Desert Reflections (and meeting Gandalf)

Journal Entry #25

March 26, 2022

We are now in California. As I write this, our van is sitting in a high grassy meadow under live oaks and willows. Our hillside view is of two small family ranches just below us. A rooster is crowing.

Yesterday we had one of those days that felt kind of perfect. We drove to the coast in the morning, descending into a blanket of fog and parked at a stretch of quiet beach where, at low tide, we scrambled on the rocks looking for tidal pools, and marveling at the magic in each one. We beach-combed for shells, stones and driftwood then walked along the bluffs above the Pacific, on the edge of the small coastal town of Cambria as the sun kissed the fog away. Then we rambled up a wooded trail into one of the last remaining coastal Monterrey Pine forests, monarch butterflies joining us on our walk. After our hike, we made a drive to Stolo, a winery just three miles from the coast where we tasted some memorable cooler climate expressions of Pinot, Gewurtztraminer and Syrah. We sat on the vineyard lawn and enjoyed the afternoon sun. At one point, a man stopped by our table and asked if we were the owners of the van in the parking area. Turns out he was considering a van buildout and was very curious about our set up. Tom gave him a tour while I sipped and chatted with the wine maker. We drove back to our Hipcamp spot, watched an episode of the latest series we downloaded (enjoying the fast internet at this location!) and tucked in.

Central coast, California

Leisurely wine tasting at Stolo, Cambria,California

It has been about five days since we left the desert. Our last two stops were in Joshua Tree and Anza Borrego, deep in the Mojave. In all, we spent nearly two months in dry, challenging and remote places. Early on, I remember thinking it was like an unknown alien planet, and commented on the absences of things; trees, water, humanity, seeming variety. I understood why people might have the urge move through it quickly, on the way to somewhere else.

Seeing things differently, Rattlesnake Canyon, Joshua Tree

I am happy we took our time and stayed longer. I realized that the desert demands a different kind of attention, a slowing down, a focus on the smaller details, a recognition of a sort of brutal beauty, where nothing is taken for granted. The rules of engagement are completely different. After a few weeks of this thinking the desert, to me, became a place that seemed infinitely full, almost mystical.  I loved the colors, the sky, the quiet. I loved that it forced me to open my eyes and ears and all of my senses in different ways. I loved how small I felt in it and yet how much I felt connected to a bigger life force.

Moonrise, Indian Canyon

Indian petroglyphs, Joshua Tree

I also loved the people that seemed to be drawn to it:

P, the 70-something female park ranger in the Guadalupe Mountains who we met on the trail who, told us she “only” summits the 8000’ mountain once a week (I was amazed to have managed it once!) and has been a camp host and ranger in desert parks for the last six years.

R, who we met on a hike- another 70 something man traveling in his VW Westfalia and hoping to “high point” (climb to the highest elevation) in every state in the US.

In my element.

Moonrise, Anza Borrego Desert

E and T, former military intelligence officers, now making wine on their compound in the high Arizona desert.

J and M, a couple from California who we met in Agua Caliente. J was a female taxi driver in NYC in the 70’s. Now she and her husband live on the road, having lost their house on the Big Island in Hawaii after the last eruption.

A, our “neighbor” at Kofa (neighbor is a loose term his rig was easily two miles down the road) a retired Marine, and his dog out in the desert wandering and taking fabulous photos.

Desert cairn, Agua Caliente, Mojave Desert

Shoes, ghost town of Rice, Ca.

J, a 60 something, retired graphic/web designer from Minnesota who had done well in the early days of the internet, now an adventurer who had spent the last two years car camping in the southwest. Before that, he had spent year doing the same in Ecuador and Colombia.

And man I will call “Gandalf.” We never got his name. He hiked past us as we cycled in the middle of nowhere. He had a heavy Scottish brogue and a long white hair and beard. The dry wind was picking up- a wild desert storm was brewing. Even so he was heading deep into the slot canyon. He stopped to wish us safe travels.

Rocktails! Indian Cove

Campfire, Kofa, Az.

We have begun our journey up the California coast. Over the past few days our eyes and minds are are recalibrating to a different kind of beauty; lush, full of greens and blues with softer edges and obvious bounty. It is hard not to be drawn to it.

Yet, in these “transitional” days as we settle into the next (mostly coastal) leg of our journey, I admit that I am missing the desert more than I anticipated. It is not for everyone. It is often an unforgiving place. Still its stark quiet beauty has a mystical quality that speaks strongly to me. I am happy that we have plans to return to this landscape in June to visit parts of northern Arizona and New Mexico that we missed on our more southerly pass west.

Painted skies, Mojave Desert

Finding our way in the desert…