Like Another Planet

We hop in the car, zoom down the highway for twenty minutes, then turn off of the paved road. Dirt crunches under the tires of our Crosstrek, behind us a huge cloud of dust. We bounce around in our seats as Neil steers toward the pinnacles, dodging rocks poking out of the ground. Twenty more minutes pass. I look down at my hands, suddenly in large white gloves, my body in a loose white suit, fans whirring, the weight of a helmet on my head, gold visor tinting the view. I hear a voice through some static babble in my ear. We are about to land on another planet.

Winter View in Lone Pine, CA

The air is cold, a strong breeze blows hair across my face. I try to grasp the view, both mentally and with my camera. I take in the beige brush and boulders that look like summer against the winter white snow peaks in the distance. I just stand there, almost paralyzed by the view. The way the light carves out each rock, the fog lingers in the mountains. It’s almost impossible to really wrap my head around the scale and scenery I get to witness. It feels surreal. Eventually I lift the camera and look through the viewfinder. Inside the little rectangle, with the familiar light meter and dark peripherie, the view suddenly seems easier to absorb.

Snowed In

The view from the attic of a three story A-frame in Mammoth Lakes​​​​​​​​​. We stopped at the address we had typed into google maps. I spotted a spare tire sticking out of a huge wall of snow, the attached Jeep was buried. We stared up the wall of snow, the tip of the cabin barely visible. Someone had carved steps into the snow and we climbed up until we reached a narrow foot path between white walls, leading to the entrance of the cabin. We signed in and dropped off our bags. I climbed all the way to the attic, overlooking the living space through the open door on one side and a wall of snow through the window on the other.

Snowy Eastern Sierra

We woke up to heavy snowfall in Mammoth Lakes. It took a while to dig out the car and start making our way home. Once we got on the road, I stared at the stunning views of the Eastern Sierra. Jagged mountain peaks poking out of thick snow, trees dotting the landscape, rays of sunlight cutting through the clouds. Then slowly the ground beside the road turned from snow-white to desert-tan as we got closer to home.

Devil’s Golf Course

“When you’re in the desert, you look into infinity… It makes you feel terribly small, and also in a strange way, quite big.”​​​​​​​​ ― David Lean

As we descend into Death Valley, the car thermometer climbs. 85, 90, 100, 105*F. As I stare at the barren landscape, I think about the lush forests and mountain meadows I grew up exploring. I’ve always appreciated feeling small in nature. But it meant looking up at tall pines, endless green, flowing water. When I’m in the woods there is the subconscious comfort in knowing I’m sheltered and can find things to eat and find water to survive. The desert is different. No shade, no water – or so little, too far away. I’m not only a tiny speck in this vast landscape but really not made to survive in this climate. The luxury of a climatized vehicle, a trunk full of water, my sun shirt and hat mean a lot more here than anywhere else I’ve been.