Death Valley’s Cool Side

The Arizona Republic, March 18, 2007
© Chris Ryan

Story and photo by Chris Ryan
Special for The Republic

A parched landscape bakes under the heat of a merciless sun.  An unlucky motorist stands by an overheated car on the side of a shimmering desert road.

Death Valley – the national park, established in 1933, covering almost 3,000 square miles and stretching into southern Nevada – brings such scenes to mind, but there’s another Death Valley, one not about heat and survival but about exploring one of the country’s most stark and stunning landscapes without courting sunstroke.  It’s Death Valley in winte and spring.

In summer, Death Valley earns its forbidding name with temperatures topping 125 ºF.  (In 1913, a temperature of 134 degrees was recorded in the area.)  Even the wildlife can’t bear the heat; kangaroo rats and sidewinders pass the day underground.  Some humans, though, aren’t so deterred by the heat, as I learned from that rich tap of information, the local bartender.

I stumbled upon the bar (a saloon, really) in the town of Stovepipe Wells, the first chance to wet your whistle as you enter the park from the west.  A true one-horse town, Stovepipe is little more than a motel, restaurant, campground, and gas station.  As I nursed a cheap whiskey, the barman revealed how popular Death Valley’s inhospitality is, particularly for visitors from Europe.  Many summer guests, he said, come for the novelty of experiencing the hottest part of the continent at the hottest time of year.

But the other Death Valley emerges around November, when the heat chasers have checked out, the adventure writers have moved on, and daytime highs have dropped to more humane levels.

Lowest golf course

Driving towards the Park on a damp November night, it was hard to imagine the heat that makes the place so infamous.  Snow fell wet against my windshield and each pass of the wipers revealed a snowier landscape in the beams of my headlights.  I was crossing the Panamint Range, the barrier that in 1849 hindered the exit of a band of gold seekers.  Their experiences inspired the valley’s hopeless name.  (Stories from that period tell of only one Death in Death Valley itself, but the hardships experienced led many to believe they would die there.)

Just minutes later – and 5,000 feet lower – rain bathed my car as I sped through the valley on a dead straight road.  I had arrived at Stovepipe Wells, melted snow dripping from the wheel wells of my truck.  The town seemed empty; the RV park sprawled like an abandoned drive-in theater.

Altitude zero, temperature 55 degrees.  This was hospitable Death Valley.

A few miles beyond Stovepipe (and about 200 feet below sea level) lies Furnace Creek, the center of human activity in the park.  Guests can choose between camp or RV sites, a motel, an upscale inn – or, like me, can venture into the backcountry.  But first you can learn about moving rocks, roadrunners, and ‘49ers at the visitor center, take in some history at the Borax Museum, or swing some iron at what is billed as “the world’s lowest golf course” (18 holes, 214 feet below sea level).

If getting away from civilization is your goal, you have your choice of nine more campgrounds spread throughout the park, as well as the sprawling backcountry.  I opted for a cross between wilderness and convenience by accessing the backcountry with my four-wheel drive.  Numerous canyons extend west up into the Panamints, and once you’re a few miles from the main road, you’re free to camp nearly anywhere.

11,000-foot peaks

At the visitor center I bought a good topo map and picked a side valley, Hanupah Canyon, that the ranger predicted I would have to myself.  For the next hour I drove along the lowest stretch of Earth in the western hemisphere, nearly 300 feet below sea level.  A flat sea of salt and cracked earth spread for miles around, and the mountains seemed to float on top of wavy lakes created by mirage.

After turning off the valley road, there were still several miles of rising terrain before the mouth of the canyon.  I was driving up a vast alluvial fan, a scree field five miles long and nearly 2,000 feet high, the rocky deposits from centuries of rain, erosion, and gravity.

When I reached the top I got out and turned around.  Only here, looking out over the orange-pink valley, far from the campgrounds and RVs, did I notice the haunting whistle of the open wind and feel the heady exhilaration of space and solitude.

Temporary Intrusion

I climbed back in and descended the rugged trail into the dry riverbed.  For the next three days, it would be mine – nearly.  I pitched a tent and spent the mild daylight hours exploring the canyon and hillsides, photographing skyscapes, and enjoying the solitude.  It was the perfect antidote to the winter blues.

The spell broke the next afternoon when a pair of dirtbikes whined up the road below my camp.  But once their bikes could go no farther they turned around and sped out, leaving me once again with a canyon all my own.

Whether you pick your own canyon or your own campsite, Death Valley’s stark beauty will lure you its cooler months will entice you to explore it by foot.

Your gaze drops from snow-capped peaks as high as 11,000 (Telescope Peak is 11,049 feet) to 200 feet below sea level in a single glance.  Wave upon wave of sand dunes catch the clear light.  On the eastern side of the valley, a short drive takes you to hills that seem splattered with paint spilled by giants.  But this is no illusion – the pinks, greens, yellows, and purples that color the volcanic deposits at Artist’s Palette are naturally occurring iron salts, manganese and decomposing mica.  The same colors echo throughout the valley on a grander scale.

Triple Digits in May

One of the best spots to see them is Zabriskie Point, a Martian landscape of multi-colored, dramatically eroded badlands.  In summer you’d need an air conditioned space suit to walk around for long.  But this time of year, you can comfortably inhale the mild desert air and take your time strolling the trails or awaiting the perfect photograph.

You can easily reach these sites by car, but much of Death Valley’s beauty lies away from its roads.  Numerous hikes take you through dramatic canyons, past dark, volcanic craters, and to spectacular views of the valley and its surrounding peaks.

Of course, you can do some of these things any time of year.  But to get out of your car and close to Death Valley’s extreme beauty and solitude, you need to go between November and April.  Take your time wandering the sand dunes, exploring the exotic landscape or basking in the desert solitude.

But don’t linger too long.  Come May, temperatures will return to triple digits and Death Valley’s temporary hospitality will quickly dissolve into shimmering waves of heat.