Death Valley Daze

US Borax shut down their mining operation in Ryan back in the 1920s. Since then it has been used as a backdrop in the opening scene of Spartacus and in a few episodes of Death Valley Days. Other than that, Ryan has been a ghost town, gradually succumbing to the baking Death Valley sun.

However, Ryan comes alive every spring, when US Borax allows San Jose State University to conduct its annual spring break course: "Field Studies in the Natural History of Death Valley". Scientists and students sweep borate dust off rotting 80-year-old mattresses, chase scorpions out of their fiber-extruding gashes, and drag them out to the long porch overlooking the firmament and the valley below. This is where they will be sleeping for the next seven nights. Days will be spent following geologists, botanists, entymologists, and naturalists to obscure corners of the Valley to harass tiny dull fish, gnarled plants, and dusty rocks.

During the glory days of the 1960s and 1970s-- when students did this kind of thing simply because it was interesting-- there would be nearly 200 students at Ryan. But in the will-this-be-on-the-test? ethos of 2008 only 30 participants showed up at Ryan. Among them only four are actual students. The others are people who have been coming for years, some even for decades. "Repeaters" they are called. Few, if any, of the Repeaters have an association with San Jose State. Oh, maybe some of them once knew someone who went to San Jose State years ago; maybe that someone invited them along on this field trip. The rest was history and that someone is now long forgotten. No matter. The Repeaters have each other, each other and a fanatical love of the desert. As children, they probably secretly cheered for Yosemite Sam, and now emulate his style and demeanor. They are endlessly fascinated by horsefly maggots, pup fish, mesquite trees, and dolomite. They are a unique breed.

The Repeaters warmly welcome Debra and me into their select group. Invariably the first question they ask us is "Will you be coming back next year?" They are our new old friends. Dinner feels like the dinner scene in the Big Chill. Stan, the group leader, insists on cooking gourmet meals for Debra and me. We eat barbecued pork loin dusted with sage, buttery corn on the cob, and garden-fresh salad. A few tables away the students eat Cheetos and Skittles. After dinner we are invited to join conspiracies to thwart Ryan's NO LIQUOR rule. A projector is set up in the old dining hall and episodes from Death Valley Days are shown. Our favorites are Claim Jumping Jennie and Bandits of the Panamint.

Sights Seen

The week began on top of Dante's View overlooking the southern end of the valley and ended with a hike through Titus (a.k.a. "Tight-ass") Canyon at the other end of the Valley. We spent a whole day staring at pup fish in Ash Meadows. The entire species lives on a tiny 10-foot by 10-foot shelf at the bottom of a pit surrounded by fences and monitoring devices. We spent a morning on the Timbisha Shoshone Reservation listening to a tribal elder complain about the failure of the Mesquite harvest due to the lack of water. It was difficult to hear her speak over the clatter of the sprinkler system in the neighboring Furnace Creek golf course. In the Nevada ghost town of Rhyolite we wandered through the utterly surreal Goldwell Open Air Museum. And of course there were the requisite visits to various moonscapes: The Playa, Bad Water (altitude = -282'), Ubehebe Crater, Marble Canyon, Artist's Palette, Devil's Golf Course, Devil's Corn Field, Devil's Martini Lounge, whatever.

Dame Humping Debbie

Friday night is our last night at Ryan. It is also skit night. After the dishes are washed, everyone assembles in the old dining hall. We have been quietly dreading this night for a week. Butterflies flutter in stomachs. Weeks earlier Stan promised Debra and me that we could be part of his ensemble. He said he had ideas for skits and that we shouldn't worry. But hours before the curtain went up Stan announced that he was the MC and there was no ensemble or skit. In a panic, Debra and I hastily threw together a lesbian spin on Claim Jumping Jennie. Dressed in miner's clothes, hunched over a shovel, and with a cigar hanging from her mouth, Debra was the hardened prospector who worked her fingers to the bone "skinnin' mules" to send her daughter to fancy San Jose State where she could get "larned by high-hat perfessers". I was the ungrateful daughter, come to pay a surprise visit to her mother. It's one of the cardinal axioms of theater: if you want to get a good laugh, put an ugly man in a dress. At first I am shocked by my mother's manly visage. After shock comes feelings of guilt for my ingratitude. After guilt comes a forgiving hug. But the forgiving hug turns into a lustful romp that makes the audience squirm uneasily on their benches. We end the skit with a brief advertisement for Boraxo: months later our incestuous affair has settled into a routine: mom hangs out in lesbian biker bars while I stay at home and do laundry, which isn't a problem with speedy and sweet Boraxo.

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