Thanksgiving in Death Valley

The notion of Thanksgiving is full of promise: touch football in the chilly wood-smoke afternoon, the groaning board laden with hearty home cooking, family and friends dozing together by the TV once the feast is done. Although some surely approach this ideal, anecdotal evidence suggests that a substantial number of people experience the national day of thanks as an ordeal of Franzenesque proportions. For these unfortunates, a suggestion: Next year, why not have Thanksgiving in Death Valley?

The lowest point in the Western Hemisphere, fringed by some of the highest mountains, Death Valley was christened by lost and disgruntled forty-niners in no mood for desert camping. Few natural attractions have been saddled with such unfortunate names; only the Dead Sea and the Port des Morts can truly feel Death Valley's pain. In a fairer, more accurate world, the place would be called Rock Valley for its geological bounty, or Big-Ass Valley, reflecting its vast expanse (think Long Island) and sheer walls a mile or more high. Although stunningly desolate, Death Valley boasts abundant life and wonders from borax mines to ghost towns to cartoon-quality sand dunes.

Plan to spend the night before Thanksgiving in the nearby town of Lone Pine, Calif., where hotel rooms come cheap and the bars are staffed with locals eager to play cards and tell you about the many westerns filmed there. Rise early Thanksgiving Day and hustle into the park (only recently upgraded from national monument) to get your pick of first-come campsites. There are hike-in and high-altitude sites available, but keep it simple: This is the essence of car camping. Furnace Creek offers numerous slots on flat hardpan alongside 5,000 RV hookups. Instead, drive up the foothills to Texas Spring, which features panoramic views of the valley and a running-water bathroom that's on the National Register of Historic Places.

If you can, claim the spot next to the water spout rising from the rocks. I don't have to explain how handy this will be. Put up your tent and unroll your sleeping bag first thing; you'll thank yourself after dinner. Once you've made camp, you'll still have time for a drive before dinner. Purring across the vast expanse alongside fields of dry grasses and salt, you become aware of a unique sense of place; for all its immenseness, the valley is oddly intimate, bounded by an unbroken curtain of rock with a dogleg at the northern end that offers a second enclosure to explore.

Dark comes early this time of year, so aim to have your mis en place together and your fire well underway by 4 p.m. Even in the desert, Thanksgiving is all about food. A realistic and organized strategy will enable you to create a surprisingly close approximation of the indoors menu. Cook the turkey Tuesday night and pack it on dry ice in a cooler (You might want to crack the car window on the way down to avoid unwanted carbon dioxide poisoning). Let it come to temperature while you're cooking the rest; it's cool in the evening this time of year, so a couple of hours is okay. You can make the potatoes from scratch if you're willing to put in the time and firewood. Boil your green vegetables, warm the biscuits on the grill, wrap balls of cooked stuffing in foil and crisp them in the embers. Cranberry sauce in Tupperware. Make the gravy from a mix.

The temperature drops sharply as the sun sets across the broad plain. The stars are neither as plentiful nor as clear as one might expect, but the atmosphere is thick here, not to mention dusty. Draw closer to the fire and keep that wine flowing. If you're lucky, there are no generators nearby, just scraps of voices from neighboring campfires. Lean back in your folding chair and reflect on the holiday. Think about this nation and the diverse opportunities it offers, as well as the somber responsibility that comes with its stewardship, paid for in blood. Think about the peace and liberty that allow us to travel freely from one end to the other to meet friends in such an unlikely locale, and the prosperity that provides the means to do so. Maybe spare a moment's thought for those who'll sleep outside tonight not on a lark, but by necessity.

The pies are home-made as a matter of course.

— J. Daniel Janzen (jdaniel at flakmag dot com)