Greetings from Death Valley National Park

We drove from Las Vegas up to a pass in late April rising to 4,000 feet, and from there we got our first glimpse of Death Valley, a narrow winding white valley with wrinkled, elephant-skinned mounds rising here and there–“hills like white elephants” as Hemingway wrote about Spain. On the down-sloping hillsides sprouted occasional pinyons, junipers, yuccas, desert poppies, and cottontop cactus amid an array of colorful stones gleaming in the sun. We stood on the Funeral Range and across from us rose the Panamints and above them the high and snowy Sierra. We decided to do a bit of exploring by hiking through Mosaic Canyon guarded by a thirsty-looking desert fox. After shouldering our packs and hoofing through serpentine red, brown and gray canyon walls, we paused to look at mesquite bushes, yellow and white desert poppies, pickle-green pickleweed and arrowroot. After an hour or so we at last climbed some high ledges to peer across to the Mesquite Dunes under a brilliant blue sky. With all its wrinkled landscapes and shimmering mirages, Death Valley contains the very planetary essence of the great American West.

Sincerely,
Richard F Fleck