Solid Gold Views

"I guess I know why they call this Dante's View," I said to Andy as we circled black lava mountains for 11 miles to the top of the Amargosa Range on the east side of Death Valley.
"We've been climbing since I turned," said Andy, "up to 5,475 feet from 200 feet below sea level."
"More vegetated here too," I observed. "I think that should be a word. V*e*g*e*t*a*t*e*d--describing areas having an increased amount of vegetation."
Snow covered the road in spots where the morning sun had not yet penetrated. We stopped on the way down to be sure the white powder wasn't salt or borax. Bone-chilling wind whipped Dante's Point, probably in the low 40's with a 25 m.p.h. sustained force. Sheltered slopes were jacket-comfortable.
The Valley spread in muted colors--rust, pink, beige, tan, grey, green, blue--and far in the distance behind the Panamint Range rose snow-capped Mount Whitney. "Isn't it amazing how such a harsh environment can look so gentle and muted!" I marveled. Softened by early morning sun, the mountains crawled like giant black caterpillars on each side.

Golden Canyon Trail wandered through twisting narrows and colorful rock formations of sandstone, limestone, conglomerate and lava, with spectacular views of Manly Beacon and Red Cathedral along the five-mile interpretive loop. Caught in the rocky debris of tilted, fractured layers, twisted cliffs and tortured canyons, we questioned our directions, with disorientation a real possibility. Gower Gulch, two miles of scrambling along dry rapids and over two dry waterfalls, was nothing compared to the 750-foot walk, a foot wide, around Zabriskie. Loose gravel and sand. A steep climb. Five hundred feet straight down over the edge. I was terrified.

Andy held my hand and kept climbing. "Come on!" he insisted. "Just keep walking."

I moved forward in sheer terror, taking tiny steps and willing my feet along inch by inch.

"I didn't know it would be like that," he said an hour later.

At Artist's Palette, we painted photographs at every turn, like the only people on the face of the earth. The 2:30 p.m. sun etched shadows in canyon walls amidst clay hills of pink, green, mustard and rust.
For the second night the stars put on a visual display. In spite of light pollution from Las Vegas and a few yellow glows from Stovepipe Wells, we saw millions of tiny specks twinkling in the black sky, and right overhead the Milky Way splashed a white band from horizon to horizon as far as we could see. The star of our free sky show, Jupiter, dominated in brilliance as king of the night.