Mouse's Tank and Beyond

By Michael Weissenstein

SI first saw Valley of Fire by car, on a quick weekend tour soon after I moved to Las Vegas.

I was underwhelmed. The state park's small red sandstone formations seemed less impressive than the deep canyons of Red Rock, where I'd go on to spend many days hiking and rock climbing.

So Valley of Fire saw nothing of me until a recent overcast morning, when I returned with a mission to navigate a little-known hiking route, and a lady friend skeptical that we could get out alive and on time.

I quickly learned how wrong my first impression of Valley of Fire had been. We spent several pleasant hours in a maze of soft sand washes and jumbled blocks of auburn rock on one of the best short hikes I've had the pleasure of completing.

We left Las Vegas at about 10 a.m., armed with warm clothes, plenty of water and two greasy turkey sandwiches from my local supermarket's deli counter. An hour's drive north on Interstate 15 brought us to the exit marked Valley of Fire. The road to the park swung through 18 miles of buff-colored desert and clumps of scraggly sagebrush.

"This sure isn't very pretty," my companion said. Our mood lightened as the road curved past the entrance gate and into an expanse of rust-colored sandstone. A thin slice of Lake Mead gleamed beneath the slate sky.

We pulled into the visitor center. Ranger Jim Hammons greeted us with topographical maps, and a warning: Our path went through rough and broken country that the inexperienced, implying us, would find hard to navigate.

"It's not really a trail," he said. "We don't really recommend it to the public." A highly skeptical look came over the face of my companion, who'd been my unwilling partner on many an ill-conceived weekend adventure. ...

SEE THE WHOLE STORY AND PHOTOS IN THE Spring 2002 CERCA

The March/April 2003 Issue is out. Find it at Las Vegas bookstores today.