[Zabriskie Point - Death Valley, California]
What is profoundly lost in a maze of multicolored striations? A waypoint for the uninitiated. The weight of the “real world” and its many obligations for those seeking to be grounded. The relative obscurity of the badlands provides the necessary ingredients for a complete and utter recharge of the soul. If that is what is sought. It is the intentionality of the situation that determines the frame of mind used to contemplate surroundings.
To some, there may not be much to discern. These hills, unlike most other desert places, can aptly be described as stark. To use that word is not to say that there is no wonder to be found. It is to properly denote the lack of vegetation dotting the hillsides and thin trails. Not even creosote is abundant here. Desert Holly makes an occasional appearance, its silvery manifestation of life itself surviving where little can.
Life in the desert can be elusive. In the badlands beyond Zabriskie Point, this principle is emphasized ever so subtly. However, if there is a conclusion to be extracted from this, do not allow it to be associated with a dearth of reverence. There exists a pervasive misguidance with regard to desert places. The crux of the issue is an all too common belief that our charismatic locales, with more readily apparent flora and fauna, are inherently more valuable. The difference, from our human perspective, is in the eye of the beholder. It takes a trained gaze , an excess of patience, and a cautious disposition in order to uncover the true value of the badlands beyond Zabriskie Point, a value that extends to other lands deemed lifeless by the masses.
Deep into the Valley of Death I drift aimlessly. I wonder aloud why we hold a landscape responsible for our mistakes as humans, affixing a name seeped in morbidity to a palace so special. Sacred even. From the Timbisha Shoshone who have stewarded this land for generations, to the lonely desert traveler who traverses its innumerable paths to nowhere, the importance of place as vital to the human spirit is found here. In the lowest, driest place on the continent. In the hottest place on Earth.
I like to think that such markers serve to construct a veil of inhospitality to deter all but the most ambitious venturer. As if the Valley itself was saying “bring me your hardened travelers, your wanderers both weary and determined, battle tested by the desert’s scorn. Only then will I allow my true grandeur to be revealed”.
Death Valley is no secret in the modern day. The crowds filling up the parking lot and crowding the overlook at Zabriskie Point to catch the sunrise say more than words can ever describe regarding the current state of visitation. One might say the veil has been lifted entirely. The specter of intimidation is no longer as it once was. The desert is no longer a daunting vision of endless sun-baked playas and perpetual mirages steering the foolish traveler towards their inevitable demise. Our collective psyche has shifted. And yet still, just one wrong move: a hand placed into the wrong crevasse, an ill-packed supply of water running out, a flat tire during a searing Summer day, and life, in a flash, can no longer be taken for granted.
It’s not a straightforward negotiation, this uneasy mix of historical aversion, recent popularity, beauty, and the possibility of real danger in an extreme environment. In a way it amplifies the intrigue of the locale. It’s all cyclical really. It may appear unchanged over the course of a human lifespan. Yet change is the only constant, compounding over the years, decades, centuries, millennia, until the landscape bears hardly any recognition to its former state of existence. There are no exceptions to this universal rule. Not even for The Valley. So savor the time we have to commune with the land, to recognize appreciatively the frailty of its manifested likeness and characteristics. Stand ready at the point of awestruck reality, taking stock of what truly matters. Then go forth, unwaveringly, into the badlands.
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