they go through all that hard work in vain? How many disappointments, how much loneliness, how much hardship? All for the desire to strike it rich. Or was it, after a while, just something that they couldn't escape anymore? An urge to keep digging, sometimes against all odds, just because they had been there so long that they couldn't imagine not to do any longer?

But all this, of course, is idle speculation, triggered, maybe, by things like this iron bedstead, these rusted pails, the oven made from carefully piled rocks we came upon on our way down from the mine?

I loved this part of the hike, the narrow trail winding along the side of the slope, without any evidence of fire, the plain stretching below, strange rock formations and a black cone – one of the volcanoes the ranger had mentioned, perhaps? - rising like warts from its expanse. After some up and down we descended to the bottom of the valley and walked in loose, gritty sand again, through a plain with a forest of the trees after which the park has been named. Joshua trees in all sizes grew here, some old and with many branches, others just a single 'sapling' rising from the ground.

Joshua trees are close relatives of the yucca, but even in their young stages it is not difficult to tell one from the other. The Joshua's leaves are narrower and without the white fibres fringing the leaves of the yucca. Both are not trees, even though the name of the Joshua suggests it, but yuccas, related to palms: all are monocots. It is impossible to exactly tell their age because they don't have rings; they only means of determining how old they are is to take photographs of the same plant at intervals and compare them with each other. The Joshua tree blossoms are just as spectacular as those of the yucca, and often there are several on one tree, one on each branch. These huge, heavy blossoms, plus the fact that their trunks are not very strong and their roots are shallow, make them susceptible to the onslaught of strong winds.

It felt strange to walk through this prehistoric landscape where dinosaurs would not have felt out of place. I would have easily switched the bigger part of that part of the trail for the middle part that led us through the rugged beauty of the rocky hills. 

 

 Joshua Tree National Park was a wonderful experience, and there would be many more hiking trails to explore. Maybe another year ...

Tomorrow we will move on to Death Valley National Park and pitch our tents there for a couple of nights if we can find a camp spot. Will it really be as desolate as it sounds?  

I guess we'll soon find out. 

 

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. 

 

Between national parks

Casa del Desierto

Barstow, California

It's a day of rest today, spent in a town we sought out for its convenient location, not for anything special it has to offer. Not everyone would agree with us: it is, after all, one of the many towns along the historic Route 66, and here, too, reminders of this fact can be found here and there. From our hotel room window, for instance, we can see “Pub 66”, and several of the older commercial buildings have signs mentioning Route 66 as well.

With little else to do we visited the “Mother Road Museum”, run by volunteers, which celebrates the famous highway with mementos from its history, most prominently a Model T Ford. We spent most of our time there watching a video about Route 66, starting (we came a little late) in the Ozarks and moving on once it had reached Barstow.

This museum is at one end of the “Casa del Desierto” (House of the Desert), built in 1911 and now beautifully restored, one of the so-called Harvey Houses built by Fred Harvey that served food and provided lodgings for railway travellers along rail lines in the western US. The other end of the building houses a railway museum with artefacts from the early years of railway travel. Outside, several locomotives and cabooses are on display. The surrounding grounds are immaculately kept, with blooming trees and shaded walkways. It felt like spring, and in spite of trains rumbling by – a frequent occurrence day and night – the place had a peaceful quality. 

A gem in the desert

Smoke Tree

Sometimes you stumble on the most wonderful things accidentally, and that's what happened to us yesterday. Looking for something else to see except dates I found a small notice about the California Fan Palm (Washingtonia filifera), a tree endemic to the southwestern US. I got really curious when I read that stands of it could be found in the hills above the Coachalla Valley. The word 'oasis' was mentioned, and this time it didn't apply to something man-made like Indio and the surrounding communities whose lushness we saw all around us but was a natural occurrence. 

 

We got directions at the tourist information, housed in a historic garage at the edge of old-town Indio, which has much more charm than the modern part of town dedicated to the shopping malls, restaurants etc. necessary to cater to the masses of people coming to this area for recreational purposes. 

Not long after we crossed the I-10 on our way north the developments with their beautifully kept lawns and trees got less and finally stopped altogether. Climbing, we soon found ourselves surrounded by the most barren desert again. The few shrubs looked dry and dead. After a few more miles we turned off onto winding Thousand Palms Road. Now, the shrubs on the side of the road started to show more and more signs of life. Nothing, however, could have prepared us for what we saw when we turned the last corner before the parking lot to the preserve: a thick stand of the most exotic looking trees greeted us. It was no fata morgana: they were quite real. 

We parked our car – no shade in sight on the small parking lot – and walked downhill into the palm grove to check in at the visitor centre. Shoulder to shoulder the palms stood, forming a thick canopy that provided much appreciated shade. Long trunks were mostly hidden by 'skirts' or 'petticoats' of dead leaves that stay on the trees for decades. These provide shelter and nesting for a variety of wildlife, from orioles to western yellow bats, cactus wrens and big horned owls. The silent desert had burst into song as soon as we entered this magical place.

The volunteer at the visitor centre, housed in a cabin part of which was originally built in the 1930s, recommended a 2.5 mile trail that would lead us through the grove into the desert, to another grove, and back to the visitor centre. It would, she said, give us a good idea about the place, and if we took the time to climb to a small vista point we would be able to see this unique place from a different angle.

The path descended through the shady grove, sometimes aided by boardwalks where the ground was muddy or even wet. Groundwater is close to the surface here, due to the location right above the San Andreas fault. This is what makes it possible for these trees to grow here even though their root system reaches down no further than eight to twelve feet.

Once we left the grove the heat hit us with full force again: no shade anywhere. The shrubs and trees – smoke trees, arrow weed, brittlebush – were quite dry for the most part; only the creosote bush showed not only leaves but was ready to burst into flower. Some were covered in yellow blossoms already. California is into its third year of drought, so there was no evidence of the multitude of flowers that would bloom once it rained: desert gold poppy, desert verbena, sand blazing star and Canterbury bells, among others.

Often zebra-tailed lizards darted across the trail, nodding their heads when they were stopped for a moment, and once we found the much bigger desert iguana seeking shade under a creosote bush, which could well have hidden its burrow.

Just when the heat seemed unbearable we entered another cove of palm trees, this time even with a pond with clear, warm water. Who would expect something like this in the middle of a desert?

The Thousand Palms Oasis Preserve is part of a bigger preserve that was set aside to protect the fringe-toed lizard, a threatened species that lives in the dunes adjacent to the oasis. It is good to know that no development can destroy this amazing landscape!

 

An oasis

The air condition is running here in our motel room in Indio, California, even at eleven o'clock at night. The sound is not so different of that the furnace makes at home ...  

That, however, is where the similarity ends, as the sign on the photo above shows very clearly. I found it at a rest stop along the I-10 which we took on our way west from Phoenix today, shortly before we crossed into California. These rest stops are usually very well kept, with picnic shelters providing much-needed shade and clean bathrooms. 

We left Phoenix around noon, after picking up our rental car (a Chevy Cruze) at the Enterprise location where we got our car last year as well. Then, not knowing about Enterprise's 'free pickup' offer, we had walked what seemed to be an endlessly long way from the hostel to the car rental location. Today, on the way back to the hostel, we kept track of the distance: eight kilometres - not a pure delight on pavement and in the mounting heat of midday, but at least it was training for the Grand Canyon hike that followed only a few days later. 

Today, on the other hand, we walked very little. Our objective was to get close to Joshua Tree National Park which we plan to visit either tomorrow or the day after, depending on what we find to do in this lush, green valley famous for its dates. 

Indio is a sprawling place that, according to the information I found, has grown enormously over the last fifteen years, mostly due to the growing popularity of this area for recreational purposes. After driving through the barren landscape west of Phoenix for hours it is almost a shock to see the green fields and lawns, the many palms and flower beds here, and I can't help but feel a little guilty for enjoying the lushness because I know how much water it takes to keep it that way. 

We had a bit of trouble finding a motel, quite surprising in a city of more than 75,000. We kept going south through one gated community after the next, crossing wide, beautiful avenues, and had eventually reached the outskirts of town. No motel in sight. We stopped at a store with local produce - tomatoes, cucumbers, avocadoes, raisins, grapefruit, among other things - and asked a middle-aged man in the parking lot about a motel. At first he seemed almost reluctant to answer, but when he started talking it became clear that it was just the language that made it a bit difficult for him to express himself. Spanish words kept creeping in where the English words were missing: like a large part of the population (68%, according to Wikipedia) of Indio he, too, was of Hispanic origin. Not all of the Spanish speaking population is from Mexico, however; a considerable percentage is from countries like El Salvador, Honduras, Guatemala, Nicaragua, Ecuador and Colombia. Originally the traqueros - railway workers - arrived in the first decade of the 20th century, employed by Southern Pacific, and now the need for workers in construction, golf courses, agriculture and domestic jobs brings many Mexicans to the Palm Springs area of which Indio is a part. 
It was nice to hear the familiar sounds from our travels in South America, and indeed the man's advice brought us to tonight's resting place.

We hope to learn something about growing dates tomorrow morning. What will follow next is not quite clear; we are still thinking about visiting Salton Sea, supposed to be an amazing place to watch birds. Quite possible we could pitch our tent in one of the Joshua Tree campgrounds. Since the elevation is higher it should not be quite as hot: when we descended into this valley around 5:30 tonight the car thermometer showed 92 F -  33 Celsius. I am glad our car has air condition ...

Phoenix in March: orange blossoms and bougainvilleas

Once again we are at the friendly Camel Backpackers Hostel just north of downtown Phoenix where we started out our last two visits to Arizona. 

Sun setting on McDowell in Phoenix

Just like last year we asked ourselves why we were going away when it felt as if spring was just around the corner at home and the weather forecast promises temperatures into the teens for the coming week. There are no guarantees, however, and we know that it feels more like summer than spring where we are now. Again the scent of orange blossoms enveloped us on our walk from the light rail station to the hostel, the heat (28 Celsius when we landed) made quite bearable by the slight breeze; soon it cooled down since the sun had set during our trip from the airport. Now, the birds flying to and fro were not starlings but parrots, and they landed not on spruce but on palm trees. Three scant hours from home - what a difference.

Our plane touched down at 5:30 pm after a flight that felt like a sightseeing tour. One of the highlights was Salt Lake City with Great Salt Lake, stretching below us almost like an ocean. This was nothing, however, compared to what came only a short while later. To my great joy I realized that we were going to fly right over the Grand Canyon! When we drove south after our hiking trip last year I wouldn't have thought that I would see it from above so soon again. 

The sun was low enough to bring out the patterned walls and paint them a rich dark crimson, while the deep crevices were already swallowed by shadow. A bit wistfully I watched the familiar contours disappear once again below me. Will we come back to repeat last year's hike another year?

There is so much to see, however, and this year we have picked a very different place and will try to get to know it a little. Tomorrow we will be on our way towards Joshua Tree and Death Valley National Parks. What will expect us there, I wonder?