An overnight solo hike to the desert could be considered sufficiently adventurous—a brief separation from an urbanite's comfort zone of routine. Adventure, in moderation, is a good thing! I left Los Angeles with my mind mulling over my uncertainties. On the way, I got stuck in the freeway traffic—inducing an element of stress. Would I get there before sunset? Would I be able to find a camping spot? Would I stay warm enough with night temperatures dropping into the thirties (degrees F)? Would I encounter any trouble as a lone hiker? Would I have issues with wild animals? Coyotes? I felt prepared, though. I carried my navigational aids—a paper map, compass, and GPS on my phone. My bed is a 20 degree F rated sleeping bag and insulated sleeping pad. My house is a trekking pole tent—weighing 2 pounds and 12 ounces. And I hauled everything inside a 40-liter backpack. The pack weight came to a comfortable 26 pounds, including 3 liters of water and food. Everything’s good! Arriving at my destination of Porcupine Wash in Joshua Tree National Park, the sun was turning orange. I only had a short time to hike in and set up camp. Meeting this deadline gave me an adrenaline boost. I walked quickly, and I soon found myself among huge boulders (that didn’t show in my map). It was just rocks and all rocks! However, luck was on my side, and found a decent spot to setup my tent. In my notebook, I scribbled, “Set up camp in small sandy clearing among rocks. It was dark by the time I finished setting up tent. Ate turkey fruit bread sandwich in darkness. I’m the one making all the noise here. So quiet when I pause in my movements. It cools quickly in the desert after sunset. Venus in evening sky. Jupiter is higher above. And the stars so brilliant, even with light cloud cover. Milky Way is visible!” As my mind quieted down too, I noticed with a fuller realization—that boy, these stars are so beautiful! I stared up into the heavens, and I immersed myself into the stars. It gets cold in the desert after dark. I put on an extra layer of clothing, and got ready for bed. I noticed how "quiet" it was! No noises from the usual humans, animals, insects, or machinery. From inside my sleeping bag, I "listened" as hard I could, extending my ears as far as they could hear—and still nothing! Occasionally I could make out the rumble of a distant jet plane, just barely. Eventually I dozed off to sleep... Somewhere in the middle of the night, I woke up. I unzipped the tent door, and peeked outside again at the multitude of stars—so many of them! I can understand that sense of mystery these nightly stars held on human beings, long before the invention of streetlights. I wondered if astronomy, science, or math could have even developed without their inspiration and wonder? I put on my shoes, and with my dark-adapted eyes, I easily walked around my campsite. I noticed a brightening of the night sky, and it was a moon-rise! The moon-rise seemed like the dawn of a lunar day. I could now make out the extensive boulder field surrounding my tent. This sublime scene was like the spiritual light being cast from darkness. There was a chilly breeze in the desert night, but I was quite warm with my base layer, a fleece jacket, a down jacket, and wool socks. I went back inside my tent to sleep, As the "real" desert dawn approached, I woke up naturally, and greeted the sun. I captured a few photos for my personal memories, and tried to remember this magnificent glory—the desert solitude, the rocky landscape, and the extreme silence. I've never been to the planet Mars, but I could imagine this to be our friendly "Earth" version of it. The day was already starting to heat up, so I quickly packed up my gear, and ready to move on for a hike. From the boulder field where I camped, I followed the (now dry) Porcupine Wash for several miles, and noticed hints of water in the dry desert. I saw red dragonflies! I heard that ancient petroglyphs could be found on the rocks here, but unfortunately I missed them all. As I walked, the desert life revealed itself in its wonderful forms. it amazed me how so much life can still thrive in this harsh climate of extreme heat, cold, and wind.
After walking about six miles, I eventually made it back to my car, and stopped by the park visitor center on the way out. I noticed tourists milling about wearing shorts and flip-flop sandals. There were parents with whining kids, and they seemed unprepared for the desert. During my brief overnight visit and hike, I didn't see another human being, but this sudden (re)encounter with civilization felt a little overwhelming. So what did I learn? I recalled the depth of the desert's silence, and the stillness of the stars. We're usually immersed in a distracting world of human society, technology, and activity. We're each following our life intentions—meeting our obligations, surviving, pursuing our dreams, or just going with the flow. The activity and movement is all necessary for our human world, but maybe we need more "stillness"—to think clearer, and to feel more connection with ourselves and nature. When our minds are still, our answers could be staring at us directly in the face. With much appreciation—thank you, Mojave desert, for this wonderful opportunity to visit! |
Writing on the WEb
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November 2021
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