After yesterday’s rim walk we originally had planned another
canyon hike for today. The knowledgeable ranger at the visitor centre had
suggested the ‘White Owl/White Bird’ loop. We weren’t quite sure how to get to
the trailhead, so stopped once again at the visitor centre to find out not only
about that, but also if it was possible to reach the ‘Valley of Fire’ state
park we have chosen as tomorrow’s destination via the smaller road that runs
along Lake Mead instead of using I 15. This is indeed possible, but what we
didn’t know was that we would have to pay a fee of $20 US once we entered the
Lake Mead National Recreation area. This is good for seven days of park use,
but for us it doesn’t make any sense to pay that much money just to pass
through the park. The Valley of Fire is a state park, so has nothing to do with
the NRA, and of course we’ll pay a fee to enter that park as well.
Had it been three days later we would have considered buying
an annual National Park pass: if bought at the beginning of a month it’ll give
the user thirteen months of use because it expires only at the end of the month
it is bought the following year. But even if we came back to the US next spring
it would not be before March at the earliest. As we had seen this year even
areas considered to be warm, like around here or Phoenix, can suffer cold
spells in February still, and in March that is much more unlikely. This year we
travelled so early only because we have other commitments later in the season.
But back to our hike, the White Owl/White Bird loop. This, we found out, is
also situated in the park, and the same fee would apply which, since we are
leaving the area for good tomorrow, didn’t make much sense for us.
We asked for alternatives outside of the park, but the staff
on duty today sadly didn’t include any avid hikers, and we were on our own. I
remembered the tip from the guy at the hotsprings: Fortification Hill. It’s
supposed to be strenuous, and I remembered reading something about a difficult
part, but we decided to give it a try and see where it took us. We could always
turn around if it got too difficult.
We also had only a vague idea regarding the location of the
trailhead, but a brochure from the visitor centre gave some direction at least.
We took Hwy. 93 south once again, crossed the bridge at the Hoover Dam and
exited on the Kingman Wash road. A sign warned that this road was to be used
only with a high clearance, four wheel drive vehicle, for which our Subaru
Forester surely qualifies, but apart from big potholes and fair sized rocks
this gravel road was not all that bad – much better, in any case, than the
regular road from Esquel to Rio Pico in Argentina which we had driven in 2009
with a little Chevrolet Corsa. It was slow going, of course, the road curving
through magnificent landscape, painted hills to the left and right. We climbed
steadily higher along the Kingman Wash road, keeping an eye open for smaller ‘allowed
roads’ along the way so as to not miss no. 70c. Twice we stopped at camper vans
parked by the side of the road, but twice we found young couples who had never
heard of Fortification Hill, if indeed they had an idea where they were at all.
Finally we reached a parking lot with a bathroom, but bare of any cars, while
the road curved down to the left towards Lake Mead, where it finally ended. We
saw a huge cement ramp, not used in a long time, it seemed, which led right
down into the water, a boat launch obviously. The lake has dropped considerably
in the last decades, and the high water mark is far, far above from where we
were. Our hotsprings acquaintance told us that the water level is not that far
from the critical mark where the turbines will be turned off. On the other
hand, winter has been much more severe in areas higher up feeding the lake, and
the rivers are only now starting to melt, so things will hopefully look quite
different not too long from now.
We obviously were on the wrong road, turned around at the
lake and drove through the parking lot with the bathrooms. Now we found ‘allowed
road 70c, which took us further up into the hills for another couple or three
kilometres before we reached a small parking space with one other car and the
small sign indicating the trailhead. Two young women were just walking away
from the other car, getting ready to leave for Fortification Hill, too. They,
like us, had not been here before and had only a general idea about the hike,
but there was no mistaking the beginning of the trail, at least. We had a bit
of lunch, put on sunscreen, and fifteen minutes later we, too, were on our way.
We could see the narrow trail leading straight up the ridge
ahead – and the next. Beyond that we couldn’t see yet, only what we assumed to
be Fortification Hill itself looming like a huge bastion at the top. The
temperature, about +14 or 15, was perfect for hiking, the sun behind us, the wind
not too bad, and we kept climbing on the rocky trail, one rise after the other,
dipping only marginally in between. We watched the progress of the young women
ahead of us, saw them stop at a rock outcropping taking pictures. It seemed
they were hesitating, trying to decide if and where to go on. Soon they were
following the short switchbacks up the last steep hill before the ‘fortification’
itself.
It was a strenuous hike, the trail not without difficulty
because it was so slippery with scree. We took one more break at some big
boulders, trying to make up our minds if we should go on. The wind had picked
up so much that I couldn’t keep my hat on or it would have blown away, in spite
of the cord I had pulled as tight as I could. It didn’t look promising for a
completion of the hike: the other two had reached the top of the last ridge and
obviously were attempting to climb up into the big boulders above. We decided
to follow far enough to at least see what they were doing, if they were making
any progress, but agreed that this didn’t look like something we’d want to
attempt. It looked downright dangerous, but maybe they knew what they were
doing. It turned out they didn’t, but they weren’t willing to give up quite yet
in their search for an easy access to the next level.
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| The view, of course, is spectacular |
By then we watched another hiker approach swiftly up the
hill. Without hesitation he negotiated the switchbacks, without poles (which
Johann and I had remembered to bring, and were glad we did), like a mountain
goat. He, too, had not been up here before, but had an idea
where to go. He turned to the right along the base of the fortification, and
really, there was a narrow trail hugging the cliffs none of us had seen before, turning to the right.
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| This is where I gave up |
He forged ahead, and the young women followed him. Johann,
who had been standing at the foot of the rocks talking to one of the girls
while I was still a bit below, trying not to think about how I’d manage this
slippery section on the way down, waved me up: there was a way to get up after
all. Gathering my courage I joined him, and we followed the example of the
others until we came to the end of the trail. Now it got serious: we either had
to climb up the rocks, using protrusions for hand- and footholds, or give up
the idea of achieving what the brief description of Fortification Hill in the
visitor centre brochure promised: a magnificent view of the colourful Lake Mead
basin. Well – one of us dared, and the other didn’t, and it’s not a difficult
guess who did what. I just couldn’t muster the courage; the drop, did I slip,
was too deep, and I didn’t trust my shaky knees to get over the barrier safely.
It has to do with my fear of heights, which, I thought, I had fought bravely to
get where I was already.
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| Johann and his fellow hikers coming down the wall |
Thus I waited for Johann, pretty much out of the wind, but
very much in the shade, and after twenty minutes I decided to make my way back
to the big rocks before the last steep incline. I knew that I would be by far
the slowest going down that stretch, probably would need to sit on my bum from
time to time where it was especially slippery. It was scary, but I managed okay
and now waited in the sunshine, but with full exposure to the wind which was
funnelled up right there, it seemed.
The young man overtook me on my slide/walk down to where I
was waiting, told me it was amazing up there, and brought word from Johann and
the other two that everything was alright, and they would be a while yet. I
kept scanning the rocky protrusion where they would have to appear eventually,
and finally I saw them: three tiny dots, slowly getting bigger.
Johann told me that the most difficult part was right where
he left me, and that I could indeed have managed it as well, a suspicion that
had grown in me when I was waiting there and was almost tempted to try it after
all, but didn’t dare then because I was alone. Sometimes I wish I could make up
my mind, talk myself into overcoming my fears, a little faster. It was, Johann
said, a bit more of a climb over boulders before the trail flattened out and
led along the saddle of the hill to the viewpoint which, as promised, afforded
a grand view of the lake and surrounding area and Las Vegas.
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| Views of Lake Mead coming down Kingman Wash road |
The way down from the boulders was not so difficult anymore,
and once we had left the fully exposed area the wind was not as bad either. By
the time we got back to our car it was late afternoon, and the sun had slipped
low enough to bathe everything in a warm light, enhancing the colours and
deepening the shadows.
We will move on tomorrow, linger for a little while
longer here in Nevada where it’s warm(er) before slowly making our way north again.
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