Death Valley National Park: Science Edition

We made it to Death Valley. Taught here near the Devil's Golf Course.

Death Valley National Park is anything but dead. Plants and animals are alive here, surely. But, it seems as if even the rocks are alive.

Death Valley is the hottest and driest place in the world. It is also has the lowest point (86 meters below sea level) on the North American continent; and it is getting lower every year. Of course, it is not getting meters lower each year, but there are a number of faults traversing this basin and range area of the country. 

We started a couple thousand feet above this in the Panamint Mountains and then spent much of our park time at or below sea level.

What blows me away is that the minor faults here are divergent; which means North America is literally being pulled apart. I knew about the transverse boundary where the Pacific plate was sliding north-northwest. What I didn’t know was that as it moves, it leaves gaps of space where the western edges of the divergent boundary pull on the land. 

Not to get all science teacher on you (I’m going to, you know you love it), but the divergent boundary results in a normal fault. In a normal fault, the hanging block slides down; this accounts for the part of the crust that Badwater Basin sits on to keep gradually dipping farther and farther before sea level.

When you are at the edge of salt flats, it doesn’t feel like the lowest point, really. It just feels HOT. Please remember that I am a person who generally prefers to be cooler, however, I also lived in south Florida for eleven years. I know what hot (especially on the clay of a softball field) feels like. It’s not a vent from inside the Earth or even soaring temperatures (high of the day was about 73 degrees Fahrenheit, which is six degrees above average for January, but by no means a qualifier for hot) that make it feel like the heat is cooking you, it is the light.

The sun over Death Valley from Artist's Drive

Nerding again for a moment, heat from the sun comes in the form of light rays of which we recognize seven unique types. Infrared waves, which are not visible to the human eye, are the kind that bring the heat. What makes Death Valley so extraordinarily hot even in the winter time is that those infrared rays are having a little reflection party all over the place. When lightwaves hit the salt flats, they bounce off at the same angle of reflection as the angle of incidence (yup, here we go physics) which might normally be just up or in a single direction, like across a blanket of snow. However, here, the salt crystals are formed in multiple directions with polygons that reflect and refract the light so that the same energy is coming at you from multiple directions at the same time. For an internationally-certified dark sky park, it is a pretty bright place when there is light.

Northern part of the salt flat near the Devil's Golf Course.

Add that to the meteorological effects of multiple ranges between the closest moist air source, limited cloud coverage, reflective sandstone and oxidized minerals that shimmer in the light (instead of absorbing the radiation), plus a distinct lack of vegetation in the incredibly low and salty desert, and you get the recipe for cooked human.

Piper was not as excited about going to the lowest place on the continent because she learned she could not drink the water from the lake.

Piper and I hiked from the road out to the edge of the temporary lake in Badwater Basin in the mid-afternoon. Before you think, “lady, that is the hottest time of day,” please know that I checked and the UV index was a 2 of 11 and the temperature was 73 degrees Fahrenheit; my parents keep their house warmer than that on the regular. It also looked like it was a couple hundred yards away. 

If you really zoom in, you'll be able to see Beck the Forester parked along Badwater Road. This was the view from the edge of the water in the temporary lake.

One thing I found entirely disorienting about Death Valley, and Badwater Basin in particular, was how not having obstacles or points of reference for height can make objects appear much closer than they actually are. I’m going to guess it was maybe a half a mile to a mile walk to get to the edge of the water. I am delighted to inform you that my trekking poles work well, and I am glad I got the extra wide feet-thingies for using them in snow. While I didn’t use the snow one on this hike, I can tell I am going to need them when I do. Anyway.

The ground is uneven as mud and salt form pillars of crystals and crusty mounds, making the ground look like an umber-colored Swiss cheese laid over a wild assortment of random LEGO pieces. I still have no idea why the mud does that, though I imagine it has to do with the mineral content. Spaced - with few visual cues to the difference - were slicks of mud that seeped up to cover the inch-thick sole of my boots. The exercise in precise footwork paid off when we got to the flats (which is figurative, because it is still like sitting on, albeit smaller, LEGOs).

A lake in Badwater Basin. Catch it while you can; evaporation is already in progress.

Fun fact about sitting on salt flats near water: you are actually sitting on a lake upon which a crust has formed. That crust is stong enough at a few centimeters thick to completely support your weight. It feels like a rock. But, you are sitting on a lake. The slow absorbtion of the water through the halite seeps into your clothes without you even noticing; until you stand up and suddenly it feels like your backside is in a soggy diaper. Luckily, I learned this in Death Valley, and by the time the 30-ish minute hike back to the car was done, my leggings were practically dry.

I have so much more to share about Death Valley. To see what we did for the rest of our trip, you'll have to keep coming back!