My mom said under no circumstances should I ever tell this story. It’s unprofessional, entirely too personal, and wildly inappropriate. So, obviously, I have to share it with the world.
In late 2023 and early 2024, California experienced a series of unprecedented atmospheric rivers that nearly ended the state’s drought after years of minimal precipitation. There was so much rain that a long-extinct lake in Death Valley briefly reappeared. Lake Manly, situated in Badwater Basin—the lowest point in the U.S. at 282 feet (86 meters) below sea level—had been dry for thousands of years. When I saw photos of its mirrored surface reflecting the surrounding mountains, I knew I had to see it for myself before it dried up again.
I was on a bit of a time crunch—not just because the lake’s return was temporary, but because I was moving out of California in a few months. I had one weekend to make it happen. The plan was simple: get off work, hop in my car, drive through the night, and catch sunrise at Lake Manly. Easy, right?
It was easier said than done. I got off work at 6 p.m., and it was an eight-hour drive from San Francisco to Death Valley. But I was determined. After a quick stop for gas and a Red Bull, I hit the road. My snack game was questionable—just cucumbers and feta cheese—but I was feeling great for the first three hours. Around hour four, the exhaustion hit me hard, so at my next gas stop, I grabbed a Five Hour Energy. This stuff is my absolute last resort because it makes me feel like I can see sound, but it worked. I was wide awake, crunching on cucumbers, blasting tunes, and cruising through the empty desert roads.
I made it to Badwater Basin well before sunrise and decided to take a quick nap in my car. As soon as I saw the first glow of dawn on the horizon, I grabbed my camera and tripod and set off toward the lake. It was farther from the road than I expected, but I was excited and determined. I wasn’t the only one with this idea—about a dozen other people were also there, hoping to capture the same perfect view.
The walk across the salt flat was surreal. Badwater Basin is a vast expanse of crunchy, salty earth, and the combo of salt and standing rainwater gave the place a smell that wasn’t exactly pleasant, but manageable. The lake itself was stunning—a perfect mirror reflecting the sky and surrounding mountains. Sunrise was the ideal time to see it; no one had disturbed the water yet, so the reflection was crystal clear.
Everything was going perfectly. And then... my stomach decided it was time for a full-scale revolution. I knew that Five Hour Energy was going to betray me. It always does.
Panic set in immediately. The walk back to the car—which had seemed long but manageable earlier—now looked triple the length. I packed up in record time, praying to every intestinal god for mercy.
The next few minutes were pure survival mode. I’d walk a few steps, my stomach would let out whale-song-level warning sounds, and I’d stop, clenching and praying I wouldn’t poop my pants in front of a dozen influencers with cameras. At some point, I started fake-admiring the lake for “just one more moment” to cover the fact that I was actually fighting for my life.
I even tried to comfort myself with the thought that, hey, if the worst happened, at least the natural smell of the salt flat might mask mine. Still, I was determined to win this battle.
Eventually, I made it back to the parking lot. I knew the pit toilet wasn’t going to offer much comfort, but I was proud of myself for having the presence of mind to grab flushable wipes from my car. Whatever was about to go down, I was going to be prepared.
I’ll have you know: I did not poop my pants. I made it to the bathroom in time, though I sat there for a few minutes in a full dissociative state, staring into the void and questioning my life choices. It felt like I was watching the scene unfold from outside my body.
When I walked out of the bathroom, equal parts triumphant and defeated, I noticed the sign on the mountain that said “Sea Level.” That’s when it hit me: I had almost reached the lowest point of my life at the lowest point in the United States.
I laughed at myself, took another nap, and then spent the rest of the day exploring Death Valley. It’s a memory I’ll never forget—and one I hope I never repeat.
