Death Takes a Holiday: The Wonders of Death Valley

What's in a name? When it comes to traveling, what you see is not necessarily what you get. If Stinking Springs, Idaho, or Devil's Tower, Wyoming, lived up to their fantastical billing, no one would pull off the interstate. And Liverpool? Spare us!

Unfortunately, Death Valley has been saddled with a name that sounds as if it were coined by Stephen King and offers little insight into the soul of one of the most stunning places on Earth. There was a death, of course, though hardly anything dramatic enough to hang a name on. In December 1849, a party of prospectors attempting a shortcut to the gold fields of California stumbled into the valley and were unable to find a pass out for weeks. One died. Upon finally making their way to safety, a survivor supposedly took a parting glance and yelled, "Good-bye, Death Valley!"

Though famous as the hottest, driest spot in North America, this national park can also be one of the most gorgeous and most abundant with life. The park is one vast outdoor museum, spread over 3,000 square miles. The typical barnstorming road warrior may think more about getting across it than getting the most out of it, but the place rewards the traveler who relishes its subtle, sublime beauties: the morning light slowly illuminating golden badlands, the snow-sprinkled peaks of the Black Mountains, shadows stretching across fields of wind-sculpted sand dunes, and an array of creeping and crawling wildlife. But nothing quite matches the spring bloom when, after winter rains have briefly soaked the parched landscape, desert flowers burst into a riot of colors.

To take in the show, start at Furnace Creek, which boasts the hottest temperature recorded in the United States, and the second hottest in the world (134 degrees Fahrenheit in 1913). Drop off your bags at Furnace Creek Ranch [1], a sprawling but decent motel, or Furnace Creek Inn [1] -- ritzier and twice the price. If the weather is nice, consider camping out. A preliminary swing by the National Park Service headquarters is essential.

The best time for exploring the valley is in the morning before ten or an hour or two before sunset. Not only are the temperatures tolerable, but the light is magnificent, too.

Begin your exploration of Death Valley at the bottom -- literally -- in Badwater. Much of the valley is below sea level, but this is the lowest of the low -- in fact, this dry lake bed is the lowest place in the Western Hemisphere: 282 feet below sea level. During the early Holocene era (about 2,000-4,000 years ago), this was a sprawling salt lake, now long evaporated. In many areas a thick crust of salt covers the surface. Get out and hike deep into the salt pan, past the residual briny pools and the yammering tourists. The silence in the midst of such incredible natural beauty, especially for city folk, can be overwhelming.

As evidence of the incredible geological forces that have shaped this area, just 90 miles west of Badwater, the lowest point in the country, rises Mount Whitney (14,494 feet), the highest point in the contiguous United States.

On your way back to Furnace Grove, head through the Artists Drive, a colorful canyon of marbleized rock. By this time it'll be midday, so head back to your hotel and take a dip in the pool amid the date groves.

If you have the energy, heard farther north, to the sand dune fields near Stovepipe Wells, or even to Scotty's Castle [2], a two-story Spanish ranchero that served as both as a hotel and a private home in the 1920s, when the valley was a popular winter destination. If there's one more hike in you, don't miss the Racetrack Playa, famous for its moving stones. The floor of the playa is a flat dried lake of scorched mud, which has broken into a mosaic of little octagons and pentagons. The stones, which have broken off from nearby hills, vary in size and shape from pebbles to boulders. Miraculously, the wind moves them around on the rain-slick clay, centimeter by centimeter. Some travel only a few feet; others go for hundreds of yards, often looping and zigzagging. There, standing in the wind, with these odd trails of animated boulders around you, it's easy to feel that there's life enough here to fill many valleys.

James Daly is the former editorial director of Edutopia.