I wake up on day 2, refreshed and invigorated from the night before. I’m still dreaming and thinking about the night sky as I quickly break camp and head out on to the road.
Today I have a definite plan – my Death Valley map has highlighted spots marked out in a circuitous route that takes me West out to Father Crowley Point and Darwin Falls, before backtracking and heading South East to Badwater and the lowest point on the Continental USA.
First drive of the day is a 1500 m/5000 ft descent from the hills around Emigrant, across at least a 5 mile wide valley floor before again ascending nearly 5000 ft up to Panamint Springs and Father Crowley Point.
I stop in the middle of the valley. Walking a short distance from Charlotte and the road I stop to take in my surroundings. It’s pure isolation. Not a living thing can be seen in any direction, there is not even the gentlest whisper of a breeze as I stand in absolute silence. Mountains and Valley extend untramelled in all directions. Its the most alone I’ve ever felt. I soak it in for a few minutes before the distant movement of a car coming down from Emigrant catches my peripheral vision. The serenity and isolation and shattered but I’ve managed to capture the moment in both my mind and on camera.
Back to Charlotte and we continue across the valley floor and up the other side.
Winding our way ever upwards we finally reach Father Crowley Point, a look out over the self same valley. There’s a chair here, starkly set against the sky and land, offering a place to sit and contemplate.
So I do.
Alone, perched on a hill looking at the vastness that is Death Valley
For some time until a white trail silently streaks across the sky above, only to be shadowed almost immediately by a distinct Popping noise.
I’ve just heard my first ever Sonic Boom, from one of the many jets that use the skies over Death Valley as a training ground. This place just keeps on giving!
It stirs me from my reverie, in time to trudge back to Charlotte just as the next visitor to the lookout appears around the corner. My timing is impeccable!
We reverse our path, back down towards the valley floor, but turn down a dirt road a little way before we reach it. We rattle across the corrugations, slowly at first, with a bit more speed as the road seems to go on for ever, before a group of dirt bike riders come sliding around a blind corner from the opposite direction.
The last one gives me a little wave that somehow seems a little more than just hello, so I tap the brakes and slow Charlotte down to walking pace. It’s just as well that I do, for the last of the riders suddenly appears from around the bend, handlebars crossed up, back end sliding out and pushing him in our direction. He gains control and flicks right, passing our front corner with a few metres to spare as we come to a halt – I shudder and recognise the avoided collision that would have eventuated but for some uncanny instinct to slow.
A few moments later, we continue and almost literally around the next bend we reach the parking bay that acts as the staging point for the hike out to Darwin Falls.
The hike is fairly simple – about a mile out, flat ground on a relatively well established trail. I meet workers clearing the trail with a Cat, before sliding through a few narrow passes and into the glen that is Darwin Falls.
It’s a small but perfect oasis in the middle of nothing. I can only imagine the glee of the first person to stumble across this haven from the heat and dryness elsewhere. The water is crystal clear, there’s even a duck quietly drifting across the waters who eventually recedes to the back corner of the pond, wary of my intrusion, but obviously not prepared to leave this spot so easily.
The reward is well worth the hike, but as always time here is limited and I turn and make the return trek back to Charlotte.
We retrace our steps back up the dirt road, down across the valley floor, up past Emigrant Campground, before calling into Stovepipe Wells for a quick bite to eat.
Replenished it’s off to Badwater, the lowest point in the continental USA, a beautiful white salt flat.
Dusk is fast approaching, so back to Furnace Creek we go. Needing a shower, we stump up the $16 fee at the RV park which gives me access to the heated pool, shower, local restaurant, bar and other amenities.
Dinner and drinks are followed by a late evening dip in the pool, a shower, and a drying out of clothes and myself by a roaring fire.
Life is good.
