Mojave Desert

Mohave tui Chub: The Last Native Fish of the Mojave River

Mohave tui ChubPhoto – Joe Ferreia, California Fish & Wildlife

The Mohave tui chub (Siphateles bicolor mohavensis), formerly Gila bicolor mohavensis, is the only fish native to California’s Mojave River. It once lived throughout the river–inhabiting deep pools, sloughs, marshes, and backwaters from the Forks of the Mojave near the San Bernardino Mountains to Soda Lake near Baker. Now, it survives only in a few isolated refuges, making it one of the rarest native fishes in the American Southwest.

The Mojave River is unlike most North American rivers. It courses about 100 miles from the San Bernardino Mountains into the Mojave Desert, with most of its water underground. Surface flows occur only where bedrock forces groundwater to the surface, or when storms cause runoff. Despite being intermittent, the river once supported a rich aquatic ecosystem, including the Mohave tui chub.

The fish is a chunky, large-scaled minnow with a small terminal mouth, olive-brown to brassy back, and silver-white belly. Adults are usually 4 to 6 inches long; some reach 9 inches. Mohave tui chub feed on insect larvae, algae, and organic debris. Spawning runs from February to October, when females deposit thousands of adhesive eggs on aquatic plants.

For thousands of years, the species did well in the Mojave River basin. Its decline began in the early twentieth century as dams, groundwater pumping, and water diversions altered the river’s flow. Yet, habitat modification alone did not cause its disappearance.

Around 1930, arroyo chub (Gila orcutti), native to coastal Southern California streams, were introduced into reservoirs in the San Bernardino Mountains. Likely released by trout anglers or accidentally during fish stocking, they spread throughout the Mojave River after major floods in March 1938.

Unlike many introduced species that compete with native wildlife, the arroyo chub threatened the Mohave tui chub by interbreeding with it. Studies by Carl Hubbs and Robert Miller documented extensive hybridization and backcrossing. Over time, the native fish was absorbed into the introduced population. By the 1960s, pure Mohave tui chubs had disappeared from the Mojave River, and by 1970, the species was effectively extirpated from its native habitat.

Fortunately, a small population survived in isolated ponds at Soda Springs near the lower end of the watershed. These fish formed the foundation for all subsequent recovery efforts.

Authorities immediately recognized the species’ precarious status. The Mohave tui chub was listed as endangered under federal law in 1970, and the State of California followed in 1971. California also designated it as a Fully Protected species. In 1984, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service completed a recovery plan to prevent extinction and to establish secure refuge populations.

Today, genetically pure Mohave tui chubs survive in only a few places: Lake Tuendae at Zzyzx, Camp Cady Wildlife Area, MC Spring, and the Lark Seep system at China Lake. The China Lake population is regarded as the most secure. Since the mid-1990s, annual surveys there have estimated the number of fish in thousands. Water quality monitoring, invasive species control, habitat management, and vegetation removal help maintain suitable conditions.

Modern genetic studies have greatly improved the understanding of the species. Yongjiu Chen, Steve Parmenter, and Bernie May used microsatellite DNA analysis to examine surviving populations and compare them with fish from the Mojave River. Their results confirmed that refuge populations remain genetically pure Mohave tui chubs, while fish occupying the Mojave River today are pure arroyo chubs.

Mohave tui Chub – Arroyo Chub – photo Walter Feller

The study revealed key differences among populations. Lake Tuendae and China Lake have high genetic diversity and are genetically similar. Camp Cady has lower diversity because it was founded by only 10 fish. MC Spring shows the lowest diversity, likely due to long isolation and genetic change. The researchers recommended boosting gene flow among populations and creating new ones from the most diverse sites.

While the Mohave tui chub survived, the Mojave River itself continued to change. By 2002, at least twenty-two non-native fish species had entered the watershed. Introduced species dominated fish communities in the middle and lower Mojave River. Researchers documented six exotic species in their study reaches and found evidence of continued hybridization among non-native fishes. In some locations, other introduced species displaced even the arroyo chub.

Many scientists concluded restoration of Mohave tui chub to its historic range would be very difficult. The river’s ecology has been fundamentally changed by invasive species, water development, habitat modification, and altered hydrology. While some reintroductions might be possible within controlled settings, restoring the species throughout the Mojave River now appears unlikely.

Despite these challenges, important habitat remains. One example is the Transition Zone of the Mojave River, where perennial surface water supports a fifteen-mile corridor of cottonwood and willow forest. Conservation measures have protected portions of this habitat, including the 1,647-acre Palisades Ranch. The property contains approximately 3.5 miles of Mojave River frontage and hundreds of acres of riparian forest, supporting a remarkable diversity of wildlife.

Species benefiting from the protection of the river corridor include the southwestern willow flycatcher, least Bell’s vireo, western yellow-billed cuckoo, Mojave River vole, southwestern pond turtle, arroyo toad, desert tortoise, Mohave ground squirrel, burrowing owl, and Mohave shoulderband snail. The area also contains habitat that could support Mohave tui chub if biological and hydrological obstacles are overcome.

The story of the Mohave tui chub is both a conservation success and a cautionary narrative. The species disappeared from the river where it evolved, not primarily because of direct predation or habitat destruction, but because it was replaced by genetic introgression from an introduced relative. Yet biologists, land managers, and conservation agencies worked together to save the fish from extinction.

Now, the Mohave tui chub is a living remnant of the earliest Mojave River ecosystem. Its survival depends on protected refuges, careful genetic management, and protection of remaining river stretches. As the only fish native to the Mojave River basin, it is a key symbol of the desert’s natural heritage.

Mohave tui Chub

Sensitive Fish Species

Lake Tuendae

Mojave River

Curtis Howe Springer and the Complicated Story of Zzyzx

Curtis Howe Springer and the Complicated Story of Zzyzx

Curtis Howe Springer was a radio preacher, health-product salesman, resort promoter, and one of the Mojave Desert’s most unusual characters. He was neither simply a generous desert visionary nor merely a confidence man. He built a functioning community, provided work and shelter, attracted visitors, and helped Baker’s economy. He also used credentials he had not earned, advertised products with unsupported medical claims, and operated a large resort on federal land he did not own.

Springer arrived at Soda Springs in 1944 with Helen Springer. He filed mining claims covering about 12,800 acres and renamed the place Zzyzx, which he promoted as “the last word in health.” From a collection of tents and old ruins, the Springers developed a resort with guest rooms, a dining hall, a chapel, mineral baths, a swimming pool, radio facilities, workshops, gardens, animal pens, and an airstrip.

Much of this was real. Zzyzx wasn’t simply a name on a brochure. People lived, worked, ate, worshiped, and vacationed there for nearly 30 years. The federal court later described four guest buildings containing 59 units, a dining room and kitchen, an administration building, a chapel, mineral baths, electrical equipment, and numerous other structures.

Work and Economic Benefits

Springer’s operation created work at Zzyzx and generated business in nearby Baker. Workers mixed and packaged health foods, printed literature, prepared radio recordings, filled orders, handled correspondence, maintained buildings, cooked meals, cared for animals, and mailed products.

Some workers were recruited from Los Angeles’ Skid Row. They were offered food, shelter, a small wage, and a place away from alcohol in exchange for construction and maintenance work. This labor helped Springer build the resort at relatively low cost, but it also provided men with few alternatives, a temporary home, and useful work.

Zzyzx also affected Baker. Visitors sometimes stayed in Baker motels while waiting to enter the resort. Springer’s enormous volume of packages, promotional literature, donations, and correspondence helped raise the Baker post office to first-class status. The federal court record specifically confirms that foods, printed materials, and radio recordings were packaged and prepared for mailing at Zzyzx.

However, Springer did not cause Baker’s first post office to be established. Postal records show that the office began under the name Silver Lake on March 27, 1907. It was renamed Baker in February 1933, eleven years before Springer arrived. His business greatly increased its workload, but it did not create the first post office.

Was Springer Rich?

Springer appears to have become wealthy during Zzyzx’s most successful years. The National Park Service describes him as a millionaire. His radio broadcasts reached hundreds of stations, while listeners sent donations and ordered teas, food supplements, books, and other products. The National Park Service states that he shipped more than four million packages during his years at Zzyzx.

One witness later recalled that Springer paid a $2,500 court fine immediately, treating it like a minor expense. This suggests that he had considerable available money.

His exact personal wealth is still unknown. No dependable financial statement or estate accounting has been found. Some of his apparent wealth was represented by buildings and improvements at Zzyzx. Those improvements stood on federal land, and Springer never obtained legal title to the property. He could control the operation while he occupied it, but he did not own a desert estate that he could legally sell.

The Ownership Problem

Springer held unpatented mining claims. Such claims allowed legitimate mineral exploration and mining, along with activities reasonably connected to mining. They did not automatically transfer ownership of the land.

The United States remained the legal owner. Springer’s hotel, health resort, food-packaging operation, radio studio, pools, airstrip, residential buildings, and religious activities went far beyond ordinary mining.

Springer made several attempts to obtain a stronger legal right to the property. He filed desert-land applications in 1951, public-recreation applications in 1957 and 1958, and another non-mineral application in 1966. These applications were rejected, dismissed, or denied. Despite those decisions, he continued operating Zzyzx.

In 1970, a federal district court restricted the property to mining-related uses. A 1971 injunction prohibited Springer from operating the resort, renting rooms, packaging food, preparing mail, recording broadcasts, maintaining pools, or inviting people to live there for purposes unrelated to mining. The Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals upheld that injunction.

The legal record, therefore, leaves little doubt about ownership: Springer and his organizations built and operated Zzyzx, but the United States owned the land.

Was Springer Selling Land?

There is evidence that Springer marked off residential lots and allowed major donors to build homes on them. Some historical accounts describe this as offering or selling parcels to supporters.

The wording requires care. Springer could promise someone a place to live or accept a donation in exchange for the use of a lot, but he could not convey valid ownership because he did not own the land. No deed from Springer could transfer federal property.

It is therefore safest to say that Springer allocated or offered homesites to donors as if he controlled the property. Whether every arrangement was described as a direct sale is less certain. What is certain is that donors could not receive a valid title from him.

Would Nonprofit Status Have Helped?

Nonprofit status would not have solved Springer’s central problems. In fact, organizations connected with Zzyzx already included the Dr. Curtis Howe Springer Foundation and the Zzyzx Community Church. Both were named in the federal land case.

A properly managed nonprofit could have accepted donations, operated a retreat, and possibly applied for an authorized lease or public-purpose agreement. It still would have needed federal approval to occupy the land. It would also have been required to follow food, drug, advertising, tax, and charitable organization laws.

Calling the resort a church, foundation, charity, or nonprofit could not transform a mining claim into ownership. It also could not legalize false medical advertising or the unauthorized distribution of public land.

A nonprofit might have helped only if Springer had reorganized the operation, stopped making unsupported health claims, kept proper financial records, and obtained a valid federal lease. The government had already rejected several of his applications, so nonprofit status alone would not have guaranteed that result.

Why Springer Went to Prison

Springer was not imprisoned merely for being eccentric, practicing natural health, or building a resort in the desert. The strongest court evidence concerns false advertising and misbranded foods.

The Ninth Circuit record states that he had been convicted on 18 counts of false advertising involving supposed remedies for hemorrhoids, heart disease, nervous conditions, thyroid problems, and goiter. It also records violations of California food-misbranding laws.

Springer was fined and sentenced to 60 days in jail. After appeals, he reportedly served 49 days. His imprisonment should be distinguished from the land dispute. The land case was primarily a federal civil action for an injunction, damages, ejectment, and eviction. His false advertising and food law convictions provided the criminal penalties.

Thus, two legal problems came together:

Springer used federal mining-claim land for a resort, residence, manufacturing, and mail-order business.
He advertised health products with claims that authorities and courts found false or misleading.

The first problem cost him Zzyzx. The second resulted in penalties and imprisonment.

Did the Rehabilitation Program Work?

Some men probably benefited from their time at Zzyzx, although their progress was never formally documented. Springer offered homeless and struggling men food, shelter, work, routine, and an alcohol-free environment. The National Park Service has concluded that these conditions certainly helped some visitors.

Springer later claimed that Zzyzx had helped rehabilitate 4,000 destitute men. That figure came from Springer himself. No known records follow these men after they left, nor do they show how many remained sober, found permanent employment, reunited with families, or established stable homes.

Zzyzx was not a licensed rehabilitation center with trained counselors, medical supervision, case records, or long-term follow-up. Nevertheless, temporary shelter and meaningful work can still help people. The fair conclusion is that Springer probably helped some individuals, but his claim of 4,000 successful rehabilitations cannot be verified.

Eviction and Final Years

After years of court proceedings, federal authorities removed Springer and his followers from Zzyzx in 1974. The government did not recognize his ownership claims, and Springer could not take the property with him or sell it as his estate.

In 1976, the Bureau of Land Management permitted the California State University system to use the site. Zzyzx became the Desert Studies Center, where students and researchers continue to study Mojave Desert biology, geology, hydrology, and history.

Springer and Helen moved to Las Vegas after the eviction and his short imprisonment. He remained there for the rest of his life. Curtis Howe Springer died in Las Vegas on August 19, 1985, at age 88. Available sources do not identify the particular residence or hospital where he died.

A Balanced Judgment

Springer’s story resists a simple conclusion. He was a persuasive promoter who made unsupported medical claims and used public land far beyond the limits of his mining claims. He accepted money and donations while presenting himself as a doctor and minister, even though he lacked recognized qualifications. His legal troubles were based on substantial evidence, not simply disagreement with unconventional medicine.

At the same time, he built a real desert community. Zzyzx provided jobs, meals, shelter, inexpensive vacations, religious fellowship, and temporary stability. His mail-order business supported packaging and mailing work and brought measurable business to Baker. Some people remembered him with sincere thanks.

His good works did not give him ownership of federal land, and nonprofit status would not have erased the legal violations. Likewise, his unlawful conduct does not mean that nobody benefited from Zzyzx. Both parts belong in history.

Sources

United States v. Springer, Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals

Mojave National Preserve Administrative History

National Park Service: Zzyzx

Los Angeles Times: Zzyzx and Curtis Howe Springer

California Post Office Records

SFGATE: The History of Zzyzx Road

Zzyzx

Mojave River: A Lifeline in the Desert

Introduction:

The Mojave River, a hidden gem in the arid landscapes of California, serves as a vital lifeline in the Mojave Desert. This remarkable river spans approximately 110 miles and offers a diverse ecosystem, historical significance, and recreational opportunities for nature enthusiasts and history buffs.

Geography and Formation:

The Mojave River originates in the San Bernardino Mountains and meanders through the Mojave Desert, eventually dissipating into Soda Lake. Its path encompasses various landscapes, including rugged canyons, barren deserts, and lush riparian habitats. The river’s formation can be traced back thousands of years ago when geological processes and the ever-changing climate of the region shaped its course.

Ecological Importance:

Despite the harsh Mojave Desert conditions, the Mojave River sustains a surprising array of flora and fauna. The river’s riparian zones provide an ideal habitat for a variety of plant species, such as willows, cottonwoods, and mesquite trees. These lush areas attract diverse wildlife, including birds, reptiles, and mammals, seeking refuge in this desert oasis.

Historical Significance:

The Mojave River holds a significant place in the history of California. Native American tribes, such as the Mojave, Serrano, and Chemehuevi, once relied on the river’s resources for sustenance and survival. European explorers, including Spanish missionaries and fur trappers, ventured along its banks, leaving behind a legacy of cultural exchange and exploration.

Moreover, during the mid-1800s, the Mojave River played a crucial role in the development of the Old Spanish Trail and the Mojave Road. These historic trade routes linked the Spanish colonies of California with the eastern United States, facilitating trade and migration.

Recreational Opportunities:

For outdoor enthusiasts, the Mojave River offers a plethora of recreational activities. Hiking trails, such as the Mojave Riverwalk Trail, provide opportunities for exploration, allowing visitors to immerse themselves in desert scenery. Camping facilities and picnic areas along the river’s banks provide the most idyllic setting for a peaceful getaway amidst nature’s tranquility.

Conservation Efforts:

Recognizing the importance of preserving this vibrant ecosystem, numerous conservation organizations and government agencies have worked to protect and restore the Mojave River. These initiatives focus on sustaining river water quality and preserving riparian habitats.

Conclusion:

The Mojave River stands as a testament to the resilience of nature in the face of adversity. Its meandering path through the Mojave Desert provides a lifeline for both wildlife and humans, offering a sanctuary amidst the arid landscapes. Whether you are a nature lover, history enthusiast, or adventure seeker, the Mojave River is a destination that promises a unique and memorable experience. So, embark on a journey to this desert oasis, and let the Mojave River captivate you with its beauty and allure.

Mojave River

Riparian Habitats

Solitude

Experiencing solitude differs from just being alone. Being alone means having no one else present, while solitude is freedom from being watched, measured, interrupted, explained, or directed.

This is why it isn’t solitude if someone tells you so. When another names it, your experience transforms into performance. You’re no longer simply alone; you’re seen as alone, and that changes everything. True solitude can’t be certified; it has no witness.

Solitude arrives when the mind stops looking over its shoulder—no audience to impress, answer, or defend against. At first, it feels empty, but then honest. The usual noise from others fades, as well as the quiet inside you grows.

Because of this inward journey, solitude must be discovered, not assigned. Someone might point you to a trail, canyon, road, or quiet room, but can’t give you the experience. You must arrive inwardly and stay until silence feels present, not absent.

It is important to note that solitude is not loneliness, even though the two may seem alike at first. Loneliness longs for company; solitude accepts aloneness. Loneliness feels like exclusion; solitude feels like being reunited with yourself. Solitude is a private settlement between a person and the world.

In true solitude, the land does not explain itself. The wind does not ask to be understood. The stones, brush, sky, and distance do not perform for you. They simply exist. And if you remain still enough, you begin to exist in the same plain way. No announcement. No approval. No lesson forced upon you.

Once found, solitude is easier to visit. At first, it’s distant—a place with no road. You may mistake it for loneliness, boredom, or emptiness. But after that first encounter, you recognize the path back. You know what to set aside: noise, explaining, the need to be seen, and the habit of answering others. Then solitude is no longer a strange country; it becomes a place you can return to.

With practice, in solitude, you can sit still until the restlessness passes. At first, the mind seeks noise: a task, a voice, a screen, a reason to leave. Stay past that. Solitude works once the urge to be distracted fades.

In this space, you can walk without regarding it as exercise. Notice the ground, wind, tracks, shadows, slope, distance, heat, cold, bird calls, creosote, and how light changes on the rock. Let the place be, without turning it into a lesson.

During this attention, think honestly—not dramatically, not in circles. Ask simple questions: What burdens aren’t mine? What do I defend? What do I believe with no pressure? What matters without an audience?

Afterward, write a few plain sentences. Just field notes of the mind: I noticed. I remembered. I avoided it. I felt calmer when. No need to explain.

If writing settles your thoughts, read something steady: nature writing, scripture, philosophy, desert history, a field guide, or a map. Old books help because they don’t shout; they wait.

For example, I have read books in solitude. Land of Little Rain by Mary Hunter Austin is one. As time went on, I made photographs to illustrate her chapters. That kind of reading does not finish with the last page. It carries you back into the land itself. The words teach you how to look, and the camera becomes a quiet way of answering what the book first taught you to notice.

Study one plant, rock, wash, bird, or old road cut. Solitude pairs well with attention; the deeper you look at one thing, the less you crave many things.

Pray, meditate, or be silent. The name matters less than the act. The point is to stop performing and listen inwardly.

Above all, stop explaining yourself. That is solitude’s rarest gift: no defense, no audience, no argument. Quiet enough to be real again.

That is the value of being alone: it does not flatter or define you. It gives you space to find out.

Why I Like Geology

I like geology because it transforms how I see the desert. Geology explains why the land looks the way it does, why water follows certain paths, why mountains rise, or basins sink, and why springs appear. It shows how natural forces shape human choices: trails, roads, mines, railroads, and settlements emerge from the land’s history. Geology turns the desert from empty space into a record that can be read.

To many people, the desert looks still and silent. They see rocks, dry washes, cliffs, playas, distant mountains, and open ground. However, geology reveals that the desert is not still at all. It is the result of movement, pressure, heat, erosion, faulting, volcanism, uplift, and time. Every ridge, canyon, lava flow, terrace, wash, spring, and fault scarp has a reason for being there. While the land may not speak plainly, it leaves evidence.

That is one reason geology appeals to me. It is based on visible proof. A geologist can look at a cliff face, a broken hillside, a tilted layer of rock, a dry lakebed, or a mine dump and begin to understand what happened. The evidence may be old, weathered, scattered, or partly hidden, but it is still there. Geology rewards careful observation. It asks a person to slow down, look closely, compare patterns, and respect what the land is showing.

For about nine years, I wandered and explored the desert simply by going out there. I moved from one point of interest to another, mostly staying to myself. Instead of following a formal course or guided route, I learned by looking, walking, comparing places, and remembering what I had seen. A canyon led to a spring. A spring led to a wash. A wash led to a road. A road led to a mine, a pass, a dry lake, or a faulted hillside. Over time, the separate places began to connect, further deepening my understanding.

That kind of wandering gave the desert time to teach me. I was not trying to master it all at once. Some places made sense right away. Others stayed confusing until I saw another place that explained them. Over time, the desert became less like a collection of isolated sites and more like one connected landscape.

In making these connections, I began to see that geology and history both seek to explain the past, but in different ways. History asks who came through a place, what they did, what they called it, and what they left behind. Geology, in contrast, asks deeper questions: Why is this pass here? Why did the river cut through at this place? Why did the lake disappear? Why was ore found in this mountain and not another? Why did a spring appear along one route and not another? Ultimately, human history depends on the shape and structure of the earth beneath it.

Blue Cut Fault – Joshua Tree National Park

This is especially true in the Mojave Desert. The Mojave is a land of corridors, barriers, basins, mountains, playas, springs, faults, and washes. People did not move across a blank map. They followed water, passes, dry lake margins, river channels, and openings between ranges. Trails, wagon roads, railroads, highways, mining camps, and towns were all influenced by geology. To understand the Mojave well, a person has to understand the ground.

Geology also explains why the desert can feel so old. Human history may reach back a few hundred or a few thousand years, but geology reaches into deep time. It deals with ancient seas, vanished lakes, old volcanoes, buried rivers, moving faults, and mountains worn down and raised again. It reminds us that the land existed long before us and will remain long after us. That perspective gives the desert dignity.

I admire geologists because they know how to read the earth without needing it to speak plainly. They can stand before a canyon wall, a fault zone, a lava field, or a dry lake and see more than scenery. They see time, force, sequence, and evidence. They understand that the land is not random. It has structure. It has a history. It has a record, even when that record is difficult to read.

I also admire the dedication and discipline geology requires. It is not casual work. It takes field study, maps, measurements, samples, notes, old reports, and comparison. A geologist must be willing to walk rough ground, endure heat and distance, and keep looking when the answer is not obvious. The earth does not reveal its story all at once. Understanding comes one observation at a time.

That kind of work requires humility. A good geologist cannot force the land to fit an easy explanation. The evidence has to lead. If the rocks say one thing and the theory says another, the theory must change. That respect for facts is one of the strongest parts of geology. It is disciplined curiosity. It combines imagination with restraint.

The Desert Studies Center at Zzyzx belongs in this story because it represents desert study put into practice. With this focus shifting from theory to place, it is a center where students, teachers, and researchers can go into the Mojave itself and learn directly from the land. Set near Soda Dry Lake, at the end of the Mojave River system, it stands in one of the best natural classrooms in the desert.

That setting matters. Around Zzyzx are dry lake beds, springs, salt flats, rocky slopes, volcanic features, desert plants, old shorelines, and evidence of water, heat, faulting, erosion, and long-term change. A person studying there is not learning geology only as an abstract subject. He is standing inside the evidence.

The Desert Studies Center also shows why geology requires discipline. Field science is not guessing from a distance. It means walking the ground, taking notes, checking maps, and comparing what is seen with what has been written. That is the kind of work I admire. It takes order and respect for facts.

In that sense, Zzyzx is more than a place on the map. It serves as a bridge between curiosity and discipline, and as a living example of how the Mojave Desert continues to be studied and interpreted. The Desert Studies Center turns admiration for geology into practical learning. Connecting students and researchers directly with the land shows that the desert itself remains the best teacher.

Geologists also help preserve meaning in places that might otherwise be overlooked. A dry wash is not just a wash. A playa is not just a flat place. A fault is not just a crack. A mine is not just a hole in the ground. Building on this, each one belongs to a larger story. Geology connects small details to big forces. It turns scattered features into a pattern.

That is why geology makes the desert understandable. Instead of seeing emptiness, geology reveals the bones and memory of the landscape. The Mojave is not barren, but layered with evidence of violence, patience, age, movement, and history. Geology’s explanation brings order and beauty to the surface, grounded in the evidence it preserves.

I like geology because it deepens every desert visit. Once you begin to see the land geologically, ordinary places become more interesting. A roadcut becomes a lesson. A wash becomes a process. A spring becomes a clue. A mountain front becomes evidence of movement. A dry lake becomes the trace of a vanished world.

Most of all, I like geology because it sharpens attention and deepens understanding. Geology rewards patience, discipline, and respect for the past. It reminds us that the earth has a story older than our own, and the Mojave Desert, far from being empty, vividly displays that story. With geology, the desert becomes readable and meaningful.

Transmogrification

Transmogrification, though it carries a slightly literary, almost mythic tone, suggests not just change but a deep and strange transformation into something fundamentally different.

For much of its recorded history, the Mojave Desert was primarily understood as a physical region. Its identity arose from terrain and climate. Dense or permanent human occupation played little role. Early travelers, surveyors, geologists, and writers described it using the language of the landform. They noted broad basins, isolated mountain ranges, dry lakes, volcanic fields, alluvial fans, dunes, washes, and the intermittent course of the Mojave River. The desert was seen as a geographical system. Uplift, erosion, aridity, and distance formed it. Its boundaries were often indistinct. The Mojave was not yet a tightly organized human landscape. It was seen as open country, with character shaped by the land’s form.

In that earlier conception, geography imposed limits upon people. Travel followed springs, canyon mouths, and natural passes through the mountains. Camps and settlements clustered where water permitted survival. Roads bent around lava flows, crossed playas, or traced older Indigenous routes refined over generations of movement through the desert. Human activity existed within conditions dictated by climate and terrain. The desert remained the dominant force, and people adapted themselves to it.

Even with these earliest permanent intrusions, the long-standing dynamic between people and landscape was not immediately overturned. Mining camps rose and disappeared as ore deposits and water supplies fluctuated. Wagon roads faded when springs failed. Small railroad towns appeared abruptly but often remained fragile in the face of the scale and hostility of the surrounding landscape. Much of the Mojave still retained the appearance of a place shaped principally by geology rather than by civilization.

Over time, a shift occurred: the Mojave, once defined by natural systems, increasingly came to be structured around human needs. The first key shift came with railroads, which established artificial centers in previously insignificant locations—places that had mattered only as crossings or water stops. Afterward, elements like highways, aqueducts, transmission corridors, military reservations, utility infrastructure, suburban expansion, recreational development, industrial agriculture along the margins, and large-scale energy production continued this trend. These forces did not simply occupy the desert; they actively reorganized it.

A modern map of the Mojave clearly reveals this shift: vast military boundaries now dominate entire valleys and mountain ranges. Meanwhile, interstate highways create strong directional corridors across what were once diffuse travel landscapes. Utility-scale solar developments, visible for miles, convert open basins into industrial energy fields. Transmission towers march across dry lakes and bajadas. Off-road recreation networks carve repeating tracks into fragile terrain. Finally, conservation areas and national preserves add another layer of organization by establishing access restrictions, managing habitats, providing tourism infrastructure, and developing preservation policies.

Increasingly, the Mojave is understood less through watersheds and landforms than through jurisdiction and use. One valley becomes associated with military training, another with renewable energy, others with recreation, habitat protection, logistics, or suburban expansion. This shift is reflected in the language used to describe the desert. Whereas earlier generations emphasized playas, volcanic mesas, spring systems, or mountain passes, modern discussions focus on renewable energy zones, conservation plans, transportation corridors, protected acreage, groundwater management, housing pressure, and recreational access.

Yet the older desert has not disappeared beneath these overlays. The geology remains the controlling framework beneath every human system. Basin-and-range topography still governs drainage and movement. Mountain ranges still create rain shadows and isolate valleys. Heat still limits settlement density. Water scarcity still defines possibility. Dry lakes still gather runoff after storms, just as they did centuries ago. In many places, the desert resists permanent transformation. Every generation is reminded that the underlying landscape remains older and more powerful than any system laid upon it.

Building on these evolving layers of meaning, what has changed most is not simply the Mojave’s physical appearance but its significance. The desert has shifted in its conceptual role: initially perceived as a natural form, then as a landscape of use, and now increasingly as a landscape of negotiation.

The central question is no longer merely “What is the Mojave?” but “What is the Mojave for?” Different groups now approach the same landscape with competing visions: energy developers see open basins suitable for solar fields and transmission infrastructure; conservationists see fragile ecosystems, migration corridors, and biological continuity; tribes see ancestral homelands, sacred sites, and cultural memory in the terrain itself. The military sees strategic training space, defined by isolation and open airspace, while residents see communities and livelihoods. Recreationists seek freedom, mobility, solitude, and escape, while cities beyond the desert offer land, water, transportation routes, and energy supplies.

As these pressures intensify, nearly every part of the Mojave acquires overlapping claims—emptiness itself becomes contestable. Open land is no longer simply open; instead, it becomes designated, managed, leased, protected, restricted, industrialized, or defended. Consequently, the future Mojave is likely to be shaped not by a single activity, but by tensions among many competing systems, all operating simultaneously across the same terrain.

In this evolving context, the Mojave is entering a third historical phase. Initially, it was defined by its physical landforms. Next, human activities and uses became the defining factors. Now, the Mojave’s identity may increasingly depend on negotiations and conflicts over its meaning, access, and purpose.

The old desert will still remain beneath these arguments. The playas will still whiten under summer heat. Winds will still sweep across creosote flats. Mountain ranges will still rise abruptly from broad basins at dusk. Seasonal floods will still cut across washes after sudden storms. The geological skeleton of the Mojave will endure. However, as human systems become more extensive and entangled, the experience and interpretation of the desert will continue to change.

The future Mojave will be governed as a layered landscape. No single authority will determine its fate: federal agencies will control vast public lands; counties will regulate roads, zoning, and development pressure; tribes will press claims rooted in sovereignty, memory, and sacred geography; energy and mining companies will seek permits, leases, and corridors; conservation groups will defend habitat and species; recreationists will demand access; and residents will argue for the right to live within the desert, not just be managed from outside. In light of these overlapping interests, governance will become less about drawing boundaries and more about arbitrating between claims. The desert will be administered through plans, lawsuits, permits, consultations, closures, leases, and exceptions. Its future will not be decided all at once; instead, it will be determined valley by valley, corridor by corridor, and project by project.

The Mojave functions as both an ancient physical landscape and a modern human one. While it is no longer shaped solely by tectonics, erosion, and climate, it is no longer defined solely by railroads, highways, military reservations, and energy development. Increasingly, the desert is formed by negotiations over how such a landscape should exist. Thus, what once was defined by its form is now shaped by the competing meanings people assign to it.

The Tortoise – Raven Problem

Common ravens are now among the most important predators of young desert tortoises in the Mojave Desert. Adult tortoises are generally protected by their heavy shells, but hatchlings and juveniles are small, soft-shelled, and vulnerable. Ravens can flip them over, peck through the shell, and kill them quickly. Over the last century, this predation pressure has increased substantially, not because ravens are foreign to the desert, but because human activity has allowed their populations to expand far beyond historic levels.

Historically, ravens lived in the Mojave in relatively low numbers, limited by scarce food, water, and nesting sites. Modern development altered those limits. Landfills, dumpsters, roadkill, artificial water sources, agricultural areas, campgrounds, transmission towers, utility poles, and roadside structures now provide reliable support for large raven populations across the desert. Biologists often describe these as “subsidized” ravens: native predators whose numbers are unnaturally amplified by human infrastructure.

Young tortoises are especially vulnerable during their first years of life, before the shell fully hardens. In some heavily developed areas, raven predation has removed large numbers of juveniles before they can reach adulthood. Because desert tortoises mature slowly and reproduce cautiously, sustained losses of hatchlings can have serious long-term effects on local populations.

Conservation efforts, therefore, focus not only on tortoises themselves but on the broader human landscape that supports elevated raven numbers. Securing trash, reducing open dumpsters, cleaning up roadkill, limiting artificial water sources, and modifying utility poles or towers to discourage nesting and perching are all important measures. In open desert terrain, tall structures provide ravens with excellent lookout points from which to search for young tortoises.

Additional protections are sometimes used in sensitive areas. Wildlife agencies may place protective cages over burrows or release sites, restore shrub cover that conceals juvenile tortoises, or use “head-start” programs in which hatchlings are raised in captivity until their shells harden and become more resistant to predators. Some agencies also conduct direct raven management through nest removal, egg oiling, or, in limited cases, lethal control under federal permits. However, most researchers agree that predator removal alone cannot solve the problem if the artificial food and infrastructure supporting high raven populations remain in place.

For this reason, the raven-tortoise conflict is often understood not simply as a natural predator-prey relationship, but as a broader ecological imbalance created by modern desert development.

The Stolen

The association between Thomas Long (Pegleg) Smith and Walkara in Cajon Pass centers on the great horse raids of the 1830s-1840s along the Old Spanish Trail.

Walkara, sometimes called Wakara or Chief Walker, led large mounted raiding parties from present-day Utah into Southern California. These expeditions targeted Californio ranchos and mission herds, especially around San Luis Obispo, San Gabriel, and inland Southern California. The stolen horses were then driven eastward through the Mojave Desert and across Cajon Pass toward Utah and New Mexico.

Pegleg Smith was one of several Anglo mountain men tied to this trade network. Contemporary and later sources repeatedly connect him with Walkara’s operations, though historians debate whether he directly participated in raids or mainly acted as trader, guide, and broker. James Beckwourth and Old Bill Williams are usually mentioned alongside him.

Cajon Pass mattered because it was the principal gateway between the Los Angeles basin and the Mojave Desert. Large bands of stolen horses moved through the pass on their way east. Some traditions claim thousands of horses crossed there during Walkara’s biggest expeditions.

The raids became so notorious that local geographic names in and around Cajon Pass were later linked to them. Horsethief Canyon and Little Horsethief Canyon are traditionally associated with Walkara’s raiders and their escape routes into the desert.

An important detail often missed is that this was not random outlawry in the modern sense. The horse trade formed part of a large transregional economy running along the Old Spanish Trail. California horses had enormous value in the Rockies and Great Basin. Walkara built a disciplined mounted raiding system, while men like Pegleg Smith connected Native raiding networks with Anglo and Mexican trading systems.

By the mid-1840s, Californio authorities and local militia figures such as Benjamin Davis Wilson pursued these raiding bands through Cajon Pass and into the Mojave, though with limited success.

Victor Valley Timeline

Combined timelines of Victorville, Hesperia & Apple Valley, CA.

Pre-1800s: Indigenous Presence and Trade

The Serrano and Vanyume tribes lived along the Mojave River, relying on the river’s intermittent flow for food and trade.
Trails used by these tribes would later become parts of the Mojave Road, Old Spanish Trail, and Salt Lake Road.

1850s–1870s: Pioneer Waystations and Early Ranching

1858: Aaron G. Lane establishes Lane’s Crossing on the Mojave River (present-day Oro Grande/Victorville area), offering rest and resupply to travelers heading west.
Lane is considered the first permanent American settler along the Mojave River.
Summit Valley, near present-day Hesperia, sees increased grazing by early ranchers.
The Summit Valley Massacre (1866): A conflict between settlers and Native groups over livestock thefts and land disputes—an often overlooked but significant local tragedy.

1880s: Railroads and Town Foundations

1885: The California Southern Railroad, part of the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe system, reaches the High Desert.
A telegraph and railroad station named Victor is established, later renamed Victorville in 1901 to avoid confusion with Victor, Colorado.
Jacob Nash Victor, the railroad manager, is the town’s namesake.
The Hesperia Land and Water Company, led by James G. Howland, promotes Hesperia. It lays out plans for an agricultural colony and resort town, though irrigation plans fall short.

1900s–1930s: Modest Growth and Agriculture

Hesperia experiments with vineyards, orchards, and dairy farms, but water shortages and harsh conditions hinder success.
Victorville grows as a railroad shipping center and stopover for travelers crossing the desert.
The Victor Elementary School District is formed in 1906.
Early buildings still visible include the Hesperia Schoolhouse (Main St. and C Ave.).

1940s: War Changes Everything

1941: Victorville Army Airfield (later George Air Force Base) is established on the western edge of Victorville.
The base brings thousands of military personnel, rapid infrastructure growth, and federal investment.
Apple Valley remains mostly desert ranchland, but interest grows due to its mild climate and open space.

1948–1950s: Apple Valley Booms

1948: Apple Valley Inn opens, built by Newt Bass and Bud Westlund to attract investors and wealthy land buyers.
Stars like Bob Hope, Marilyn Monroe, John Wayne, and President Eisenhower stayed at the inn.
Murray’s Dude Ranch (founded earlier, 1920s–30s): One of the few Black-owned resorts in the country. It hosted African American guests during segregation and was used in Black-cast Western films.
Roy Rogers and Dale Evans purchase a ranch in Apple Valley and become its most notable residents, eventually opening Roy Rogers’ Apple Valley Inn.

1950s–1960s: Expansion and Identity

Hesperia Inn and the Hesperia Golf & Country Club try to rekindle resort dreams. Jack Dempsey, the former boxing champion, lends his name to a museum at the inn.
Victorville grows with new housing and infrastructure to support the military population.
Route 66 runs right through Old Town Victorville, lined with diners, motels, and neon signs.

1970s–1980s: Steady Growth and Cultural Legacy

Apple Valley becomes a desirable retirement destination, marketing itself as a “Better Way of Life.”
Civic leaders like Bud Westlund and Newton Bass help shape the town’s modern layout and community services.
The California Route 66 Museum opens in Victorville in a former café, preserving the highway’s local legacy.

1992–2000s: Transformation and Reinvention

1992: George Air Force Base closes under federal military restructuring, dealing a blow to Victorville’s economy.
The base is repurposed into Southern California Logistics Airport (SCLA), an international freight and aerospace hub.
Apple Valley, Hesperia, and Victorville begin to urbanize, growing into commuter towns for the Inland Empire and the Los Angeles area.

2000s–Present: Modern Challenges and Historic Preservation

Victor Valley College, founded in 1961, continues to serve the region.
Old Town Victorville Revitalization Project aims to preserve the historic downtown.
Apple Valley promotes its Western heritage through the Happy Trails Highway and events honoring Roy Rogers and Dale Evans.
Hesperia Lake Park, Silverwood Lake, and local trails draw new visitors and recreation seekers.

Desert Literature of the Mojave and American Southwest

The deserts of California and the greater Southwest have produced a distinct body of writing shaped by aridity, distance, scarcity, and endurance. This literature does more than describe the landscape. It records how people have understood, moved through, depended on, and argued about dry country. In the Mojave system and its adjoining regions, literature serves as evidence, showing how the desert has been interpreted over time.

Mary Austin
Mary Austin stands at the foundation of desert literature in the American West. In The Land of Little Rain (1903) and The Country of Lost Borders (1909), she described the Mojave, Owens Valley, and eastern Sierra as living systems shaped by water, ecology, and long human presence. Her work established the desert as a place of complexity rather than emptiness.

W. A. Chalfant
W. A. Chalfant represents the historical record of the desert borderlands. Through his work on Owens Valley and Inyo County, especially The Story of Inyo (1922), he documented settlement, mining, agriculture, and the major water conflicts tied to the Los Angeles Aqueduct. His writing anchors the desert in documented civic and regional history.

Edna Brush Perkins
Edna Brush Perkins brings the experience of movement through the desert into focus. In The White Heart of Mojave (1922), she recorded her travels across open desert country, emphasizing distance, silence, exposure, and the psychological effects of arid landscapes. Her work preserves what it felt like to cross the Mojave when the land still imposed strict limits.

Joseph Wood Krutch
Joseph Wood Krutch marks a shift toward ecological understanding. In The Desert Year (1951), he described the seasonal rhythms of desert plants and animals, portraying the desert as a balanced, functioning natural system. His work helped move public perception away from the idea of the desert as barren and toward recognition of its internal order.

Edward Abbey
Edward Abbey represents the modern phase of desert literature, where preservation becomes central. In Desert Solitaire (1968), he argued against overdevelopment, excessive access, and the industrialization of wilderness. His writing reframes the desert as something to be defended, not simply explored or used.

Together, these writers form a complete cultural layer for understanding the Mojave and the broader desert Southwest. Their work complements geology, ecology, transportation, and settlement history by providing a record of how the desert has been observed, experienced, documented, and contested.

1. “How to Overthrow the System: brew your own beer; kick in your Tee Vee; kill your own beef; build your own cabin and piss off the front porch whenever you bloody well feel like it.”

2. “The idea of wilderness needs no defense, it only needs defenders.”

3. “Life is too short for grief. Or regret. Or bullshit.”

4. “Freedom begins between the ears.”

5. “I’ve never yet read a review of one of my own books that I couldn’t have written much better myself.”

6. “Belief? What do I believe in? I believe in sun. In rock. In the dogma of the sun and the doctrine of the rock. I believe in blood, fire, woman, rivers, eagles, storm, drums, flutes, banjos, and broom-tailed horses…”

7. “In the first place you can’t see anything from a car; you’ve got to get out of the goddamned contraption and walk, better yet crawl, on hands and knees, over the sandstone and through the thornbush and cactus. When traces of blood begin to mark your trail you’ll begin to see something, maybe. Probably not.”

8. “This is the most beautiful place on Earth. There are many such places. Every man, every woman, carries in heart and mind the image of the ideal place, the right place, the one true home, known or unknown, actual or visionary.”

9. “I have been called a curmudgeon, which my obsolescent dictionary defines as a ‘surly, ill-mannered, bad-tempered fellow’. Nowadays, curmudgeon is likely to refer to anyone who hates hypocrisy, cant, sham, dogmatic ideologies, and has the nerve to point out unpleasant facts and takes the trouble to impale these sins on the skewer of humor and roast them over the fires of fact, common sense, and native intelligence. In this nation of bleating sheep and braying jackasses, it then becomes an honor to be labeled curmudgeon.”

10. “A world without open country would be universal jail.”