[Day 1] Badwater

Wreakage. There isn’t a much better way to put it. The past eight months or so have be an unbeknownst betrayal of most everything I found on the trail. Life has consisted of an exchange of my soul for worldly things, cultural conformance, and that dreadful thing known as money.

But, sometimes you need to beach the ship to realize what matters — at least I tell myself that. Visited by thoughts — of people and places — I find myself longing for the relationships and appreciations that made life profoundly simple when I was following a remote footpath. Do I have to be in some deeply remote place to enjoy life? No. But, for the moment, it certainly is my bandaid.

So, in the most appropriate fashion, I travel to the lowest point in the contiguous United States to walk a footpath to the highest point in the contiguous United States. To get out of a low spot, sometimes you need to go from the lowest to the highest, right? (definitely not, that sounds like drug abuse).

After 1500-mile drive from Central Texas across the grandeur of the Southwest (I stopped at two of my favorites — New Mexico’s Gila and the Arizona desert south of Mt. Mica), I made landfall in California a couple weeks ago. Today, I find myself in one of my favorite places I’ve known, the bottom of Death Valley at Badwater Basin. Starting some 282 feet below sea level, it’s only up from here as I jump the Panamint’s and Inyo’s en route for the alpine high point of the Sierra Nevada at Mt. Whitney. Do I make it atop Mt. Whitney in late November? Mmmm, there’s no telling if I even make it through the first 30 miles of this trek given its 10,000 feet of sustained climb to the top of Telescope Peak from the bottom of Death Valley. So, let’s just start here. Here’s to a few days of being an evasive, selfish brat. 

Time for a dance with the devil in the desert.

My mom dropped me off at the lowest point of the contiguous United States, Badwater Basin, 282 feet below sea level. As I started west across the salt flats, the tourists turned to ants quick. I love the striations of the these desert mountains. I made heading for 11,000-foot Telescope Peak, less than 20 miles away. Wow. I was staring down a shear 11,000 foot vertical from the bottom of Death Valley to the top of the Panamint Range. That is my first mountain range to hop over.

I cruised upon the salt crusted flats. Midway across, I started sinking with some of my steps, cracking the surface ground. The basin floor were cracked into dish plates and tiles of salty dirty. Before I knew it, I was sinking shin-deep into mud. Like teeth sinking into a chocolate-dipped ice cream cone, I punctured the surface into mush of mud and salt. After a couple miles of postholing in mud (did not expect this in the hottest and driest place in the world), I nearly made it to the other side of the basin, where I came across dirt formations similar to that north of here at a feature known as the Devil’s Golf Course. These dirt castellations are dangerously and hellishly sharp, hence why only the devil can play golf in these parts.

Once reaching West Side Road, opposite the valley from Badwater Road where I was dropped off, I cut over and started up Hanaupah Canyon Road, which will take me up the respective canyon it was named for. I powered up this canyon. This is where the real climbing initiated. Here begins about 12,000-feet of vertical gain over 12 miles to the top of the Panamint Range. This canyon was a gorgeous wash shadowed by the towering Telescope Peak.

After miles along this dirt two track, it disappeared and I began upon rocky wash. In the dark, I made it to Hanaupah Spring and it was pumping. After an eating a dinner of peanut butter, layering up, downing a few liters, and cameling up, I trekked off trail up slippery dirt scree on the canyon wall towards a ridgeline. This was arguably some of the dumbest, steepest, and slowest hiking of my career. I almost slipped to an unpleasant fall many, many times. I’m brilliant — hiking a canyon wall in the dark of Death Valley.

After getting through the worst of the steeps and slips, I turned off my headlamp and walked by moonlight. The silhouette of the ridge ahead and its trees edged me up, repeating in my head “Take the ridgeline!”. I took the ridgeline and the promise of animal trails along the edge was true. The hiking became easier (at least for the remainder of the night). I weaved junipers and bristlecones along the ridge edge. That shadow of Telescope Peak, still 5,000 feet of vertical to the peak, promised much more difficult hiking tomorrow..

Eventually, I gave in to the night, yanked off my muddy, crusty shoes and socks, and crawled into my cowboy camp. Man, do I love this Mojave desert.

Signing off,

Zeppelin