Farblonzhet in ...

Death Valley National Park...

The Yiddish word for lost. I wandered around (remember my blog's title) for over three hours searching for the route up Corkscrew Mountain. I journeyed up washes, gullies and canyons before Eureka! I found actual cairns leading towards the peak. By this time it was too late to continue upon this 9 mile RT hike.

There's only 9 hours and 45 minutes between sunrise and sunset here. A long blink and you can miss it. 

Like General MacArthur I shall return (mañana) and shoot photos to prove it.

Tonight you will have to settle for Mosaic Canyon. In the fire service they told us to always have a Plan B in case Plan A's not working. Here's Plan B photos. 

Enjoy!

Time to squelch...

the rumor that I have forsaken my traveling buddy for a pipsqueak roller skate of a car.

Not so. Here is Barley posing for a Ford commercial. 

Is there anyone in the Motor City noticing? Barley has star qualities written all over him. 

Looking Good! Barley!

OY! It's so humid...

in Death Valley National Park. 

Within the past week, California finally received some much needed moisture. During the precipitation event, Death Valley scored six-tenth of an inch of rain. For a region that averages less than 2 inches/year, this was a virtual Noah's Ark Deluge. 

There's standing water, mud and morning dew. While hiking the spongy air feels more Florida than Furnace Creek. Go figure!

I think this waterfall is contributing to the wet feeling too. 

Direct from Furnace Creek, California it's Sunday Night Live!

There's Heaps...

Of human history in Death Valley National Park. One would figure the name alone would cause most folks to turn tail and run. Not so.

The Timbisha Shoshone Indians didn't name it Death Valley, for them it was home. They figured out ways to survive and thrive in this unique and harsh land. All this without air conditioned movie houses. Now that's tough. 

They moved up and down between the valley and mountains with the seasons. They were altitudinal "Snowbirds." 

Next came the miners, tourist promotors, borax harvesters, con men and a host of other get rich quick schemers. They left behind a legacy of cool stories, abandoned mines and ghost towns to prove their very existence. 

Death Valley National Park rocks on so many levels.

Good night from the almost lowest point in North America,

Jeff

      

Don't let the name...

scare you off.

Death Valley is a wild, cerebral, silent (when the wind's not howling) National Park. I think it's one of America's finest. It's also the largest national park in the lower 48, so fill that gas tank up before you descend below sea level. 

It's a weird weather marvel too.

There's years when not even a spits worth of moisture falls here. 

And talk about heat! OY! It gets Hades Hot! The highest recorded ground temperature was 201 degrees at appropriately named Furnace Creek. On that day the air temperature was a balmy 128. Don't go barefoot here. 

I'm going to chill at Furnace Creek for about a week.

There's Christmas lights at the resort, but no shopping mall Santa's. 

Sorry No Ho Ho Ho.

Good night from 192 feet below sea level,

Jeff

I'm Downsizing...

After all who needs all that space and stuff in Barley the Van? It's practically a Super Walmart minus the "Greeters" and electric shopping carts in the aisles.

Meet Sparky! 

I know, it's a bit snug for sleeping. I had to sell my baby Grand Piano too. You know the one in Barley's parlor beneath the chandelier, next to the fireplace. 

But the gas mileage rocks! I topped it off with an eyedropper of petrol after a week of moseying.

Nah! Sparky is just a temporary downsize. I still have the Big Guy waiting for me in Phoenix. 

We'll be en route to Death Valley National Park. Far, far away from America's shopping malls and department store Santa's. 

Anyone care to join me? There's only one thing more spectacular than a sunrise in Death Valley. That's a sunset in Death Valley. 

So long for now from the Sunshine State.

Best Tasting...

Roseate Spoonbill and Florida Softshell Turtle I ever ate!

The pink one and the Glossy Ibis both fit nicely into the turkey fryer. There was room enough for the turtle too.

No. I didn't go "Survivor" on you. These wetland inhabitants are having enough trouble keeping their heads above water without me ingesting them. 

The Roseate Spoonbill (along with other wading birds) were nearly hunted to extinction for their feathers. Their plumage was used to decorate women's hats in the early 1900's. Fortunately, this fashion statement went extinct before the birds did. 

The turtle is still being pursued for its meat. They are considered a gourmet meal in Asia and parts of the US. They are carnivorous too. Don't put your finger near them, it might go missing. Same applies to skinny dipping males concerning the fifth appendage. 

They are all suffering from loss of habitat and pollution. Poor guys.

And speaking of Holiday Gift Giving, a squeaky clean new copy of "Destroying Demons On the Diagonal" makes a great stocking stuffer (even in Kindle form) for that armchair wanderer you know and adore.

Find it here on Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/dp/1466482443/?tag=googhydr-20&hvadid=34211540507&hvpos=1t1&hvexid=&hvnetw=g&hvrand=18373047671724108632&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=b&hvdev=t&ref=pd_sl_1nb522vu14_b

Think of it as buying me one gallon of gas for Barley.

Be well and don't give up your plumage.