On those rare occasions when it's cold and dreary in LA, the perfect antidote lies just 120 miles to the east, where the desert is perpetually sunny and warm. Last Sunday, I drove to Palm Desert to visit a zoo / botanical gardens called The Living Desert. While it was cloudy and struggling to break 60 degrees in LA, the sun was bright and the temperatures were in the 80s in beautiful Palm Desert. :)
The Living Desert specializes in animal and plant life of desert ecosystems, similar to the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum in Tuscon, AZ. The Living Desert isn't on a par with the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum (which is absolutely world-class wonderful - if you haven't been, you must go!), but it was nice and had interesting exhibits. Some of the more unusual animals included hyenas, bat-eared foxes, a Mexican wolf, and a thirsty gila monster. Scattered around the grounds were palm trees, of course, and also beautiful animal sculptures. The weather was perfect on this day, but there were reminders that the desert can get brutally hot.
On the way back, I stopped in Palm Springs for a few hours to see this famous but strange town. The cities of Palm Desert, Rancho Mirage, and Palm Springs are small islands of civilization plopped down in the middle of an empty desert. As you walk along a "downtown" street, if you stop and peer down a side street you will see a barren desert landscape seemingly just a few blocks away. Palm Springs is more touristy than I expected, and clearly has a substantial retirement community. It also had some nice galleries and artsy shops, where I was tempted to buy funky reptilian wall art.
The full set of pictures is here.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Grunion
Mother Nature is impossibly creative. The most imaginative minds couldn't dream up a fish that lays its eggs on land. But that is exactly what the grunion do.
Grunion are silvery fish about 5-6 inches long that seasonally come up onto southern California beaches and lay their eggs in the sand. About twice a month from March through July, during the periods of high tide, the grunion swim toward the shore and let the waves carry them onto the beach. The female burrows deep into the sand, tail first, and lays her eggs. While she is depositing her eggs, male fishes wrap themselves around her and release their sperm "milk", which drizzles down the length of the female's body and into the hole with the eggs, fertilizing them. When the deed is done, the fish wiggle and flop back toward the ocean and the next big wave returns them to the sea. Sometimes it takes a while for the next big wave to come, but the grunion can survive on land for up to 20 minutes!
For this astounding ritual to be successful, the timing must be exquisitely precise. The grunion mysteriously know to begin spawning just after the peak of the high tide. This gives the eggs the maximum amount of time to develop undisturbed in the sand before the next high tide cycle, and it is also the time when waves deposit sand on beaches, covering the eggs with an additional protective layer of sand. Roughly two weeks later, during the beginning (pre-peak) period of the next high tide cycle, the waves draw sand away from the beach, gradually uncovering the eggs. When the fish eggs are agitated by sea water, they instantly hatch and the baby grunion are carried out to sea. The fish literally pop out of their shells instantaneously when a wave washes over them so that the very same wave sweeps them away to the ocean.
On Wednesday night, I went to the Cabrillo Marine Aquarium and took part in their "Meet the Grunion" program to witness this grand event. First, you watch a short documentary about the grunion, which is where I learned the factoids above. :) The aquarium staff then accompany you to Cabrillo Beach and help you spot the fish and explain what you're seeing. The spectacle is amazing, and I got lots of great photos, despite the fact that it was pitch dark! (This event happens very late at night: from ~10pm onward.) At times the entire length of the beach was filled with hundreds if not thousands of fish, wiggling and flopping all over the place. I could clearly identify females digging burrows, and witnessed some males wrapping themselves around the females. Once the "grunion run" (as it is called) is well underway (i.e., the momentum is strong enough that you won't scare them away anymore), you can walk right up to the fish and get as close as you want. I even peered down into one burrow and could see the orange fish eggs at the bottom. I stayed until well after midnight, watching wave after wave bring new piles of fish onto the beach. It was mesmerizing to see the fish engage in their spawning rituals with an intense purposefulness and a furious desperation to get back to the water, all too aware of their death-defying transience on land.
This was one of the most amazing exhibitions of the natural world that I have been fortunate enough to see!
Grunion are silvery fish about 5-6 inches long that seasonally come up onto southern California beaches and lay their eggs in the sand. About twice a month from March through July, during the periods of high tide, the grunion swim toward the shore and let the waves carry them onto the beach. The female burrows deep into the sand, tail first, and lays her eggs. While she is depositing her eggs, male fishes wrap themselves around her and release their sperm "milk", which drizzles down the length of the female's body and into the hole with the eggs, fertilizing them. When the deed is done, the fish wiggle and flop back toward the ocean and the next big wave returns them to the sea. Sometimes it takes a while for the next big wave to come, but the grunion can survive on land for up to 20 minutes!
For this astounding ritual to be successful, the timing must be exquisitely precise. The grunion mysteriously know to begin spawning just after the peak of the high tide. This gives the eggs the maximum amount of time to develop undisturbed in the sand before the next high tide cycle, and it is also the time when waves deposit sand on beaches, covering the eggs with an additional protective layer of sand. Roughly two weeks later, during the beginning (pre-peak) period of the next high tide cycle, the waves draw sand away from the beach, gradually uncovering the eggs. When the fish eggs are agitated by sea water, they instantly hatch and the baby grunion are carried out to sea. The fish literally pop out of their shells instantaneously when a wave washes over them so that the very same wave sweeps them away to the ocean.
On Wednesday night, I went to the Cabrillo Marine Aquarium and took part in their "Meet the Grunion" program to witness this grand event. First, you watch a short documentary about the grunion, which is where I learned the factoids above. :) The aquarium staff then accompany you to Cabrillo Beach and help you spot the fish and explain what you're seeing. The spectacle is amazing, and I got lots of great photos, despite the fact that it was pitch dark! (This event happens very late at night: from ~10pm onward.) At times the entire length of the beach was filled with hundreds if not thousands of fish, wiggling and flopping all over the place. I could clearly identify females digging burrows, and witnessed some males wrapping themselves around the females. Once the "grunion run" (as it is called) is well underway (i.e., the momentum is strong enough that you won't scare them away anymore), you can walk right up to the fish and get as close as you want. I even peered down into one burrow and could see the orange fish eggs at the bottom. I stayed until well after midnight, watching wave after wave bring new piles of fish onto the beach. It was mesmerizing to see the fish engage in their spawning rituals with an intense purposefulness and a furious desperation to get back to the water, all too aware of their death-defying transience on land.
This was one of the most amazing exhibitions of the natural world that I have been fortunate enough to see!
Friday, May 23, 2008
Shark!
I love piers. I love the brief illusion of walking onto the water and standing in the middle of the ocean. The best piers, such as King Harbor at Redondo Beach, showcase the infinite wonders of the sea via artwork, shops, games, and, of course, ever-present fishermen. On a recent return trip to King Harbor, I discovered a restaurant that sells the freshest shrimp imaginable, witnessed a substantial haul of mackerel by a local fisherman, and watched a beautiful sunset over the Pacific.
On Saturday I drove to Seal Beach to see the second longest wooden pier in California. Disappointingly, the pier was remarkably unremarkable. It isn't noticeably longer than other piers, and it has nothing on it but a small restaurant. Seal Beach's main street, however, has some cute touristy shops, including a seashell store that had rows and rows of seashells (I would have loved this place as a kid!), a colorful kite store, and other typical Californian establishments. :)
On Sunday, I took a stroll on my local beach and, as often happens, eventually found myself on the Venice Pier. A sea lion was circling the pier, periodlcally poking his head out of the water. My binoculars revealed that he often had a fish in his mouth when he surfaced. A bit later, I noticed a pod of bottlenose dolphins swimming parallel to the beach, heading north toward the pier. I'd heard surfers claim that the dolphins often swim so close that the surfers can touch them, and I could see from my vantage point on the pier that this was true. The dolphins swam right in front of several groups of surfers, almost seeming to mingle among them. As they slowly meandered northward, the dolphin frequently stopped to engage in jumps and other acrobatics. After many failed attempts, I finally got one picture of two dolphins jumping high out of the water. At one point, the sea lion joined up with the dolphins and porpoised right alongside them.
I was so immersed in the dolphins' antics that I failed to notice a large group of people gathering on the other side of the pier. When I finally turned around, I walked right into a large crowd that was admiring a fisherman's prized catch of the day: a leopard shark! The shark was 3-4 feet long, and a magnificent animal. It was still wriggling around, desperately trying to free itself, and it was sad to watch such a beautiful animal in its last throes of life. But I felt lucky to stumble onto the event - I'd heard that local fisherman often catch shark, but I never expected to actually see one.
Quite an eventful afternoon for a casual stroll on the beach! Sometimes I feel like I live in my own personal Sea World. :)
On Saturday I drove to Seal Beach to see the second longest wooden pier in California. Disappointingly, the pier was remarkably unremarkable. It isn't noticeably longer than other piers, and it has nothing on it but a small restaurant. Seal Beach's main street, however, has some cute touristy shops, including a seashell store that had rows and rows of seashells (I would have loved this place as a kid!), a colorful kite store, and other typical Californian establishments. :)
On Sunday, I took a stroll on my local beach and, as often happens, eventually found myself on the Venice Pier. A sea lion was circling the pier, periodlcally poking his head out of the water. My binoculars revealed that he often had a fish in his mouth when he surfaced. A bit later, I noticed a pod of bottlenose dolphins swimming parallel to the beach, heading north toward the pier. I'd heard surfers claim that the dolphins often swim so close that the surfers can touch them, and I could see from my vantage point on the pier that this was true. The dolphins swam right in front of several groups of surfers, almost seeming to mingle among them. As they slowly meandered northward, the dolphin frequently stopped to engage in jumps and other acrobatics. After many failed attempts, I finally got one picture of two dolphins jumping high out of the water. At one point, the sea lion joined up with the dolphins and porpoised right alongside them.
I was so immersed in the dolphins' antics that I failed to notice a large group of people gathering on the other side of the pier. When I finally turned around, I walked right into a large crowd that was admiring a fisherman's prized catch of the day: a leopard shark! The shark was 3-4 feet long, and a magnificent animal. It was still wriggling around, desperately trying to free itself, and it was sad to watch such a beautiful animal in its last throes of life. But I felt lucky to stumble onto the event - I'd heard that local fisherman often catch shark, but I never expected to actually see one.
Quite an eventful afternoon for a casual stroll on the beach! Sometimes I feel like I live in my own personal Sea World. :)
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Fluke Finale
5/10/08. Today is bittersweet. The gray whale migration is coming to an end, with most of the gray whales well on their way back to Alaska. However a few stragglers are still passing by southern California, primarily cow/calf pairs who lingered in the Mexican lagoons to allow the newborn calves to get bigger and stronger. Only a few cow/calf pairs were observed this past week, so even their numbers are dwindling down. The official whale watchers end their surveillance on May 15, bringing the 2007-2008 gray whale census to a close.
With the optimistic hope of seeing one last whale but a quiet resignation that I may see nothing, I drove to Palos Verdes for my last gray whale watch day of the migration (and my sabbatical) season. My slim hope of seeing a whale rested on luck (that a whale would pass by) and the challenge of spotting cow/calf pairs, which are especially difficult to see because the mothers are protective of their young and keep a low profile. It's hard to believe that an animal as big as a whale can hide, but they do a remarkably good job of it. A calf rarely leaves the mother's side, and the cow swims (and more to the point, breathes) while revealing almost none of its massive girth above water. The official observers whimsically call low-profile whales "snorklers". I call them "stealth whales" because, when you do manage to spot one, it is fascinating to watch these large gray/black animals swim past so unobtrusively as to be nearly invisible.
The morning haze was beginning to lift when I arrived at Palos Verdes, and after two long hours of lonely seas, my patience was rewarded by the arrival of a wonderfully showy gray whale. This solo whale (unusual for so late in the season!) produced many visible blows, and frequently showed much of his back including his dorsal hump and knuckles. After surfacing several times, the whale began to swim out to sea, away from the coast. Before he left us, he took a deep dive and graciously fluked, displaying a perfect gray whale tail high in the air. A wonderful way to end my whale watching season!
I stayed at Palos Verdes a while longer until the winds picked up and I reluctantly began to consider heading home. But I wasn't quite ready to go, and as I continued to scan the waters I unexpectedly saw a small blow. I was virtually certain that it was a whale, but the official observers were suspiciously oblivious, so I wondered if I was hallucinating. I continued to watch the same area, and soon I saw another small blow. It was definitely a whale. No longer able to contain my excitement, I ran to the whale observers, who were still mysteriously oblivious to the whale's presence. (At this point in the story, I must apologize for losing any pretense of being humble. Please chalk this up to irrepressible whale-watching exuberance, and genuine pride in how much my whale-watching skills have improved these last few months.) The conversation went something like this:
Me (running to the observers): "Hey, there's a whale out there!!!"
Observer A (not my favorite observer): "Yea, yea."
Me: "I've seen two blows. It's a very low-profile whale!"
Observer A: "Oh, you're serious??"
Me: "Yes!!!"
Observer A: "Are you sure it's not a bird? Were there any birds nearby?"
Me: "No. It's definitely a whale. I'm virtually certain it's a whale."
Observer A: "Well, bird splashes can look a lot like blows..."
Observer B: "No, no. Ellen's good at this. If she says it's a whale..."
Observer B (a few seconds later): "I've got it -- I see the prints".
Observer B was the person I notified when I found the distant humpback whale a few weeks ago, and apparently she now trusts my whale-spotting abilities. Very cool indeed! (I doubt there is any professional honor that could be bestowed on me that would make me as proud as I was at this moment. :) The whale eluded us for a while after my initial sighting, but eventually it surfaced again and we all saw its blows this time. Then it essentially vanished; we were unable to track it once it headed into sparkly sunlit water. However Observer B could clearly see two sets of prints, so this sighting was officially recorded as a cow/calf pair.
And so my final day of gray whale watching ended with several beautiful displays by a solo gray whale, and the thrill of finding a stealth cow/calf pair all by myself, one that even the official observers did not notice. I could not have asked for a better ending. My whale-watching season concludes with the immense pleasure and gratificiation of knowing that the official 2007-2008 gray whale census count for the LA chapter of the American Cetacean Society includes 2 gray whales that are "my" sightings and would not have been counted otherwise. Way cool. Beyond cool. In an infinitessimally small way, my ubiquitous presence at Palos Verdes this season has been recorded for history. :)
With the optimistic hope of seeing one last whale but a quiet resignation that I may see nothing, I drove to Palos Verdes for my last gray whale watch day of the migration (and my sabbatical) season. My slim hope of seeing a whale rested on luck (that a whale would pass by) and the challenge of spotting cow/calf pairs, which are especially difficult to see because the mothers are protective of their young and keep a low profile. It's hard to believe that an animal as big as a whale can hide, but they do a remarkably good job of it. A calf rarely leaves the mother's side, and the cow swims (and more to the point, breathes) while revealing almost none of its massive girth above water. The official observers whimsically call low-profile whales "snorklers". I call them "stealth whales" because, when you do manage to spot one, it is fascinating to watch these large gray/black animals swim past so unobtrusively as to be nearly invisible.
The morning haze was beginning to lift when I arrived at Palos Verdes, and after two long hours of lonely seas, my patience was rewarded by the arrival of a wonderfully showy gray whale. This solo whale (unusual for so late in the season!) produced many visible blows, and frequently showed much of his back including his dorsal hump and knuckles. After surfacing several times, the whale began to swim out to sea, away from the coast. Before he left us, he took a deep dive and graciously fluked, displaying a perfect gray whale tail high in the air. A wonderful way to end my whale watching season!
I stayed at Palos Verdes a while longer until the winds picked up and I reluctantly began to consider heading home. But I wasn't quite ready to go, and as I continued to scan the waters I unexpectedly saw a small blow. I was virtually certain that it was a whale, but the official observers were suspiciously oblivious, so I wondered if I was hallucinating. I continued to watch the same area, and soon I saw another small blow. It was definitely a whale. No longer able to contain my excitement, I ran to the whale observers, who were still mysteriously oblivious to the whale's presence. (At this point in the story, I must apologize for losing any pretense of being humble. Please chalk this up to irrepressible whale-watching exuberance, and genuine pride in how much my whale-watching skills have improved these last few months.) The conversation went something like this:
Me (running to the observers): "Hey, there's a whale out there!!!"
Observer A (not my favorite observer): "Yea, yea."
Me: "I've seen two blows. It's a very low-profile whale!"
Observer A: "Oh, you're serious??"
Me: "Yes!!!"
Observer A: "Are you sure it's not a bird? Were there any birds nearby?"
Me: "No. It's definitely a whale. I'm virtually certain it's a whale."
Observer A: "Well, bird splashes can look a lot like blows..."
Observer B: "No, no. Ellen's good at this. If she says it's a whale..."
Observer B (a few seconds later): "I've got it -- I see the prints".
Observer B was the person I notified when I found the distant humpback whale a few weeks ago, and apparently she now trusts my whale-spotting abilities. Very cool indeed! (I doubt there is any professional honor that could be bestowed on me that would make me as proud as I was at this moment. :) The whale eluded us for a while after my initial sighting, but eventually it surfaced again and we all saw its blows this time. Then it essentially vanished; we were unable to track it once it headed into sparkly sunlit water. However Observer B could clearly see two sets of prints, so this sighting was officially recorded as a cow/calf pair.
And so my final day of gray whale watching ended with several beautiful displays by a solo gray whale, and the thrill of finding a stealth cow/calf pair all by myself, one that even the official observers did not notice. I could not have asked for a better ending. My whale-watching season concludes with the immense pleasure and gratificiation of knowing that the official 2007-2008 gray whale census count for the LA chapter of the American Cetacean Society includes 2 gray whales that are "my" sightings and would not have been counted otherwise. Way cool. Beyond cool. In an infinitessimally small way, my ubiquitous presence at Palos Verdes this season has been recorded for history. :)
Haute Cuisine
Last week, a visitor at ISI convinced several of us to join him for dinner at a restaurant called Melisse in Santa Monica. This guy is a serious foodie, and he informed us that Melisse is one of only three restaurants in Los Angeles to garner a two-star Michelin rating (which means nothing to me, but apparently indicates that Melisse is a world-class elite restaurant). And by virtue of his infectious enthusiasm, he also convinced us to do it in style. Our table agreed to do a 13-course Tasting Menu of the chef's personal selections. Yes, that's thirteen courses! Each course was very small (hence the name tasting menu), but suffice it to say that it was helluva lot of damn good food.
This truly was a once-in-a-lifetime dining experience, or close to it. The word "experience" is the operative word. Some of the food items were exquisitely delicious, and a few were (in all honesty) foods that I hope to never eat again. But mostly the food was a true culinary experience, with unusual combinations of tastes and flavors that exercised taste buds I didn't even know I had. And each plate was a work of art, prompting me to sheepishly ask my colleagues if they would be embarrassed if I photographed my food. To my relief, two others at the table quickly said "Hey, that's a good idea!" and whipped out their cameras as well. So we all acted like culinary tourists and photographed our plates (undoubtedly to the chagrin of the high-society LA socialites dining nearby who winced every time our flashes went off :). The main entree courses included a playful take on Fish and Chips, a California Squab Breast, and a Sonoma Veal plate. Some of the individual courses were themselves a mini-tasting menu, as illustrated by the veal sampler which included bites of veal prepared in 4 different ways.
The grand finale was a Chocolate Dessert course, which arrived with a chocolate-filled syringe in the middle of the plate. A waiter then circled our table and, for each of us, injected the liquid chocolate into our chocolate souffle. (And unfortunately took the syringes away, so I wasn't able to get a picture of mine.) When the meal ended, the waiter gave each of us a copy of the menu to take home as a souvenir.
I'm not sure that I appreciate fine food enough to justify doing this again, but it was a lot of fun and I'm glad that I did it once!
This truly was a once-in-a-lifetime dining experience, or close to it. The word "experience" is the operative word. Some of the food items were exquisitely delicious, and a few were (in all honesty) foods that I hope to never eat again. But mostly the food was a true culinary experience, with unusual combinations of tastes and flavors that exercised taste buds I didn't even know I had. And each plate was a work of art, prompting me to sheepishly ask my colleagues if they would be embarrassed if I photographed my food. To my relief, two others at the table quickly said "Hey, that's a good idea!" and whipped out their cameras as well. So we all acted like culinary tourists and photographed our plates (undoubtedly to the chagrin of the high-society LA socialites dining nearby who winced every time our flashes went off :). The main entree courses included a playful take on Fish and Chips, a California Squab Breast, and a Sonoma Veal plate. Some of the individual courses were themselves a mini-tasting menu, as illustrated by the veal sampler which included bites of veal prepared in 4 different ways.
The grand finale was a Chocolate Dessert course, which arrived with a chocolate-filled syringe in the middle of the plate. A waiter then circled our table and, for each of us, injected the liquid chocolate into our chocolate souffle. (And unfortunately took the syringes away, so I wasn't able to get a picture of mine.) When the meal ended, the waiter gave each of us a copy of the menu to take home as a souvenir.
I'm not sure that I appreciate fine food enough to justify doing this again, but it was a lot of fun and I'm glad that I did it once!
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Santa Monica Farmer's Market
Normally I wouldn't consider a farmer's market to be blog worthy, but any event that has valet bicycle parking deserves proper recognition. Yes, that's right, valet bike parking. I guess this was an inevitable pairing of two omnipresent features of Los Angeles: valet parking (which is absolutely everywhere!) and bicycles.
The Sunday edition of the Santa Monica Farmer's Market felt more like a street fair than a traditional farmer's market with a band playing live music, pony rides for kids, vendors selling beautiful flowers, and lots of people having impromptu picnics. My ISI colleague Rahul even found a coconut to complete his super-cool touristy outfit. (The irony here being that Rahul was one of the few non-visitor CA residents in our group!) I was tempted to buy some worm poop, because, well, I don't have any worm poop and The Worm Wrangler nearly convinced me that worm poop is a remedy for nearly all gardening woes. But then it occurred to me that if worm poop is so powerful, just imagine what cat poop can do, and I can get plenty of that for free.
Afterwards, we went to the popular Omelette Parlor which, like all self-respecting California restaurants, kowtows to the local surfer crowd and allows you to order anything and everything with a side of avocado.
The Sunday edition of the Santa Monica Farmer's Market felt more like a street fair than a traditional farmer's market with a band playing live music, pony rides for kids, vendors selling beautiful flowers, and lots of people having impromptu picnics. My ISI colleague Rahul even found a coconut to complete his super-cool touristy outfit. (The irony here being that Rahul was one of the few non-visitor CA residents in our group!) I was tempted to buy some worm poop, because, well, I don't have any worm poop and The Worm Wrangler nearly convinced me that worm poop is a remedy for nearly all gardening woes. But then it occurred to me that if worm poop is so powerful, just imagine what cat poop can do, and I can get plenty of that for free.
Afterwards, we went to the popular Omelette Parlor which, like all self-respecting California restaurants, kowtows to the local surfer crowd and allows you to order anything and everything with a side of avocado.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Joshua Tree National Park
I visited Joshua Tree National Park this past weekend, which was a sublime experience! The park is a desert paradise that encompasses two different desert ecosystems: the northern part of the park is Mojave desert and the southern part is Colorado desert, which is a subregion of Sonoran desert that is supposedly the hottest and driest desert in North America.
Joshua Tree is filled with wondrous things, including its namesake, those magnificent and freakishly Seussian Joshua trees, enormous granite rock formations, and palm spring oases. The oases are amazing - in the middle of a seemingly endless desert there suddenly appears a small patch of lush palm trees. The palm trees live off a small amount of water that collects in a certain spot, often underground. The cluster of palm trees provides shade for animals and for other plants to grow below them, creating the appearance of a tiny tropical island in the middle of the arid desert.
And then there were the wildflowers! Since it is spring, many of the desert plants were blooming. The landscape wasn't blanketed in color, like I've seen in pictures of other places; in fact, from a quick glance the desert appeared to be as dry and barren as ever. But upon closer inspection, you began to notice pockets of vibrant color everywhere. Tiny purple flowers carpeting the ground, wild dandelions showing off their bright yellow color, delicate orange flowers growing between rocks, and brilliant red and pink flowers blossoming on cacti. Not to mention the light green buds and beautiful white flowers atop the Joshua trees, and the absolutely enormous cream-colored flowers blooming on the yuccas that are ubiquitous throughout the park.
But I have yet to mention the true highlight of my visit. The most exciting thing of all was that I succeeded in finding, and photographing, three different wild chuckwallas!!! (My investment in a camera with a good optical zoom really paid off!) Joshua Tree National Park is chuckwalla heaven, replete with numerous basking rocks, comforting crevices, and tasty creosote bushes -- everything that chucks dream about. :)
A ridiculously large collection of photos can be found here.
Joshua Tree is filled with wondrous things, including its namesake, those magnificent and freakishly Seussian Joshua trees, enormous granite rock formations, and palm spring oases. The oases are amazing - in the middle of a seemingly endless desert there suddenly appears a small patch of lush palm trees. The palm trees live off a small amount of water that collects in a certain spot, often underground. The cluster of palm trees provides shade for animals and for other plants to grow below them, creating the appearance of a tiny tropical island in the middle of the arid desert.
And then there were the wildflowers! Since it is spring, many of the desert plants were blooming. The landscape wasn't blanketed in color, like I've seen in pictures of other places; in fact, from a quick glance the desert appeared to be as dry and barren as ever. But upon closer inspection, you began to notice pockets of vibrant color everywhere. Tiny purple flowers carpeting the ground, wild dandelions showing off their bright yellow color, delicate orange flowers growing between rocks, and brilliant red and pink flowers blossoming on cacti. Not to mention the light green buds and beautiful white flowers atop the Joshua trees, and the absolutely enormous cream-colored flowers blooming on the yuccas that are ubiquitous throughout the park.
But I have yet to mention the true highlight of my visit. The most exciting thing of all was that I succeeded in finding, and photographing, three different wild chuckwallas!!! (My investment in a camera with a good optical zoom really paid off!) Joshua Tree National Park is chuckwalla heaven, replete with numerous basking rocks, comforting crevices, and tasty creosote bushes -- everything that chucks dream about. :)
A ridiculously large collection of photos can be found here.
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