By Bob Difley
If I never have to take another freeway it will be fine with me. Freeways are an invention of those that are in a hurry, which I try to avoid. But sometimes when you want to get from point A to point B–and if time is a factor–there may be no other way to get there than by freeway.
Interstate 15 through the vast creosote and burrobush flatlands of California’s lower Mojave Desert between Barstow and Baker or Las Vegas is hard to avoid if that is where you want to go. As I drove along I noticed an exit marked Afton which, after driving 33 miles from Barstow seemed to be the right time for a stop and area reconnaissance. Though I didn’t expect much, it was a good enough excuse to stop and stretch my legs.
A sign tempted me down the dirt road to Afton Canyon, and after three miles of thumping down the hard-packed dirt road (much more fun than a freeway), Afton Canyon Natural Area and campground was an oasis to my peace-and-quiet loving soul.
I discovered that this was quite a busy place when man traveled by foot, horseback and wagon. The ephemeral Mojave River (admit it, did you even know there was a Mojave River–with actual water in it?) flows here above ground for most of the year and was a popular watering hole for mountain men, Spanish missionaries, Native Americans, and various other adventurers who thought nothing of walking across the Mojave Desert.
Over the eons of Mother Nature’s fiddling with the landscape, the flash floods, river flow, wind and sand scouring, have all contributed to a microcosmic Grand Canyon, consisting of dozens of steep-walled multi-colored canyons, narrow crevices, hidden nooks and crannies that beckoned for exploration.
Because of the abundant water and riparian growth, it turned out to be a surprisingly good bird-watching spot, with the appearance of many migratory birds on my walks and in my nesty campsite.
I discovered that my original destination plans were just as ephemeral as the Mojave river, so I chucked them aside and spent the next three days among the acacias, willows, and tamarisks. This welcome silence, a respite from the roaring freeway, was broken only by the occasional train whose tracks followed the Mojave River valley, the singing of cactus wrens, and by the evening serenade of the ubiquitous coyotes.
Learn more about boondocking with my new eBook, BOONDOCKING: Finding the Perfect Campsite on America’s Public Lands.