The Salton Sea in southeast California has always fascinated me, being a big, shallow “sea” in the middle of one of the hottest deserts in the world, and that its water level is usually about 235 feet below sea level (i.e. ocean level), second only to Death Valley for lowest elevations in North America. Depending on what time of year you visit it, it can be mildly interesting, or one of the most awful, dreadful places on earth.

The sea sits in a natural depression astride the great San Andreas Fault, which runs to the north and east of the sea. Many mountains, some of the very large, ring the sea on its west, north and east, while to the south is a fertile farming region, the Imperial Valley. A significant portion of Imperial County is below sea level, as well as parts of Riverside County around Indio and Coachella. In ancient times, a large lake—Lake Cahuilla—sat in this depression. At its fullest it would have stretched into modern-day Mexico well south of Mexicali, and as far north and west as the cities of La Quinta and Rancho Mirage. A natural swell of land in Mexico, elevation about 40 feet above sea level, is all that keeps the actual ocean (the Sea of Cortez) from completely inundating the Salton depression.

A flood and a dike-breach in about 1905-07 led to the sea being filled by overflow from the Colorado River. Apparently it was nothing more than a vast salt pan before this 1907 event. Logic dictates that it would have received some amount of natural run-off from the surrounding mountains for eons, and it was probably no more than a brackish pool at its very center. Sounding maps show the natural depression reaches “only” to about 260 feet below sea level, so Death Valley is still lower. Today, the Salton’s sea level is about at 240 feet below sea level, meaning the deepest point is maybe 20 feet. This is remarkable when you consider its size. It is “watered” today by run-off from the irrigation of the many surrounding farms. The sea does not provide water for irrigation; it just catches the excess. The water itself can be full of chemicals, and some natural elements that can be dangerous, such as arsenic and selenium. Algae blooms, fish kills and bird die-offs are common. When summer temperatures of 120+ are the norm, the stink can be unbelievable—the worst, foulest smell you can imagine.

Which is not to say the Salton has no charms. Developers tried to sell lots near the sea and promote tourism, but people soon caught wind, so to speak, of these schemes, and the developments failed. A few failed communities line the shore, some just concrete slabs of old foundations. A few people do live beside the sea. Not surprisingly, it takes a special, hardy kind of person to set down stakes beside this sea. In recent years the county and the state have cordoned off large areas of the Salton for protection as state parks or wildlife refuges. Despite its sometimes-dangerous water, the sea is still a very important waypoint for migrating birds, and some fish do live in the sea. But it will never be more than a backdrop to the economy of Imperial County. People do not come from hundreds of miles just to see the sea, but it is worth a visit.

I first visited in 1989, stopping briefly just to say I had been here. Over the years my wife and I, alone or together, have visited the region a number of times, but always somewhat quickly, never really visiting the sea itself. For this trip, I worked in a new angle: a “climb” of Red Hill, the highest hill lining the sea, with the curious distinction that its summit reads –127 feet, in other words, a summit that is below sea level! How cool is that? That was enough to appeal to my nerdier side, so I worked in this visit at the tail end of a four-day quickie run to Southern California to start the new year: climb a real peak (Black Butte in the Chuckwallas), visit my pal Schneider and watch cartoons, and visit my brother and his family with gifts for the kids. So on the way home, I detoured toward the sea, arriving after dark and camping at the Red Hill campground, a county-run park. There were no frills but at least it was a place to camp.

Imperial County runs the Red Hill Marina, which includes an old marina and some campsites and RV hookups. Red Hill is an island reached by a causeway, but given the sea’s lower level, Red Hill is now part of the mainland, for the time being, surrounded on all sides by salt flats. To get there: Get on state route CA-111 between Niland and Calipatria. Roughly halfway between these two towns, go west on Sinclair Road (signed as the Sonny Bono Salton Sea National Wildlife Refuge). It’s about 3 miles on Sinclair to Garst, a mile and a half north on Garst to Red Hill Road, and a mile west on Red Hill Road to the recreational areas.

After a cold night’s sleep, I awoke and let the sun rise a little to warm things up, sitting in the cab of my truck mostly, but also walking out to the shoreline … which didn’t go too well. The salt flats leading out to the shoreline are true sabkhas: salt-encrusted mud flats that look solid but in reality are a gooey mess. I walked a few steps and called in quits when I broke through the salt crust into the mud. The Red Hill Marina used to have boat launches but no more. Nowadays it’s populated by a few “long term” campers and the occasional tourist like myself.

Finally it was warm enough for the hike. I walked the perimeter road until I was on the other side of this island, south of the main peak. Surprisingly, there are little mud cliffs and bluffs surrounding the summit, and as I climbed up a slope, spotted numerous obsidian flakes everywhere. In moments I was at the top. I spent a few minutes seeking out the “Alamo” benchmark, but only found its two witness markers. The top is flat and mildly brushy, and the views were pretty decent! Of course, the Salton Sea took up most views. Surrounding peaks like Villager, Rabbit, the Chocolates and the Orocopias were readily visible. Even far-off snow-clad San Jacinto was visible. Not too shabby, all things considered.

I descended by following a road to a saddle, only then noticing a sign against trespassing, probably put there to keep yahoos from driving their trucks up there. I was back to my truck in less than an hour, and that’s only because I took my merry time. And that was that! From here I simply drove on home, amused by my sub-sea level peak ascent.