Joshua Tree, Day #2: A Day Measured in Heat, Miles, and Moments

Despite a rough night of sleep—wind hammering the tent walls like it had something to prove—we woke to complete stillness. When I unzipped the tent, I was met with silence and a sky so blue it almost didn’t feel real.  Anna and I threw on our down jackets and wandered over to a small rock outcropping overlooking the terrain we had crossed the day before. Coffee in hand, we sat there longer than I’m typically wired to do. We talked about everything—life changes, old memories, where we’re at, where we’re going. At this stage, there’s no filtering between us. What we have is honest, and I don’t take that for granted. The relationship I have with my girls is something I know is rare, and I’m deeply aware of how lucky I am.

We laughed a lot. Joked around. And somewhere in there, we made a small, completely random “sacrifice” to the California desert—something that will stay between the two of us

Eventually, reality crept back in. We had a big day ahead—over 16 miles, including a couple of off-trail sections. When I checked my watch and saw 9:30am, I knew it was time to stop talkin’ and start rockin’.

We packed up quickly and got back on trail, making good time toward Juniper Flat—one of my favorite stretches out here. It’s wide open and surprisingly flat, with junipers scattered almost randomly among the cactus and Joshua trees. After about an hour, we crested a small ridge and caught a distant glint of sunlight reflecting off car windows far below. Civilization. Roads. And beyond that, the Wonderland of Rocks.  That was our cue, and we stepped off trail.

I pulled out the map and walked Anna through some basic navigation, then let her take the lead. After a mile or two, she dialed it in perfectly—intersecting an old, abandoned road exactly where we needed to be. A small moment, but a good one. Confidence earned.

About a mile up that road brought us to Randolph Ranch.  There’s no real way to describe it other than… it’s just cool. The place is wrapped in leaning fence posts and rusted barbed wire, like it’s trying—halfheartedly—to hold onto something long gone. It felt like the right spot to take a break.

While I dropped my pack, Anna may or may not have found her way through the fence… and may or may not have done a little exploring. She called me over, curious as ever, and I figured—why not?

Peeking inside, we saw old furniture, frozen in time. It immediately reminded me of Little House on the Prairie (no shame in that). We wandered around the property, taking in the way the desert slowly reclaims everything—weathered wood, a stripped-down shell of a car, sagging fencing, and then a dose of reality:  a pile of recently emptied beer bottles. The past met the present.

We eventually made our way back to our packs, sat on a decaying Joshua tree, and just rested for a bit before moving on.

As we neared the Wonderland of Rocks, we turned north and left the trail again—this time following a wash. It’s the kind of hiking that keeps you honest. Constant zigzagging to avoid spiny plants, always adjusting your line.  If you brush up against one of those plants, it’s like rubbing a cheese grater on your legs.  When you manage 20 feet in a straight shot, it feels like hitting the jackpot.

A couple hours of that brought us back into familiar terrain. We picked up the trail right where we had cached water a few days earlier. Thirty minutes later, we were sitting in the sun, refilling bottles and working through a simple but perfect lunch—salami, cheddar, and tortillas.

By now, the heat had arrived. Not just warm—sunburn hot. Even with sunscreen, I could feel it on my face.

We pushed on, heading up the Quail Springs Historical Trail. It shifts between actual trail, old road, and sandy wash, but no matter what, it’s soft underfoot—like walking on a beach. Add another ten pounds of water to your pack, and it becomes a grind. Still, a quick check of the watch showed we were holding over a 3 mph pace, which honestly surprised me.

Around 4pm, we reached the junction with the Bigfoot Trail—our route back toward the car the next day. We climbed for about a mile and found a perfect campsite: flat ground, a rock outcrop, and just enough elevation to feel removed from everything.

Dinner was a bit of a departure for me—I don’t usually go the freeze-dried route—but tonight we did. Anna had the Mountain House Teriyaki Chicken, and I went with Pinnacle Foods’ Jalapeño Cheddar Biscuits and Sausage. Not bad overall… though I wouldn’t have complained about a few more chunks of sausage.

That night was supposed to bring a blood moon.  At first, nothing. Just darkness and a sky full of stars. We sat and waited, eyes fixed on the eastern horizon. Slowly, a faint glow began to build behind the ridge. Then, for a brief moment, the entire ridgeline was outlined in a thin, orange band.

It was unreal.

And then the moon finally broke free.

We didn’t say much. Tried to take a few photos, but it was pointless—no camera was going to capture what we were seeing. So we put the phones away and just sat there, taking it in.

At one point, Anna looked over and asked, half serious, half laughing, “Dad… it’s 7 o’clock. Is it too early to go to bed?”

I didn’t hesitate. Not even a little.

By 7:30, we were in our bags. By 8, I could hear her steady breathing, already deep asleep.

That night, everything was quiet. No wind. No noise. Just stillness.

We slept hard.

Over 16 miles on the day—and we didn’t see a single person.

Another one for the books.