Many years ago I took my family for a hike on Mount Charleston. The mountain peak tops out at 11,916 feet and is located in the Spring Mountains, just outside Las
Vegas and amidst the unforgiving Mojave Desert.
It is surprisingly cool at the higher elevations. The top of the mountain will even get enough snow in the winter to permit sledding and skiing. This particular hike took place in the summer. Our goal was to see Rain Tree, which is reported to be the oldest living thing in Nevada. It sits amidst a bristlecone pine forest and is an estimated 3,000 years old.
It was a strenuous three-hour hike up a sloping path. On the trail I kept wondering how we would know which tree was the famed Rain Tree. When I questioned descending hikers they assured me we would know when we arrived. They were right. When we saw it, the tree was truly magnificent. If six adults joined hands I don’t think they could circle the base of this tree. Its canopy was enormous. Even my young children were impressed.
Coming down the mountain and heading home I couldn’t get the image of that tree out of my head.
As we descended back into the dessert I spotted something in the distance. It was a structure shaped like an enormous pine tree. There are no trees this size or shape in the Mojave Desert. The same compulsion to visit Rain Tree took me on a detour to investigate this spectacle.
In an attempt to shield the young minds in the vehicle, I slipped half my body out the car door and looked up at the cell tower disguised as a pine tree. The contrast of these two experiences was unsettling — the real and the unreal. I got back in the car, drove home and took a long shower. I could not get the image out of my head.