Saline Valley
As I drove up past the information board two people came into sight holding hands, the couple was taking a casual stroll down the road in the 100° heat. I had arrived at this oasis in the desert, a welcome home for hipsters, hippies, and freethinking types comfortable with everything around them. The first people I interacted with were two women towing a trailer behind their SUV which had inconveniently broke down in the middle of the road, I got out and helped them get on their way and found my way to a campsite nestled in the mesquite trees. Over my shoulder I watched as the burros chomped away at the foliage and over the gentle breeze laughter rang out from the children playing in the shallow pond in the distance.
As I drove up past the information board two people came into sight holding hands, the couple was taking a casual stroll down the road in the 100° heat. I had arrived at this oasis in the desert, a welcome home for hipsters, hippies, and freethinking types comfortable with everything around them. The first people I interacted with were two women towing a trailer behind their SUV which had inconveniently broke down in the middle of the road, I got out and helped them get on their way and found my way to a campsite nestled in the mesquite trees. Over my shoulder I watched as the burros chomped away at the foliage and over the gentle breeze laughter rang out from the children playing in the shallow pond in the distance.
In northwest Death Valley is a blank spot on the park service map that is not really mentioned in detail. The rangers are reluctant to talk about it, and directions are not readily published. It is out here that a unique community has formed. Saline Valley was once inhabited by the Timbisha Shoshone Indians and their petroglyphs are scattered around the valley depicting their stories; the settlement was abandoned in the early 20th century about the time European settlers appeared in earnest for mineral exploration and salt mining. The valley was a regional mineral resource with borax and almost pure salt being mined from the lakebed, and gold mines poking holes in the rugged mountain sides. Running from 1913 to 1936 the tramway that transported salt from the valley to nearby Owens Valley was the steepest ever constructed in the United States, the remains of the salt operations and tramway are still visible.
The Saline Valley salt works and tramway.
Aside from the history and the rugged beauty of the area, the real reason I came this far was to visit the hot springs. It is a committing trip requiring 4wd, desert sense, and some fortitude. The rugged rutted and severely washboarded road serve as a filter to all but the most committed and prepared; though the occasional misguided tourist finds their way in. Flat tires are common and though I was fortunate to not suffer any casualties I heard of at least 9 vehicles with flats and one vehicle/trailer combo getting three on the way in. There was a cracked oil pan on one truck and a van full of Japanese tourists who arrived almost out of gas. The camp host has the necessities to bail people out of tight binds but he is not a service station. If it weren't for him there would be much more crises and unwanted press.
A Model T Ford driven down from Oregon. A fitting vehicle for the roads and area.
The springs weren’t unheard of, but in the 1960s a semi-permanent encampment was constructed at the lower and middle of the three springs. In the early 1990s when the National Park Service annexed the area into Death Valley National Park the camps were disbanded and the area cleaned up. This area is not listed on any of the NPS maps, or most any other map, it is found via word-of-mouth or diligent research. There are articles from big-name newspapers and turn-by-turn directions posted on blogs elsewhere, but I’m slightly disinclined to give my take on directions as it doesn’t need to get overly crowded.
The community here is welcoming and though it is cyclic with people coming and going, there are plenty of folks who have been coming here for decades that know each other. The people range in occupations from lift attendants at nearby Mammoth Mountain to students, doctors, professors, engineers, musicians, and retirees. It takes a certain type of person to get here and everyone is of that mindset regardless. It was interesting to see people come in, like me, for the first time and watch them start to take it all in. It’s a trek to the springs, but one that has pleasant rewards. After hours of travel through kidney-wrenching washboard and rocks, the palms and pools in front of you - with the open expanses of the desert as the backdrop - are a welcome satisfying relief and sight for sore eyes, butt, and back. There are multiple pools for soaking, lawns, showers, a communal dining area, and sinks for dishes. I quickly made friends and felt welcome as I bounced around from group to group listening and learning about the area and hearing wonderful stories. Jumping in and helping out with chores where I could surprised many of the community that has been coming for years, but I understand just how this place keeps on going. Everything is maintained by volunteers, whether it is maintaining drainage ditches, cleaning bathrooms, trimming the palms, or cleaning up the pools everyone is encouraged to pitch in.
Floating in a tub fed by a warm crystalline spring while staring off at the Inyo Mountains was relaxing and rewarding. I haven’t really unwound from the trials and tribulations in my life for a very long time, and was really able to really unwind and relax. The common grassy area was always buzzing with folks coming and going. People did their own thing, sitting in groups talking, playing games, sunbathing, yoga, and meditating. It was a pleasant experience just people watching and relaxing. This hidden gem in the desert will forever be a destination of mine.
My Mountain Life Cofession
I’ve been climbing, backpacking, and skiing for longer than I can remember; yet perhaps my reasons for doing so have varied over time. Early on, the simple practicality of it was to get out and enjoy the mountain lifestyle with my parents, but now there is plenty of evidence that I do it for the moments of exultation and sheer joy. To say that there aren’t moments of fear and timidity would be a detraction to the real dangers involved. Whether seeking out the easiest passage through mountain barriers or figuring out a perplexing puzzle on a sport route, there are indeed few in this world who may be tempted to clamber higher for no more reason than the thrill of the morning, or for elevation and prospect and the satisfaction of doing what few have done before. The few who understand this are climbers like me.
I’ve been climbing, backpacking, and skiing for longer than I can remember; yet perhaps my reasons for doing so have varied over time. Early on, the simple practicality of it was to get out and enjoy the mountain lifestyle with my parents, but now there is plenty of evidence that I do it for the moments of exultation and sheer joy. To say that there aren’t moments of fear and timidity would be a detraction to the real dangers involved. Whether seeking out the easiest passage through mountain barriers or figuring out a perplexing puzzle at an airport, there are indeed few in this world who may be tempted to clamber higher or further for no more reason than the thrill of the morning, or for elevation and prospect and the satisfaction of doing what few have done before. The few who understand this are adventurous like me.
I have been inspired for this obsession by my parents and owe them for it. My first foray into the wild bounds and into the mountains started at six-months old, where, secured to my mothers’ back I was taken into the Sierra Nevada and it was there among those mountains that my life, obviously, was forever influenced. The lunacy took hold, however, slowly at first but gathering momentum as I grew up. I distinctly remember reading and looking at my father’s Freedom of the Hills over and over, in amazement over the cartoonish diagrams and vast information contained therein, and secretly yearned to get out and experience what those cartoons were depicting. When given the opportunity I took it upon myself to experiment with various methods and slowly learned how to keep myself safe. I was young, naïve, and invincible; impervious to anything that would have killed me or caused me harm and every foray into the mountains was always about having fun and making the most of the moment.
A time came when I could see myself living in the hills free from the constraints of urban life, able to do as I pleased and go where I wanted to. The mountains, valleys, and great precipices were becoming my home. Then reality sunk in and I was off to become a productive member of society. It was here that I was able to fully embrace the climbing culture and slowly make my way through the ranks to the mediocrity of my life now. I tackle many obstacles routinely, though reaching the top of a mountain generates challenge and excitement, regardless of the route taken. I recall a time when climbing the many peaks, ridges, and precipices was but a remote thought.
It is experiences that bring people together, create memories, and bonds us to those who we explore with. Without interaction we might be left wandering aimlessly amongst the hills in confusion as to what to do. I have been fortunate enough to find natural beauty in some incredible places with very memorable people. Through my travels I have gained a wealth of knowledge that would have taken centuries to acquire on my own had it not been for the insightful interactions with the many experienced people with whom I've come across.
My draw to the outdoors is the commitment to the unknown and what it may bring. I have experienced countless adventures and general outdoor pursuits on five continents and numerous countries; and have explored beyond what I ever dreamed of. Each place has a familiarity to it while at the same time being a completely new experience. I know that the farther I get into this mountain lifestyle there becomes more that I could learn. It’s often not about the movements, but about the journey getting there. And so far it’s been an interesting one.
