"Death Valley ... A Primordial World of... " a Death Valley National Park Travel Page by oldtrailmaster

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Mystery of The Racetrack

Moving Rocks, Salty Plains, & Snowy Forests

What is it about Death Valley National Park that beckons us? Are there things not readily apparent to the casual observer? Can it all be experienced from the few paved roads that exist within its boundaries?

Is it the rugged snowcapped mountains, the parched alkaline lake flats, the springtime carpets of colorful wildflowers? Is it the history of wild-west characters, the unmatched solitude, the deafening quiet? Is it the varied recreational activities, the clean air, the need to challenge nature on an extreme level?

Probably the most obvious initial reason for the Park's popularity is the distinctive geological composition that resides within its boundaries. Badwater, the lowest walkable terra-firma in North America, is to be found here, at 282 feet below sea level, and it sits below Telescope Peak, which is 11,331 feet higher! Not far to the west, in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, is Mount Whitney, the highest point in the lower 48 states, at 14,494 feet. To the east of Badwater is Dante's View, at 5,475 elevation. And surrounding this second-lowest Earthly piece of ground is an immense expanse of land that was buried under several feet of salt when an ancient lake finally evaporated roughly 2,000 years ago. The popular name for this phenomenon is Devil's Golf Course.

Another great place to contemplate how the natural world functions it at the mysterious Racetrack Playa. It is an old lake bed that occasionally becomes unbelievably wet and slick during the winter months, and then strange things happen! Large rocks weighing several hundred pounds move across it, leaving deep gouges in the normally-hardpacked surface. According to all accounts, no one has ever seen a rock move, but when you walk out the half-mile onto the lake bed when it is dry to view this mystery up close, the obvious lack of other marks on the ground indicate that wind and water must surely play the leading roles. And only an occasional military fighter jet buzzing the lake will break the powerful feeling of solitude. Another marvel is Ubehebe Crater, a massive hole in the ground about half a mile across, caused by magma superheating confined underground water that could only expand by shooting tons of earth into the sky roughly 6,000 years ago.

The valley itself was formed over an incomprehensibly long time period as two faults approximately 30 miles apart and running roughly parallel in a northwesterly direction, caused the uplifting of the two mountain ranges known today as the Panamint and Amargosa. The depression between the ranges is what we now call Death Valley, but the bedrock of the valley is up to 10,000 feet lower than the ground we walk on at the salt flats! The current surface is an accumulation of earth that has eroded out of the mountains and filled in the sink over the eons of geological change. The magnitude of these things is nearly unimaginable to such finite beings as ourselves, and perhaps that is why we find it all so fascinating.

Ancient seas once covered the area many millions of years ago. Fossils of marine animals can be found in the Park, along with sediment left by the waters. Later, Death Valley was the site for large lakes during periodic Ice Ages, evidenced by carved terraces that were caused by wind and wave action. Water flowed down Wingate Wash 75,000 years ago into the valley lowlands, called Lake Manly by geologists today. High water existed around 15,000 years ago. As we drive our SUVs through the valley lowlands, try to imagine this aqueous history! Locations like Shore Line Butte still provide evidence of the ancient waters.

Another factor that surely accounts for many people's need to visit and interact with the area on a personal level is the name itself ... Death Valley. For many, rising to the challenge of exploring this unusual expanse of ecological diversity, and returning home alive to tell tales of their adventures, must surely be part of the lure.

It's not the end of the world ... but you can see it from here!

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Telescope Peak on Trail

Telescope Peak Hike

West of Badwater Basin in Death Valley, the lowest land in America at 282 feet below sea level, towers a massive sentinel that rises over two vertical miles into the Earth’s atmosphere. Visible from afar in all directions, the top of Telescope Peak is the highest elevation in Death Valley National Park, and from its piercing majestic summit in the Panamint Range to the flat salty sink below is roughly twice the depth of the Grand Canyon.

By two in the afternoon, I slowly motor to the end of the road that has steadily climbed ever higher through Wildrose Canyon, past the Charcoal Kilns, and up the final steep switchback grade to Mahogany Flat, on the edge overlooking Death Valley and the Badwater Basin 8,415 feet below. Looking down over the edge through the Pinyon and Juniper Pines as I set up camp, I feel as though I am on top of the world – but of course, that will come tomorrow, when I hopefully find myself 2,916 feet higher yet, on the grand summit of Telescope Peak, at 11,049 feet!

About three hours after my arrival, after camp is set, dinner has been consumed, and I am sitting quietly at the picnic table contemplating the beauty of it all.

Out of the corner of my left eye, a graceful form moves from behind a tree, across the wooded hillside before me. No noise accompanies what I am witnessing, and I immediately know why. Like a fog moving in on little cat’s feet, I am privileged to witness a cat, but not your everyday variety found in homes. This cat is huge, fur tinted on the yellow side with a whiter underbody, tall pointed ears with fuzzy tufts on top, and the telltale short tail.

Yes! Not more than ten feet from where I sit, a mountain bobcat is lazily sauntering by, little tail twitching slowly left and right, with eye expressions indicating an animal that is relaxed in my presence. I can not believe what is unfolding before me, for despite all the wild animals I have had close encounters with over the years, a member of the cat family has not been one of them. For the briefest of moments at first, I figure this bobcat has accidentally happened upon me since I am absolutely silent, but it becomes apparent after eye contact between us that there is full awareness.

As I always do with wild animals in travels, I speak gently to this creature, whose home I have chosen to share for three days. There seems to be a knowing acknowledgment that I mean no harm. My new friend does not run. After this elegant spirit disappears on the other side of my vehicle, I keep talking and move around to the driver’s side to fetch my digital camera ... I want this event to be brought home in photos!

To my delightful surprise, Bobby has spread out on the ground, just like a housecat would, seemingly interested in keeping my company for a while on the lonely forested mountain ridge. Maintaining my one-sided verbal conversation, I reach in the door, get the camera, and slowly move within eight feet of this gentle animal, who continues to look around without a care in the world, eyes lazily blinking from time to time, and tail still moving as one might think was indicative of happiness.

I memorialize the moment in pixels, knowing full-well that I am such a lucky guy to be in this situation, something that has never happened to me in my half-century-plus on this Earth, and something that may never occur again. Eventually, Bobby slowly arises, stretches, looks me in the eyes once again to say goodbye, and wanders off into the trees to the south, wholly unconcerned that I might follow. I watch in awe, loving the moments that I can spend with other species on perhaps a level that most people might suspect is not possible. I continue talking to Bobby long after I have no further visual contact, hoping that my sound waves are still having positive effects as they reach those tall pointed ears.

Full story on my Death Valley Website, www.WildDeathValley.com

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Panamint City Smelter

Wild Panamint City!

Called the “toughest, rawest, most hard-boiled little hellhole that ever passed for a civilized town” by observers of the 1870’s mining boom of the Death Valley territory, Panamint was, by all accounts, a flash in the historical pan of inconceivable proportions! Almost overnight, it ensured its place in history, generating one bizarre tale after another, becoming a legend for modern day adventure-seekers to experience … daring us to try to learn the truth, for, as legends always go, there remain many tall tales.

The wild ride had its scanty commencement in the waning months of 1872, when snows began to blanket the isolated rocky slopes of the Panamint Range that borders the western side of Death Valley. High up in these steep forested mountains, accessed from the floor of the Panamint Valley via the canyon we now call Surprise, the magic started, as it often did in those times, with the discovery of a precious substance that men believed would make them rich beyond their wildest dreams. Here, it was silver. Elsewhere it would be gold, copper, lead, or borax. Whatever the mineral, the goal was always the same: find it, work it, exploit it, and then live the easy life ever after. That may have been the aim of the thousands who came to Panamint and other promised camps, but precious few even came close to that summit, let alone conquer it. In fact, many lost everything they had, or died trying.

Found at the uppermost reaches of Surprise Canyon is a peaceful wide valley, something that would not be anticipated after the many miles of steep narrow canyon and towering rock walls that lie below it. Far up the precipitous mountain slopes above the valley is where silver was first discovered. Within a year and a half after this unearthing, that unspoiled and tranquil basin had become, for the first time in its history, a magnet for rowdy iron-willed men who often cared for little more than what they could take from the area to further their own gains. The camp of Panamint was quickly growing, with lawlessness rampant, fatal shootings a common occurrence, and merchants the only ones really making any money. Yet the dream wouldn’t die. The frenzy fed upon itself. And while there remained enough of the delusion of riches to feed it, the ride was powerfully fearsome, yet undeniably alluring.

Two Nevada senators, named Stewart and Jones, were the prominent characters who signaled others that there must be massive fortunes to be made here, simply due to their eager financial involvement. They and their mining expert knew the limits of the ore lode however, and like other savvy promoters who recognized how to work the unsuspecting public, plied their trade well. Everyone was sure that Panamint was the next Comstock Lode. Despite contrary evidence, no one, of course, wanted to believe otherwise. And, like the majority of other hopeful camps and towns, the paper value of stocks far and away exceeded the actual worth of the mined land. The trick was to promote and trade the stock, and then sell out at just the right time, before inexperienced investors were any the wiser.

Full story on my Death Valley Website, www.WildDeathValley.com