We moved south a couple hundred miles from Boulder City (the forecast made us do it). I write this from a boondock in the hill-dale shadows of Vulture Peak, a summit we climbed (there is disagreement here so I'll just say) some time around Y2K.
It's lovely here, parked on the bank of a sandy wash, amid a stand of mesquite and palo verde trees. A nap of lush lawn, as green as any golf course I've seen, sprouts under their canopy of shade. Aromatic creosote bush abounds, as do saguaros and the rest of the flora and fauna of my youth.
Bobbie and I took a long walk after landing yesterday. We noticed something very strange. For the first time since leaving home, there was no wind. Zero, nada. Skies were mostly blue, with remnant puffy clouds hanging here and there to accommodate one of my many preferences for shooting landscape photos.
But here I go, waxing poetic about the here and now Sonoran Desert bliss, when the topic lies in the past, back in Nevada (sigh). If I hadn't already loaded all these photos, why I'd just skip it. Just a bunch of red rocks with nary a cloud for effect.
Anyway. I give you a six mile off-trail loop-hike through Bowl of Fire (not to be confused with Valley of Fire)... a little Hot Chile for Las Vegas, Nevadans in need of some "G" rated eye candy that doesn't involve a pole and a stripper, or a buffet...