Part of me withers during the scorching summer months. I sequester myself inside, instead of venturing too far into the sun-drenched Las Vegas Valley. For a time, life is less dynamic, and I enter a self-imposed dormancy. But once the monsoon rains arrive, and billowy clouds crown the mountain peaks with snow, I head for the trails.
Hiking at the Spring Mountains Visitor Gateway always brings me back to myself. Standing under a yawning expanse of clear sky — with striated mesas ahead of me and Fletcher Peak rising behind — I’m stripped bare. Distractions and responsibilities unfurl from me, and a life spark awakens. Quiet engulfs the Gateway, and my ears tune to sounds that are usually muffled by the noise of living in urban sprawl. The brittle snap of creosote between my fingers. The twitter of a bird as it flits over the trail. The faint pit-pat of a small rodent darting for cover underneath sagebrush. My awareness sharpens, and I become more rooted in the surrounding world.
The Gateway always meets me where I’m at. Whether I’m functioning at full capacity, or temporarily impaired by chronic pain, or perhaps hiking with my husband or our kids in tow, there’s a trail for that. The graveled Kyle Canyon wash is where I’m the most leisurely and soak up the tranquility of the space. The Acastus Trail and Pack Rat Route wind through dirt paths and steeped slopes that test my endurance. Here, more than any other place, is where I constantly reconcile my past and present selves. Being quizzed by my kids about the vegetation recalls the environmental activist I used to be in college. Chatting with inexperienced younger hikers evokes memories of my husband and I breaking in our hiking boots in the Texas Hill Country. I reclaim the full vibrancy of myself with each rhythmic step forward.
I love visiting the Gateway in the winter, when the trails are dusted with snowfall. The snowmelt alters the topography, compelling me to forge new paths or follow animal tracks for purchase along the slopes. When I finally climb to a point where I’m standing above it all, it’s genuinely breathtaking. The Mojave Desert scrub pokes above a snowy blanket in a seamless marriage of harsh and soft, creating an idyllic moment in time, unmarred by the world’s troubles.
It’s quickly ruptured by the noise from SUVs, Teslas, and the odd souped-up sports car swooping along the roadway below. Or maybe it’s tinny voices echoing from The Retreat on Charleston Peak. Either way, the interruption reminds me that this is a place of transition for me. It imbues me with new life, but I can’t stay here forever. With each footstep, I retrace my path until I reemerge at the Gateway’s trailhead renewed, finally the desert bloom I’ve been waiting all season to be.
