Katie Is Back... AGAIN!
Wow, someone not only read my last blog entry, but actually commented on it. Now I find it necessary to continue into a second blog entry with observations from my trip to Death Valley.
First, I visited the China Ranch Date Farm, as did [URL="https://www.city-data.com/forum/members/happyup-1328028.html"]happyup[/URL], the poster who commented on my last blog post. It would be tough to find an apparently successful business more remote than the China Ranch Date Farm. First, the traveler has to go out into the middle of dusty nowhere in the eastern California desert. From there, it's a winding dirt road another two or three additional miles. Once beyond the last curve in the narrow road, the excursionist comes upon what seems to be a large oasis. Pull into the gravel parking lot slowly and you'll see chirping quail running for cover. The tiny store sells various date-based foods, most made right on the premises. The date milkshakes are a mandatory purchase, and they made my sidetrip worthwhile.
Following my escapade to the date farm, I made my way up to Death Valley Junction. Death Valley Junction is basically a ghost town with a working stage theater called the Armagosa Opera House. An elderly lady, Marta Becket, who used to be a New York ballerina, still puts on weekend shows, just as she has since 1967. Marta has a cult following. The other time I was in the area, several years ago, I went to one of her performances.
After leaving Death Valley Junction, I made my way into Death Valley National Park. My first stop was a little turn-off called Ashford Mill. There are some photogenic adobe ruins there, and I was finally able to get out of the car and do some hiking. The floor of Death Valley can reach a broiling 130 in the summer. But in the winter the average high temperature is a heavenly 70-something.
I stayed two days at the Furnace Creek Ranch, and one night up at the facilities at Stovepipe Wells, about 25 miles further north.
While at Stovepipe Wells, I went on a Ranger-led night hike through the marvelous sand dunes. The theme of the ranger program was "Animals At Night", or something like that. About a dozen of us met in the parking lot at dusk and then proceeded out into the dunes.
At this point you might expect some interesting insight into the desert at night. But no, I'm not going to do that. I'm going to talk about the farting that virtually everyone on the hike was expelling. It made the hike far more curious than what any wild animals could ever make it. It felt almost as if I were the silent member of a kazoo band marching across the sand dunes in darkness. Fortunately there was a breeze that made the sound the only unpleasant factor. Needless to say, we saw no animals. They were probably scared off. The only thing I could figure is that the one restaurant within twenty-five miles was serving a popular bean-based entree.
My last day in the park I went to a place called the Devil's Golf Course, located in the middle of the huge valley and connected to the main road by a long, dusty sideroad. Devil's Golf Course is not a golf course by any stretch of the imagination. It's a place where the ground is flat, crusty, and salt-white for almost as far as the eye can see. I was there alone and as I stopped and gazed in every direction across the immense, flat valley floor, I realized that I could bellow whatever I wanted and I could be absolutely certain that no one could hear me. It was an odd realization and I wondered how many such places exist on dry land. A flat terrain with no trees, no bushes, and no man-made structures within shouting distance.
I laughingly shouted out an obscenity. I then climbed into my car, and began my journey back to my life in Yuma.
First, I visited the China Ranch Date Farm, as did [URL="https://www.city-data.com/forum/members/happyup-1328028.html"]happyup[/URL], the poster who commented on my last blog post. It would be tough to find an apparently successful business more remote than the China Ranch Date Farm. First, the traveler has to go out into the middle of dusty nowhere in the eastern California desert. From there, it's a winding dirt road another two or three additional miles. Once beyond the last curve in the narrow road, the excursionist comes upon what seems to be a large oasis. Pull into the gravel parking lot slowly and you'll see chirping quail running for cover. The tiny store sells various date-based foods, most made right on the premises. The date milkshakes are a mandatory purchase, and they made my sidetrip worthwhile.
Following my escapade to the date farm, I made my way up to Death Valley Junction. Death Valley Junction is basically a ghost town with a working stage theater called the Armagosa Opera House. An elderly lady, Marta Becket, who used to be a New York ballerina, still puts on weekend shows, just as she has since 1967. Marta has a cult following. The other time I was in the area, several years ago, I went to one of her performances.
After leaving Death Valley Junction, I made my way into Death Valley National Park. My first stop was a little turn-off called Ashford Mill. There are some photogenic adobe ruins there, and I was finally able to get out of the car and do some hiking. The floor of Death Valley can reach a broiling 130 in the summer. But in the winter the average high temperature is a heavenly 70-something.
I stayed two days at the Furnace Creek Ranch, and one night up at the facilities at Stovepipe Wells, about 25 miles further north.
While at Stovepipe Wells, I went on a Ranger-led night hike through the marvelous sand dunes. The theme of the ranger program was "Animals At Night", or something like that. About a dozen of us met in the parking lot at dusk and then proceeded out into the dunes.
At this point you might expect some interesting insight into the desert at night. But no, I'm not going to do that. I'm going to talk about the farting that virtually everyone on the hike was expelling. It made the hike far more curious than what any wild animals could ever make it. It felt almost as if I were the silent member of a kazoo band marching across the sand dunes in darkness. Fortunately there was a breeze that made the sound the only unpleasant factor. Needless to say, we saw no animals. They were probably scared off. The only thing I could figure is that the one restaurant within twenty-five miles was serving a popular bean-based entree.
My last day in the park I went to a place called the Devil's Golf Course, located in the middle of the huge valley and connected to the main road by a long, dusty sideroad. Devil's Golf Course is not a golf course by any stretch of the imagination. It's a place where the ground is flat, crusty, and salt-white for almost as far as the eye can see. I was there alone and as I stopped and gazed in every direction across the immense, flat valley floor, I realized that I could bellow whatever I wanted and I could be absolutely certain that no one could hear me. It was an odd realization and I wondered how many such places exist on dry land. A flat terrain with no trees, no bushes, and no man-made structures within shouting distance.
I laughingly shouted out an obscenity. I then climbed into my car, and began my journey back to my life in Yuma.
Total Comments 0
