The structures appear mirage-like on the horizon . First a single tent , seemingly burnt pale by years of neglect in the desert sun . Then a few miles down the road a camper van decorated with two skeletons perched on the roof , holding the American flag .
Travel / Encounters
Community
LIVING LITE
The structures appear mirage-like on the horizon . First a single tent , seemingly burnt pale by years of neglect in the desert sun . Then a few miles down the road a camper van decorated with two skeletons perched on the roof , holding the American flag .
As I approach , more dwellings appear – three , four – in small groups , or spread out at random . Maybe 50 or 100 in total . A sprawling mass of reclusive humanity lay hidden within , not yet visible to a casual visitor .
I had become fascinated by Slab City after I first heard about it in the film Into the Wild . The Slabs , as it ’ s known , is a largely transient community of vagabonds and vagrants living on the remains of an abandoned army base in the California Badlands . This concept of disconnecting from the norm disturbed yet excited me . Here was a group of individuals who , by their own admission , had given up what most of us strive to hold on to – jobs , loved ones , material possessions . What was their goal ? What was their reasoning ? These and many other questions run through my mind as I park the car next to a sign that reads ‘ East Jesus ’.
Leaving the relative safety of the car , I head down a small dirt track towards a collection of caravans clustered loosely together . The heat is oppressive and seems to suck the moisture from my very bones . Rusted old junkers with smashed windows and missing tyres line one side of the road . Children ’ s dolls with their limbs torn off lie scattered in the dirt , and an ancient couch with one spring protruding proudly from the stuffing sits miserably to one side . I notice a plastic camp chair with the words ‘ Welcome to Camp Deal with the Devil ’ scribbled on the underside in permanent marker .
I am still busy taking it all in when I hear the unmistakable sound of voices , angry voices . The last thing I want to do is cause any trouble – me , some kid fresh from the urban world somehow getting caught up in a desert brawl . My overactive imagination plays out the discussion about what to do with my body : ‘ We can just bury him out back , or leave him for the vultures .’
Intrigued , I follow the voices to a small hut just to the right of the caravans . Peering through a screen door , I try to make out the shapes of those within . ‘ Spyder , you ’ ve got a visitor ,’ a voice says from beyond the threshold . ‘ Hey man , don ’ t stand out there . Come on in .’ The voices aren ’ t angry , they ’ re just loud .
It ’ s dark inside the little hut and my eyes take a while to adjust from the glare of the desert outside . As things become clearer , I realise I ’ m
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