May 16,2011
After studying the traffic patterns on the Internet, we strike out from Thousand Oaks to cross the LA basin on our way to Anza Borrego Desert State Park. The freeways are like river white water, with obstacles, catch points, and channels of flow through the mash-up of cars, trucks , buses, delivery vans and tractor trailer rigs. The GPS, like a reliable bowman, calls out the maneuvers, directing us to the proper lane and side of the road. Left exits, right exits, forks, turns and straight away lane changes are all anticipated and executed as the electronically synthesized voice interprets it's database of intersecting vectors. 101 to 134 to 210 to 15 to 79 then we were finally released from the multiple-lane frenzy and deposited onto a two lane country road and climbed up and out of the basin over the sage and cactus covered hills to the rolling desert country beyond. One ridge after another we crossed putting the southern californian sprawl far behind. Tall billowing clouds piled up behind us and chased us into the growing desert. The low angle sun now reaching under the storm clouds and illuminating the towering mountains which cradle the valley of Anza Borrego in their lap, we arrive at out first night's camp, boondocking in the Yaqai valley south of Borrego Springs.
The wind has grown boisterous and rocks the camper to and fro, as if we are anchored in an open seaway. Different pitch whistles sing out as the turbocharged storm winds finds its way into the various gaskets, window cracks, and vents that connect our secure cocoon with the outside. The sun sets, lighting up the eastern side of the valley, and turning the towering clouds into a pumpkin colored caldron of bubbling water vapor. No sooner does the sun set, then the full moon rises, orange, and luminescent, seemingly right out of the fold in the valley floor directly adjacent to our secluded stopping place. We make up the bed, put in earplugs to drown out the racket being made by the symphony of wind chimes the outside desert has become and settle in, rocked to sleep by the friendly nudges of unrestrained air rushing from the coast to some low pressure sump to our east.
May 18, 2011
We hiked yesterday to some pictographs, down a broad wash, to some overhanging boulders. The drawings were nothing like I've seen before, with no representation of people, but more geometric designs, perhaps denoting passage of time, or directions to springs. Again, we had the whole drainage to ourselves, and this helped in our emersion into this powerful and foreign place. The soil is crushed granite, and there is no underbrush per se. The plants emerge from the small stones in bunches, each protecting the other from the wind and the sun. This area was seasonally visited several thousand years ago, by traveling bands of native peoples, to gather, dry, and grind Pinion nuts and to gather and prepare agave. Evidence of these encampments is all over, evidenced by grinding stones and charred rock overhangs. We see an occasional bird,but they are always shy, and rapidly depart. Today we were treated to a sighting of a western tanenger, a bright yellow bird with a red cap about the size of a sparrow. We explored a place called "The Slot", which is a very narrow wash, that turns into a mud walled slot canyon, with serpentine walls over 60 feet tall towering above a dry stream bed no wider than our hips. Mid way through we crossed paths with another pair of hikers, the first we have seen during our whole visit here. Tonight we are again boondocking - camped in the bush, not at an established site near a place called Yaqui Well. The wind continues to blow, making the mid-60's temperature feel much colder. The clouds are piled up high in the sky to our west, but they see to evaporate as they move east and overhead.
View pictures so far which appear belwow.
