On weekends I rise with the sun, sometimes before it. It's pleasant to get a head start on the sleeping masses all withdrawing from acute alcohol poisoning. Last night I was one click away from booking a last-minute flight to Alaska, but I didn't think I'd make it to the airport in time to board the flight. Then I decided I would go to Utah instead, for a mere 500$, but found out there were absolutely no rental cars available for this weekend. After being thwarted twice, I felt it was time to yield to the universe's will. Maybe the plane would've crashed if I'd gone.
I realized I never posted these fragments from my brief stint in Death Valley:
What at first I thought was a mirage, turned out to be a bonafide desert oasis. I'm in the shade, drinking a root beer, waiting for a juicy cheeseburger.
Being out of direct sunlight is cause enough to rejoice, but cold, bubbly beverages and prepared food are down right lavish out here. Until this point I've been subsisting off of power bars and beetle piss. It is rough in these parts. I feel like I'm at Burning Man, but without the lights, drugs, music, parties or people. I climbed sand dunes the size of mountains this morning to watch the sun rise over the mountains. Photographs cannot adequately convey the vastness of things here, even when using a 14mm lens. What's surprised me most though is how teeming with life Death Valley is. Field mice and rabbits scurried away from my headlights in the predawn; fire ants and grasshoppers leapt away from my deadly boot-heels as I photographed fields of wildflowers in bloom; flies buzzed around my ears and swarmed my face as I climbed through canyons; enormous black hawks soared through the sky like inky kites; a lizard slithered and stuck its tongue out at me before darting into deep desert brush.
There is too much to see. Another trip is in order soon, before the summer brings its heat.
Ok, my food has arrived.
(Later)
It was incredible. Giant insects thwarted my sunset! I'd picked out the perfect spot, seemingly untouched by humanity. I found a rusty old beer can from the early 1900's amidst a pile of ancient rocks. I was giddy as fuck and setup my tripod like a champ. The only thing left to do was wait. Suddenly, I heard a buzzing. I shooed whatever it was away. Seconds later it was back, this time at my other ear. A second time I shooed it away, this time more violently. Thus began the war. My foe was unstoppable and his allies kept multiplying. Soon I was like a bear swatting away a swarm of angry bees. They were gargantuan, prehistoric-sized insects and they wanted me gone. They targeted my eyes and ears exclusively, disorienting me and rendering me incapable of taking a single successful photograph. I had no choice but to retreat. I was defeated. Whatever hope of a sunset I had was stolen from me by these vile creatures. Fuck flies.
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I spent my last sunrise at Zebrinksi Point and then Artist's Drive, the most psychedelic natural landscape I've ever seen. After that, Badwater Basin, and then I was off. The drive out of the park is just as beautiful as the drive in, maybe moreso. Sprawling meadows and fields of horizon spill out in all directions, climb up the sides of mountains, blanketing everything in green. Thin clouds veil the most distant rocks in a smoky, ethereal blue haze. The whole thing is difficult to photograph because of the sheer vastness of the horizon; there's no easy way to frame it or choose a subject - the whole thing IS the subject. Cameras can't entirely capture the dimensionality of the place.
Though I didn't want to leave, it is somewhat of a relief to be away from the heat of the valley. I didn't know it before I'd been there, but it holds the record for the hottest recorded temperature on earth. I can't speak to veracity of the claim, but they've got backing from The World Meteorological Organization.
Just now I stopped off at a biker bar on the side of the road to get a feel for the real Nevada. From the outside the place looked divey; a wood facade and a retired children's elephant-ride adorned the entranceway. I parked and went in. The place was covered with dollar bills and old dusty trinkets that looked like they were salvaged from a Burning Man yard sale. I attempted to order food, but they told me I had to go outside and order from the grill next door. So I did.
At the counter I was greeted by that special kind of unpreparedness that only Nevada can provide - they were all out of burgers. Apparently there were a lot of people passing through this weekend, because the weather was so nice, and all the burgers have been eaten up. It didn't even surprise me; I half expected it. I decided I would order a beer and drink it outside in the sun, in front of the motorcycles and the coin-operated elephant. I walked into the bar and asked what they had on tap. Nothing.
Oh, I said.
Busy this weekend?
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