I was choking. Not literally on my own tongue, or on anything that would be discernible to the…read morehuman eye, but on smog. On the lack of dust, on sea-brushed wind. I was choking on my own life. I needed to get out, to get back to the center. No more of the lush green hills that filled my peripheal vision in every direction, none of the oaks and poison creepers. I wanted air so dry that it was like alcohol on my skin, mountains that scraped heaven, their tops pregnant with snow.
I found it in Saddleback Butte State Park. I have known about this park since I was a child, as I grew up in the Antelope Valley. I do not remember the drive being so long to get there, nor the way so winding. What I do remember were the forests. Immense, silent, wind scoured forests of trees with limbs so tortured, so twisted, that if one didn't know better they might think that the souls of some long dead army are caught there, left for eternity to scream out their pain to the blinding blue sky.
The way in is certainly made beautiful by the forests, and in approaching the park, the distance and the road stuns the eye. It would appear that such an expanse of the desert plains are nearly limitless, broken only by undulating, low grey and pale green hills, tumbled buttes comprised seemingly of boulders, and by the expanse of the comforting mountains that loom quietly in the distance.
The wind gives your first greeting upon reaching the entrance to the park. Stepping out of the car for the first time, I felt as though it wanted to try and tear me off of the face of the earth. This, luckily, is a temporary feeling. I was lucky in my stay that the perennial wind died down soon after arrival, though it made itself known upon my exit, close to sundown. I paid my $6 fee for the day (again, a bargain-thank you NPS and the state of California for seeing the need to create and protect such places of wild abandon and pricing them so fairly for the not so wealthy public) and parked at one of the far ramada's that have been erected as protection against the wind.
Upon leaving my vehicle, I went straight to the visitors center, but it was locked. There was one other family there, but the spaciousness of the desert creates a feeling of solitude, and I quickly forgot their presence. I climbed a low butte that borders the visitors center and surveyed my kingdom. From such a height, the tree yuccas looked like spindly, burned out husks of themselves. They have a tendency to fool the casual onlooker that they are blackened, irritable, uneasy. Ha! Tricksters.
I had come to Saddleback hoping to find wildflowers, but it was unfortunately too early in the season for this to happen. However, I did manage to see one thing that has eluded me on nearly every trip out to the desert-I found a Joshua blossom. Usually the blooms are placed so highly on the branches that I am unable to get even the closest glimpse at them. This time, by sheer luck, I found a low hanging branch-with full bloom on it. I was startled at the size-it was larger than my hand, and as stated before, foul smelling.
I walked the Nature Trail, which is paved and decorated beautifully with the tracks of desert creatures and the occasional native American artwork. The nature trail, for its beauty in winding throughout the park, is not of much interest. Better are you to venture off of the pathways and into the wilderness. More so is it worthwhile to climb the Butte itself and gaze out over the glory of the Eastern Mojave. Those not in possession of a stout constitution be warned-the journey to the top of the Butte is about the least straightforward thing in this park. But the climb is well worth it for the view that it provides.
I can't speak to the campgrounds as I merely drove past them on my way to the Butte. If I had more time, and more preparation for warmth in the freezing nights, I would have stayed-and enjoyed every minute. Indeed, as it was, I hated to go. It is always hard for me to part from the desert, from the solitude that is so dear to the human spirit, and from the life that springs eternal from this dry, dusty, living earth.
