robertwgross
20th of March 2005 (Sun), 09:00
(Bloom in desert called best in 50 years)
from the San Jose Mercury News, March 20, 2005, page 1A
A Magical Moment
by Patrick May
FURNACE CREEK -- Death Valley these days is a real mess -- a mess of fire-engine red and Chiquita yellow, of pompon purple and Sno-Cone pink. Like naughty children who got into the finger paints when nobody was looking, the wildflowers in this desert are completely out of control.
The nation's hottest, lowest, and driest place is now its most Technicolorful.
"This is the perfect storm for a wildflower bloom," says Death Valley National Park ranger Charlie Callagan, exhausted from dealing with mobs of flower-lovers who have made a beeline to Furnace Creek. "No winter freeze, early and heavy rainfall, warm temperatures, and millions of seeds just waiting for the right amount of rain to bring them to life."
They got it. In an open-air oven that sees an annual average of 1.9 inches of rain, Death Valley has already received 6.2 inches this year. A mild El Nino is thought to be partly responsible, though Callagan calls the soaking a "bit of a meteorological mystery."
No problem: With all that rainwater, the flowers seem to be slap-happy drunk.
"It's one of those magical moments nature gives us from time to time," says Pam Muick, executive director of the California Native Plant Society. "There's a seed bank under the soil, and some seeds can lie dormant for 35 years, like money in the bank. Now the flowers are spending that money."
The bloom on the valley floor, expected to last only another couple of weeks, is the stuff of botanical legend. "Best in 50 years," is the way rangers and plant experts gush about the larger-than-life palettes propped up against the hills and mountains in this plein-air artist's studio. With 13 miles of Highway 190 washed out by flash floods, the park's other main artery -- 178 -- has seen a steady procession of petal worshipers hoping to catch what could be the best floral show ever to open below sea level.
"We saw something about it on 'The Osgood File' last Sunday, threw some things in our bag, and took off for Death Valley," said Ilah Larson, 73, of Roseville. She was standing one afternoon last week calf-high in a sea of Geraea canescens, the desert gold whose blooms have turned much of the valley into oceans of melted crayon. "Death Valley was never high on my list of places to visit; I always thought it would be so drab. But this is so dramatic -- the hills look like they've been draped with green velvet cloth that someone has embroidered with gold thread."
Sorry, but the wildflowers here make people talk that way. They make photographers like Jon Paul temporarily leave his expectant wife in South Lake Tahoe and lug heavy camera equipment across a desert bed dotted with sand verbena. And inspire retiree Kirk Irwin to crawl on the ground south of Badwater, while wife Beverly waits in the camper, and use his Nikon with a polarizing filter to bag a frame-full of desert gold.
"We're getting people from all over the world," says Richard Heyman, a reservation clerk at the Furnace Creek Inn &Ranch Resort, a short pollen-drift away from the park's bustling visitors center. "People are flying in to see these flowers. We went grocery shopping the other day and saw an entire field full of tourists all standing in the flowers."
Death Valley is not used to such irrational exuberance. Ranger Callagan says the valley might see a respectable wildflower display two or three times a decade. When it does, rangers might conduct a couple of wildflower walks each week. Lately, two daily walks -- at 9 a.m. and 4 p.m. -- are drawing as many as 100 people each, while over at the visitors center "we've got people stacked up five deep in front of each ranger, waiting to ask questions."
About 4,500 people came into the visitors center and museum Tuesday. License plates on the cars and RVs jamming the lot outside told the story: Texas, Washington, Indiana, Idaho, Quebec. So did the visitors comment log, full of scribbled raves from Germans, Canadians, Finns and Swedes.
Hotel rooms and campground slots in the valley have been booked solid for weeks, forcing visitors to seek refuge 45 minutes away in isolated blackjack outposts like Beatty, Nev., where some nights there is no room even at the humble Burro Inn. Oregon photographer Carol Leigh, who maintains an online "wildflower hotsheet" that alerts other shutterbugs where the best color is happening, says of the human crush: "It's crazy out there."
Crazy, too, with color. While their human admirers peer down from above, the park's $1.10 flower guides unfurled in their hands, the Bigelow monkey flowers, desert stars and Panamint daisies launch into the starring roles of a lifetime. Like giant stage lights, shafts of sunlight slash through the blue morning chill, and a million puffy petals begin to glow.
Revealing themselves in different ways, depending on time of day and angle of light, the wildflowers often choose subtle over splashy, taunting the camera crews to try to register their brilliance.
"What makes this all so special is the fact that they're here for only a brief time," says Margy Cottriel, 48, who has been camping in Death Valley for the past week. She means the flowers, but may as well be talking about their fans. "In three more weeks, as the flowers dry up and the temperature rises, it will be unbearable to be here."
The plant society's Muick agrees there's a bittersweet edge to the beauty unfolding in this valley of death.
"The flowers are here just for a few weeks," says Muick. "You can take just a few deep breaths, and then they're gone again."
==========================================
Contact Patrick May at pmay@mercurynews.com or (408) 920-5689.
from the San Jose Mercury News, March 20, 2005, page 1A
A Magical Moment
by Patrick May
FURNACE CREEK -- Death Valley these days is a real mess -- a mess of fire-engine red and Chiquita yellow, of pompon purple and Sno-Cone pink. Like naughty children who got into the finger paints when nobody was looking, the wildflowers in this desert are completely out of control.
The nation's hottest, lowest, and driest place is now its most Technicolorful.
"This is the perfect storm for a wildflower bloom," says Death Valley National Park ranger Charlie Callagan, exhausted from dealing with mobs of flower-lovers who have made a beeline to Furnace Creek. "No winter freeze, early and heavy rainfall, warm temperatures, and millions of seeds just waiting for the right amount of rain to bring them to life."
They got it. In an open-air oven that sees an annual average of 1.9 inches of rain, Death Valley has already received 6.2 inches this year. A mild El Nino is thought to be partly responsible, though Callagan calls the soaking a "bit of a meteorological mystery."
No problem: With all that rainwater, the flowers seem to be slap-happy drunk.
"It's one of those magical moments nature gives us from time to time," says Pam Muick, executive director of the California Native Plant Society. "There's a seed bank under the soil, and some seeds can lie dormant for 35 years, like money in the bank. Now the flowers are spending that money."
The bloom on the valley floor, expected to last only another couple of weeks, is the stuff of botanical legend. "Best in 50 years," is the way rangers and plant experts gush about the larger-than-life palettes propped up against the hills and mountains in this plein-air artist's studio. With 13 miles of Highway 190 washed out by flash floods, the park's other main artery -- 178 -- has seen a steady procession of petal worshipers hoping to catch what could be the best floral show ever to open below sea level.
"We saw something about it on 'The Osgood File' last Sunday, threw some things in our bag, and took off for Death Valley," said Ilah Larson, 73, of Roseville. She was standing one afternoon last week calf-high in a sea of Geraea canescens, the desert gold whose blooms have turned much of the valley into oceans of melted crayon. "Death Valley was never high on my list of places to visit; I always thought it would be so drab. But this is so dramatic -- the hills look like they've been draped with green velvet cloth that someone has embroidered with gold thread."
Sorry, but the wildflowers here make people talk that way. They make photographers like Jon Paul temporarily leave his expectant wife in South Lake Tahoe and lug heavy camera equipment across a desert bed dotted with sand verbena. And inspire retiree Kirk Irwin to crawl on the ground south of Badwater, while wife Beverly waits in the camper, and use his Nikon with a polarizing filter to bag a frame-full of desert gold.
"We're getting people from all over the world," says Richard Heyman, a reservation clerk at the Furnace Creek Inn &Ranch Resort, a short pollen-drift away from the park's bustling visitors center. "People are flying in to see these flowers. We went grocery shopping the other day and saw an entire field full of tourists all standing in the flowers."
Death Valley is not used to such irrational exuberance. Ranger Callagan says the valley might see a respectable wildflower display two or three times a decade. When it does, rangers might conduct a couple of wildflower walks each week. Lately, two daily walks -- at 9 a.m. and 4 p.m. -- are drawing as many as 100 people each, while over at the visitors center "we've got people stacked up five deep in front of each ranger, waiting to ask questions."
About 4,500 people came into the visitors center and museum Tuesday. License plates on the cars and RVs jamming the lot outside told the story: Texas, Washington, Indiana, Idaho, Quebec. So did the visitors comment log, full of scribbled raves from Germans, Canadians, Finns and Swedes.
Hotel rooms and campground slots in the valley have been booked solid for weeks, forcing visitors to seek refuge 45 minutes away in isolated blackjack outposts like Beatty, Nev., where some nights there is no room even at the humble Burro Inn. Oregon photographer Carol Leigh, who maintains an online "wildflower hotsheet" that alerts other shutterbugs where the best color is happening, says of the human crush: "It's crazy out there."
Crazy, too, with color. While their human admirers peer down from above, the park's $1.10 flower guides unfurled in their hands, the Bigelow monkey flowers, desert stars and Panamint daisies launch into the starring roles of a lifetime. Like giant stage lights, shafts of sunlight slash through the blue morning chill, and a million puffy petals begin to glow.
Revealing themselves in different ways, depending on time of day and angle of light, the wildflowers often choose subtle over splashy, taunting the camera crews to try to register their brilliance.
"What makes this all so special is the fact that they're here for only a brief time," says Margy Cottriel, 48, who has been camping in Death Valley for the past week. She means the flowers, but may as well be talking about their fans. "In three more weeks, as the flowers dry up and the temperature rises, it will be unbearable to be here."
The plant society's Muick agrees there's a bittersweet edge to the beauty unfolding in this valley of death.
"The flowers are here just for a few weeks," says Muick. "You can take just a few deep breaths, and then they're gone again."
==========================================
Contact Patrick May at pmay@mercurynews.com or (408) 920-5689.