Here's a snippet from this guy's journal (my bold)....
"Friday, October 19 Today I drop 5000 feet down Sheep Canyon to the floor of Death Valley. In order to conserve my dwindling supply of water, I begin my hike in the cool of the morning well before dawn. The hike coming down Sheep Canyon is beautiful with dramatic views of Telescope Peak in the beginning as I drop about 1200 feet down a steep minor ridge into the soft, sandy streambed of Sheep Canyon. My legs are a little burnt from my peak climb yesterday, so It's a relief to get down into the relatively flat canyon bottom, and aside from a few minor manageable dry waterfalls, the hiking is pleasant and easy. The canyon closes in at several places, and the sheer cliffs and Utahesque erosional features in these tighter spots make for a dramatic descent. I reach the bottom by 10:00 a.m.. Steve and Lawrence are picking me up tomorrow about a mile and a half from here just outside the mouth of the canyon, so I've got nothing to do for the rest of the day. I thought this would be a good thing. I find a shady spot, read my book (David Darlington's "The Mojave"), but when I set up my little nest with my sleeping pad, I find myself besieged by numerous extremely large, aggressive and persistent flies. I'd hike around, and get out of the moister, shady areas where they like to hang out, but I'm so low on water I really can't afford to do anything but just sit here. I become obsessed with trying to kill the flies, and nearly destroy my book which I'm using as a swatter when I realize that (a) I'm becoming a little to obsessed with the flies and (b) no matter how many I kill, there's more to take their place. So I consign myself to the incessant buzzing, and just lay there, trying to read, and eyeing my water jealously wondering how long it will last me.
The day takes a turn for the better once the sun starts to go down and I am free to hike out of my fly-ridden little hole. So I hike out to the mouth of the canyon and bammm! There it is, the wide open, panoramic heart of Death Valley I with the lowest point in the U.S., Badwater, just north of me and the towering Panamints with majestic Telescope peak (11,049') dominating the skyline directly in front of me. As the sun goes down, and the sky turns a dark purple, I see the strangely reassuring, soothing sight of two or three sets of headlights moving surreally slowly and silently in the valley below. I go to sleep a little thirsty, and in that foggy transitional state between consciousness and sleep, I imagine that there are glacial streams running out of the Black Mountains, rippling right by my sleeping bag.
Death Valley is like the desert of all deserts - right?
down a steep minor ridge into the soft, sandy streambed of Sheep Canyon.