journey to the salton sea

California has its share of geographical oddities, but one of the weirdest has got to be the Salton Sea.

Created by accident in 1905-1907, it is the largest lake in California.



Standing up at Key's View in Joshua Tree National Park looking out at the Salton Sea in the distance reminded me of the Golan Heights, so maybe was in a Middle East frame of mind. Plunging into the desert one is startled by the sudden appearance of lush fields of green, agriculture supported by irrigation imported from the Colorado River. The town there is called Mecca. The air noticeably thickens (we're 200 feet below sea level!) and shimmers, and then there is this thick saline sea and the furnace of the sun. A nearby town is called Thermal. Comparisons with the Dead Sea are inevitable. Huge groves of palm trees abound--date orchards. Some, abandoned, have gone feral.

"Surreal" is the only way I can describe it.


Abandoned submarine on an accidental sea

But the Salton Sea is different. At one point it was perfect for fish, but its salinity is ever increasing. So the fish are dying. The shore has an ersatz sand, piles of barnacle shells and fish bones. Dead fish float as far as the eye can see. It doesn't help that the Salton Sea is now fed by the foulest river in America.

The human history of the place is equally weird. At one point the Salton Sea was seen as the next Palm Springs, and resort communities sprung up all along its shore. Now they are all abandoned and salt-encrusted and rather amusing to explore. [Does anyone have a link to valvision's salton sea photos?]

Bottle Tree Ranch, US-66

"Welcome to Elmer's Place. The Bottle Tree Ranch. Dedicated to those who lived and died on the Mother Road."

Bree and I entertained ourselves today with a trip to Barstow, where we ate donuts. We got there following the leftover bits of the old Route 66. It turns out that Historic Route 66 provides a pleasant, bucolic alternative to I-15 over the Cajon Pass. It's particularly good if you like trains; you're right beside them.

(no subject)

I only today realized that the symbol of California's state highways is intended to resemble the blade of a shovel.

Mountains

The first storm in months* hit Los Angeles on Friday, so the next morning Bree and I decided to go on some erosion tourism. We had hoped to find our city's river channels coursing with muddy water, carrying trees and boulders alike toward the ocean, but instead we found them pretty much dry. I guess the first day of rain just soaks the soil. We need a little more to start the debris flows.

Naturally, we headed up into the mountains, up CA-39 following the San Gabriel River. (Somewhere back in my mind I contemplated the various scenarios involving the road washing out behind us; the San Gabriels are littered with abandoned highways.) It's amazing how a little weather can make a place so much more dramatic. The wisps of cloud rising from the mountain tips would have me believe I was in the Peruvian Andes.

The above photo is of Glendora Ridge Road, a little-traveled road, just one lane for both traffic directions, that traverses the mountain ridge from CA-39 to Mount Baldy Road. We saw just two other cars.

We took refuge at the Mt Baldy Lodge. Outside the weather was crisp and the air smelled like Christmas, something about the fresh rain and the conifers. The lodge was the perfect place, snug and warm, and with delicious foods. We weren't the only ones who thought so; it was packed, for the first time all summer. Strangely, the storm brought people into the mountains. We dined on hot apple cider, prime rib with baked potato and salad, heffeweizen, chocolate cake, and irish coffee. Somebody said it was snowing near the summit, but we didn't believe him; today we look up at a snowy mountaintop.

It's amazing such a place is less than ten miles from the metropolis.

* LA receives on average about 14 inches of rain in a year. So far this year we've received only two.