I have enjoyed reading Desert Journal. Reflections of a Naturalist which was written by Raymond Cowles (1896-1975) and published shortly after his death. It has been on my ‘to read’ pile for a couple of years. I have written before about Cowles and his pioneering work on behavioural thermoregulation in desert reptiles which was done from the late 1930s until the mid-1950s in California. I learnt a great deal about the Californian desert and its inhabitants and of how he became an ardent promoter of conservation caused by growth of the human population.
I now know how his interest in the desert was piqued:
My first experience with the desert, its plant and animal residents, its storms, and its high, summer-long temperatures, came when money for a college education was necessary and desert salaries for labor were twice those elsewhere. This economic reality led me to volunteer for work with one of the Imperial Valley irrigation districts.
The district camp to which I was assigned was on the so-called high-line canal, a half mile from the bridge connecting the Imperial Valley with some of the most spectacular sand dunes in the country. The accommodations were crude in the extreme —a clapboard-sided shack with a canvas roof, open-screened sides, and a brush-covered porch. A floor that supported the frame rested on a few bricks. They held the structure some six inches off the ground and provided an ideal shelter for sidewinders, black widow spiders, sun spiders, and various other interesting creatures of the desert.
The camp was lonely and remote, and my major task was to patrol a five-mile stretch of canal bank daily to see that there were no breaks or flooding that might drown and heavily alka-lize good farmland. As muskrats were the commonest source of canal damage, we were urged to shoot them as well as the occasional Colorado River beaver that attempted to establish homesites along the canal sides. This was back in 1917 when some of the old-time "bad men" and their victims (those who survived various shooting affairs) were still living. Being near the Mexican border and close to a continuous flow of water that led deep into California, our shack was on a natural approach or escape route for bandits of any nationality.
The sides of the cabin were full of holes, souvenirs left by two escaping criminals when they temporarily sought shelter in it. Under cover of darkness they fled into the desert, from which they could strike back toward the canal for water if necessary. They made the break across the border into Mexico and presumed safety. On another occasion a group of desperados held up a store or two in Niland, killing one owner. They, too, followed the canal in their escape through the desert. The life line of water made these attempts possible.
Those were the days of the old plank road, a movable highway of railroad ties that provided traction across the drifting sand dunes to the east. Although it was inadvisable to use the route during the summer heat, not a few reckless motorists attempted it. Every hot season a number of cars broke down, and their passengers had to walk to the nearest water, which was the high-line canal. I soon discovered the impersonal ruthlessness of the desert climate from my experiences in rescuing those left in marooned cars while the driver sought water and help. Some made it to safety, but we were often the first to learn of impending disaster. We contacted farmers, brought horses to tow the cars to hard ground, and stayed until the cars started or we could bring their occupants to a supply of water.
Three people died in an attempt to reach help during the two summers I spent on this job…
Cowles RB. 1977. Desert Journal. Reflections of a Naturalist. Berkeley: University of California Press
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