Ringbolt Hot Springs

I took a long break, mostly due to the fact that this is a very early spring here in Alberta, and our field work started before I could finish reporting on the rest of the trip. The fields are once again seeded, and I’ll try to gather my thoughts and pick up where I left off. 
 

Monday, March 14^th

The ‘Coffee Cup’ in the historic downtown district of Boulder City was our choice for breakfast, just like last year. We needed a hearty foundation for the hike we had planned for the day. We stopped at the National Park visitor centre just before the Hoover Dam to make sure the rumours we had heard about Ringbolt Hotsprings being closed were not true – that was our big worry. What if we couldn’t show our friends this most amazing place? But our fears were soon put to rest: only during the hottest part of the year this hike is not recommended. 

Unlike last year we stopped at the Hoover Dam bridge for a good look at the dam. It is, after all, a major tourist attraction, and even I had to admit that it’s an impressive construction. Seeing it wedged into that narrow canyon it didn’t surprise me very much to read that more than a hundred workers had lost their lives during the five years it took to build it. Lake Mead, the lake formed by damming the Colorado River, is the biggest body of water in the United States (by volume); right now the water level seemed quite low, though I don’t think any lower than last year around this time.

After the more technically minded part of our group had satisfied their inquisitiveness we drove the short distance to the Arizona Hot Springs (Ringbolt Hot Springs) trailhead. It was late morning, and the sun quite hot already.

Once we had traversed the half kilometre or so down the gravelly path and the steep canyon walls enclosed us it was nice and cool, the highway far enough in the distance that traffic noise didn’t interfere with the bird song from somewhere high above us.

Golden California poppies and brittle bush set the reddish rock ablaze, and in really shady niches I found this beautiful plant with its furry leaves and flower buds. 

Creosote bushes are tough enough to endure even the most adverse growing conditions, and their roots seem to bore through sheer rock. Sometimes I wonder what could possibly sustain them.

Lagging behind the others a bit a sudden movement caught my eye: a hummingbird, coming to rest briefly on the branch of a creosote bush, unconcerned by my presence. Unfortunately my camera wasn’t up to capturing this encounter.

Around noon we reached the Colorado, its calm waters a welcome opportunity to cool our heels. We saw a couple of canoes drifting upstream, a vulture drew its slow circles overhead. It is hard to believe that this is the same river that roars with such enormous force through the narrow walls of the Grand Canyon. Here, it would be no problem to manoeuvre a canoe even for a novice paddler, and indeed it’s another favourite way to reach the Arizona Hotsprings via that route. 

We still had the more difficult part of the trail ahead before we would reach the hot springs themselves. 

Now, the much narrower path hugged the cliff side for a bit before ascending through a short ‘chimney’ and descending to the mouth of the next canyon. 

We only had to follow the trickle of water now, the walls of the canyon narrowing evermore, the shallow, increasingly warmer water filling the whole width of the path soon. 

It was much easier walking barefoot now than trying to find dry rocks to step on, the gritty bottom stimulating the soles of my feet. The few slip rock passages, too, were easier to manage barefoot, though a few of us tackled them in a different manner. 

Only when we reached the ladder – no longer a worry for me like last year – I put on my shoes for a little while again.

Once we had all clambered up the ladder we could reap the reward for the hike: the warm pools of Ringbolt hot springs awaited us, a welcome opportunity to stretch our limbs in the water, enjoy a beer (which would have tasted only slightly better if it had been really cold), and marvel once again at the amazing setting of this great place. 

The uppermost of the three pools was just as hot as I remembered, and we quickly sloshed through on our way out higher up into the canyon that would lead us back to the parking lot eventually. We spread out our lunch on some flat rocks in the shade of a few creosote bushes and replenished the sun screen before winding our way through the walls of the canyon, which, after a while, opened up to a wide, gravelly area, affording a good view of the steep path we’d take to get up to where we had started. 

As so often, the way back seemed shorter the second time around. Every once in a while I turned around to take in the amazing view of the landscape below. No snakes, hardly any small lizards crossed our path; I was quite thankful for the lack of the former. We had been told in Phoenix already that snake sightings had been earlier than last year after the mild February. 

Once we gained the plateau the landscape became less dramatic, and soon the highway and the parking lot with our trusty Nissan Quest appeared in the distance. Hot, tired and happy we reached the end of our hike. 

Our destination for the night was Kingman, only about an hour and a half’s drive. Here, we had arrived at Route 66, and this, of course, called for a fitting dining experience at “Mr. D’z Route 66 Diner”. http://www.mrdzrt66diner.com/
 With its gleaming chrome, pink and turquoise furnishings, the juke box in the corner and Marilyn Monroe and Elvis Presley smiling from every wall it felt like we had been transported back to the fifties, and after a meal of burgers and fries we were ready for a good night's sleep. Tomorrow, after all, we would experience another highlight: the Grand Canyon.

Death Valley, Golden Canyon

Sunday morning greeted us with sunshine, but it was still quite cool in Beatty. Our plan was to stop at the visitor centre in Furnace Creek, choose a hike from a brochure we'd pick up there, and leave Death Valley National Park on Hwy.178 with a stop at Badwater, the lowest point. From there we'd bypass Las Vegas and spend the night in Boulder City.

Thanks to the information we received at the Beatty saloon the night before we knew to turn off onto the shortcut to Furnace Creek. Here, Johann had been told, would be a prime area for seeing the desert in bloom. It started slowly, with a few fragile plants here and there on the rocky surface, in itself a seemingly impossible medium to foster any plant life. The narrow road descended gently toward the valley which was bordered by snow capped peaks in the distance. Such opposites! The lowest point of Death Valley – the whole north American continent – is 85m below sea level, Telescope Peak, the highest point in the Paramint Mountains bordering the valley, 3,367m high. 

The few blossoms, scattered as they seemed at first, nevertheless melded into a yellow carpet in the distance, and soon we found that the density of blooming plants increased considerably along the roadside. 

Yellow desert evening primroses, desert gold, desert yellow cup, blue phacelia, white desert chicory and, my favourite, desert star all contributed to this amazing tapestry, aided by sturdy creosote bushes with their shiny leaves. Stirred by the breeze they were in perpetual motion, and it wasn't easy to take close-up photos. Getting down on my knees for a closer look I almost knelt on a huge caterpillar and soon realized that the whole area was crawling with them: black, with yellow and white horizontal stripes, they were almost as long as my finger and had a small 'horn' at their back end. These were, as I since have found out, the caterpillars of the white striped sphinx moth, voracious in their appetite for the feast of flowers spread out for them by Mother Nature.

 

The visitor centre was very busy, probably even more than usual at this time of year because it was the weekend, and we didn't linger longer than necessary. The ranger Johann talked to suggested we might want to hike Golden Canyon, coming back via Gower Gulch, about four miles in length.

For old times sake we made a loop through Texas Spring campground where we had stayed the second night last year. Again I felt with a slight pang of regret how different it is to experience an area without camping right on site. Back on the road a sign warned of a road closure on Hwy.178 after about 40 miles. This meant we had to choose an alternate route out of the park, and we decided to forego the stop at Badwater Point because we'd have to turn around there, and it likely would be very crowded anyway. We'd take Hwy.190 east instead. 

The turnoff to Golden Canyon is only a few miles south of Furnace Creek. Last year we had hiked only partway in, somehow missing the turnoff to Red Cathedral with its imposing red rock walls. We hadn't pursued it then since we also wanted to see Natural Bridge canyon. 

This time we again didn't end at Red Cathedral and soon found the narrow trail winding its way up the dusty yellow flank of the mountain towards Gower Gulch. It was a steep climb for a while, but the views we had from the highest point were ample reward. The colours, from chalk white over palest yellow to dark red and brown were beautifully offset by the blue and white dappled sky.

 

Looking back at the trail we hiked up on. The two small dark dots on the right are people

 Coming down through almost mogul like little hills reminded me a bit of our hike in Bryce Canyon three years ago, although this gulch lacked the fairy-tale spires of that beautiful park.

Close to the bottom another trail branched off to the left to Zabriskie Point. Some hikers started there and ended at the Golden Canyon parking lot, but to do that one needed a second vehicle to transfer back to the point. 

The trail now descended slowly through narrowing canyon walls. A couple of short sections of sliprock didn't prove to be a problem, and after a little over three miles we arrived at the mouth of the canyon with a nice view of the valley below. 

The last mile or so dragged on a bit: the trail hugged the side of the mountain before ending at Golden Valley parking lot, where we had left our vehicle.

Our hope to reach Boulder City early was quickly dashed when traffic slowed down and soon came to a complete standstill before we were even close to the park border. A fatal traffic accident turned out to be the cause of this, and a long line of vehicles waited ahead of us already. It might be up to an hour and a half until we could move on, we were told, so we pulled out to the side and ate our lunch, sitting on some big rocks. It wasn't a bad place to wait at all, surrounded by wildflowers and rocky walls, but it made me sad to think that a holiday or weekend trip had gone so horribly wrong for a person or a family.

In the end traffic started to flow again much sooner than expected. Still, by the time we reached Boulder City and had found an acceptable motel (the same as last year in the end, after searching for an alternative for a while) it was too late to go looking for the herd of mountain sheep in Hemenway Park at the edge of town. Last year we had come there around sundown upon the recommendation of a sales clerk at the supermarket, but what was supposed to be a regular occurrence didn't happen that night: the sheep, coming down the mountain to feed on the lush green grass of the park, had stayed away that night, and now, too, we had missed the opportunity. We weren't too upset, however: it had been a long day, and the next day was going to be a highlight Johann and I had been looking forward to from the beginning.