Joshua Tree Sunset

Joshua Tree Sunset
Scan from 6x17 cm transparency.  

Beads of ...

... perspiration. I spent 5 days in Joshua Tree National Park last week with friends. We went hiking and climbing, cooked, watched the moon wane, heard coyotes sing, and bouldered in the asteroid belt. It was hot, dry, and ... well ... hot.


Fire Damage




Collared Lizard(?)




Joshua Tree


Kenny on Manx

I set up my first ever top rope on Cap Rock.

We inadvertently bootlegged a camp in the closed section of Indian Cove campground and got thrown out. We set up a shower in our camp in Hidden Valley and the ranger came by and busted us, saying, "You can't tie anything to the vegetation" (as far as I recall in Yosemite that's OK). We tied up a big sling and tied it to that, rock climber style.

Lily and Amy brought us dry ice, which froze everything, which meant we ate strange things like frozen grapes, which were unbelievable.


Fallen Angel

We met a guy, the bead man, at Cap Rock, who was looking for the grave site of Gram Parsons, which we all found. We help him find the site, so he gave us all a string of beads ... "Beads of accomplishment," according to Lily. He was wandering the planet carrying his brother's ashes, "I'm taking him everywhere."

We climbed at Manx boulder.

It was a great trip, despite the heat, shredded knees and fingertips ... beads of inspiration.


21 Palms Oasis

Cottonwood Oasis


Ocotillo


Burnt Joshua Tree from a fire on the way to Lost Horse Mine


Arch Rock


Amy


Lily

I've Been to the Desert ...

It snowed, which was nice.

When it Started ...

That's me. Years ago. On a trip to Joshua Tree -- then a National Monument. My old boots were new. My friend during grad school had insisted that I go to Joshua Tree and learn something about the desert. She was from the desert and liked it, and I was going to like it too, or at least learn something about it.

So off we went. Me -- younger -- in love, and quite naive about the desert. She was in her prime, and in her element. Miles of desert fell before our willing feet -- it was gloriously hot. Sweat and dust and bottles of water and a Wagoneer. Wild, sweaty lovemaking and the sound of a cactus wren. The smog sweeping in from Los Angeles, and her chiding me for having never been there, really. We chased phainopepla and the elusive desert tortoise and talked of Edward Abbey and Terry Tempest Williams, and post modernism. We showered in the noon sun under a hand pump in the Cottonwood Springs campground. Our first resemblence of running water in many days. Ocotillo, and Cholla, and Oases.

Fighter jets flew below us as we looked down from the higher altitudes of Joshua Tree.

She's responsible, actually. It's her fault. There's an old Polaroid of her in a scrapbook, dressed up to go for a beer and a burger in town -- standing in that desert in a white dress, the wind blowing, entangling her. A dichotomy of the desert's beauty. The Mohave. White skirts and cactus. Austere, lean and sharp. Gorgeous. She started all this for me. Leading me to the well. This desire to be in the desert. The pleasure at its insanity. A chameleon scrambling across the hot desert sand, invisible.

I'll be retuning to the desert for a bit. Contemplating a permanent return. I am growing tired of smog and potholes and fog and cold, and crowded 4 star restaurants, rock concerts and the opera. Go figure. It would be nice to see the coyotes in the firelight, or just hear them squeal with delight as the moon approaches.