Our recent excursion to destinations off the PCT focused on the Mojave desert. Charissa found a variety of cool stuff to do on the Internet. We visited Amboy Crater; a lava tube in the Mojave National Preserve; the living mining ghost town of Randsburg with the soda fountain that still makes soda the old fashioned way; and Charlie Brown Farms with an amazing smorgasbord of knick knacks and food. We also stopped in at the town of Mojave, a somewhat familiar place to me.
In 1977 we hiked through the Mojave desert as part of the PCT. There was not a finished route of the PCT in the area then and we chose to hike through the Mojave-Palmdale corridor for two reasons: we would have reliable sources of water in the three towns we would hit and the corridor would bring us through the heart of the Mojave. As Connecticut natives deserts were wholly foreign to us and we were looking forward to this new experience. We had romantic Lawrence of Arabia type visions of hiking over sand dunes in searing heat, testing our mettle all the while.
Because of the oppressive heat we thought we would face we timed our descent out of the Tehachapis to occur in the evening. After a long supper break we packed up to hike through the night. We started out on a dirt road when a cowboy driving a horse trailer pulled up along side to ask what we were doing.
“We’re hiking the Pacific Crest Trail,” was our reply.
“You guys always hike at night?” he asked incredulously.
“No, we’re just doing this because of the desert. For the past 5 months we hiked during the day.”
“Five months!” the cowboy exclaimed. “Jesus Christ! You guys would be better off in jail, you three free meals for just lying on your back!”
A few miles after the cowboy we came to a north-south paved road in the clear dark night of the desert. We headed south where in the distance, towards the town of Mojave, was a traffic light. That seemed like a good spot to take a break, perhaps 2-3 miles away. We hiked for one hour, two hours, three. As we watched the traffic light endlessly oscillate between red and green we learned our first lesson about the desert: distances are a lot further than they seem.
We also learned another lesson: desert temperatures can be cool in October, as in the thirties that first night. Instead of rolling, baking sand dunes was a vast landscape of flat terrain sparsely littered with sage brush. We took a long nap in Mojave but otherwise scrapped our plan to hike at night.
We also took a midday nap at a small mall in Palmdale. I include this because something happened there that set the table for something that happened after the journey. Clint Eastman (not Eastwood) was a Hummel salesperson who grew curious about the four people with large packs hanging out at the Palmdale mall. He became impressed with the load we carried (typically 60 and up past 100 pounds), the miles per day we hiked with such loads (typically 18 and up to 30) and the length of days between civilized amenities (typically 7 and up to 18). As a former Army man he was impressed, conceding that we had the tougher gig. He gave us his card and invited us to look him up at his home in Corona del Ray after the hike. Savitt and I followed through on that, but that is another story.
During our recent desert tour we spent one night in the heart of the Mojave Natural Preserve, a few miles down a dirt road, surrounded by a perimeter of distant cinder cones. The sun sets at 6:15 now. For a little while after that we heard dirt bikers pass through. After that there was only perfect stillness through the long desert night, a stillness without a breath of wind that continued into the morning.
While going through the morning chores of breaking camp I just had to pause and sit on my sleeping pad to absorb the quiet desert. I invited Cindy to sit next to me and together we listened to the absolute lack of sound around us, a silence that rings loudly in the ears. This was one more magical moment to add to a lifetime full of them. We are not done collecting them yet.
