After driving a bit in the middle of nowhere, I finally arrive. The National Parks sometimes have self-pay stations as is the case with the Death Valley entrance I take. I always feel a little strange at these if other people around because I don't have to pay since I have a National Parks Pass but figure it probably looks like I'm just being cheap.
The first thing I see is an observation post called Zabriskie Point. Google imaging "Zabriskie Point" to ensure that was the place I took these photos, I discover Zabriskie Point is also the name of a movie from 1970 containing an amount of nudity Google is more than willing to display to you: I'm glad I'm typing with my back against a wall so no children found out with me.
Before Death Valley became a National Park, portions of it were used for borax mining by the Pacific Coast Borax Company. Christian Zabriskie was the general manager of the company at the time, and so, this point was named after him.
Backtracking a little to Las Vegas, before swimming the previous day, I couldn't find my swim trunks. I'd wondered why I wouldn't bring them and eventually came upon a pair of And1 shorts which I had no idea why I would bring. Did I plan on playing basketball on this trip? I decided they must be for swimming and used them for such. Today, I'm in khaki pants in the desert and look through my bag, knowing I brought some shorts along. The closest thing I find is my swim trunks: apparently, the And1s were for hiking.
After changing to cargo pants (slightly cooler), I drive to where I think the Visitors Center is.
What I find instead is Furnace Creek Ranch. When I hear the name "Death Valley," I immediately think of a place that is extremely dry, extremely hot, and will not allow anything to survive. At Furnace Creek Ranch, I find bushes, grass, and palm trees:
There's also a restaurant and what appears to be suburban homes a few hundred yards away. Some of the National Parks, like Grand Canyon, are so big they encompass businesses and homes, but I didn't expect Death Valley to be one of them: it kind've kills the mood for me. Returning to my car, I correct my navigation and drive correctly to the Visitors Center.
Death Valley currently holds the record for hottest day on the planet when in 1913 it reached 134 degrees Fahrenheit. The Visitors Center explains how the features of different animals allow them to survive in the extreme heat. One exhibit allows you to mix and match the features to create your own animal. It's a fun children's activity for ages 5 to 25.
After grabbing a trail list and better map, I head for Badwater Basin, the lowest point in North America. Along the way, I see a few other neat things, including a dust twister,...
...a gang of roadside flowers,...
...and the Devil's Golf Course.
Badwater Basin and much of the surrounding area was once under water. After the water evaporated, a salt flat was left behind. Devil's Golf Course was produced by the salt crystallizing over time. Badwater Basin, which you'll see in a minute, stays flat because it's lower than the surrounding areas: the rare precipitation Death Valley receives collects at the basin and washes away any attempts at crystallization. Devil's Golf Course is slightly higher in elevation, so precipitation doesn't collect on top of it, allowing the salt to crystallize. The crystallized formations are still affected by erosion as they grow though, changing their image from standard salt crystals. The final formations are sharp, jagged, strong enough for a full grown man to walk on, and grow as far as the eye can see.
And this is Badwater Basin:
The basin's name comes from this spring of water. It's filled with salt from the land, so when explorers found it, neither they nor their horses could drink from it, because it was "bad water".
As I mentioned, all attempts of crystallization are continually leveled by the drainage of water into the basin, but you can still see the attempts at growth surrounding the flat white part. I'm not sure if the white area is so flat because it's the absolute lowest area, or because it's the area humans walk on.
Badwater Basin is 282 feet below sea level. Posted on a mountain beside the basin is a sign showing where sea level is:
I've seen some pretty amazing things so far, but it's time I took a hike. Looking over the trails list from the Visitors Center, I read about Death Valley Buttes (let the unintentional puns fly). It's a 1.2 mile trail yet is labeled as strenuous, meaning it's probably more about climbing than walking. I consider myself a better climber than walker as I give up easily when an activity doesn't threaten my very existence, so I'll probably like the trail.
As I drive there, I realize I don't know what a butte is. At first, I think it's a flat topped hill, but wouldn't that be a plateau? So a butte must be something else. I've got no phone service so I can't look it up, meaning I'm driving without knowing what I'm looking for. It didn't help I was supposed to park at Hell's Gate parking lot which had no sign from what I saw, so I pass it twice before realizing it's the lot I'm looking for. There's also no trail leading to the buttes, but looking west, I see what must be them. "But," before showing you what they look like, I have to show you this really neat cactus I found walking out to them:
Rad, right?! Anyway, here's what buttes look like:
Approaching them, they look like normal hills. According to the trail description, I'm supposed to first “scramble up ridge to summit of first butte.” I'm pretty sure scrambling is like the sprinting version of climbing which sounds really dangerous, so I decide to take my time instead and ease my way up the first butte. And that's when I realize these aren't just normal hills: these buttes may be the most dangerous thing I've ever climbed.
The hiking trails I've taken so far mainly include 2 sizes of mineral: boulder and sand. Boulders can possibly fall on you, or you off them, but they're easy to grab hold of and usually a very solid, secure platform. Sand can be slippery and tough to walk through, but it's just sand: if you fall, the worst you'll do is roll downhill until you puke. The Death Valley Buttes, however, are made of medium sized stones. They range in size anywhere from a large marble to a basketball. Climbing up, I quickly start to slip...
…looking it up afterward, buttes are, by definition, very steep hills. Adding on top of this the rocks are neither large enough to be stable nor small enough to sink my appendages into, and I've gotten myself into a slightly dangerous situation...
...I try climbing up by grabbing larger, ground sunken rocks, as they're the most stable, but even those aren't completely safe: the larger rocks are crumbling apart. I'm curious about what geological event caused this, but they look and act like they were once smaller rocks that just happened to fit perfectly together, so someone used Elmer's glue to bind them to each other. Grabbing hold, I can feel them start to tear apart like perforated paper. Making my way up, I decide to try grabbing at a handful of smaller rocks, only to realize how sharp they are: it almost feels like I'm grabbing glass.
About three quarters up the first hill, I start to get the “turn around now” feeling. It's the feeling I get every time I'm in a dangerous situation. It's a long, steep drop down a lot of sharp, hard rocks if I fall at this point, and I'm not feeling very stable, squeezing my entire body as close to the Earth as possible. In the short term, turning around is the smart thing to do. But in the long term, I'll probably never get a chance to do this again, I'll lose an opportunity to both gain climbing skills and face fears, and any potential future children I have aren't going to listen to a dad who says, "I once made it 3/4 up a Death Valley butte before turning around because I was scared, now go to bed!" So I crawl my way to the top of the first hill.
Getting to the top, I don't feel so bad about being scared: it appears to be a lot higher up than it did from the bottom. Getting to the 2nd butte requires going down the 1st one's back side. Not knowing an official way to do this, I sit on my butt and slide down. As I do, I think to myself, "Is this why they call it a butte? Because you have to slide on your butt to get down? No, that's ridiculous, there's no way that's why they called it that." Still, a small part of me inside continues to hope...
Before heading up the 2nd hill, I notice what looks like a trail. Reflecting on my first attempt climbing a butte, it doesn't make sense people fearfully crawling up would create a consistent trail. So I consider what the trail description said about scrambling; maybe I am supposed to just run up it. So I give it a try. I don't run the path completely but rather from big rock to big rock in case it doesn't work, but, to my surprise, it does. Giving it some thought, I can't grasp the physics of how running improves your traction on a low friction surface, but I can at least analogize it to how not driving fast enough will get a Lexus stuck on top of a mountain, so I'll keep going with it. Unfortunately, much like getting a Lexus stuck on top of a mountain, once you're stopped it's difficult to get moving again, so every time I stop at a big rock, it takes some clawing at the ground to regain momentum. "Just imagine you're a mountain lion,” I think to myself, “or some type of puma. Yeah, a puma! Puma mode, go!”
Also holding me down is my bookbag. I didn't pack a lot since it's better to go lighter in the desert, but the weight I do have pulls toward my backside, and keeping my weight forward is very important right now, so I sometimes find myself bending over, using my butt to bump my bookbag towards my neck, and slowly crawling up the hills in said fashion. I call this, "turtle mode."
Another concerning factor is the weather. The time I began climbing happened to be as the sun was setting over these buttes. At one point while climbing, I simply stop and lay down, waiting for it to go behind the hill I'm on. I'm also experiencing winds to the point of tears blowing out my eyes. Luckily, winds can be used to assist in the climb. By choosing to climb the mountain on the side the wind is hitting straight on (at a 90 degree angle), I'm held against the rocks by the wind. When I can't climb the 90 degree side, I try climbing the opposite side: there, the wind is almost completely blocked.
Here are various pictures I took while climbing the buttes:
The more I run, climb, and crawl, the more exhilarating it is. This might be the most dangerous trail I've taken so far, but it's quickly becoming the most fun. Every time I see what I think is the final butte, however, I climb it to find one more ahead, which is continually disappointing. When I finally do see what I'm pretty sure really was the actual final butte, I'm a bit exhilarated out. The sun will also be setting soon, and I'd rather not climb down in the dark. Finally having a reason to stop that's more sensible than fear driven, I turn around. It's at this point the phrase, "You can't unscramble an egg," comes to mind. I have a general rule when climbing: if I can't climb down, I shouldn't climb up. I didn't apply it to scrambling though. It turns out you can't unscramble a butte or an egg. Instead, I have to come down very slowly, much of the time on my butt like with the first hill. Once while doing this, I notice another person coming up the trail. My first thought is, "He's going to think I'm a complete idiot." Then I notice he's using Nordic Walking Sticks to climb the trail. "Oh, I don't care about his opinion anyway."
On my way back, I have to pee. I wait to go until I reach one of the windy gaps between two buttes so I can say I've pissed in the wind at Death Valley.
The Death Valley Buttes are a lot of fun. They're also very dangerous, but I'd suggest them to anyone looking for a thrill who's got at least a little climbing experience.
Death Valley is in California but, being desert, feels more like Nevada. Tomorrow's destination is 6 hours away, and as I drive, the reality of where I am starts to set in. Getting to California on this trip has been a love-hate goal for me. I love it because it's a landmark in my travels; I've driven from an east coast state to a west coast state and saw everything I wanted to along the way: that impresses me, and I think impressing yourself is one of the most important things you can do. But I hate it because, if the gun I started this trip with didn't give it away, California is more strictly regulated than what I care for. And while I don't live here, I can't help but feel the hammer's gonna come down on me anyway at some point. So I laugh when one of the first differences I notice in the state is a sign with an airplane on it saying, “Speed enforced by aircraft.” My first thought is a Predator drone hovering in front of my car saying, “YOU ARE GOING 5 MILES OVER THE SPEED LIMIT: SLOW DOWN OR MISSILES WILL BE DEPLOYED.” I won't even go into why tracking speed with airplanes seems bizarre to me because it's not my state: maybe they know something I don't. All I can say for sure is, Welcome to California.
I think you're pronouncing butte wrong haha It's not like butt, it's bute :p
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