Stargazing in Death Valley

This is one of my favorite trips we’ve ever taken.

Not because of service. Not because of luxury. But because it was designed around exactly what my son loves.

We dry camped outside of Trona with the Eastern Sierra Observatory — a volunteer group that brings out massive telescopes and lets you look at the universe like you’re in a college astronomy lab.

But first, sleep.

I have a hard no when it comes to building tents. I can sleep on the ground. I can handle dirt. I can handle cold. I cannot handle assembling poles at dusk after a long drive. Childhood camping angst is real.

So my husband found someone who rents trailers and delivers them directly to your campsite. Like a mobile Airbnb. The trailer gets dropped off. Set up. Generator explained. Water levels reviewed. And then you just… arrive.

In my paranoia, I made the owner meet us in a populated area before heading to camp because I was convinced it might be an internet scam. Also, once you’re out there? Zero cell service. Zero internet. Which, ironically, is part of why I loved this trip so much.

The trailer was stunning. Marble countertops. Bunk beds. A real bathroom. We paid for linens because I was already hauling safe foods and about twenty stuffed animals. I did not have the emotional bandwidth for bedding logistics.

And then night fell.

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The Eastern Sierra Observatory team rolled out enormous telescopes — the kind you imagine scientists using. Volunteers found the planets for you. Adjusted lenses. Explained what you were seeing.

We saw Jupiter. Saturn. Nebulas. We saw the stripes of Jupiter and the storm with our own eyes.

There is something about watching your child look through a telescope and whisper “wow” that settles something deep in you.

During the day? Different story.

There aren’t a lot of short, easy hikes in that area. The good ones are five to six hours. Not realistic for us. So we explored Trona, which feels like a near ghost town. There’s an old factory that shut down and a school that looks newly renovated but sits boarded up. It was quiet in a way that felt heavy.

We stopped at a diner. I cannot confirm a health inspector rating. We did not drink the tap water.

Back at camp, I had brought activities — gingerbread house kits (it was near Christmas), painting sets, coloring things. My daughter was content with that.

My son? Not so much. We brought a small RC plane for him, and a nearby camper had an RC car. That bought us some peace.

I need to be honest: there was yelling. There were tablets. There were moments where I told them to stop fighting and wondered why I do this. There were long afternoons where the romantic version of “wilderness reset” felt very theoretical.

But those aren’t the moments you remember.

You remember the first attempt at making a s’more.You remember looking at the sun safely through a solar telescope.You remember seeing Jupiter’s storm with your own eyes.

And very important public service announcement: do not bring light-up shoes.

When you’re stargazing, half of the experience is letting your eyes adjust to the dark. Guess who forgot that her children’s shoes light up every time they walk? I was hunting for electrical tape at 10 p.m. We were those people.

The second-best part of this setup? When it was time to leave, we cleaned the trailer like an Airbnb and drove away. No hitching. No generator breakdown. No teardown. The owner picked it up later.

Well worth every penny.

This trip worked because it centered my son’s interest instead of asking him to adapt to ours. It worked because expectations were clear: we were there for the stars. Everything else was secondary.

Was it perfectly regulated? No.Was there yelling? Absolutely.Would I do it again? Without hesitation.

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Travel Reality Scale

Regulation: 3/5

Effort: 4/5

Memory: 5/5

Overall: Absolutely repeat.