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Photographer's Note

In the remote corners of Death Valley there are some places so desolate that even the rocks get lonely and will come to greet a visitor, like a dog whose master has gone out of town. This one struggled to cross hundreds of meters of the dry lakebed called The Racetrack, without benefit of hands or feet.

This may be the very shot that I can be seen taking here.

For the real story of the mysterious moving rocks of The Racetrack, see my earlier post.

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Additional Photos by Ken Alexander (kensimage) Gold Star Critiquer/Silver Workshop Editor/Gold Note Writer [C: 1083 W: 39 N: 1167] (8563)
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