[ photograph above: Badwater, Death Valley National Park, 2005 ]
During the Ice Age, Lake Manly stretched more than 120 miles long and 20 miles wide across what we now call Death Valley. Today, this former lake is mostly a dry salt pan, known as the home of Badwater (at 282 feet below sea level, the lowest point in the western hemisphere). But thanks to El Nino and the record rainfall we've been experiencing lately, Lake Manly is back! After recently seeing a photo of two people kayaking Lake Manly, I tried for several weeks to get someone interested in making the trip. My old grade school friend Mike finally agreed, and we left house at 4 a.m. yesterday.
[ photograph above: Matt Artz Kayaking on Lake Manly, Death Valley National Park, 2005; photo by Mike Boschma ]
By 8 a.m., we were scoping out the shoreline, trying to locate the best place to unload the kayaks. We settled on a spot about a quarter mile south of the Badwater parking area, and only had to carry the kayaks less than 100 yards to the water. We had heard that the lake was very shallow, and that we may have to walk the kayaks out quite a way until it was deep enough to float. But after walking less than 10 feet through the water we realized it was already deep enough! It was a totally surreal experience, seeing this 4 by 5 mile lake where there wasn't supposed to be more than a few shallow pools of water, framed by typical Death Valley geologic features tot he east and the snow-covered Panamint Mountains to the west.
[ photograph above: Lake Manly, Death Valley National Park, 2005 ]
The first thing we did was paddle straight for the weather station, which was now partially under water of course. Next we paddled out to where we thought the lowest point in the western hemisphere was. We got very close, but without a GPS, we'll never know exactly. It was very strange, being a mile or two from shore, and dipping your paddle in and realizing the water was only about 2 feet deep. Mike thought since it was so shallow, maybe we could actually follow the trail out to the lowest point--but the water was pretty murky, with a greenish-brown tinge to it (but probably the thing that made it most murky was the very high salt content). It seemed at least as salty as the ocean, but not nearly as salty as Mono Lake. The experience left a nice salt crust on everything--the kayaks, our legs, our clothes, even my camera.
[ photograph above: Kayakers on Lake Manly, Death Valley National Park, 2005 ]
When the wind turned the water from glass to ripples, and two more kayakers showed up and we no longer had the entire lake all to ourselves (yes, we're spoiled), we decided to move on. Our original plan was to check out the Amargosa River--a usually dry river that people have lately been kayaking down for 10 to 15 miles. But there just wasn't quite enough water in the river to do it easily. So on a whim, we headed over the Panamint Mountains and the White Mountains, over to Owens Valley to see if there was enough water in Owens Lake to kayak.
[ photograph above: Lake Manly, Death Valley National Park, 2005 ]
100 years ago, Owens Lake was large enough that paddlewheel boats regularly crossed its surface carrying mining supplies and silver, but that was before the City of Los Angeles bought up most of the land in Owens Valley and diverted the water for urban use. After lunch in Lone Pine (where unfortnately clouds were obscuring the view of Mt. Whitney), we drove down to the lake. Sure enough, there was more water in Owens Lake than either of us had ever seen. But not wanting to carry the kayaks a mile or two from the car to the edge of the water, we spent more than an hour driving dirt roads trying to find an easy access point before calling it a day.
[ photograph above: Charcoal Kilns, Owens Lake, 2005 ]
After 650 miles and a little less than 14 hours, we were back at my house. Was it worth all that just for two hours of kayaking on a large puddle in the middle of the desert? HELL YEAH!
