A view to the north from the peak of Lava Butte.
As an all-round hiking experience and visual extravaganza, the backcountry walk and subsequent real climb of this tough butte hails as one of my best ‘accomplishments’ on the trails. I’m trying hard to be humble—I’m reminded of what Winston Churchill said to a colleague, “With your attributes, you have an awful lot to be humble about.” Nevertheless, now and again one does something that's a little above the norm and today was one such event. Forgive me my moment of glory and I'll excuse you from reading further.
Jenni was still sick so she sent me out, reluctantly (that’s me), to explore the region I’ve come to believe is one of the finest we have visited. I never thought I’d ‘fall in love’ with the greater Las Vegas district—there’s no accounting for taste. Yet, the more time spent in deserts, the more I realize the effect they have on me. Many of the sights I’m privileged to witness are like paintings—painted deserts. When you add in the vast body of ever-changing shades of blue at Lake Mead, over many miles, one realizes that Heaven is actually many places on Earth—it's up to the individual to seek such havens. Having viewed the lake from at least seven or eight vantage points, at different times of the day and varying altitudes, it’s clear that it would be impossible to define the color of the water—it changes constantly. Add the mountains as backdrops and light them together with the water at sunrise or fade the light at sunset and one is bewildered and mesmerized by the beauty—at least we are. In our latest hike (Mount Hamblin), we were some thirty miles distant by road, from the Boulder Dam side of the lake. The views from atop the mountain were probably the best we've seen thus far. (continued at the end...)
Not the highest but with no trail from this side, a challenge.
From the peak, a delightful Lake Las Vegas, a place to settle.
The 'painted deserts'...what's not to like.
Positioned near the peak of Lava Butte amongst rocks, the desert floor and Lake Mead capture attention.
A little perspective: Boulder City, about 13 miles (by road) from Lava Butte.
Hmm! Rolling deserts in color.
A week later, a view of Lava Butte from Black Mountain, Henderson. We also hiked to the lower mountain below,
the one covered with antennae, two days previously.
In case the previous desert scenes become blasé, Jen returns on her 3rd hike (since recovery) to peak
of Mount Hamblin. In her words, not mine for a change, she exclaims this may be the most beautiful spot we've
ever seen. To her right is Lake Meade some thirty miles from our typical views (by road). On her left are red,
orange, yellow, gold and white mountains. And of course behind her, is a 'pain in the rear' and the peak.
Take a color break.
Using our newly acquired somewhat smart phone, mainly to help with directions and ‘do face-time’ with Ellie, our granddaughter, things have improved although in the recent past the results have been poor. The other day, while driving at 65 miles an hour on Highway 93-S, the gadget announced I'd arrived at the trailhead. Nice! The day before, the gadget got so excited when Fortress Hill came into view that it forgot about the trailhead. Today, it made me do two “U-turns” after which time I gave it up. I suppose we’ll use it for a lot more ‘face-time’ with Ellie and Benny.
I was a little frustrated not having Jenni to bully, so when I saw this very attractive woman…um mountain, I thought what the heck. I parked and headed towards it with the intention of snapping a few photographs and walking in the wilds. There were no trails, no people. I ambled between the scrub, up and over the hills, through the washes, over rocks and boulders but always keeping the volcano in view. I did not even know its name but I liked its shape and coloring. Subsequently, I discovered that there’s a formal trail from the other side of Lava Butte. I continued to scramble through the desert, not appearing to get closer to the butte for a while. After about an hour, I had climbed and treaded over many rocks arriving above a canyon between the volcano and me. This time it looked closer than before—reachable in a way. I made my way down and through the canyon and was much closer to the base of the mountain.
Decision time. This earlier idea of wondering through the desert was turning into a focused pursuit. I decided to go further which would bring me immediately below the butte. Remember there was no trail, path or any indication of which way to walk to the mountain and then proceed upwards other than its obvious position in front of me. The hike at that stage had taken me up and over hills and along and through washes. Just before attempting the climb on the lava-rock covered edifice, I decided to call the boss and update her. Having been given the go ahead, I climbed an awfully steep face which was covered with loose rocks as well as boulders. The going was tough but the return was even more intimidating. The thought of a landslide was not attractive or a fall did nothing to bolster me. And yes, I realize I was hiking alone. I also admit it was 'nippy' negotiating the boulders and loose stones down. As the English are wont to say, 'It was a little dodgy'.
The views from the top, including that of Lake Mead, Lake Las Vegas and a residential area some two-miles away (I think I could live there) were breath-taking. The painted desert from above with the surrounding mountains yoking it in, became even more attractive. In the far distance, the Charleston Mountains were covered in snow. Close by, the ever-daunting Frenchman Mountain stood proud. That was the last climb Jenni undertook before she became ill. It’s a tough one, too.
The return trip to the car, using the compass, was terrific but did include some class 3 and 4 level technical climbs. I was disappointed there was nobody about to watch me use a compass studiously. It would not have the same effect, I suppose, using it in La Jolla. When coming down steep mountains generally, and sharp faces in particular, without a trail, I often think how nice it would be to have features of a goat. I’m also grateful to Norman Kane who ‘fixed’ my hip some six years ago. I remember at the time asking him to adjust it so I could climb like a goat. Apparently, he heard me incorrectly and thought I asked to ‘look like a goat’.
The freedom of walking through the desert and an up-and-down the mountain without a path or trail was tough but also liberating and enjoyable not to mention, exciting. It also made me realize that when one cannot find a trail during a hike, one is usually lost. However, when wondering about without trails and paths, of course, one is never lost—wherever you are, is the correct place. Not finding your car…that’s another thing.
Cheers,
Jenni and Jeffrey
Always room for one more...a tiny part of Lake Mead.
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