CALIFORNIA
40 worldtravellermagazine.com
small streams chuckle away under fallen
trunks. Prehistoric moss is delicately
draped over ancient branches.
I stretch out on the sun-warmed
pebbles at the water’s edge. Far removed
from the bleeps and screens of city
life, I feel myself slowly filling up with
whatever it is that urban living siphons
away — something atomic is soothed.
Heading east, to Lassen Volcanic
National Park, we become doubly grateful
for having all our gear in tow. The
weather here is rarely a polite British
mist or mild bluster — it’s more extreme.
The wind has teeth. In fact, there’s some
question as to whether we will manage
this stretch, blizzards having recently
closed the roads, but we push on. We’re
rewarded by a surreal hike through the
snowy hydrothermal peaks. Steaming
fumaroles and sulphur vents flank the
path, spluttering mud pots and boiling
springs mutter and pop as we pass.
We suck fistfuls of snow and listen
to indigo-crested pine jays ack-ack
at each other from icy branches. We
sleep soundly in the snug confines
of our aluminium abode, wake with
the sun blushing through panoramic
windows, and feel ourselves slipping
deeper into the landscape each day.
Further south, at Lake Tahoe, our
campsite has just opened for the season,
so we have a grand sandy-beach view
of the deepest lake in America all to
ourselves. We’re seat-shaped and tetchy
from too much driving, so we take a
few days out, to kayak and stretch our
legs, relishing the freedom to change
our plans on a whim, and pitying
those poor fools locked into their pre-
booked hotel regime. Tired of our own
cooking, we eat at a restaurant called,
unpromisingly, the Naked Fish — and
feast on fresh local sushi, which turns
out to be some of the best I’ve ever had.
When we do hit the road again, we
head towards Death Valley — with a
stop en route, somewhat incongruously,
at Walmart. I’d heard RVs are welcome
to stay overnight in the grocery
giant’s car parks for free (it’s known
as Wallydocking, apparently), but
seriously doubted the appeal — until I
saw the Gardnerville branch, with its
crisp, dramatic view across the white-
tipped peaks of the Sierra Nevada.
And sure enough, a row of enormous
motorhomes were parked up neatly in
the far corner of the lot. One owner,
lazing in a deckchair, nods an unspoken
assertion that this is the life.
At the other end of the spectrum,
there’s ‘boondocking’ — dry camping
in the middle of nowhere, with no
power hook-up — and we become more
confident at it as the days pass. (We also
become more dependent on it, as we
realise how we’ve underestimated the
distances involved out here: serpentine
mountain roads with violent chicanes
make for fun driving, but slow going,
and the engine growls and strains.) In
fact, of my two favourite nights, one was
spent in an unbooked state-run ‘dry’
park we stumbled upon, and the other
was in the open desert of Death Valley.
If ever you doubted your mortality,
the desert will soon put you right. The
suffocating stillness and telephone poles
all state that you do not belong here.
There is an acrid scent of searing tarmac
in the air, and our vision quivers as the
temperature hits 38c. Death Valley is one
of the lowest inland spots on Earth, and
Furnace Creek (population: 24) is at an
‘elevation’ of 60m below sea level. Even
with its Visitor Centre, it’s intimidating;
but as the afternoon passes, a breeze
stirs up dust and brings some life to
this airless place. We watch for a while
as a pair of wild russet mares stand
mirrored, bowing over a sleeping foal.
Pulling off the road at dusk, we
fall into our usual routine around
the fire. But the Airstream has one
last surprise for us. By accident, I
discover that its internal showerhead
can actually be pulled outside via a
hatch — so we shower off the day’s
dust in the middle of an empty desert.
The sun fades fast over the venerable
Panamint Mountains, grand marbled
strata of cream and grey; countless
stars form a celestial dot-to-dot;
and, amazingly, I don’t have to leave.
I get to stay here, to merge into it
all. I don’t need a sat-nav to tell me
I have reached my destination.Inspired to travel? To book a trip, call
+971 4 316 6666 or visit dnatatravel.comPanamint mountains