Snowfall
The weather service was promising a big Alaskan storm for the weekend with plenty of snow and winds in the 30-40 mph range. It sounded like a great opportunity to drive the 2 1/2 hours up to the high desert to photograph the desert covered in snow. I thought that it might be a good idea to go to Joshua Tree National Park, near Twenty-nine Palms as the rocks and plants there are very unusual and snow might be an added plus. I had spent two winters in South Korea in the Army in ’68 and ’69 , so I knew what it takes to stay warm and dry and still be able to work in the wintry conditions. Thirty-six years living in L.A. doesn’t really prepare you for winter conditions, to say the least, but one winter in Korea surely does. Veterans of World War One came to Joshua Tree to seek relief in the dry desert air for their seared lungs. Mustard gas is a terrible weapon. I remembered my Uncle Harold and the horrible sound of his coughing. I came for the silence of the desert and to photograph the alien-looking plants and boulders.
On Friday afternoon the storm hit in waves about an hour apart with the temperature dropping 10 degrees and 30 mph winds driving big snowflakes. I learned to get in rhythm with the fronts as they passed over. When I could see the sun, I took the tripod and camera and climbed up into the rock formations near Jumbo Rocks and Hidden Valley. When the sun disappeared into the lowering clouds I retreated to the four-wheel drive to let my fingers thaw and download the Nikon’s images into my PowerBook. I watched a large raven as it tried flying into the wind. It gave up and headed for a perch on some large rocks to the east.
Some people were pitching small tents against the towering rock formations in an attempt to get out of the wind for the night. I had enough of that in Korea, so after the last front went through, I decided to head down to Twenty-nine Palms for dinner and a hotel room. As I drove down the road to the town, I thought I would leave the desert camping to the Marines and the kids I saw knocking back bottles of Becks while standing around in a blizzard. Ah, youth.
Twenty-nine Palms lies next to the Marine Base. It features retirees, some hard-bitten local characters, muscular young men with white-sidewall haircuts driving black Firebirds and lots of murals of donkeys and coyotes painted on the walls of ramshackle stores. I’ve been visiting the high desert for a long time, now, and I have met some very strange people there. As I ate dinner at the Carousel Diner, I read local newspaper’s real estate section. It showed new four bedroom homes for $250,000. I remember seeing homes in the early seventies going for $10,000. Times have changed and so have the real estate prices. But then I have changed too. Fast cars, money and fancy homes do not interest me any more. They did once, but not any more.
Saturday dawned clear and cold so I ate a quick breakfast and headed up into the park. The Ranger didn’t even open her little window to see my pass. I probably wouldn’t have either given the weather conditions. The weather gods had laid a trap for me with the clear dawn weather; luring me into the park to Barker Dam, one of my favorite places. As I arrived the temperature was dropping and low clouds moved in to quickly blot out the sun. I contemplated taking the waterproof camera backpack with all my gear, but a glance at the scudding clouds convinced me to travel light: carbon-fiber tripod, D2x and three lenses was all I really needed. I had shot here before and wanted to shoot the oaks and mesquite snags silhouetted against the wintry sky. It’s about a two mile round trip hike, some uphill, but still not too hard for an ageing baby-boomer like me. You know you’re getting older when you leave 20 pounds of gear behind to save weight. I remember making this hike in my early thirties while carrying my young son in a backpack and all my camera gear too.
As I reached the bowl area that comprises Barker Dam the sky let loose with a barrage of big, wet snowflakes that threatened to end my visit. Expensive camera gear really shouldn’t be out in this kind of weather, but that’s why you spend that kind of money on your gear. The engineers at Nikon sneer at the weather gods; I look at the sky apprehensively and hoped for the best while trusting their weather sealing. I am only after six good black and white images out of six hundred. Not too much to ask of my muse.
Barker Dam was built by a Russian immigrant named Keys. He wanted to water his horses and cattle in the collected rainwater of the basin. Now it is used by the bighorn sheep that come down to drink in the evening. The area is closed at sundown so as to not bother the wildlife. I knew I wouldn’t be around at sundown as the wet snow was collecting on my gear and turning into water. Not a good sign. It was time to head back to the four-wheel drive after I filled up a couple of two-gig cards. Now the wind and snow was really starting to blow and I could barely see across the hundred yards or so of the Dam.
As I trudged up to an unfamiliar rock formation, I realized I had taken a wrong turn and was going up to the old mill instead of the parking area. I decided to look for some shelter and wait for the snow squall to pass. Ahead, I saw a place to get out of the weather next to a cut in the rocks. As I came around the corner of the monument, I was presented with the sad sight of a magnificent old Joshua Tree that had not been able to withstand the snow accumulation and the winds too. It had toppled over onto the desert floor and was certain to die.
Joshua Trees are curious desert survivors related to Yuccas, both being a type of Lily. They don’t have rings like true trees, but have been estimated to live as long as a thousand years. They are only pollinated by a certain species of Yucca Moth and each of their distinctive branching arms denotes a pollination. This old warrior had dozens of branches and was twenty feet tall; a beautiful specimen who had been able to weather many winter storms, but had gotten too tall with too many branches until it’s roots couldn’t hold on in the high winds.
As I sheltered in the rocks I heard the sound the wind made as it rushed through the long spiky leaves. It was as if the tree was speaking to me, as a drunken man might extol his friends to help him up from a fall. As the wind grew in intensity, the sound became louder and louder, until it reached a high-pitched whistle, almost a scream. The wet snow was dampening all the sound around me now and all I could hear was the wind whistling through the spikes of the fallen tree.
“Help me up,” the tree seemed to be saying, but all I could do was take it’s picture.
People are sometimes like Joshua Trees: they get too big and too complicated for their own good, then a big storm comes along and they get leveled. Life has a way of doing that. I hope it won’t happen to me.
Humbled by the sight of the tree, I waited until the front had passed and gathered up my gear for the hike back to the truck. The sound faded as I rounded the corner of the trail and was replaced by the total silence of the desert. I hiked on in the silence, hearing only the sound of my boots on the snow. As I approached my truck, I thought that at least I had taken the tree’s picture and that someone had noted it’s passing. In the big scheme of things, maybe that’s all we can really hope for.
Gary Zuercher
March 12. 2006
