But for a brief moment in the Spring of 1998, that strange event happened in full; California, Arizona and Utah's plains were covered in a carpet of red and yellow and purple and orange and blue wildflowers. Take your hand and look at that sand, it is really filled with wildflower seeds.
And so this year, I planned my travel around this occurance; Joshua Tree in March, Death Valley in April, Tucson in May, and so on and so forth. But La Nina, El Nino's ugly cousin, meant no rain in 1999, and no flowers, so the thought of these clouds reaching into the heart of the Anza-Borrego Basin meant tomorrow morning's yield would be exquisite.
The last turn around the last foggy cliff and - boom - sunshine; the basin was glowing in a late afternoon light. I guess that's why it is a desert - the rain never quite makes it there. The Anza-Borrego Desert State Park is California's largest and least recognized. It is 600,000 square miles of dirt roads and flat horizons. It is named after a man (Anza) and a sheep (Borrego) and is home to thousands of well-preserved petroglyphs and rock art.
I entered through a canyon not quite knowing what to expect. First, the road cut alongside the San Felipe Creek, and then widened into a vast basin of 8,000 foot mountains sloping either side. Catclaw and creosote, and barrel cactus and jumping cholla. One shrub, the spidery ocotillo, was in full red bloom. I crossed some of the paved roads of Anza; back and forth and onto dry wash roads; criscrossing as much territory as I could, until I parked alongside a cliff and climbed it; slowly and carefully as it was lined with sharp plants and instable rocks.
I continued by foot along a promontary and spent the evening looking out over a vast expanse of fishhook cactus and brittlebush - the Yaqui Pass. When the sun dropped, I made my way down the cliffs and on the road again.
