S: There's a self-guided interpretive trail at Salt Creek, about 12 miles from Furnace. I'm not sure what's there, but figure it must be quieter than thirty pre-geologists rising to the smell of five pounds of frying bacon, and Generator Boy firing up across the way. So we pack and head out quickly.

Salt Creek is indeed quiet, and interesting.

T: At Salt Creek, there is an interpretive trail along a boardwalk built by the park service, in somewhat vain hopes that they will keep the public from trampling around a particularly sensitive area of the desert. I must admit that I stray from it once myself for a couple of feet, as there are many interesting tracks to be seen...lizard and coyote among them. I suspect that many of the tracks are old, from a wetter season, as they are quite deep and the ground is like concrete.

The big attraction at Salt Creek is the Desert Pupfish, one of the few creatures that can survive in the chemical-laden water there. It is indeed a real creek, with water maybe two feet deep in places, and thousands of the little fish. (It seems that there are some other species in the surrounding desert, evidently evolved as the areas with water grew more and more distant over the eons.) Another attraction here, which we enjoy even more, is the multitude of lizards scurrying around, over, and under the boardwalk. Some seem nervous and flee as soon as we approach; others seem content to let us watch as they doze, perhaps having feasted recently on some of the local insects, which are numerous here. (Also a bit of an oddity in the desert, as the lack of pesty bugs is a really nice feature of camping at Death Valley.)

S: Have we mentioned the two-dollar shower and pool? Best bargain in the entire valley.

T: We hit this again after Salt Creek, and perhaps I overdo it a bit with floating around in the water, getting every muscle all nice and relaxed in the warm water. But it feels great.

S: no way you could overdo this.

T: Well, think about having a long soak in a blissful hot tub just *before* a hike...

The first time I came here, back in the early 80s, my friend and I hiked up to see the Natural Bridge, and never found it. I don't quite know how we managed this. It's huge, and you walk right under it about a quarter-mile into the canyon. As everywhere, lots of interesting rocks, a lot of plant life flowering, and many whiptails and other lizards.

As we see more and more in the National Parks, there are numerous "hoodoos," cute and clever little stacks of rocks created by earnest visitors. I've taken to calling them "doodoos," and will again, briefly, explain why: did you ever hear the phrase, "leave nothing but your footprints"? Even though it shows a certain amount of industry and yes, cleverness, to pile one rock upon another upon another, to create these little towers, you are altering the original structure of the place, putting your human stamp on it. Why can't you leave it as you found it? What was wrong with the natural bridge, that it required your assistance? Also, there's never just one of them, is there. No, once one goes up, every yahoo from San Bernadino to Orono must stack up a little pile of rocks saying, "Killjoy was here!" Though other passing hikers look at us as though we're spray-painting the Washington Monument yellow, we kick down all doodoos, and head back out.

We planned on hiking up Golden Canyon to Zabriskie Point -- we started to do the hike last time we were here, but took the wrong fork in the trail. So this time, armed with a topo map, detailed instructions, my trusty altitude wristwatch, and what we think is was plenty of water, we set out determined to make it to the big Z.

Golden Canyon is a must-do hike, even if you don't plan to do the entire six mile, 870' round-trip to Zabriskie and back. Maybe it takes a certain experience of the Valley, but if you've done some of it, like it, and wonder what to do next, do Golden Canyon. This canyon has a wide variety of rock formations, wildlife, and as you get higher, views of the Valley. Get the self-guiding interpretive booklet at the Visitor Center. After the fork in the canyon at interpretive sign #10, the trail towards Zabriskie turns right and steeply upward. Though we're used to climbing 1000 feet and more in less than two miles, we are not used to doing it in 100+ heat. As we climb, great views open up behind us, and we get some of them on film. We try very hard to stay hydrated, as the noonday sun beats straight down on us. Around the 420' mark (mind you, we started at -160'), when we're crossing the eastern side of Manly Beacon -- which we've seen from Zabriskie -- we finish the first half of the water we're carrying. We push on around one more bend to see how close we are to the top, and find that we are not all that close, but we are already starting to get a similar view to that you get from Zabriskie, a 20-minute drive away by car. Can't remember if there's drinking water at Zabriskie (there isn't), so there's nothing to do but turn back. There's one ice-cold lime Calistoga in the cooler in the car, and lemme tellya, Calistoga has never been so delicious.

We feel pretty wimpy about not making the top, but feel too that we did the smart thing.

T: I'm certainly the first to call it quits on this hike, and do feel bad about it; I don't think I've ever turned us around before. If any other hikers came along, I would have offered to let Steve finish it and pick him up at Zabriskie Point. But with the unrelenting heat, lack of shade and questionable water supply, there isn't any option for someone to do this solo (at least not for me to let them!). I have numerous excuses; there's the water; amazing how much you can drink, and it sweats out almost immediately. My legs are wearier than any other part of me, not helped by the warm swim earlier. I feel like an overheated car, like my head is glowing red-hot and that eventually I'll end up just a sloppy puddle of slimy sunscreen and ooze that will dry in the heat with a stinky baseball cap on top, perhaps to become a display in the visitor center some day. Well, anyhow; at this writing, I sorta feel like going back and conquering this damned thing in the future. But it will be at a cooler time, with more water, and more preparation.

S: No. I'm also ready to go back. Here's the rule: half the water = half the hike. We do admirably, and I challenge anyone to go farther on the same water in the same heat. Re: the water: I think I drank a lot more than a gallon that morning, and still didn't have to pee till evening.

S: Back to Furnace Creek for two pitchers of water and salad.

S: It's time to cool off. The closest place to do that is Dante's View, about 25 miles southeast (and more than 5500 feet up) from Furnace. From here, you can look just about straight down on Badwater, and you can see a large part of the Valley, and it's almost 30 degrees cooler than the Valley floor. This is another of the must-do things at Death Valley -- if you come into Death Valley from Vegas, or anywhere, on 190 from the east, you can get your first look at the Valley from here, and I recommend it very highly. You can drive and park right at the top, and you can walk out onto another point if you like. Only a couple of people up there at this time. Ravens circle out on the thermals, perch on the informative signs, and laugh at us.

T: Dante's View is one of the memories of past trips to Death Valley that is very dear to me. This was the first view I had of the place when Steve and I stopped for a night in the moving van back in '96, and it certainly doesn't change over that amount of time. It's a lovely spot, and probably the best place to get a really good sense of how forbidding, huge and powerful this place really is. A comical raven hovers around in the updrafts, his legs hanging down, and I break all sorts of wildlife rehab rules in trying to get close to him and have nice conversation.

T: The 49ers who were stranded here had questionable judgment and obviously made a huge mistake (s: prolly went to college in Utah!), but that any of them survived at all is a real testament to the pioneer spirit. Fortunately, they didn't survive well enough for it to be an amusement park or housing development today. I've come to love this place as much as Steve does, if that's possible.

S: I thought about this some, during the trip: What if the automobile (let alone the SUV) had come along before America was discovered and explored? This country would be one big trash-pit. We see evidence everywhere: beer bottles; candy wrappers; ciggie butts. What are they thinking, when they throw that crap out of a perfectly spacious vehicle?

T: We see it in action, too. The most notable example being at Furnace Creek when a couple pulls up and parks their spacious 4x4 truck. It looked and sounded like the woman in the truck threw a plastic cup into the shrubs in front of the truck, but I couldn't see well enough to be sure. Not looking for conflict, but also feeling a bit bad about not jumping all over a kid who I earlier saw kicking gravel at a lizard, I let it pass. The next morning, though, I look, and sure enough, there's the plastic cup. Fortunately they were kind enough to leave their truck windows open, so I return the cup to its rightful place.

T: Anyhow, I think it's this day that a roadrunner crosses the road in front of us. We both say "Beep Beep!" in unison, even as we barely avoid hitting him. It is nice to get a good look at one, only I hope he doesn't get hit running in front of other cars.

S: We take a walk to the "walk-in" campsites. This is a loophole: "Walk-in" means you park and carry stuff about 100 feet (vs. maybe 30 for a regular site) to a MUCH more secluded campsite. If we camp here in a crowd again, we're taking a walk-in. Bats flutter overhead - I've never seen them so clearly - one actually floats right above us, giving a good view of its silhouette. This is another real highlight for me.

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