Note: This is the introductory essay for my portfolio of photos from my last two trips to Death Valley National Park. You can view the full portfolio as a free PDF ebook.
A 2005 New York Times article, “Unusual Bounty in Death Valley,” described Death Valley National Park as a “monochromatic wasteland,” notable only for that year’s superbloom. The vision of a sea of wildflowers contrasting with a barren wasteland is a compelling image. It’s also deeply wrong.
There are multiple misconceptions packed into that phrase, so let’s start with the first: monochromatic. Death Valley’s base materials, dirt, sand, and rock, are strikingly colorful, including some of the most vibrant rocks and badlands in North America. These colors are not static; they shift dramatically with light, reflecting the blues of twilight and the intense colors at sunrise and sunset. The “monochromatic” salt flats are anything but when there is color in the sky, and the badlands take on an intense glow at dawn and dusk.
Next: wasteland. While this word has multiple meanings, clearly in the context of the article, the author meant barren or empty. There are millions of perennial plants, from Joshua trees to cottontop cactus, creosote bush, and mesquite trees, and even in non-superbloom years, countless flowering plants. There is also abundant animal life – desert kit foxes, coyotes, desert bighorn sheep, mountain lions, chuckwallas, sidewinders, small songbirds, large raptors, and more – all perfectly adapted to live and thrive here. A place that sustains such diversity cannot be a wasteland.
Not only is this comparison of a desert to a barren wasteland wrong and cliché, it’s also dangerous. A wasteland has no purpose – it is a land waiting to be exploited, since any use would be an improvement. Popularizing the common, though unfortunate, misconception that deserts are wastelands makes it easier for people to accept their destruction.
This collection of photos, taken during my last two trips to Death Valley, serves as a visual rebuttal to the characterization of a monochromatic wasteland – perhaps not enough to convince the Gray Lady, but hopefully enough to convince you.
This portfolio should also disprove another common misconception – that the desert is a static place. During these two trips, a giant ephemeral lake, Lake Manly, appeared and disappeared. Salt playas that were buried underwater one year had formed pristine polygons the next. The wet year produced an exceptional, if not “super,” bloom of flowers and plants, with hillsides covered with desert gold and Emory’s rockdaisy. The drier year had several exceptionally windy days which were magical on the sand dunes. Despite being drier than the previous year, there were still several storms that dumped snow and rain at higher elevations, including enveloping the Joshua tree forests at higher elevations with fog.
For those willing to look beyond tired stereotypes, Death Valley remains one of the most scenic desert ecosystems in the United States. I hope these (many!) photographs help you discover its true character. Thank you for looking.
Late afternoon light over sand dunes in Death Valley National Park.
Fog envelopes a Joshua tree forest in Death Valley National Park.
One of the nicest turtleback plants I have seen growing in Death Valley National Park.
Late afternoon light over rippled sand dunes in Death Valley National Park.
Blowing sand during a strong wind storm in Death Valley National Park.
Spring greens on a mesquite tree in Death Valley National Park.
Heavily textured rocks deep in a backcountry canyon in Death Valley National Park.
The top layer of mud flakes off the Racetrack Playa at twilight.
Light and shadow drifts across sand dunes in Death Valley National Park.
A pretty prairie clover plant found in Death Valley National Park.
A clearing storm over the sand dunes in. Death Valley National Park.
A sunset view of Lake Manly, the ephemeral lake that covered Death Valley’s Badwater Basin for about six months over the 2023-2024 winter.