The westward course of bathtub rings (Potash, Utah)

Where does salt come from? And how can I never have wondered that before? The bathtub ring of Lake Mead and the westward course of empire should have got me thinking about this sooner.

Caruthers Canyon

Towards the New York Mountains

A spring weekend morning, an unexplored road, and a 4x4 with new tyres is a sure recipe for happiness. The trusty 'Hiking in the Mojave Desert' won, yet again, with another spot-on recommendation. 

Caruthers Canyon reminds me of very old descriptions of canyons in the desert southwest - the isolation and unspoiled beauty, the trees, flowers and peacefulness. (Probably those 19th and early 20th century authors did not have the near-constant noise of planes overhead though.) 

She gets a bit bumpy aye.

We could camp here. Look! It has a table!

This haven of pine trees, granite, and wildflowers is just three hours from home. Two of those are over dirt roads, of which some are graded and not too washboardy, and some are tracks that would make you yelp. (Barreeeee!) 

We picnicked in the shade of an oak tree. These desert species are non-deciduous and have sturdy little leaves, almost like holly leaves. The warm sun on nearby junipers made a fragrant accompaniment.

Then we walked up the track to the camping - and immediately wished we had driven up there before lunch. The pines shelter a few primitive campsites, and the granite outcrops are all sorts of picturesque. There are grizzly-bear-prickly-pears sprawling low to the ground, and stony hills rising on three sides. 

We could buy it. Look! It has a wall!

On the way out from the canyon, we saw 20 acres for sale and had to be quite stern with each other. We already own an ample number of tumbledown out-of-the-way properties. (Surely just one more couldn't hurt?)

Our drive home took us along the Mojave Road, a 500-year old trail westwards through the desert. In many places it is sunken six feet or more below the level of the surrounding desert, and you have the feeling of being immersed, or of tunneling through sand. And my word, but the Mojave is astounding in bloom this year. Hillsides purple with sage or golden with - eh, IDK, yellow flowers, I guess. Lots of globe mallow making fields of orange, and splashes of day-glo cactus blooms and paintbrush.

There's something soul-cleansing about being out in the middle of that rich dense everything, all calmly going about its normal occasions. Sometimes it's even enough to last me all week.   

One up, one down, no tarantulas (Boy Scout and Sloan Canyons)

Truth in advertising

Two canyon hikes a couple of weekends ago. Neither of these are ever likely to set the pond on fire, but I love them both for peace and solitude, for the utter off-grid stillness of the desert ... give or take a plane or two and sporadic gunfire. They also both feature a slog uphill through ankle-deep loose gravel, sand, or both, which is a reasonable workout.

Sloan Canyon is less than 20 minutes' drive away from home to the trailer that houses the 'visitor contact station'. One small claim to fame is that you can't get there from here, according to Maps. It has an island of paved road but you have to cross to it on unmarked dirt roads that are really just construction tracks for a new mega-subdivision. Having found the contact station and parked, you walk up a not-too-steep wash, the walls rising steadily higher. One turn, two, and the city is left behind.

Last turn before the city disappears

Petroglyphs

Looking up the canyon

Mosaic Canyon, Death Valley,
walking up the 30+ foot long marble slide.
Yes, I slid back down. No, there is no photographic evidence

This canyon is noted for the variety and profusion of its petroglyphs from several cultures and periods, probably the closest place to Vegas where you can see such a number of them. I was struck by their being out in the open - most of the petroglyphs I've seen so far are under rock overhangs or otherwise sheltered.

Another really cool thing about Sloan Canyon is its rock slides - not as in landslides, but as in slides made of rock, polished by water as it roars down in flash floods. They're not as extensive as the marble one at Mosaic Canyon in Death Valley ... but on the other hand,

Slide at Sloan Canyon - approx 7 feet tall

they're a lot closer to home. And you can slide right down them. It is a lot of fun.

The park ranger at the contact station thought we might see tarantulas - it was the time of year where they're out and about. He showed us a photo of one on his phone, taken just outside the door. Well, we didn't. I guess all those fierce critters are pretty rare, really. I've still only seen tarantulas and scorpions in captivity, and rattlesnakes in the freezer at El Dorado Canyon (yeah, thereby hangs another tale). Anyone who knows me knows I'm not the world's keenest arachnophile, but I will admit to being curious to see one in the wild. (On an intellectual level, that is. If and when, I'll probably have nightmares after.)

Descending into Boy Scout Canyon. This is the first spot that
Harry would have really objected to

Boy Scout Canyon is less well known - it's in one of our guide books, and it has hot springs that we didn't get to yet but will one day. It's further east and involves a drive down dirt roads around the edge of a local gun club's firing range. You start driving down a wash, and go as far as your vehicle can - not far, for a 2wd passenger car that you care about at all. We parked, laced our boots and walked.

It's pretty plain at first sight and even at second. But look closely, and the high walls are full of long slow stories of accretion, of persistence, of cataclysm. The sky looks impossibly blue against the purplish brown of the hills. We keep stopping to look at the shapes of the rocks, and glitter of small crystals among them - at a nook in the canyon wall with shrubs in natural bonsai - at ripples in the alluvium where it's been stirred by wind and water, braided with trails.

We didn't see any animal bigger than a lizard throughout our walk down and in, back up and out. That includes humans - there were bootprints, but we had the place to ourselves. Your own footsteps scraping through the loose underfoot, your own voice and gentle breathing sound in your ears, so you stop, hold your breath a moment, and the silence is so deep you can hear your heartbeat. Cellphone reception? Nope. Just us - and distant echoing reports of people firing their weapons. Just as well. We might have thought we'd stumbled into paradise.

Sunset, looking towards the Black Mountains and McCullough Hills