My Hiking Origin Story, Part 3: Breaking Out Of Boulder City

[Hi! If this is your first time here, catch up on the story via the links below.]

My Hiking Origin Story, Part 1: The Camping Trip

This is an ongoing origin story. It’s about many things, but mainly it’s about finding solace in nature and discovering your true self.

Seasons of JasonJason Evangelho

My Hiking Origin Story, Part 2: Navy Knee

There’s nothing explicitly about hiking in this installment, but in order to tell an effective origin story, sometimes you have to flash back to the beginning. This is a story about the U.S. Navy, a rebellious teenager, and the perils of accepting the reality you’re presented with.

Seasons of JasonJason Evangelho

The real catalyst for change happened later that week when I was walking my dogs. Our house was located at the eastern end of our city, next to miles of hilly desert landscape. On a whim, I abandoned the sidewalk and found myself trekking along some ORV trails. At about one mile in, up a hill (OK, more like a wrinkle in the ground compared to most mountain ranges, but it was a steep climb for me at the time) that caused my heart to pump wildly in rebellion and my knee to send painful reminders of its condition to my sensory cortex with every step.

At the peak was an unexpected payoff. A breathtaking view of Lake Mead and the surrounding River Mountain and Muddy Mountain ranges.

This single moment changed my life. 

When you live somewhere for 3 years and fail to realize a view this beautiful is a one mile walk from your backyard, something must change.

And something did. Suddenly and without reservations.

Escaping The Bubble

You can’t live in Boulder City without being aware of Lake Mead. As the once-temporary town that built the Hoover Dam, it has become part of its DNA and exists as a gateway to that historic location. On a typical summer month, visitation to Lake Mead National Recreation Area exceeds 900,000, so the impact on that little city isn’t subtle. But as someone who exceedingly relied on only traveling via car, the navigational portion of my brain told me it was 8.4 miles northbound down Highway 93, and then a quick jaunt on Lakeshore Road to the water.

“Holy crap, I could hike right to Lake Mead!” I thought to myself. I said it aloud repeatedly like a mantra. “I can hike there. I will hike there.”

This was all nothing short of stupefying. That single goddamn view caused me to question what I was doing with my entire life. I delved into internal philosophical debate between my rampant tech-obsessed self and my rapidly blooming nature lover. It was a noisy, bitter, accusatory, and completely overwhelming discussion. I felt temporarily schizophrenic. Split personalities – one of which was a newborn – were vying for control of my thoughts, actions, and ideologies.

Nature won. I decided I would hike across this short desert expanse and straight to Lake Mead post-haste. 

The next day I purchased some necessities on Amazon. A compact first aid kit, a solar-powered Casio ABC (Altitude, Barometer, Compass) watch, a burnt orange Teton backpack, and some bandanas to protect my head and neck from the unforgiving Nevada sun.

A False Start (But An Enthusiastic One)

This is where I should tell you I was 5’7” and weighed 240 pounds. I’ll always remember Wii Fit’s absurdly cheerful childlike voice proclaiming, “That’s OBESE!” as if it had waited years to be conceived, developed, shipped to my apartment, unwrapped, and allowed the opportunity to remind me of this painfully obvious fact with unabashed glee.

Nothing makes you more keenly aware of those extra pounds on your skeleton than the combination of altitude and distance.

I didn’t study the topography. I didn’t use mapping software to gauge distance. I was too consumed by days-long enthusiasm and there was no room left for research and common sense! So, I armed myself with water and some fruit bars to munch on, and the knowledge that I needed to traverse in a northeasterly direction. I’d eventually run into Lake Mead.

I made it two miles out and gave up.

I became overwhelmed and disgusted by my lack of navigational skills, exhausted from being out of shape, and overcome by a sense of foreboding when the ORV trails disappeared. The soft sand and gentle meandering canyons gave way to rock formations I was too afraid to scramble over. My phone’s GPS indicated I was heading back home, while my newly acquired watch insisted I was heading North. Who to trust? Google or Casio? I clearly couldn’t rely on my own instincts at this point.

Temporarily defeated, I did a 180 and headed home, later deciding the sensible option for a complete beginner was to keep attacking this hiking thing, but on actual established trails.

That’s when I picked up a copy of Branch Whitney’s “Hiking Las Vegas.”

I was stunned just browsing the table of contents. 80 hikes were accessible within a one-hour drive. Several of the trailheads were walking distance from my own backyard! Everything from boulder scrambling to leisurely meadow walks. Through snow and desert, over mountains and through endless canyons protected by deep and ancient rock walls hundreds of feet high, to destinations like rivers and hot springs and 3000-year-old Bristlecone Pines!

My first hike is where the truly fundamental changes started taking root. That's coming up next week!