The Long
Straight
The furthest and emptiest of these days, and the only one where the road itself is one of the subjects. In April 1986 David Hockney spent a week at a desert crossroads making a photocollage out of it. The junction is still there, still unremarkable, and still exactly the thing he saw.
The Threads
what the day is really aboutThree stops across ninety miles of high desert, and the through-line is the horizontal — a fault that stood the ground on end, a road that runs dead flat to a vanishing point, and a field where aircraft are parked in rows because there is simply nowhere else that big and that dry.
And under it, one rhythm: vertical → horizontal → repeated. Ground stood on end, then a road laid dead flat, then the same shape parked forty times in a row.
Punchbowl at opening. Work the junction past the first good frame. Respect the flightline.
Teaches · Exhaust One — after Joel Meyerowitz · David Hockney
The Map
where it all is · tap a point for its legOpen the whole day in Google Maps ↗ — in order: Devil’s Punchbowl · 165th St East · Mojave. It routes from wherever the phone is, and every spot below links its own leg the same way.
Tap any point for the leg it belongs to. Three stops spread across ninety miles of high desert — about two hundred and forty miles round with the two charge stops, comfortably the biggest drive of any capsule here. The first two are seven miles apart; the third is a fifty-mile run north on its own.
Nothing today is a locked door — the constraint is distance and heat. Ninety miles out and ninety back through open desert, with the middle of the day spent in it. Go on a cool clear one and start early; in high summer this day is genuinely unpleasant and there is no shade at any of the three stops.
The Day
three legs · and ninety miles between the endsA day trip's unit is the leg, not the day — each carries a locator map, its theme, and an energy read. A gold pill on the clock means that time belongs to someone else: a door that opens or a slot that was booked. Everything unpilled is a suggested shape, not a schedule.
Ground stood on end, before the heat arrives.
North out of the basin, up through Santa Clarita and out into the Antelope Valley. The landscape changes twice on the way and the second change — over the pass into open desert — is abrupt. The range on this page is planned for the way you actually drive, hard, not the sticker figure: call it a hundred and sixty-five usable miles from full, and every leg below is sized to land with margin on that.
Sandstone beds shoved from horizontal to nearly vertical by the San Andreas, standing out of flat scrub in a way that looks staged. Low morning light across them is what gives the bedding its texture — by midday it flattens badly. The frame is the angle, and it is a 38V one: get low, let one slab run diagonally out of a corner, and keep the sky to a minimum so the tilt has nothing level to be measured against.
The flattest subject in these capsules, and the most deliberate.
Off the ridge and down onto the valley floor. The junction with 165th Street East is unremarkable in every direction, which is the entire point of it.
Hockney spent a week here in April 1986 photographing a junction from dozens of positions and assembling it into one image at the Getty. The instruction is his: shoot the same nothing from many angles rather than hunting one good frame. The road running to a vanishing point, the stop sign, the litter in the scrub, the signage — all given equal weight. It is the second capsule here to ask for a method rather than a picture, and like the Baltz one it is harder than it sounds. The X2D is a slow camera for a fast method: leave the tripod in the car, set it once, and let the number of positions do the work — the 38V for the road to its vanishing point, the 90V for the stop sign and the signage from well back off the traffic.
The furthest point of any of these days, and the one with a hard restriction on it.
The Punchbowl climb and the run out to the junction take nearly everything the morning had, so the car gets topped up here before the empty stretch rather than after it. Fifteen minutes, a coffee, and the next fifty miles stop being a question.
Open desert with almost nothing on it. Eat on arrival while the car charges; there is no reason to do the field hungry.
Half an hour on a 250 kW stall while the light is at its worst, one mile from the stop you came for. There are four Superchargers within two miles of the airport, so this is the easy one; the reason to take it to ninety is the ninety-five miles home, over a pass, with nothing worth stopping for on them.
Airliners parked in rows in the desert because it is dry enough here that they do not rot. It is a working airport, not an attraction, and the photography rule is real: nothing on the flightline side, and the boneyard proper needs the operator's written approval. What you can shoot is the public side, the perimeter and whatever the ramp is showing. Go with that expectation, obey the posted signs, and the frame is repetition — on the 90V from the perimeter, the same tail shape stacked away from you until it stops being aircraft and becomes pattern.
The longest drive home of any day trip here, and the reason this day starts at half six. Set off by five and it is a straight run; leave much later and the last stretch through the valley is slow.
The Spots
where to stand · what the light does · who built itThree anchors and a lot of road. One has real vertical in it, one is a flat two-lane, and the third has a photography rule you need to know in advance. Tap a spot’s map for driving directions.
- Stand
- Low, close under the tilted slabs, on the loop trail from the parking area.
- Light
- Low side light until about ten gives the bedding its texture. Midday flattens it badly.
- Frame
- 38V, low. Let one slab run diagonally out of a corner. Keep the sky minimal so nothing level measures the tilt.
- See
- Sandstone stood on end by the fault — the only vertical subject in ninety miles of horizontal day.
- Stand
- On the shoulder, from many positions. Well back — the traffic is fast and not expecting you.
- Light
- Flat high desert light, which is exactly what he worked in. Nothing to wait for.
- Frame
- Hockney's method, not a photograph: the same nothing from a dozen angles, all given equal weight. Both lenses, handheld.
- See
- A junction he spent a week on, now a Getty photocollage — deliberately the least remarkable place he could find.
- Stand
- Public side and perimeter only. Not the flightline.
- Light
- Hard flat desert light all afternoon — there is no good hour, only a bearable one.
- Frame
- 90V. Repetition. Stack the same tail or engine shape away from you until it reads as pattern, not as aircraft.
- See
- Airliners parked in the desert because it is dry enough that they do not corrode — a working field, not an attraction.
If the Day Turns
two speeds · pick one on the morningEvery leg below carries the same day at two speeds. Dawn is the early, light-driven version; Slow starts late, drops a stop and keeps the good one. Steady is the shape written above. None of them is the failure case — pick on the morning, from how the day actually feels.
Before You Go
the pack, and the rule at the third stopCamera
- Hasselblad X2D II, the 38V and the 90V — Mojave is a 90V stop from behind the fence
- A CFexpress card as well as the internal SSD — the Hockney method wants volume
- Spare batteries — a long day, and the X2D runs down faster than you expect
- A tripod for the Punchbowl at opening; handheld everywhere after
- A blower and cloth: high desert dust gets everywhere
Body
- A hat, and far more water than feels necessary — no shade at any stop
- Solid shoes for the Punchbowl trail
- A layer for eight in the morning at altitude
- Sunscreen. Six hours of open desert.
Logistics
- Leave on 100%, and charge at Palmdale and Mojave — neither is optional
- Nov–Mar: the evening-before snow check for the Punchbowl (SR-14, SR-138, LA County Parks)
- Not a high-summer day if it can be avoided
- Check the Mojave photography rule before going
- Leave Mojave by five or the drive home stretches badly
What You Got
the frames that survived the editThe geotag gets each frame close to where it stood — close, not exact; the last hundred yards are always a hunt. What a machine can't do is the part below: which ones survived, and whether the day was worth the drive.
The frame of the day.
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Could you actually work Hockney's way, or did you hunt one frame?
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Was Mojave worth the extra hundred miles?
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What the light did at the Punchbowl, versus the plan.
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After
what the day taughtVertical, horizontal, repeated — did that hold up across ninety miles?
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Which hour was actually the best one?
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Would you do this one again in winter?
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Where next — and closer to home, or further out?
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