Mojave weather

The Mojave is typically a cool season desert, meaning that it doesn't get rain during the summer months. Instead, the wet season is in the winter, like in a coastal Mediterranean climate. This leads to a dryer environment during most of the year, so succulent plants like cacti are less prevalent, whereas scrubby plants like creosote and salt brush are dominant. When summer precipitation does break over the mountains, it usually falls as virga, and therefore doesn't make landfall. Summer thunderstorms are also rare, but can occur.

One of the most unusual and interesting weather events that can occur in the northern reaches of the desert is valley snow. Such occurrences don't happen often, usually only once every 15-20 years. When it does happen, it happens spectacularly, and then vanishes again as quickly as it came. The experience can be rather surreal, but the haunting beauty of seeing a creosote bush or choilla covered in a layer of fine powder is breathtaking.

Calochortus kennedyi

Desert mariposa lilly

Liliaceae

A splash of vibrant orange on the desert sand, Calochortus kennedyi makes is pressence known like an glowing ember. Where as most desert flowers I've encountered are some shade of white, yellow, blue or purple, this lilly is a vibrant, almost florescent orange. Though not rare, these plants are not "common," so finding one out in the field is a real treat.

The beauty of the desert

Though it sounds like an oxymoron, there is a real beauty to the desert that makes me, even now, misty in the eyes. More than just about any other place, it is something that is great, vast and innocent. There is a beautiful, delicate purity to the desert, one that I fear is lost on those who are too blind to see it. While living there, I looked around at the grandeur of it, the simple, stunning majesty of it, and was confronted by people, living in its midst, that felt nothing for it, saw it only as a resource to be exploited for their selfish pleasure, or destroyed in the name of their highly vaunted progress. It made my stomach heave with loathing when I saw its surfaces scared by the wicked claws of humanity's callousness. And feel great pity for those who, while living in its midst, had never truly seen it because they were trapped by the walls of "civilization."

I call the desert innocent because that is how I see it. It is open, clean and pure. You can see from horizon to horizon, and truly understand just how vast it is. There is little cluttering it. The life that lives there is delicate, while struggling to persist and grow, but is at the same time tenacious and strong, unwilling to let itself give up. Its face is rough and hard, but look a little closer, and it shows a beautiful, delicate side, one that is so shy, it takes some coaxing to come out, be it the transient blooming of flowers in the spring, or the furtive animals that hide in the shade of the rocks and bushes. It is tenacious, holding onto its life while barely having enough to survive by the standards of those near it.

The value of this place is not measurable in dollars, but in the delicate beauty of its life, its body and its soul. When I walk the desert and take in its vastness, I come to what might be called a state of reverence. Its such a wondrous thing. And I love it. It is without pretense, modesty or judgement. The desert simply is. And that is the most beautiful thing about it.

Mirabilis multiflora var. pubescens

Colorado four-o-clock

Nyctaginaceae

Found in the upper reaches of the canyons in the eastern Mojave, Miriabilis multiflora greatly contrasts with its much more common cousin, Mirabilis laevis var. villosa. The most stikeing contrast between the two is one of size. Where the common M. laevis is a smaller plant, M. multiflora is much larger, with its blossoms being on average 5 cm across, and the plant itself being around half a meter in diameter on average.

Like all members of Nyctaginaceae, the petals and sepalsof the bloom

are fused into a single perianth. This blossom is a deep magenta, and a very pleasant find while hiking in the reaches of the canyons and valleys.

Belly flowers

In the desert, there are a number of flowers thatI and a few of my colleagues at the BLM refer to as belly flowers, because they're so tiny you practically need to get onto your belly to see them. Often, these tiny flowers are among the prettiest of the flowers you can see out in the desert, but require some special attention to find them. Also, most of them are quite common, but because many hikers are not looking close enough at the ground, they miss them.

Belly flowers are a perfect example of "stop and take time to smell the

roses." When you're out in the desert, stop, and take a moment to really look at what's around you. Don't be rushed. Because you very well might find a little gem in the cracks between a rock or two. All to often, we're so hurried with what we're doing that we don't take the time we need to really appreciate where we are, and what's around us. And that's a real shame, because there's so much to see, even right next to your boots.

Canyons

When I show people pictures of many of the canyons out in the Mojave, they're often surprised at how lush and verdant they are. They lay in stark contrast to the normal image of stark desolation that is the common perception of the desert. Yet, when one looks at the nature of these canyons, their vibrance is not all that surprising.

Fundamentally, a canyon is usually water carved, meaning that their is often a source somewhere in it. This is the foundation for most of its life, because, unlike most of the desert, there's a readily available source of moisture. Much like an oasis, this gives rise to ample vegetation, which in turn gives rise to animal life.

Canyons vary greatly in appearance and vegetation, since they're derived from differing bedrocks, ecologies and orientations. It is entirely possible that plants found in one canyon are not found in any other, or are only found in a small number of them. Ultimately, this diversity is one of the reasons that canyons are so precious.

There are, however, some significant threats to canyons in the desert, most of which are derived from a human source. One is the use of canyons for recreation. Normally, this is not an issue, but there are members of the public that do not treat the land with the respect that it deserves. Some use the canyons as a garbage dump, leaving their waste behind instead of taking it to a proper disposal site. More sinister is the presence of off

highway vehicle riders. While many of these riders are not actively malicious, there is a significant number that are of the mindset that they can willfully ignore the designated ares where they can ride, and bushwhack through any part of the desert, including the canyons, that they want. The amount of damage that they can inflict with this activity is significant, and each time, it compounds the problem, as new routes are formed, which encourages new riders to take the illegal passage.

The other threat is not to the vegetation directly, but to the source of their life: water. As human growth continues unchecked, we must find new sources of water. And in finding those water sources, we often steamroll natural areas in the process. If the water supply in a canyon is lost, or even reduced, it can have a dramatic effect on the ecology. Fortunately, most of the canyons are not being actively tapped, or are only used for small wells. However, if a larger municipality began to use the water, then it could seriously effect the canyons' health.

Eucnide urens

Rock Nettle or Stingbush

Loasaceae

A deceptively innocent looking plant, Eucnide urens is one of my personal

favorite plants found in the Panamint valley. As the plant's common name attests, it is equipped with a stinging defense mechanism, which is more than likely to deter herbivores from consuming its leaves. The plant's sting is quite powerful, but not entirely like that of a true nettle (which are family Urticaceae). The pain of the sting is much sharper, but levels off to a dull ache after a few minutes. The stinging defense is so powerful, in fact, that while handling the plant with leather gloves, I was still repeatedly stung. Even dried, the leaves' stinging barbs are sharp enough to inflict a painful sting. The leaves have two types of stinging hair, one long and sharp, the other narrower and barbed. These barbed hairs will catch in clothes, and make it very difficult to remove the leaf without further contact.

Despite this rather powerful defense, one which I've been on the receiving

end of more than once, I'm very fond of Eucnide and find it to be a magnificent plant. Growing in rock cracks, on cliff faces and in drainages, its a hardy survivor of a plant. When in bloom, the blossoms are a spectacular creamy white, which is accented by the silvery sheen of this year's leaves, and the tan of the previous year's growth. When found growing on a sheer cliff face, it adds a touch of regal splendor to an already ruggedly beautiful landscape.

There has been some debate recently in the botanical community as to whether Eucnide should be classified as a carnivorous plant. The basis for this debate is the plant's ability to kill large numbers of insects in short order; those who land on the plant's leaves are quickly dispatched by the stinging hairs. The debate arises from the question: does the plant derive any significant amount of nutrients from its kills, or are these simply an extension of the plant's natural defensive strategy.