becoming mrs. bret

Bret navigating Canyon Sin Nombre.


Yesterday Bret and I spent Easter morning out in the Anza-Borrego Desert! We left the house about 4:45 a.m., in order to get to the desert by sunrise. Armed with our wonderful new Fuji FinePix S-5000 digital camera, we packed sausage & biscuit sandwiches, plenty of hot coffee and cold Dr. Pepper — and the desert off-roading guidebook Bret had borrowed from Ben — and set off in the pre-dawn darkness.

We drove straight out Interstate 8 to County S2, taking a side trip to explore McCain Valley. As we were bouncing around the dirt road leading to Cottonwood Recreation Area, a deeply-rutted "road" resembling a Mexican goat path caught our eye. Well, that's not exactly true. It was the large wooden sign labeled "Sacatone Overlook" that caught our attention — the path itself was nearly hidden by brush. The gouged ruts and jutting rocks caused me no small amount of trepidation, but Bret assured me he'd driven worse, so off we went.

At first, I admit that I was terrified. The roughest road I'd ever ridden down was the gravel road leading to my grandparents' farm. But the first bump we hit that bounced me clear off my seat had me squealing with excitement! By the time we'd covered the first mile, I had a grin the size of Dallas on my face. Bret was laughing with typical guy pleasure at conquering the unknown roughness. The middle section was the worst — or should I say best? — with part of the path nearly obliterated by winter run-off. Bret eased the truck over exposed granite hunks, and we continued our upward climb.

We reached Sacatone Overlook just as the sky was beginning to lighten. It had been nearly two hours — and numerous cups of coffee — since we'd left home, and nature was urgently calling us both. We jumped out of the truck, seeking appropriate bushes, and did our part to water the arid desert. But let me tell you, it was damn cold out there! When that chilly pre-dawn air hit my fanny, it felt like I'd backed up to a cholla cactus. I've never peed so fast in my life. Then I scrambled back to the truck, and into my hoodie. Bret was already in position with the camera.

We took a series of gorgeous sunrise photos, then headed on over to S2. S2 winds through a huge ancient seabed, covered with thousands of ocotillo plants. They look like thorny versions of aquatic plants that somehow adapted to non-marine life. Maybe they are, for all I know! We made a few photo stops, capturing the bizarre beauty of our surroundings, on our way to our second planned destination.

Canyon Sin Nombre (Canyon Without Name) is rated "easy" in the off-roading guidebook. I sure can't wait till we can tackle a "moderate" route! The 11-mile drive took us through a tight rocky canyon with a bottom of treacherously soft sand, past prehistoric folds in the layered rock, across a miles-wide smoke-tree wash, and eventually back to the main road. We were airborne a good percentage of the time. Along the way, we passed what has to be one of the strangest sights I've ever seen — a street sign indicating the intersection of Hollywood and Vine, smack in the middle of the desert and relative to absolutely nothing. "Look, honey," I said to Bret, "Somebody has the same sense of direction you do!" That made it imperative that I photograph him standing at the foot of the sign.

Our third and final destination was Blair Valley, which turned out to be a huge disappointment. No rough roads, no narrow canyons, no fascinating plant life. Just dirt roads leading to unappealing, amenity-free campsites. By this time it was noon, and we were hungry, hot and tired. We caught Highway 78 where it intersects with S2, and followed it all the way over the mountains and back to the coast. We were too tired to care about the charming village of Julian, except for a gas-and-potty break. But all the way back to Pacific Beach, we were discussing how soon we could return to Anza-Borrego to check out a few more of the so-called "easy" drives.