I have organized this story a bit differently than most.
Some of the locations have little or no reporting on the internet and I feel they should remain that way or someone I respect has personally requested that I not share them; as such, locations have been redacted and/or not mentioned, I've used non-official names for local landmarks, and the order of the trip has been randomized.
Please, if you know the locations shown here, I encourage you to enjoy them as much as I did - and follow my lead by not mentioning their names or locations in order to keep them a little less well-known, and special.
For more on my approach, you can read Do you have a GPX for that?.
For nearly three years now - ever since I met ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ in a Eureka Valley silt bed - there's been a special canyon in the Cottonwood Mountains that I've known I needed to visit. This canyon was one that I'd heard whispers and hints of through other sources, but never a name and certainly never a specific location.
As we chatted for a few minutes - after a small tug freed his pickup from the silt - our shared love for Death Valley was immediately obvious. He shared the joys of his trip that was coming to an end; I excitedly listed the places I planned to visit on that particular adventure. One of those places - another little-known spot in Saline Valley - prompted Wells to share just enough of this mysterious canyon that I was able to sleuth out the location - or at least, believe that I'd successfully done so - for a future trip into the Park.
Still, for 34 months and more than a dozen visits to Death Valley, the location I'd marked remained unexplored. The remoteness of the spot put it out of reach of anything but a concerted effort to find myself nearby, and the elevation precluded many of the months that I find myself wandering the desert.
Finally, though, it was time. A trip to the middle of the park - to explore the Canyons of the Cottonwoods - was the perfect opportunity to wander to the mouth of a seldom-visited canyon, my fingers crossed - and my anticipation piqued - that I'd found the right spot.
As we neared our destination, nature's drone kept tabs on our approach.
This beautiful bunch cactus gleamed in the bright sun.
As @mrs.turbodb and I approached the point at which we'd know whether I'd gotten it right or not, a polished chute of dolomite climbed steeply into the mountain from the alluvial fan. Too steep, perhaps.And then, we saw the first faint petroglyph.
When visiting rock art and ruin sites, be respectful.
This is most easily done by following the Leave No Trace principles; leaving the place exactly as you found it and taking with you only photographs and memories. In case that is not clear enough for some reason, here are examples of respectful behaviors:
A familiar form.
Unsure what to expect as we climbed further into the canyon, we pushed our way into the narrow passage. Within just a few feet, pools of water presented themselves, an indication of why this was a special place to those who came before us.
And then, the polished dry falls began.
Gatekeeper.
Here again, rock art decorated the walls. This time, the figures were even more recognizable, with bighorn sheep and ornate shields pecked into the smooth surfaces.
Typical sheep.
Turtle sheep.
This shield, carved into a polychromatic wall, really caught my eye.
Collection of shields.
Here too, the first red pictograph was fading below an unrecognizable petroglyph.
Ancient artists competing for canvas.
It was here - at the base of two more dry falls - tricky to navigate without ropes - that I left @mrs.turbodb as I continued up the nearly vertical slot canyon. Bridging my body between the walls, I worked my way up and over a double-chockstone-fall, leaving the problem of downclimbing for my return trip down the canyon.
Following my bridge, this 20-foot problem was a welcome relief.
Sheep parade.
This arch was more than seven feet tall, it's meaning, to me, unknown.
Twenty feet further, a sheer vertical conglomerate wall signaled what initially appeared be the end of my exploration. I couldn't exactly put my finger on it, but something was off. Thinking back now, it felt as though there hadn't been enough rock art, and - more importantly - the polished dolomite chutes I'd navigated in the lower canyon suggested more water - and finer formations - than the conglomerate wall.
Still, the wall captured my attention, and I approached for a closer look. There, hidden from view until I was within a few feet, I noticed a two-foot-wide, 40-foot tall, chute that cascaded through the solid rock to my left, just before the wall. Water, rushing down this formation had shaved off the conglomerate.
I had more climbing to do.
Up (top left, top right) and down (bottom left, bottom right) the narrow chute.
Clinging to the wall of the narrow passage, this Z-shaped snake was my favorite of the canyon.
At the top of the chute, I entered main grotto. This was not the end of the art, but here, the highest concentration of petroglyphs - and a few pictographs - crowded the walls.
Entrance to the main grotto.
A polished V terminated at a spectacular shield.
A wall of work.
Walking on water.
Three sheep.
This reminded me of the blueprint petroglyph.
Pigmented pictographs were fading here as well.
Vertical panel.
Having explored the grotto, it was time to head back to my companion, still waiting patiently near the bottom of the first falls. With up-climbs always easier than down, I wasn't sure how exactly I'd retrace my steps, but after some careful placement of hands and feet, and plenty of horizontal pressure on the polished surfaces as I wedged myself between the canyon walls, I eventually worked my way down.
Back down a high fall.
And then we were done.
The canyon had been everything I'd hoped. While the rock art in wasn't the most impressive in the park, the setting in which it was found - polished walls and dry falls - made for a magical experience. One easily worth 34 months of anticipation.
The Whole Story
