Chuck Visits Death Valley

 

    Where did you go?

       Once in awhile I wear my Death Valley T-shirt. It's a nice color green with a design on it. The words Death Valley are super-sized. I catch the surprised looks on people's faces when they see it--why would anyone want to go to Death Valley? 

        Isn't it dangerous?

        Any place with the word "death" in it makes it undesirable as a vacation destination.  In my opinion.

        But Chucky wants to go. To see the dunes. Because . . . wait for it . . . he is a Star Wars fan and, believe it or not, that's where the famed movie was filmed.  Full disclosure--the Star Wars movies were filmed all over the world but Star Wars IV, Chucky's favorite, happened to be filmed in Death Valley.

        For a cat who only seems to be interested in eating and sleeping and hanging out with his brother Jack, it is astonishing to see that he has produced a laundry list of what he wants to see:

        Number one on the list is The Mesquite Flat Sand Dunes where R2-D2 went his separate way after he and C-3PO crash their escape pod on Tatooine. 

     

  The other spots are: Artist's Drive where R2-D2 is abducted by Jawas, which was shot in a canyon.

        Desolation Canyon where the Tuscan Raiders mount Bantha before Luke Skywalker is attacked.

        And, last but not least, Twenty Mule Team Canyon, where the "Lost Scene" was shot, where Luke Skywalker is working on a new lightsaber in a cave.

     

          I make no promises to this cat with such high expectations, especially when we begin to pass warning signs that hint at the intense heat we are likely to feel in this desert region. Despite all the dire information that I share with him . . .

        "Death Valley sits at the northwest corner of the Mojave Desert, the lowest point in North America . . . " Dan and I even pose near the sign at Badwater Basin to make my point!

      There is no reaction from my obstinate cat.

        "Death Valley is known for its extreme heat and limited rain," I continue.  (Later we would see a thermometer reading of 106 degrees.)

        Chucky appears to be undeterred. He is determined, quite like I've never seen him before, to trudge ahead. We decide, thank God, to arrive early, very early in the morning. We are here in October so the weather in the morning is bearable. An hour later and you wouldn't be able to walk on the sand. 

        Still, I worry about the Rascal cat's paws being burnt in the hot sand. 

        "They don't call this place Death Valley for nothing," I say to him as he races ahead of me. 

        Chucky looks back at me skeptically. 

        He's right, of course. The morbid name dates back to 1849 and derives from a single episode that occurred. A group of emigrants with a guide, part of the California Gold Rush, left to reach California. Unfortunately, part of the group (looking for a shortcut) splintered off, got lost, and ended up traveling through the desert. Their journey took four months. A survivor from the group called the desert Death Valley because everyone didn't survive.            

         Walking on dunes is no easy task. The sand squishes under your feet. Luckily, I'm wearing sneakers. I catch up to him. He knows where we are--The Mesquite Flat Sand Dunes.

        "Where are you going?"

        He doesn't have to meow it. To the top of the dune. His destination is clear.  I don't want to say or even think it. (That he'll never make it.) Where does he get these crazy ideas? 

        I'm the one who's stopped for a breather. Chucky is plowing through the sand like a real trooper. With a mission. 

        There's a nice breeze at this time in the morning. The sun isn't too hot, yet. I see the top of the dune in the distance. It looks too far away. People are there ahead of us, struggling. 

        "Chucky, you're not R2-D2." 

         He stops. 

         I know that was a hit below the cat collar. I also know that every morning, rain or shine, sleet or snow, Chucky is outside doing his rounds, sniffing and exploring the patio and back yard. He has to know who's been there. It's an obligation he must fulfill. That's the kind of cat he is.

        "Okay. okay. I get it," I tell him. 

        Dan hasn't said a word during this entire exchange. "I wish we brought a flag of something. This feels like an historic moon walk that needs to be documented somehow."

        Dan laughs. "Don't worry. He'll be okay. I have some water with me. He'll be thirsty when he comes back." 

        We trail behind our valiant cat. As he leaves us in the dust, he is more difficult to see because his orangey coat color blends in with the color of the sand. I stop about 3/4 of the way up and take shade under a pathetic looking half dead tree. 

        Later, when Chucky is passed out, cat napping, fully hydrated, we drive over to Zebriskie Point and see that Death Valley with its sand dunes and sand flats and canyons and mountains is quite beautiful.

        So I am surprised--not only by how heroic a rascal cat can be-- but how expectations sometimes can blind you and not let you see the beauty that was there all along. 

        Don't be fooled by a name.