The Mojave Desert:
I have always had a unique fascination for the desert. There is just something about that stark, perilous ecosystem I find enthralling. From the wastelands of Iraq to the rocky wilderness regions of the Hindu Kush mountains in northeastern Afghanistan, they provided a welcoming solitude with a breathtaking silence. So, after several years exploring the Sonoran Desert, the Colorado Plateau, and the Great Basin of the southwestern United States—I thought it was time to return to the Mojave. My first trip to the Mojave was in January 2017, focusing primarily on Death Valley. Although I had limited time, I knew I had to return on a more extensive trip; after five years, I finally completed a twelve-day solo expedition, crossing the region from south to north, in early March 2022.
Located essentially in southeastern California and southwestern Nevada, under the shadow of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, it takes its name from the 'Mojave,' an indigenous regional people. Though small compared to other deserts within the United States (43,750 square miles), the Mojave is an arid transitional zone that separates the Great Basin to the north, the Sierra Nevada to the west, the Sonoran Desert to the southeast, and the Colorado Plateau to the south. Due to these extraordinary atmospheric conditions, the Mojave, on average, receives less than 5 inches of precipitation a year, falling as rain or snow between November and April. This unique climatological intersection has resulted in the hottest surface temperature recorded on Earth.
On July 10, 1913, Furnace Creek, Death Valley, recorded a daytime high of 134°F. While researching that fact, I discovered meteorological records showing that on September 13, 1922, a temperature of 136°F was recorded at El Azizia, Libya, and was certified by the World Meteorological Organization as the hottest air temperature ever recorded. However, after digging further, I found that after a scientific dispute that lasted 90 years and after reviewing new evidence that had come to light, on September 12, 2012, the World Meteorological Organization officially certified the 1913 Death Valley reading (134°F) as the all-time highest surface air temperature recorded on the planet. Additionally, the area's second record, located in Death Valley, Badwater Basin, is the lowest elevation in North America at 279 feet below sea level.
Death Valley National Park is the hottest and driest National Park in the United States, which aptly describes California, a name translated from Spanish, meaning a glowing furnace. The valley is an inner mountain basin, and as mentioned, this superheated gorge is 279 feet below sea level. In the summer, the air temperature never drops below 105°F. The sands are heated from 185 up to 200°F. Flies do not fly here; they crawl to avoid singeing their wings, and lizards are often seen rolling onto their backs to cool their burnt feet. For this reason, I planned this incredible journey for March when the temperatures were more favorable.
Ever since the story of the 'Lost 49ers' back in 1849, Death Valley has held a mystery all to itself; its name stirs the imagination and evokes conflicting emotions. That year, a group of prospectors headed into the valley searching for gold; they became disoriented and lost, wandering for several months and suffering from hunger and thirst. Although the group only lost one person, legend has it that when the party found their way out of the valley, one of the 49ers, looking down from the mountain, exclaimed, "Goodbye, Death Valley."
Death Valley National Park is enormous, covering 3.4 million acres. Yet, it's versatile, and this diversity and harsh conditions attract many travelers seeking to prove to themselves and others that they can survive these challenges. As for me, I found another reason: solitude! To enjoy the peace and harmony of my own company, take in the magnificence of these incredible alien landscapes, and experience firsthand the extraordinary manifestations of nature.
There is a certain simplicity in a landscape from which the water element is absent, with all the varied life it carries. The desert constantly invokes vast expanses of distant horizons and timeless space and beauty. I often come here when I have feelings of self-importance—to reconnect with the forces of nature—and to put things back into perspective. One of the attractions of being alone in the desert and visualizing these vast, foreboding landscapes is how infinitely small we all are. In an environment that removes, as it does, nearly all the supplements of life, we can visualize the thin thread of necessities on which human existence is suspended.