PLASTIC SHOES

"We drove through the Mojave Desert, Owens Valley and Death Valley. the dust entered our bloodstream. The West was both eerie and and breathtakingly beautiful, and we wanted to live there forever...." -Karl Wiggins

1985 April

Well, I don't know about living there forever. Lately, all this heat has reminded me of those trips to Death Valley, when I was a student. Those school breaks when we didn't quite know what to do. We went to Death Valley ......usually in the spring.

It was like being on Mars.  

And hot, hot hot hot hot hot. I used to wear plastic sandals. Only 2$ a pair and worth every penny. Till they melted from walking thru sand dunes. I always brought extra pairs.

Camping. I hate camping. Yuck. Who would want to go camping. But Death Valley was unique.  We had tents. All in a row. In the sand. Next to about a thousand other people.  Keep the tent zipped up, we were told, so the scorpions and snakes don't find a way in. Great. 

Melted shoes. Scorpions and Snakes.  That's three things off of my bucket list.

The heat was like  fire. Salt water flats were expansive and quiet. the RV's liked to park  at the far end. Like little homes, all together, against the mountains. All retirees. With little dogs. One motor home had two tabby cats draped over the console.

Coyotes. During the day, coyotes howled like lost children. At first I thought it was the wind. Everyone stopped and looked to the hills. Everyone went quiet when the sound started.

At night the coyotes shrieked like banshees. Lost and lonely wails that  never ceased.  We were warned about wandering about at night. 

One night, early on to morning, there was a snuffling at the tent. Bodies circled and breathed . We huddled . Silent.  They  sniffed once more, then they were gone. Into the morning  which came early in Death valley.

Morning came with a bang...... 3:30 am....without fail, every day. People frying breakfast, washing faces, walking dogs, laughing. Playing card games. The campsite was alive.   

I used to walk up on the dunes in early morning. People would wave at me from the campsite. How friendly, I thought. I would wave back. It was only when I got back to camp I was told not to walk in the sand with my plastic shoes. Snakes under the sand. 

I had seen the wriggling under the sand. I thought it was the wind. 

The roads into Death Valley were long and grey. Nights freezing, but the  world went on forever. You could get lost if you ventured far at night. I know. The coyotes to urge you back to where you belonged.

Days were long and drippy. Showers cost  $5 if you reserved. We didn't reserve.  Sweaty humans  sang  inside the building. Long and loud. 

Badwater Basin was aptly named.  We managed to get the last couple of water bottles at the corner store in the campground. We had to share. Between six of us. We were at the lowest point in North America and we had come to walk the salt flats, 280 feet below sea level. It had been named for the 49ers. We wondered if there were gold in them thar hills....

I hated camping. I still do to this day. But I returned four times to see Death Valley. Hear the coyotes sing. See the dawn rush out over the mountains. Watch the sand squiggle and wiggle with snakes.  It made me feel  wonderfully made. My plastic shoes and I......

"The shadows of the desert are so magical that we completely forget the owners of the shadows.." -Mehmet Murat Idan

1984

 Photographs, a mix from 1980's and 2021.