2005 - Spring - Wrong Canyon, Right Karma |
Death Valley offered a rare chance to see the full bloom under a full moon in late March.
I planned a 3-day, 30+ mile loop hike that starts up Cottonwood Canyon to year round springs. The second day called for another 10 miles over open desert, crossing over 2 drainages to drop down to Dead Horse Springs, all off trail. The final leg follows Dead Horse Canyon into Marble Canyon , slicing through millions of years of geology before returning the weary hiker to his truck…and a lukewarm beer.
On the cross country phase, I walked though an endless carpet of yellow flowers. I stalked a wild stallion, startled courting chukkars, and admired the cocky ravens. I also realized that my crummy topo map and flimsy written directions were pretty vague. Surely enough, I found the first pass, crossed the first ridgeline, made a bad guess, and then plunged steeply into an unnamed canyon. It is no longer unnamed. I have now christened it “Wrong Canyon.”
I kept thinking that just around the bend, it would veer north, and I’d be drinking spring water by sundown. Wrong Canyon did tease the compass a few times, but by the time it turned definitively South, I was plenty tired and had been walking 9 hours. When you see something pretty, it can’t really a mistake, right? Wrong Canyon is an austere, beautiful place, but humans can’t get down the dry falls, so I stayed there for the night. After a flamboyant moonset the following morning, I retraced my steps uphill. Before scrambling out of the wash to make another pass at the ridge, I looked at my ambivalent footprints, then scraped a big “NO!” in the sand.
I planned a 3-day, 30+ mile loop hike that starts up Cottonwood Canyon to year round springs. The second day called for another 10 miles over open desert, crossing over 2 drainages to drop down to Dead Horse Springs, all off trail. The final leg follows Dead Horse Canyon into Marble Canyon , slicing through millions of years of geology before returning the weary hiker to his truck…and a lukewarm beer.
On the cross country phase, I walked though an endless carpet of yellow flowers. I stalked a wild stallion, startled courting chukkars, and admired the cocky ravens. I also realized that my crummy topo map and flimsy written directions were pretty vague. Surely enough, I found the first pass, crossed the first ridgeline, made a bad guess, and then plunged steeply into an unnamed canyon. It is no longer unnamed. I have now christened it “Wrong Canyon.”
I kept thinking that just around the bend, it would veer north, and I’d be drinking spring water by sundown. Wrong Canyon did tease the compass a few times, but by the time it turned definitively South, I was plenty tired and had been walking 9 hours. When you see something pretty, it can’t really a mistake, right? Wrong Canyon is an austere, beautiful place, but humans can’t get down the dry falls, so I stayed there for the night. After a flamboyant moonset the following morning, I retraced my steps uphill. Before scrambling out of the wash to make another pass at the ridge, I looked at my ambivalent footprints, then scraped a big “NO!” in the sand.
Later, I was sitting back at my truck, savoring the memories of wildflowers and waterfalls, pale petroglyphs and purple phacelia, while the sun slowly sank. My only regret was discovering that my sleeping pad, a present from my daughter, Aimee, had slipped silently out of its straps. Gone.
Well into the darkness, two 20-something guys with headlamps came walking wearily down the wash toward the truck. I asked if they did the Cottonwood-Marble loop and if they could use a beer. “Yeah! We were just, like, saying if you were going to offer us a beer.”
I commented that they must have had a really long day, to which they replied, “Yeah…but it would have been a whole lot worse. We were, like, lost, man. I mean, we were, like, walking forever down this canyon, like following these footprints, but then we see this big “NO!” sign in the sand, and man, like, that saved our butts.”
When I revealed that I was the author of the “NO” sign, we slapped way high fives. One of the guys said, “Man, like, that’s great karma. Like, you get us on the right track, and then you give us a beer. By the way, you didn’t lose a bedroll, did you?”
“How could you tell?”
He said, “Did it look like this?” He opened his pack and pulled it out. At that point, the only juice suitable to match the karmic flow was Primitivo, and it came to pass…. You can have some, too.
Well into the darkness, two 20-something guys with headlamps came walking wearily down the wash toward the truck. I asked if they did the Cottonwood-Marble loop and if they could use a beer. “Yeah! We were just, like, saying if you were going to offer us a beer.”
I commented that they must have had a really long day, to which they replied, “Yeah…but it would have been a whole lot worse. We were, like, lost, man. I mean, we were, like, walking forever down this canyon, like following these footprints, but then we see this big “NO!” sign in the sand, and man, like, that saved our butts.”
When I revealed that I was the author of the “NO” sign, we slapped way high fives. One of the guys said, “Man, like, that’s great karma. Like, you get us on the right track, and then you give us a beer. By the way, you didn’t lose a bedroll, did you?”
“How could you tell?”
He said, “Did it look like this?” He opened his pack and pulled it out. At that point, the only juice suitable to match the karmic flow was Primitivo, and it came to pass…. You can have some, too.