Fire and Water on the Rocks

"They do a good job of cleaning the streets," noticed Andy as we walked back to the Flamingo from breakfast. All the sidewalks were wet. "Considering all the girlie circulars that are dropped, the hotels certainly fuss to keep up appearances." The roads, not so much.
We drove out to Valley of Fire, paid the admission fee of $10 to drive south on the highway, and meandered through the park. A big horn sheep grazed near the Beehives pullout.
"Do you remember camping here about 30 years ago?" asked Andy.
"Sure do," I told him. "It never went below 96 degrees all night, and we were in the tent, front and back flaps wide open, lying on top of our sleeping bags."
At Mouse's Tank, petroglyphs etched into the red sandstone combined with modern graffiti on the cliff face, all telling a story about man's desire to leave his mark on the world.
We stopped at Arch Rock for pictures. Wind burned our faces and fingers. Every turn gave a different perspective of the weathered sandstone. With the Aztec red against the blue sky, it's easy to understand how Valley of Fire got its name.
Petrified Trees and Balanced Rock afforded other perspectives, more focused ones, of this land of magnificent panoramas. Black desert varnish accented the rocks so they stood out even more against a cloudless sky, grey sage and green creosote bush. At Rainbow Vista some yellow wild flowers added another dimension. "We've never been in here before," said Andy. "The road has always been closed from the Visitor Center north. It looks a lot like southern Utah. Every direction you turn is a beautiful view." He was right. This ancient sea goes back to the age of the dinosaurs. The 1.25-mile trail at White Domes looped between spires of Aztec sandstone. Remnants of a rock wall from the movie set for Hacienda, one of about 12 films including Star Trek that were made here, were visible evidence from the past of the starring role this park has played in film.
"The summer does this no justice," said Andy. "It's so harsh then." Words like magnificent, incredible and rugged hardly seem powerful enough to describe the beauty painted here by nature, and our summer visits were so hot we didn't want to stay long. Now, in wintertime, Valley of Fire is a state park worthy of national attention.

Silica Dome overlooking Fire Canyon showed the contrasting layers of iron in the sandstone. An interpretive sign explained that Silica Dome, a unique geological feature, is an example of almost pure compressed sand. For more than four hours we walked sandstone cliffs, drove past intricately carved rocks, skirted around delicate spires and picked our way between boulders.
Each stop at places like Seven Sisters and Elephant Rock tweaked my imagination in a different way and made me proud that my country appreciates and preserves such places of natural beauty and wonder.

"This road [Lake Mead Boulevard] is directly attributable to the Economic Recovery Act," said Andy as we left Valley of Fire and followed Lake Mead. The roadside twinkled as we rounded bends and the sun hit silica. "They really did a nice job on the road," said Andy. As shadows crept down the hillsides, the desert hardly felt formidable. I remembered previous visits when this land appeared inhospitable and cruel in the sunlight.

True desert, the land surrounding Lake Mead, including Las Vegas, receives about four inches of rain a year. Three times I stopped to empty sand from my sneakers and socks.

"How do you do that?" complained Andy. "Did you never learn how to walk?"

The Redstone Trail at Lake Mead National Recreation Area featured a half-mile trail of terrain similar to Valley of Fire. "We did more than a half mile," I teased. "How many times did you lose the trail?"
"We did not get lost," Andy insisted, when we had climbed safely into Little Red. "I only looked for effective photo angles."

Layer upon layer of peaks stretched across our horizon in grey and black silhouettes, as we drove back to Las Vegas in the setting sun at 3:30 p.m. I looked out the car window at the fingers of erosion that stretched in long, dry rivulets down the hillsides. This land only gets four inches of rain a year. How much we take for granted, I thought. Plenty of water at the turn of a faucet and probably the highest water pressure in Vegas of anywhere on our trip so far.

"It's amazing to me that all this can be so close to such a massive city," said Andy.

"And so materialistic a city can exist so close to such natural wonders," I added.

"It's dark here by 4:30 p.m., because we are on the more eastern edge of the time zone," said Andy, as we drove back to town. Entering North Vegas, the sun dipped low near the horizon, and the neon signs blinked and glowed. It was only 4:00 p.m.

Two Dancing Water shows at the Bellagio, two volcano eruptions at Treasure Island, the lights on the Strip, the gondolas and the palazzo at the Venetian all provided an evening of free entertainment.