Much as I enjoy the occasional morning in Happy, comfy in bed with a steaming mug of Costa Rica Tarrazu in hand and the morning news programs on TV; as nice as it is to use the hair dryer instead of the sun or turn on the microwave for a quick baked potato, I’d trade it all for boondocking.
We’ve come to love the days when we’re off the grid, unplugged and enjoying nature with most of the comforts of home. These have been some of the best times: watching whales moving up the Big Sur coast, observing a moose and her calf browsing wild rose hips on a drizzly Wyoming morning, hearing coyotes howl at the full moon in the high desert.
It’s still not true camping – at least not of the remembered Scouting variety. Propane powers the heater, the stove with oven and fridge with a freezer. Solar panels keep my laptop and iPod charged, the water pump working and the lights burning at night. We have a mini wine cellar and a library with games and a cupboard of Trader Joe’s snacks. We even have a solar charger for the radio, which brings in NPR in the most unlikely of places.
We could, but don’t, watch DVDs and seldom listen to CDs, opting instead for a campfire and stargazing.
All of which brought us to the Blair Valley in the Anza Borrego desert. At over 600,000 acres and the state’s largest park, Anza Borrego has more than 500 miles of roads and is one of the few places campers can boondock, or camp off the grid. Pick a dirt road, pick out a spot and set up camp. You’re asked only to stick to the roads and pack out everything you bring in.
And the miracle is, everyone does. We hiked to centuries-old Native American grinding holes, untouched except by the desert winds. Another hike took us to rock paintings by the Kumeyaay people, at least 200 years old and perhaps as old as 1,000 years – faded by the sun, but unmarred by human vandals.
And a steep mile-long scramble up the boulders of Ghost Mountain brought us to the homestead of Marshal South, the nom de plume of an Australian-born writer, artist and eccentric, who brought his wife to the remote mountaintop in 1930 in a grand experiment to live off the land. There they remained for 17 years, in an adobe home they built themselves, living primarily off desert plants and the few provisions they laboriously hauled up the mountain. Tanya South went to a hospital to have each of her three children, but otherwise they lived apart from civilization, writing a monthly column for Desert Magazine.
The crumbling homestead walls remain. Along with the rusting iron bed, tin cans and other remnants of their remote lives – again, untouched by litter or graffiti, although the site is a popular destination.
Staying in the Blair Valley, where the remnants of an 1840s stagecoach road are still visible in the dry lakebed, was the most peaceful camping experience we’ve had. One night a coyote, very near, yipped a response to the far-off howling of another across the valley. In the morning the birdsong was riotous – rock wrens in the boulders, black-throated sparrows in the creosote bushes, and once, a thrilling sighting of a loggerhead shrike, known as the butcher bird for its habit of impaling prey on thorns or barbed wire.
Cottontails and jackrabbits were frequent visitors.
Neighboring campers were specks in the distance and the solitude allowed us to use our outdoor shower – same hot water, but fresh air and blue sky overhead. We moved across the valley after the first night, and at our campsite found the grave for a dog – we guessed a black lab – buried nearly 10 years ago. A faded tennis ball still rested against the headstone, and noting that the dog was buried in August, when temperatures can top 120 degrees, we knew his family must have loved Blackie very much.
We went to Borrego Springs state park for one day, but remained off the grid, in a campsite without hookups and far enough from the showers that we rode our bikes. It was a choice site, with one of the few remaining stone structures built by the CCC in the 1930s, including cement and stone tables and benches and a wonderful rock fireplace built into the corner.
Our site was surrounded by wildflowers and looked up toward palm canyon, a famed desert oasis we visited last year. Gambel’s quail were everywhere, calling “hoo HOO hoo,” and bobbing their silly-looking topfeather as they scuttled across the dry wash.
We were lucky enough last December to get a good sighting of the elusive desert bighorn sheep – the namesake borrego – on a early-morning trek. March, however, is the height of wildflower and visitor season, and knowing the borrego would be scarce, we skipped the crowds of hikers, built a fire and broke out the wine instead. For pictures, link is below: (Click on first picture to enlarge)
http://picasaweb.google.com/happytwo.mcwilliams/March09Blog2?authkey=Gv1sRgCLeNmv639fuiGQ&feat=directlink
