Death Valley: Stark Beauty and Timelessness of a Natural Extreme

The largest American park outside of Alaska, Death Valley National Park spreads across 3.3 million acres of rugged geology, twice the size of the state of Delaware. The ancestral homeland of Timbisha Shoshone tribe, the brutal, barren landscape is actually home to a remarkable variety of life that has adapted to the harsh conditions: 1,000 plants, 400 birds, 56 mammals, 36 reptiles, five amphibians and six fish.

Death Valley, so named for its harshness by early pioneers, was a flourishing gold, silver and borax mining community from 1860 to 1910. There's a reason it's less trampled than other western parks. Only the intrepid come to this land of extreme contrasts for the grand isolation, the splendid solitude, the jaw-dropping scenery.

Furnace Creek - Lodging in Death Valley National Park

I've divided my time between the two different Furnace Creek properties -- The Ranch at Furnace Creek and the Inn at Furnace Creek. The former, with its western-themed grounds and National Park Service Visitor Center, is more family-friendly; the latter is more suited for couples. The ranch is open year-round, while the inn is open seasonally from mid-October to mid-May; guests at either share privileges: dining, an 18-holed gold course, spring-fed swimming pools. During my early May visit, when temperatures are already topping 110, I don't encounter any other Americans, just heat-seeking Europeans.

It's a little cloudy as I sit on the patio at The Inn, sipping a tart, blush-colored prickly pear margarita and slurping chilled dungeness crab and avocado gazpacho laced with jalapeno, awaiting sunset and dabbing my face. My first cocktail drained, I look up and the sky has segued from dusky lilac to papaya. The only response to such rapturous beauty is to put down one’s spoon and glass and watch, trying to bank the memory. The only sound is an occasional car on the road below and a tinkling fountain somewhere on property.

Even though my appetite is diminished in the heat, I rally for a delicious Mammoth Lake Muscovy duck medallions with habanero-mandarin glaze. Crispy potato cakes are a nice accompaniment, as is the crescent moon that has risen over the Panamint Mountains. For dessert, there's a refreshing watermelon lemonade semifreddo yogurt. One-bite cocoa-dusted truffles are a sweet touch presented with the bill.

Exploring the Park

I'm more a sunset than sunrise girl, so I sleep before heading for Scotty's Castle, which a staffer has praised for having the best tour of any national park. Afterwards, I'm inclined to agree, as the hour-long guided tour provides a fascinating glimpse into the lively history of Death Valley in its heyday.

Walter Scott, nicknamed Scotty, was an ex-cowboy, prospector, performer in Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show and an unrivalled raconteur. He befriended Chicago millionaire Albert Johnson who built the two-story Spanish Colonial style winter residence—off the grid on a grand scale—featuring sheepskin drapes, an indoor waterfall and a 1,121 pipe theater organ.

The Inn has packed me a lunch so I picnic under the shady trees on lovely grounds before driving to nearby Ubehehebe Crater, which Natives call coyote’s basket. The crater is 600 feet deep and a half a mile across and the wind whips over the lava rocks with ferocity. While there, I chat with a couple who are impressed that "every 30 minutes the landscape in the park changes."

They're right, and no more so than at Mesquite Sand Dunes, where tiny grains of the quartz and feldspar are constantly shifting the undulating forms. Easily accessible, the graceful red curves which rise in some places to 150 feet, look familiar: they were the backdrop to the Star Wars movies.

After exploring them on foot, I hop back in my rental car and make my way to Golden Canyon. It's an easy, beautiful slot canyon hike, but by late afternoon it's scorching, so, like a lizard, I seek out the shade of rock-thrown shadows while draining my water bottle. I stop at Zabrinksie Point with its wildly eroded badlands, one of the Death Valley Park's most famous viewpoints, before returning to the Ranch.

I slake my thirst with a date shake (the property boasts more than 1,500 date palms) at the 49er Café, named for the first explorers enter Death Valley on their way to the California gold fields. After polishing off an appetizer of luscious bacon-wrapped dates at The Wrangler Steakhouse, I tuck into a perfectly charred ribeye before ambling back to my room under an inky, star-strewn sky.

Today, I've got a jam-packed day of touring starting with the foreboding Devil's Golf Course, where gnarled salt spires cover 200 miles so rough only the devil could play it. The wind whips and howls as I crunch my way through the spiky terrain. I pause, silencing the crunch underfoot and listen carefully for the Rice Krispie-like popping of the land as it contracts and expands in response to extremes in temperature.

Badwater Basin is nearly 300 feet below sea level, the lowest point in North America. Here, a one to five-foot layer of salt remains where a lake dried up more several thousand years ago. Visitors snap pictures on the boardwalk before trekking across the blindingly white salt flats.

Less than an hour away, it's at least 20 degrees cooler at Dante's View, with an elevation of 5,000 feet. I drive slowly, taking in the scenery, but there’s a roar in my rear-view mirror: a pack of young men from Poland in rented yellow Corvettes speeding up the step ascent. But even these testosterone-fueled guys linger at the popular panoramic lookout.

I've timed it right and the sun is glowing as I drive the narrow, winding, nine-mile loop that is Artist's Palette. It's an unspeakably glorious drive. The desert colors—the result of mineral deposits dabbled across the rock formations are impossible to capture on my camera, though I valiantly try: sea green, lemon yellow, periwinkle blue and salmon pink.

My final stop is at the Harmony Borax Works, which only operated for five years in the late 1880s, but was the birthplace of the famous Twenty Mule Teams. Today, the rusting remains of machinery and an original wagon hint at the industrial hum that once filled the valley.

Over the past few days, I've descended, and I've reached new heights, both literally and figuratively. The extremes have awakened me, renewing something in my spirit as well as my body. The desert has worked its medicine.

Tomorrow, when I kick up a rooster tail—a plume of dust—on a ribbon of dusty asphalt, only memories will remain. And they aren't measured by timepieces.