A Rite of Spring

In Southern California, in the spring, pilgrims travel near and far to witness wildflowers. For San Diegans, it means heading east along meandering two-lane highways to Anza Borrego Desert State Park.

Like fall foliage elsewhere in the U.S., a previous season’s wetness or drought greatly determines if the highly anticipated displays will be dazzling or demure. Buds are closely monitored by park officials. Hotlines are established to alert explorers to what’s blooming and where. Locals sell maps for a dollar to support one non-profit or another. Even city TV news crews are dispatched to ordinarily unnoticeable hamlets for a little “local color.”

My husband and I arrived this morning just after the Visitors Center in Borrego Springs had opened, surprised at how tight parking already had become. No wonder, given there typically is only a month at most to get in on the action. March is the best month for viewing, well before everyone and everything begins to wilt in the desert's oppressive heat. By late April, barring any unseasonable weather, this lush wilderness will start to resemble a lunar landscape.

We stopped inside to get directions to the most popular trails: one long, but easy (Palm Canyon Trail) and one short but strenuous (Panorama Overlook). I brought binoculars to try and catch bighorn sheep at play, but instead I had to be satisfied with a huge black-tailed hare and my husband’s sighting of a kangaroo rat. Oh, and we found a sizeable lizard trying to hide from humans.

There’s a half-mile concrete pathway that connects the Visitors Center to a campground that also serves as the source for those two trails (that convenience, no doubt, is why they are the most used). I snapped photos while Gilbert read signs explaining just what was in my viewfinder. Apparently this place experiences daily earthquakes too.

We elected to hike up the steeper trail, with my husband leading the way and me constantly in tow and out of breath. This is quite a reversal from years past, but I will spare you the self-pity. The effort was worth it, if only because few chose this option so we could take in the fantastic views and relish the silence without feeling observed or rushed.

By the time we returned to civilization, the place was teeming with tourists and the parking lots were overflowing and streets congested with cars waiting for entry. Crawling for miles back up from the valley floor with the caravans of RVs and convertibles, it was apparent from all the minivans and SUVs heading the other way that we’d picked a good time to arrive – and leave. For this year, anyway.