Issue link: http://digital.canadawide.com/i/566324
f a l l 2 0 1 5 | w e s t w o r l d 33 "at cliff band reminds me of a huge pile of Neapolitan ice cream," says a wisecracking Matt Replogle, pointing at an outcropping with alternating bands of red, pink and cop- per-green rock. Astride a docile steed named Dollar, I'm finding it hard to believe we're a mere 45-min- ute commute from the artifice of the Las Vegas Strip. I'm clip-clopping behind Replogle, along with a dozen other inept cowpokes, while a small herd of wild burros grazes at a careful distance. Then, as if scripted by our guide, a hawk pierces the silence with a haunt- ing screech that is perfectly matched to what seems to be a surreal cartoonist's rendition of a desert landscape. Replogle, a wrangler from Oklahoma, also fits the scene. His southern drawl is straight out of a spaghetti western, and he has the taut, wiry frame you'd expect of someone who wrestles steers for a living. roughout the ride he maintains an intelli- gent banter, part tongue-in-cheek comedian and part earnest park interpreter. "If you're ever thirsty out here, you can crack one of those over a rock and get at some water," Replogle says, nodding his Stetson toward a barrel cactus at the side of the trail. of the Strip, showcasing the fascinating human and natural history of the region and the genesis of a city aptly dubbed the Miracle in the Desert. "This is the birthplace of Las Vegas, and, although not the most hospitable environ- ment, the early settlers rose to the challenge," says Dawn Barraclough, public relations man- ager for the Springs Preserve, pointing to a rusty skeleton of a derrick that once pumped water from the ground. Interpretive displays take us deep into the miracle of desert life. In spite of an environ- ment that seems uncompromisingly hostile, the Patayan and Paiute people thrived here thousands of years before the age of air con. So, too, did animals; species such as the desert tortoise, kit fox and kangaroo rat. "So when you look closely, it's far from a lifeless environ- ment," Barraclough says. Out beyond the monotonous suburbs of west Las Vegas, tidy xeriscape gardens and swimming pools abruptly give way to cacti, creo- sote bushes and ochre rock walls that soar up from the desert flatlands. is is Red Rock Can- yon and the Desert National Wildlife Range. You may even share a conspiratorial wink with the good folks of Pahrump as they inform you that their outwardly conservative-looking, inwardly naughty community is home to tax- paying brothels on the outskirts, where asphalt meets cactus. is is Nevada, a bold and brash paradox – modern excess mixed with natural wonder and a dash of frontier attitude. On a late autumn week, armed with my Canadian skepticism of all things proudly Yankee, I decide to peer into the larger-than-life zeitgeist of Las Vegas and southern Nevada. A light breeze blows as I kick the dust on a barren knoll 10 minutes from the magnificent skyline of Vegas, which looks a bit like an urban mountain range etched in neon. Con- trary to the silver screen myth about the City of Sin being the brainchild of crime bosses, it actually started here, at the Las Vegas Springs, with a land auction in 1905. Investors were lured to this unassuming oasis with promises of unlimited access to spring water, and Las Vegas sprouted up like a stubborn cactus, smack in the centre of the searing hot Mojave. Today, the 73-hectare Las Vegas Springs Pre- serve provides an earthy antidote to the glitz