The Maze

A quaint stone wall beside an inviting trail awaits just a few steps from the main road, if you know where to find it.  

The farther you venture into The Maze, the less the trail invites and the more alluring becomes a densening forest of boulders and huge mounds of boulders.  They urge you to venture deep into the sunrise and the light that surely comes to enlighten wonders.  

The trail is not difficult at first, and retreat seems not unlikely.  Jewels beside the path hint of riches on ahead.  

   

Two friendly elves usher you into a canyon.  A six-sided die balances, not on any side, but on its corner, as if to say the world is different here.

Wildlife doesn’t run away, and flowers bloom here, while desert all around lies parched. 

You come a stone god, more ancient than the Pyramids, central to The Maze.  Stand or kneel in awe awhile, then be on your way.  But beware, don’t go too far; the many side paths and missing sections of trail become weak in memory.  Turn back while you still remember every turn. 

Escaping from Reality into Nature

At the trailhead, signs are posted warning hikers about the heat.  The Park Service seems tired of search and rescues, which they say have increased this year.  

   

They have even placed a big thermometer at the trailhead and a picture of a helicopter rescue.  

I fear the trail for good reasons, realizing that my fear is a handicap I must overcome, because the trail is where I am happiest.  I overcome by starting at first light, carrying lots of water, and being careful.  Then I return and let the air conditioner wash over me.  

If I squint hard enough into the cactus, I see one who makes it on her own, who has weighed marriage in the balance and found it lacking.  Perhaps I am like the cacti, the more durable green of summer.  

After climbing over a ridge and looking into the next dry wash, something green is in the distance.  Zoomed in it is truly green  

Now it is closer, and they are palm trees.  

Unexpectedly lush, an  oasis in the Mojave Desert.

Seeking the Lost

.

A man I know used good sense when hiked to Warren View in September.  Weather is usually good then, and severe heat is not a problem.  I used bad sense—hiking in July when summer is almost always very hot, and then finding myself positioned for the hike in a stretch of extreme heat.  I proceeded anyway, starting at first light, pushing hard to summit early, and be out by noon.  

Black Rock Spring

I started at Black Rock Campground near the western edge of Joshua Tree Park.  I hiked up Black Rock Canyon, the route Ed Rosenthal hiked in September of 2010.  It’s an easy walk in the early morning, with a spring part way up, nourishing trees bushes and bees.  Black Rock Spring was dry, but the trees know a deeper source.

I turned right where two dry washes join, and right again where two dry washes join.  You can follow these cryptic directions on the three maps shown here, if you happen to care as much about maps as I do. 

Anyway, Ed Rosenthal and I turned left at the next fork, and hiked to Warren View. 

Mount San Gorgonio

Mount San Jacinto

From this high point, we looked far to the west to Mount San Gorgonio, 11,499’, the highest in Southern California, and to the south to Mount San Jacinto, 10,834’ rising above Palm Springs.  

On walking down from Warren View, Ed and I parted paths.  I looked for clues as to how this might have happened, and came upon this trail junction, where a trail goes right, and is indicated as the wrong trail by a row of rocks.  Perhaps those rocks were not there in 2010 and Ed went that way by mistake.  It’s only a guess.  Neither trail is easy to follow.  They both have about the same wear.

I went back to the intersection of the Warren View Trail and Warren Peak Trail, and hiked up to Warren Peak, a steep rocky climb to the summit.  

Warren View at right edge of picture
 taken from Warren Peak

Southeast of Warren View
taken from Warren Peak

From the peak, I looked down on Warren View where Ed and I were last at the same place.  I tried to picture being disoriented in the hills and washes below me.  I wondered what I might have done if I were out there trying to find my way back onto the trail I came on.  

At the summit, another trail comes up from the north.  not shown on any of my maps.  It probably comes up from the West Side Loop Trail, but I can’t find any information on it.  

Panorama Loop Trail, looking upstream

Panorama Loop Trail, looking upstream

Ed Rosenthal said that at some point in his wonderment he came upon a well-used trail, but that it was unfamiliar and seemed heading in the wrong direction.  Perhaps it was Panorama Loop Trail (see map).  So I went to where that trail joins the trail I came up on.  It’s a gentle trail in a wash with easy access for someone approaching it from the southwest.  

I turned back after a mile or so and went back to Black Rock Canyon, unsure how Ed Rosenthal lost the right path. 

When I met Ed recently at his hometown, Culver City, at Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, we agreed that I would not write about the trauma that he must have endured during those six days when he was lost.  That is his story.  Instead, I would try to retrace some of his steps and write my story of that experience.  I have many more pictures and details to share with him.  I hope to see him soon and talk of a possible collaborative story.   

Rescuers hiked all these trails several times in 2010.  They flew over the area repeatedly for six days, looking for a lost hiker.  Eight years later, I am looking too, not to find him, but as one searches for evidence to enlighten her story.  

Back from the Desert

.

I was greeted by creatures on my first desert day— a happy rock monster and a Spiny Lizard sunning himself on a rock.  

Life on the desert is not crowded.  With scarcity and a generous gift of space, it seems more important, standing bold and brave against the contrast of sand and rock.  

No other hikers around, just me, no heavy thoughts or insights.  Instead, I feel the heat and wind, the sun and aromas of natural things.  My senses are at work, but my brain is on idle.  Living so close to the nature tunes in subtleties of touch and sight.  In the city I learn to block out a barking dog, the distant freeway and radios.  Out here it’s as if my hearing aid were turned up to high and my nose as good as a dog’s, my sight as good as a hawk’s.  I am more awake.

 

I try to sort out all that has happened to me in the last few hours.  The great stone face gives me a skeptical look.   

I set up the little tent that I’ve often used in backcountry, a bivvy sack really, which gives protection from bugs and rain.  I crawled inside and stretched out on top of my sleeping bag and pad in 96 degree heat at 9pm.    

I soon came out of that hothouse and put the foam pad and sleeping bag on top of the collapsed tent, hoping the breeze would help me to sleep.  But a fly came buzzing around my head, then another.  

Sunset at Campsite

I must admit that the ceiling was lovely that night, near-full moon, bright orange mars beside it, millions of stars seemed large and near, moving on some stately surface that surrounds me like a shell.  The kind of night sky that falls on a desert like this is inconceivable to a Pasadena stay-at-home.  But little sleep came, and at first light the thermometer had only fallen to 86.   

The most aggravating part of camping out there was not the heat but these tiny balls of thorns, about an inch across; they are nearly invisible as they blend in with the desert sand.  Touching one is like a mosquito bite, but you don’t dare swat; it just drives the tiny thorns in deeper. 

These pillow rocks look comfortable enough to sleep on after a sleepless night, but I’m heading out of the wilderness today, back to 29-Palms.     

It takes passion, a strong desire, to carry me through hard times.  I have come so far and gone through so much to get here.  In spite of difficulties, I was the only one in this pristine part of the wilderness.  Every half-turn of my head presented another idyllic desert scene.