We visited them in a tiny desert town (not even one stop light) two hours from San Diego. Our only goal for the week was to do some hiking in the desert, but those plans were flatly denied on Day One by the 2 inches of rain that fell (please note: the town only gets 6 inches of rain in a good YEAR.)
After a day feeling like caged animals, we made our way to Pam Canyon on Day Two.
I was nervously watching the threatening clouds, as we plunged further into the desert CANYON (not the place you want to be in a rainstorm). VW, with his many years of experience living in desert, finally declared that it would not rain, so we forged ahead. At one point, I do recall asking mom if there was a river in the canyon, because I could hear the sound of water flowing. I think she attributed the sound to the wind.
But, as we neared the oasis of palm trees the beckoned us from the deep in the canyon, we reached a point where we had to cross a raging stream. After watching a young boy mis-step on a rock in the stream and get wet up to his knee, I declared that I would just have to see the oasis next year. Btw, this is one of mom's pics, as is the one below. Sometimes I wish I used a plain old point-shoot camera and didn't feel compelled to take my pics in RAW, which requires complex converting later (but allowed me to Photoshop the sunrise photo -- sunrise over the "badlands" had me wishing I had some filters...those will be my next camera purchase!)
Anyway, on the return, members of our party were determined to take a different trail back and this necessitated crossing the Raging River. The menfolk took to building a bridge by throwing assorted rocks into the stream. My desire to cross the stream further deteriorated when VW threw a rather large rock into the stream and it was swiftly and without hesitation swept downstream. Meanwhile, Mom (who is proud of her farm upbringing) felt like moving the process along, and took off her shoes and waded across the brisk waters slightly further downstream. In the end, we all followed suit, except for VW, who forged onward, ultimately finding a spot where he could cross and remain completely dry. Those of us who got wet were able to use Mom's white shirt, which was the first "flesh wound" casualty of the day. We used it to clean our feet and our wet feet cleaned the blood of her shirt -- a fair trade.
We had other hikes in store for us -- but many involved my least-favorite line of the trip: "You just sorta make your own trail." This was really NOT a popular line when Mom and I emerged from the "Slot Canyon" only to be faced with a rather sheer rock face leading up to the parking area. Mom took a very flexible approach to the ascent trail. I wanted her to identify the official, approved trail up this sheer rock face. Ie: the trail least likely to result in loss of life or limb for me. She said, "Oh, well, you can go up there. Or you can go up down here. Or, well, you just sorta make your own trail."
Umhum. Thank you for that great wisdom, Mom.
I nearly slid right back down the sheer rock face. Hiking boots only provide so much traction, you know. And I had visions of various friends and relatives who have visited my mom (and dad, back in the day) in California, and found myself asking, "Did so-and-so go up here?? I can't imagine that Aunt Such-and-Such would have been too fond of this!" I will quiz (or warn) them all at the next family picnic.
This pic was taken from the guest bedroom window. Quite striking!
Oh yes, and the VW nickname -- I have decided that all VW drivers are maniacs. Yes, VW-driving friends, I do mean you. VW is the only person I know who can do about 50 mph on a steep mountain road hairpin turn AND spot a big-horn sheep off in the distance AT THE SAME TIME. Thanks VW -- that sheep-sighting made our trip complete!
We really had an enjoyable visit. Despite all the random trailblazing, we had a great time and will plan this as a regular winter escape!
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