On my way to Death Valley were palm trees and Joshua Trees. After that, there was nothing except desert sage covered in dust, making everything a monotone beige. Then there wasn’t even that.
One can’t help but think of the famous Christian biblical passage when driving into Death Valley, “…into the valley of the shadow of death….” Or is that just me?
My drive into Death Valley National Park was about five hours long through the Mohave Desert, so the roads were lined with desert vistas. Wide open, sandy spaces with random Joshua Trees, sage brush, creosote, cactus, and rocks.
As I debated my fear in the previous days, I nearly didn’t visit, almost talking myself out of the trip. But a name is just a name, surely, and I was no more likely to die there than anywhere. At least, that’s what I told myself as I traveled alone into the wasteland. I’d been traveling alone and sleeping in my van at National Parks for a few months by this point, but still it was not something I got used to. As a woman alone, worry was my constant companion.
Death Valley National Park
Once I neared the park, the landscape became more desolate. It didn’t seem possible, but I watched it happen—the thought of turning around at the top of my mind. The space between developments and people became wider apart until there was no more developed space, just an open desert.
It occurred to me then, as in the past, that if you walked just a quarter-mile into this open land, though it may only be covered by low-lying desert sage, you could never be seen again. Indeed, if you needed to hide or lose something in one of these places, it would never be found.
Then the road became significantly less defined and broken, and I wondered if I’d turned the wrong way in the last several turns. I’d lost my cell signal several miles behind me, so I was going on, hoping that my screenshot maps would lead me in. Now, I was getting nervous.
Finally, just before my imagination got the best of me, I saw the sign for Death Valley National Park. My imagination goes wild sometimes, and the desert alone is no place for it.
Wildrose Campground
I’ve been to over a dozen national parks, and each one is unique. Their level of accessibility and commercialization varies widely. There are parks like Yellowstone, or Zion, which are highly commercial, cultivated and developed. Then there are parks like Death Valley that are so remote and desolate that you might not be sure you’re in a national park if it weren’t for the signs.
It’s remote, and where I entered in the far southwest corner, the most remote of all. But there was a campsite, and despite the lack of civilization, I hoped it would serve me for the night.
As I made my way into the canyon, a gravel road lined with Mesquite bushes and rolling hills greeted me. I arrived at my campsite about an hour before sunset. I was relieved to see several other camps already occupied. People, in this instance, were a welcome sight. Since it was a free site, it was first come, first serve, so I grabbed a spot instead of roaming the park and possibly getting lost in the dark.
The area is prone to high winds, the national park service warns. Desert winds are a unique challenge as they’re also likely to blind you with sand as they are to unstake your tent. My van, though, makes camp easy. All I have to do is park. It is pitifully small, but I have a bed and all I need inside.
Wild Burros in Death Valley
The harsh elements aren’t the only thing in this area to worry about. There are also wild donkeys.
I noticed an extensive amount of horse manure on the road and thought it was odd. National parks are usually pretty clean, but then I read a sign about the wild burros that ran amuck in this park area.
The Death Valley burro story is exciting and sad. The National Park Service said this “Invasive burro” population isn’t native to the park. It was introduced by miners who used the animals to pull wagons many years ago and left the beasts in this desolate valley to die when the mines were abandoned. Somehow, instead of dying, the burro found a way to survive, and their numbers grew about 20% per year.
Not only do they leave excrement everywhere, but they also damage native vegetation and ecosystems and compete with native species like bighorn sheep and desert tortoises for limited resources. What’s worse, these wild burros travel in packs and can be aggressive. There’s nothing like a pack of vigilante wild donkeys roaming your campsite to keep you up at night.
Death Valley International Dark Sky
There were about 10 occupied sites, and everyone was quiet like we are at all campgrounds in national parks. Death Valley is also an International Dark Sky Park, so there were no fires, and the lantern bulbs were red so as not to compete with the light of the stars.
Soon, the massive ball of fire in the sky began to set behind the nearby Sierra Nevada mountains to the west. There is nothing in the world like a desert sunset. No other place morphs so entirely in the transition between night and day as a place like this one.
There’s an excellent scientific explanation for why desert sunsets are more spectacular than anywhere else. It is the general lack of pollution from fewer humans and lower water vapor, making the atmosphere clearer than in other places.
Once, many years ago, I had a t-shirt with a colorful pink, purple and orange sunset on a black background. In tiny crystals across the chest read, “Death Valley.” I loved that shirt and couldn’t believe a sunset could look that way. I’d thought it was exaggerated.
Desert Sunsets
But, as I sat on the hood of my van, watching the golden sun sink behind the mountain until it was gone, that picture became real. The sky morphed so that every minute it was different.
First, it was pale yellow darkening to orange, then lines of color began to form into a deeper orange bordering on red. As the sun departed, the sky seemed for a few moments to expand, so the colors reached more of it. Blue and pink and finally purple blended with the orange in perfect layers of majesty.
It was captivating. This was why I’d made the long drive alone through the desert.
Slowly, the colors dimmed, and purple and blue took over, growing darker and darker until it was all indigo. Then, like pinpricks, glowing white dots started to appear one by one.
The stars somehow were bigger and closer than they should have been. Even though I was at the lowest elevation in the United States, the stars seemed almost touchable.
Without the sun or any humidity, it quickly became cold, and I fell asleep to the glow of the stars until the clouds came in and covered them.
Charcoal Kilns
When the sun rose, I quickly made my coffee, conducted my morning rituals, and promptly drove off in the opposite direction from which I intended.
But this misdirection led me to the Charcoal Kilns, and I am glad for it. It was 7 am, and I was the only person on the long winding road in the cold morning. The road had turned to dirt, and I was about to turn around when the massive beehive-like structures appeared.
American Indian, Hispanic and Chinese workers built a dozen 25-feet-tall kilns in 1877 to provide a fuel source for two lead-silver mine smelters nearby.
The kilns, big enough to hold an elephant, were eerie in the cold morning light, and though I walked in front of each of them, I wouldn’t go beyond their doorways. Still, even after all these years, their interiors smelled like burnt creosote, a sort of citrus pine, and there was something strange about that, so I stayed back.
Afterward, I turned back and got on the correct road right next to my campground—palm to forehead. I stopped to take a few pictures and, hearing a burro braying in the distance, quickly hopped back in the van. I grabbed my binoculars, but I couldn’t find the source of the noise. Part of me wanted to see them, of course, and the smartert part didn’t want to be anywhere near these mutant, desert-thriving aggressive donkeys.
Death Valley Desert Roads
The park is enormous, but the landscape is so captivating it goes by in a quick shocking moment. There are many different types of strange geology to see – that’s why many movies, like Stars Wars, have been filmed in the park. Massive sand dunes, deep craters, and salt flats go for miles. It’s a perfect description of what other planets must look like.
I was stunned, too, by the dramatic changes in temperature. On the fall day I was there; the desert air went from the mid-40s to 90 degrees. It fluctuated anywhere between, depending on the time of day and my elevation.
Death Valley Sand Dunes
Less than one percent of the Mohave desert is covered with dunes. In Death Valley, I learned that the dunes exist only in places with a lot of sand, wind, and area to settle or be trapped, which, in this park or any, is a rare combination, making the dunes incredibly unique.
In Death Valley, there are a few different dunes, but the easiest to get to and access are the Mesquite Sand Dunes in the Stovepipe area of the park. They even allow “sandboarding,” but there wasn’t anyone doing it when I was there. The other dunes require long drives and hikes, but if you have the time and ambition, it might be worth it.
Hiking Golden Canyon
I didn’t plan on doing a lot of hiking but wanted to spend some time on my feet in the desert, so I chose the Golden Canyon. There is a labyrinth of golden-colored (surprise) hills and narrow canyons you can trek through for a few miles. It’s nice because the trails are pretty straightforward and get you out in the desert environment without too much chance of getting lost.
The trails’ paths were obvious – it’s a canyon unless you’re climbing a rock wall and have nothing to do except stay on the path. Also, the height of the canyon provides some shade, so a great hike to do. Plus, there were plenty of other people in and around the trails, so you’re never outside of shouting distance.
Artist Drive & Palette
A popular drive nearby is the Artist Palette. Red slashes like blood, splatters of green, and drops of orange and gold dot the landscape along the multicolored cliffs of the artist drive.
It’s not visible from the main road through the park, but, near Golden Canyon they’ve paved a beautiful, smooth “Artist Drive” through narrow canyons along with the “Artist Palette.”
The narrow canyon roads are like a roller coaster ride. The rock colors, formed from different volcanic deposits like iron, chlorite, and others, along with the walls, create many different rock colors.
I watched social media influencers prance around in fancy, impractical dresses and one who nearly slipped over cliff. They never show you what it takes to get those photos.
Harmony Borax Works
I drove through the seemingly endless expanses, and again, nerves threatened to overtake me. People die in this park, lost on these roads without water under the relentless sun.
Soon, somewhere in the middle, I found the Harmony Borax Works and a few people to quiet my nerves. The park turned into a small historical interpretive center complete with an ancient mule-pulled train (that’s how the burros were introduced).
The mine was active for only a few years, from 1883 to 1888. Like most attempts at mining Death Valley, they quickly realized it was a nightmare without water and gave up (or were stopped by environmental protection acts). Their attempts left some incredible artifacts and unbelievable history to explore.
Badwater Basin
Later, after drinking half a gallon of water to be safe, I was standing in the Badwater Basin.
The Badwater Basin sits 282 feet below sea level and is the lowest elevation in the United States. Not only is it the lowest point, but it’s unique for another reason – it looks like it’s covered in snow – in the desert. But it isn’t snow. It’s salt.
I walked out into the expanse of it and turned to a giant cliff face behind me. High up so far, I could barely see it. There was a white sign hanging from the mountainside. It was so odd and out of place; I wondered what it said and how it got there. I zoomed in with my phone so that I could see it better. It read, “Sea Level.”
Over thousands of years, any rain in the area caused minerals to dissolve from the nearby rock and pool in the basin. When it dried up, all that was left was salt. Big granules of it cover the basin and make it white. It clung to my shoes enough to cover my floor mats. I was so, so tempted to taste it.
Searles Valley
After a full day exploring the park, I took the road home through the Searles Valley. Again, the long open roads were lonely, and I had to rely on my screenshot maps. These, though, are the drives of my imaginings: the wide-open west, all mine.
Then, I saw a tarantula cross the road, but I did not scream, like when I saw one in Joshua Tree. It’s amazing what humans can get used to. But this was the second tarantula I’d seen crossing the road recently, so I researched. Tarantulas mate in the fall and venture farther – even crossing roads – to find females. So, if you plan on visiting in the fall, know that.
As for me, I drove on and on down long desert roads heading southwest into the setting sun.
Read about other national parks I’ve visited here.
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