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By way of update, I've put together this pictorial web album to send to friends. It's 92 pics, so don't feel like you have to plow through all of it -- though it should be noted I pared down the pics from the 250 I came home with :}...

http://picasaweb.google.com/Quidditian/AnzaBorrego33103610#

What should be known about me is that I adore being at home, puttering around my house (apartment) and patio/studio. I don't often, as I say, "Go Places and Do Things." I loathe driving, and am terrified of anything other than the trek up and down the 805 to Del Mar that I made for nine years (before being laid off in August). I DO love nature, but getting me out of the house requires an act of god. The fact that I'm completely content at home, and am further high-maintenance (in that girly-buff-and-fluff sort of way) and hate driving effectively squashes any sort of adventurous spirit.

I'm trying to force myself to do all of the things I've always wanted to do now that I have the time, and some quality time in the desert was/is top priority on that list. I would live in a desert, were it not for the heat -- everything else we typically associate with the desert speaks to me on a very primordial level.

The problem with desert adventuring, I've learned from this trip to Anza, is that I love to be alone...act on my own whims, and not be disturbed by human voices; I also like to linger over simple things that bore other people. I think the compromise with myself going forward will be that if I'm to go alone, I need to stick to fairly populated areas.

Sooooooooo, what's not mentioned in my little pictorial foray is what happened on Thursday, as I attempted to get to Font's Point.

I'd gone to the Visitor's Center first, and talked to a ranger to try to map out my path. A friend had recommended Font's Point, and when I told this to the ranger, he asked what kind of car I drove, then said I "should" be okay.

Well, not so much. I drive a '99 Mazda 626. As evidence of my lack of travel, it only has 96k miles on it, and I fully intend to drive it into the ground. I'm like the proverbial old lady who only drove her car to church downhill both ways, save the fact I don't "do" church.

I was nervous as I got a bit into the dirt road leading to Font's Point...very soft and shifty sand, but it was do-able at snail's pace. I was, I imagine, 3/4 of a mile in when I saw a stalled little car...maybe a Focus or something similar. I checked to see whether anyone was in it, thinking someone might be in trouble, but it was empty. I only made it a few yards further when I became completely, utterly, and hopelessly stuck in the sand.

Well then. "Now what?" I thought as I surveyed the desolate landscape. For about 15-20 minutes, I alternated between trying to go forward and reverse, giving little rests each of the 2-3 times the engine stalled out. There was a slow and creeping panic that I wasn't allowing myself to succumb to. Here I will note that part of my reclusiveness combined with technophobia is that I don't own a "real" cell phone. I have an ancient thing that can be used to dial 911 if required -- this was a hand-me-down phone given to me years ago by a friend who was annoyed that I didn't have some sort of connection to the outside world in case of an emergency when in my car.

After literally spinning my wheels, I finally opened my door to assess the situation, and found the sand was up to the entry level of the car (I've since measured this as nine inches). I closed the door and focused on not panicking. As I looked up, I saw a coyote scurry across the "road." Somewhere in my ever- darkly amused brain, I thought "just toss in some vultures circling overhead, and we've got ourselves a cartoon." Visually, the scene was strikingly beautiful, with a bit of an almost unreal/surreal gorgeousness to it that, I believe, kept the panic at bay.

By some miracle, my next attempt to reverse gave me enough traction to fly out of my pit, squiggling and wiggling all over the place as I flew toward solid(ish) ground. I imagine the reality of the situation would have eventually been most unamusing had it gone on much longer. In the entire time there, I never once saw another car pass. That night, safely back at the hotel, I discovered that I had left my 911 phone in my purse at the hotel room, and not packed it in my hiking bag that morning -- had I discovered that while I was stuck, I surely would have completely freaked out, as calling 911 was the only back-up plan I had in mind (would I even get a signal there? Something else to consider...).

At about the same place I flew out of the sand, there were other shallow winding tracks where it appeared someone had encountered the same thing I did, and also managed to get out (unlike the unfortunate Focus owner). I've since looked at a couple of you tube videos of that road, and they were relatively navigable -- NOTHING like what I encountered.

I didn't put it together until yesterday, but this Tierra Del Sol 4x4 thing was the 5th - 7th, and I wonder if some attendees had come out a day early and ripped up the road with their ATVs or whatever other sorts of vehicles they use.

That was my potential disaster for Thursday. In retrospect, I should have reported the whole thing to the rangers, if for no other reason than to prevent the same thing from happening to someone else, and also in order to do some sort of a safety check on the Focus owner. Now I feel like a cad. I guess I just thought it was "normal" until I saw the you tube videos once I was back home yesterday. I had silently cursed the ranger for not giving more warning, but perhaps that's because the road condition was truly anomalous, and he simply didn't know. Maybe I should still make a call so they can be vigilant in the future...or maybe it's all too much to keep up with even when the 4x4 peeps aren't descending on the place...or maybe I just shouldn't be stupid enough to go tooling around in the desert alone with no cell phone. Sigh.

Next lesson learned: Broken Toe Friday. This one is less wordy, I promise. :] This incident is purely devoid of external influences, and entirely my fault.

Now, by today I had my 911 phone, but the point was moot, since there was no signal in the area. I'd spent a good amount of time bouncing around the mortero area, so as I made the hike to the pictographs, my out-of shape legs were already feeling a little noodly...the uphill grade is very slight for a normal person, but I was definitely feeling it.

In short, I climbed up over a couple of boulders, and on the other side my feet met a relatively flat slab of granite with a fine layer of sand on it. No, I was not wearing hike-appropriate shoes, and subsequently found myself with head resting in a little cholla branch, breathlessly (literally) gazing up at the lovely blue sky.

As I lay there, shadows increasing in the 4:00 pm sun, with leg twisted up under me, I was cognizant that this was not good. My toes were in screaming pain for a brief period, and my only thought was "oh PLEASE let me be able to walk." Thankfully, I was...albeit trudgingly. I knew I had to be close to the pictographs, and as long as I could move, I intended to drag the rest of the way up there.

On the way back down, I sort of wanted to put a little cairn at the falling spot, but I A) felt too much like an outsider to the hiking world to be erecting cairns and, B) was desperate to get out of there before dark (you guessed it -- I didn't have my flashlight with me...it was luxuriating on a bed back at the hotel).

Later that night I thought "what if I hadn't been able to walk?" Again, I'm glad the full repercussions of that didn't occur to me while I was on the ground, else the increasingly-familiar sense of panic would have set in. I mean, that's not territory where your friendly EMT puts you on a stretcher and rolls you out... No, even when someone finally finds you there (hopefully by the next day), there's got to be an airlift involved. I'm wondering whether Kaiser covers that. I mean, co-pay on an ambulance is $50 -- what's the co-pay on a helicopter? :]

The fact that I was there during the week vs. weekend was a double-edged sword. I loved the lack of people, but if I'd truly gotten into a bind I sure as heck would have been hoping someone wandered by...

All of this aside, it was the most precious four days in recent memory. I'm a hard-core rationalist, but I still like to think "the gods" let me out of there basically unscathed because my foibles were a good source of entertainment. They prolly get bored looking at all of you people who know what you're doing. ;]
edited by quidditian on 3/8/2010
edited by quidditian on 3/8/2010