Las Vegas Flash Floods

People are shocked to find out that it floods when it rains in Vegas. 

This weekend I was on my way home from the store when I saw a bunch of people looking at the rising water in this flood channel. 

One minute later (literally--I checked the time stamp on the pictures), it looked like this.

Before the flood control channels and retention basins were built, this is what Las Vegas streets looked like whenever it rained. (And despite all that flood control, the streets still wind up looking like this sometimes--or worse.) People think I'm exaggerating when I tell them that for years, people just didn't go out when it rained. I'm not. 

Today, not a bit of yesterday's flash flood river remains.

I called this area Olive Tree Rapids.

Today, it looked like this:

Did you see any flash flooding this weekend?

Update, 08-31-13: During August, Las Vegas had a series of Monsoon-related flash floods. Last week, the Northwest/Centennial Hills area was hit especially hard (see this TWC post for pictures). Even as I update this post, another storm is moving in. 

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All pictures by Terrisa Meeks

Summer Storm Season in Las Vegas

On Friday, the 2013 Monsoon Season announced its arrival in Las Vegas with a spectacular lightning show.

The view from my backyard was dynamite.

Did you have much rain, wind, or lightning this weekend?

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Pictures by Terrisa Meeks

Is Gramercy a Sign of Changing Times in Vegas?

Is the Ghostification of Las Vegas Over?

First, we had the Manhattanization of Las Vegas, when hi-rises sprouted all along the Strip.

Then the Great Recession hit, and the building boom halted, leaving the shells of unfinished buildings all over the Las Vegas valley. Add in thousands of vacant homes, and you have the ghostification of Las Vegas.

But could we be moving on to a new (unnamed but hopefully better) era?

Manhattan West, abandoned in mid-construction in 2008, is now slated to be Gramercy, with construction scheduled to start in fall. It’s one of a few projects, like the Shoppes at Summerlin and the Echelon (now Resorts World Las Vegas) that are getting new hopes as the economy tries to gain traction.

What’s next, SoHo-ization? That’s my vote.

What do you think Vegas' next era will be? 

Update, March 17, 2014:
Construction has finally resumed on this project & the plans for it look pretty ambitious:
http://www.vegasinc.com/business/real-estate/2014/mar/03/construction-restarts-mixed-use-gramercy-project/

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Sources:

Vegas Inc. articles on Grammercy, Summerlin Shoppes, and Resorts World Las Vegas

Picture by Terrisa Meeks

Las Vegas Techie Problems: We’d Like Two Fry’s, Please

The lone Fry’s in town is a techie Mecca, and nearly as hard to get to as the actual Holy City.

If you are a techie (or live or work with one), you know that the only acceptable big electronics store in Las Vegas is Fry’s.

You might know that while a second Fry’s is allegedly in the works for a vacant space in Boca Park (the old Great Indoors space), there’s been no sign of an imminent opening at the proposed new store.

This means that when my 15-year-old Techie needs something, we have to drive across town. And because it takes a long time (“long time” being more than 10 minutes) to get there, we have to go on the weekend.

A trek to Fry’s from my house requires checking the gas tank and planning for lunch. For me, just being showered and presentable on the weekend is a major achievement.

Last weekend, my Fry’s adventure started out like it always does, with me finding out that I still don’t know the best way to exit the 215 to get to the store. I only had to make one U-turn, though, which is pretty good.

On previous expeditions, I’ve almost been in Henderson before realizing the store was several miles in back of me. It’s completely unclear which exit to take. I’m just trying a different exit each time we go to see which one lands me closest to the store. Eventually, I’ll figure it out.

At least I now no longer miss the fly-over turn from Las Vegas Boulevard into the store’s parking lot when I’m driving in from south of the store (where I usually wind up after one of my usual detours). The first time I was presented with a freeway on-ramp style fly-over rising from the middle of the street, I thought, “No way, there can’t be a fly-over exit into a shopping center,” but I was wrong. 

Once you get into Fry’s, it’s easy to forget about the long drive and convoluted entrance. They employ friendly, knowledge people who can answer my kid’s most arcane questions.

There is one thing I like about Fry’s current location: the i ♥ burgers restaurant in Town Square. (Like I said, you have to plan for lunch.)

Update:
12/6/13: The Las Vegas RJ says that the Boca Park Fry's is still a year away:
http://www.reviewjournal.com/business/frys-electronics-still-least-year-away-boca-park-site

Are you a Fry’s fan?
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Photos by Terrisa Meeks

Elvis Lives!

In Downtown Las Vegas, Elvis not only lives, he's apparently been cloned several times.

I went Downtown on Saturday to meet up with other bloggers and take pictures of interesting things. For a target-rich environment of "interesting things," it's hard to beat Fremont Street. 

(Incidentally, what's up with all the Vegas Newbies who call the Strip "Downtown"? I work with some people from Back East who keep saying they're going Downtown when they're headed to Mandalay Bay, and that's just wrong.)

I remember when you could drive on Fremont Street. But then, I also remember the real Elvis.

Looking for something cheap and entertaining to do in Vegas? Go Downtown and just walk around. If you don't find that entertaining, I don't know what to tell you.

*For long-time Vegas locals, "Back East" refers to any state east of Colorado.

Have you been Downtown lately?
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Picture by Terrisa Meeks. See more of my Downtown Vegas pics on flickr.

Is There a Forest at Mt. Charleston?

Since the fire broke out at Mt. Charleston, I've had three people ask me, "What's burning? Is there a forest up there?" 

It's shocking to watch the smoke pouring into the sky as the Carpenter Fire continues to burn at Mt. Charleston.

For those who don't know, there is indeed a forest at Mt. Charleston, and it includes large stands of Bristlecone Pines (which can live to be thousands of years old and are considered to be the oldest living single organisms), along with a variety of other trees and plants (and animals, including a herd of elk.)

It's sobering to contemplate what damage the fire has done, but I am thankful we've not lost any lives. Other communities in the Southwest have not been so lucky this year. 

Mt. Charleston is part of the Humbolt-Toiyabe National Forest and is in the Spring Mountains National Recreation Area. It encompasses the Mt. Charleston Wilderness Area, including the Mount Charleston Peak (11,908 feet).
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I took these photos of the smoke filling the northwestern part of the valley while I was out for a walk this evening. On the 4th of July, we could see the fire's flames from our front yard. Some people I know in the northwest part of town told me it rained ash at their house this weekend. 

Have you ever witnessed a forest fire?

About That Time I Left My Dad on a Lava Field

Let me be clear: I did not leave my Dad on an active lava flow. Just close to one.

Summer makes me think of family vacations, and thinking of family vacations inevitably reminds me of my family vacation to Hawaii.

It’s been several years now since our trip to The Big Island. On the afternoon this picture was taken, we were spending a pleasant afternoon at the Botanical Gardens. That’s Aunt Betty on the left, my hubby David on the right, and Uncle Walter in the background. My mom-in-law, Bonnie, is standing behind David. My Dad’s not in this picture because he elected to stay at the hotel that day.

David and I envisioned a family trip involving far less group activity, but that was not what our traveling companions had in mind. Not long after our plane landed in Kona, we accepted that we’d been drafted as the official tour guides, which made sense since we’d been there twice before. We joked that we could call ourselves “David and Terrisa-aa’s Tours.”

David’s family was thrilled to be in Hawaii and wanted to see as much of the island as possible, but my dad was there mostly to see the Camp Tarawa Monument and the volcano. All other sight-seeing he barely tolerated. Several times he opted out altogether.

Dad had trained at Camp Tarawa before participating in the Occupation of Japan after World War II. Camp Tarawa was also where the Iwo Jima forces trained. I imagine it was a sobering moment for Dad to see the monument, although he never said so.

What he did say, however, stayed the same no matter where we went: “Didn’t look like this 50 years ago.” That was Dad’s only observation. About everything.

Dad had serious health conditions, like heart disease and emphysema. He was missing his right leg below the knee. Dad could walk with his prosthetic leg, but he couldn’t walk very far, so we took a wheelchair with us in the minivan when he did go on outings with us.

And it was in that wheelchair that I left him on the lava field, in an area that looked very much like this.

You had to hike to the red hot lava, which is to say that people in wheelchairs (like Dad) were perfectly safe from the active lava… although I must say that I didn’t notice any other one-legged men parked in wheelchairs in Volcanoes National Park.

The park ranger who later stopped to ask Dad about who had left him there probably didn’t run into that too often, either.

That section of the park was peppered with signs warning people about the hazards of the volcano’s fumes, which were noted as particularly dangerous for heart patients. I rolled Dad past several of those signs. It was just the two of us on that lonely, lava-surrounded road after the rest of the group had gone on without us. The lava wasn't far away.

The “vog” (a combination of volcanic emissions and fog) got denser. I asked Dad if he wanted to turn around.

“I’ll let you know when to stop,” Dad said. 

In the distance, you could see steam rising in massive clouds from lava pouring into the ocean. When a breeze blew a big whiff of sulfur toward us, Dad said, “That’s good.”

Dad put the brakes on his wheelchair, crossed his legs, then pulled out his pack of Camels and lit up a smoke before he said, “I’ll be fine right here.” 

To our right, a trail led to where the lava flowed into the ocean. Ahead of us, out of sight somewhere over the hardened lava that had closed the road some time ago, the rest of our group was watching fresh lava ooze out of the ground.

Then Dad said, “Go ahead. I’ll be fine right here.”

I briefly pondered whether or not this was a good idea. I hesitated to leave him there. But lava was not far away, and when was I going to get the chance to see lava again?  

So I left him on the road in the middle of the lava field.

(I must say it sounds really awful written out like that.)

I hurried to the lava, which was gurgling out of the earth and pooling around the edges of the viewing area. I quickly snapped pictures before saying to David, “We really should get back to Dad.” We told the rest of the group we’d meet them back at the minivan, and then we took off at a jog.

As we got closer, we saw a park ranger’s truck pulling away from Dad. A female ranger smiled and waved at us.

I knew instinctively that the lady ranger had not been just chit-chatting with Dad. She’d thought that we’d left him there, which technically we did… just not permanently.  

“That very nice ranger asked me all about who I was with, and where you were,” Dad told us. There was no telling what he’d told her. This was the same man who had been telling people all week that a shark bit off his leg.

“She asked me all kinds of questions,” he continued. She had even given him a bottle of water. At that time, there had been a couple of high-profile cases about disabled senior citizens being abandoned in public places, which I’m sure my news junkie dad knew.

He looked positively gleeful.

What are some of your family vacation memories? 

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Family photos and close-up of lava by Terrisa Meeks.

Picture of lava on the road by Steve Cadman
Picture of lava flowing into the ocean by Scott Carpenter

Food in the Vegas Burbs - PoshBurger Bistro

July 10, 2013
Update: PoshBurger is closed. Read the whole story at Eater Las Vegas.

I was thrilled when I got the chance to eat at PoshBurger, located in the same Peccole Ranch strip mall as the delicious Dom DeMarcos. After I had eyeballed Posh’s new black awnings for a couple of weeks, I read a review from Al Mancini, who described PoshBurger as “… the best burger restaurant I’ve ever experienced.”  That’s some high praise.

(Let me digress here with a full disclaimer: I make no claims to be a food critic. My standards are low; I love restaurants because I hate to cook. In my book, any meal someone else cooks is a good meal. You should think of this post as more of a “restaurant-based story,” as opposed to a restaurant review.)

My hubby David and I hit PoshBurger on a Friday evening at about 7 p.m., and we were seated right away. The restaurant has an open floor plan with an industrial feel to it: brick walls, stacks of wine bottles, and fancy, candle-lit picnic-style tables (yes, you might have to share your table, which is kind of weird). I thought the overall design created an attractive environment—I think “minimalist hip” was the goal, and they achieved it. As for the food and drinks, PoshBurger’s specialties are humanely raised organic meat, craft beers, and boutique wines.

One thing you notice after the fun, upscale décor and surprising burger choices like tuna tartar, elk, and lamb: this is not a cheap meal. While many folks associate “burger” with “affordable,” at PoshBurger you’re getting the very best of organic meats and veggies, and it ain’t cheap. The night we ate there, the Elk Burger, one of the day’s specials, was $42. (We didn’t order the elk, although David said he was tempted, just to see what a $42 burger tasted like.)

Our friendly, helpful server suggested the Wild Boar Burger, which David went for, and I ordered a medium Black Angus Burger.

David loved his Wild Boar Burger, which I cautiously tried because I’m neither a pork fan nor a fan of any medium-cooked meat, but the taste was great—surprisingly, not at all what I expected. I thought it would have strong pork taste, but it had a delicate, light flavor.

My Black Angus Burger was a delicious blend of flavors. The hummus and red onion marmalade were a surprising compliment to the tasty beef. I couldn’t finish the whole burger because it was so big, and with a side of Fat Fries, I barely had space left for the Duck Egg Crème Brulee that David and I shared—light and creamy, with its caramelized sugar seared just right.

The service was excellent, from the woman who seated us to the manager who came to our table to ask how our meal was. Our server was terrific, a friendly guy with just the right amount of attentiveness and an in-depth knowledge of the menu.

We agreed the burgers were tasty, but expensive.  I’m more of a beef-lover than an exotic-meats lover, so the unusual choices didn’t do much for me. It was a fun date-night splurge, and I always enjoy a non-home-cooked burger and glass of good wine—in my view, always a winning combination.

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PoshBurger’s reviews on the web vary wildly:

The Vegas Burger Blog didn’t have a good experience at all.

At Yelp, the reviews are all over the place, from one star to five.

In their piece, Eater Las Vegas included information about PoshBurger’s chef, Conrad Gallagher.

Have you eaten at Posh?

#

Picture of Black Angus Burger by Terrisa Meeks

Vintage Vegas Crime: Dead & Stinky

I try to keep my crime stories to myself, but sometimes they just come up. Last week, for instance, my friend and co-worker was grief-stricken over the death of a beloved pet.

Early in the day, she said, “Tell me something gruesome so I won’t be sad.”

(I worked for Las Vegas Metro for over 20 years. I wasn’t a cop, but I did work in the Crime Lab's office for 10 years. Yes, that Lab, before “CSI.” I have a few gruesome stories, and my friend loves true crime.)

“Dismemberment would be good,” she suggested.

So I told her about the dismembered body in the car that was towed into the Lab’s garage. In summer.  

On that hot day, a white sedan was unloaded into the garage. The smell of dead body filled our building almost immediately.

The door to the garage was directly across the hall from the door to our conference room. So, behind one door we had the very smelly car with the parts of a chopped-up person in the trunk (legs and arms and such), and behind the other door we had a conference room full of left-over food from a party we’d had at lunch.

Everyone in my office knew that one of us was going to have to go down there, brave the stinky dead body fumes, and put the food away. 

While we were in the midst of avoiding the inevitable task of cleaning up the left-overs, our Captain’s secretary staggered into my office. I’ll call her Pam.

“WHAT IS THAT SMELL?” she gasped, hand over her nose, eyes watering. “And HOW are you all WORKING?”

We summarized: dead body parts in a trunk, 110°, garage.

Pam was a veteran Metro employee, but she had only been in the Lab for a couple of years. We had also just moved into a new building with a garage attached to our offices. For several previous years, we’d enjoyed a building with a detached garage, an arrangement everyone preferred for just this reason.

“Try rubbing Vicks under your nose,” I told her. “Open your door. Turn on your fan. You’ll get used to it.”

Unconvinced, Pam went back to her office.

A few minutes later, my peripheral vision picked up something outside my window. I took a closer look.  In front of our building, out by the parking lot, Pam was leaning against a handicapped parking sign in an “I might pass out” sort of way.

I walked outside and asked her if she was okay. “I don’t know how all of you are working,” she told me.

“Does this mean you won’t be helping me clean up the food in the conference room?” I asked her.

(I know, I know. I couldn’t help myself. That was mean. Shame on me.)

Pam looked seriously nauseous.  I don’t remember if she answered my question, and I’m pretty sure she went home early. I went back inside and cleaned up the conference room.

Later on that day, after the car was towed away and the garage was hosed down, someone from a local government agency (whoever it was that got all the calls from the people in an apartment complex just east of our building) showed up to ask questions about what was generating such an awful smell. My Captain smiled at the guy, showed him her badge, and shooed him away.

If I recall correctly, the man responsible for the dismemberment was eventually convicted, probably at least in part because of the evidence collected that stinky day.

I had to think of more stories throughout the day to distract my pal from thinking about her dearly departed dog friend. After another dismemberment tale and a couple of murders, I was able to segue from gruesome to funny. Clearly, however, sometimes you can have both.

Are you a fan of true crime or police stories?

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Photo courtesy of Alan Cleaver at flickr

Hiking in Las Vegas: The Countdown to Summer

If you love hiking at Red Rock like I do, you probably know that the time to enjoy mild temperatures is rapidly coming to a close. The searing temperatures of summer will be here soon.

I’m determined to take advantage of every bit of spring before Nature turns the broiler on, so this past weekend I got out for hikes on both Saturday and Sunday.

Saturday: A Great View

On Saturday, I took the team (my son and our dog) to a trail near 13 Mile Campground (also known as Red Rock Campground). We’d decided to climb a small hill there (about 200 feet, according to the topo map, although I thought it looked higher than that). Saturday was cool and windy, which we were glad for not long after we set out.

The trail starts at an abused patch of desert filled with uprooted yuccas and dog droppings, but beyond that the trail leads uphill and into the desert. The land gradually gains altitude with three hills that gently increase in height. At the crest of the first hill, there’s a great view of Red Rock’s cliffs and Calico Basin.

Atop the second hill, a four-foot rock cairn greets you.

And at the very top—which is composed of volcanic rock (in sharp contrast to the sandstone found throughout Red Rock)—the Strip rises far to the east, the massive buildings tiny in the distance.

When we got back to the car (two hours later), Gigi, our dog, was worn out. She climbed in the backseat and laid down without waiting for water. The look on her face was plain: “That was great, but I’m bushed. Bring the water to me.” (She’s kind of a princess.) She gulped down three bowlfuls, then belched and went to sleep. Ah, to be a dog.

Sunday: Bouldering in Ash Canyon

On Sunday, my son and I decided to leave Gigi at home because we wanted to do some rock scrambling. Gigi believes (incorrectly) that she’s a mountain goat (or perhaps a Big Horn sheep), so she had to stay at home because I don’t like broken legs.

My son and I went back to Ash Canyon, where we’d had to turn around the week before (due to Gigi the Goat Dog and my whole anti-broken-leg stance).  This time, my son and I bouldered up the wash until we had to go up and around.

Once upon a time, in my previous life as an uber-prepared hiker, I would have had a trail guide with exact directions. Not anymore. I’d done a cursory Google search, so I knew we had to climb out of the wash eventually, but I couldn’t remember if it was the trail on the left or the right side of the canyon.  We chose the left.

By the time we encountered an imposing shelf of sandstone that made me say, “Sorry, but I’m not climbing up that,” we were both ready to turn around and come back.

“I think we should only hike one day of the weekend,” my son commented. “I’m kind of worn out.”

“Probably,” I said, thinking about the chores I had waiting at home.

But the day was clear, the skies a brilliant blue against the red rocks, birds were singing, and the trees were budding. I decided it would have been a shame to have wasted such a day on chores.

“We live in a beautiful place,” my son said several times on the way back.

“Yes, we do,” I agreed. “We certainly do.”

Have you been out to enjoy the desert while the weather’s still nice?

Calico Basin & The Rock Scrambling Dog

For some reason, I assumed that dogs possessed a natural instinct about how to safely navigate rocky terrain. I thought they had some inborn dog wisdom about behaving sanely around heights.

I was wrong. From what I observed on Sunday, my dog thinks she is a mountain goat. 

In the early afternoon, we (my son, the dog, and I) set out for a hike from the Sandstone Road Trailhead in Calico Basin. The area is heavily visited, which normally is something I avoid, but Gigi was delighted. She’s an extroverted canine. “New people? New dogs? And hiking!? If only you’d brought Beggin’ Strips, the day would be perfect!”

Gigi led us up the wide gravel trail toward Ash Canyon. We saw a photo shoot going on just off the trail, with the model (who was wearing black stiletto heels, a sequined bra, and extreme short-shorts) perched atop an impressive chunk of sandstone. In the distance and up high, rock climbers were hanging off the cliffs (which in comparison looked much harder, except for the high heels).

We continued past a rock labyrinth (the largest one I’ve seen so far in Red Rock), through a marshy area, and headed up Ash Canyon.

When a bit of light bouldering was required, I laughed when Gigi hopped over rocks. I mean, she looked adorable. I think I said something out loud to that effect.

When the bouldering got tougher, I climbed up, looking for a way around the boulders that were too high for Gigi. I stopped at a slab of sandstone that I wasn’t sure any of us could get around. “I don’t think we can get through this way,” I told my son, who was also checking out other routes.

Gigi must have thought I said, “Come this way!” because she charged around me, clambered up the rock, then slid down the sandstone like she was in some Canine X Games event.

“Yeah, I can see how she can’t get through this way,” my son commented.

“How’s she going to get back out of there?” I asked him. After surfing down four feet of sandstone, Gigi had landed in a pocket of scrub trees and gravel.

“Good point,” my son said.

Gigi was cheerfully unbothered by her position, and she managed to scramble up and out after a couple of tries. But had she learned that her lack of opposable thumbs (or hooves) was a major disadvantage when it came to rock scrambling? Nope. She soon was trying to scale the rocks ahead of us.

After having visions of carrying an injured dog back to the car (a 50 pound dog, by the way), I decided we needed to turn around.

Once we were on level ground, we met up with two other hikers on their way back to the trailhead. Gigi trotted happily in front of us. One of the hikers told me, “She reminds me of a dog I had named Foolish. He hiked with me in Alaska.” The hiker had seen Gigi trying to tip-toe along the side of a drop-off while we were still in the canyon.

Back at the car, Gigi the Goat Dog had a big drink of water before stretching out in the back seat and falling asleep. After finding out that all my assumptions about dogs and rock scrambling were wrong, I was just relieved that we hadn’t incurred any vet bills.

Do you hike with your dog? 

Finding Sloan Canyon

Over the weekend, I decided to take advantage of the beautiful weather (70°, sunny, a few photogenic clouds—a glimpse of spring) to drag my hubby out of the house to go find Sloan Canyon.

A co-worker of mine had told me that Sloan Canyon was easy to find, with “plenty” of signage. “I used to go there for school field trips,” he told me. 

What my young co-worker should have said was that there IS signage at Sloan Canyon. Plentiful? Not so much.

This is the turn-off to Sloan Canyon. That marker is the first “signage” we spotted after leaving paved roads.

From what I’ve read, Sloan Canyon’s limited accessibility is no accident. The area holds rare petroglyphs and striking volcanic rock formations. Because of the increase in vandalism and theft in areas like Sloan Canyon, the BLM keeps information about the canyon to a minimum and isn’t planning to increase accessibility much.

This weekend I didn’t get to see the petroglyphs in Sloan Canyon, but not because of the remote, rugged road or the rock scrambling required to reach what’s been described as “the Sistine Chapel of rock art.” No, I didn’t get to see that part of the canyon because my three hiking companions each quit on me, even the dog.

The first one to stop hiking was my husband, who had major surgery just a few months ago. About 40 minutes into our hike, we encountered a rocky obstacle on the trail. He sat down and announced he was done for the day. Absence totally excused.

Right after I lost companion #1, my teenage son made his own announcement. “I’m hungry and I don’t want to go any further,” followed by, “Can we stop somewhere on the way home and get something to eat? Can we leave now? Aren’t we done hiking? Haven’t we looked at enough rocks?” And so on and so forth.

So I left those two at the outcropping and continued on with Gigi, our dog.

Soon, Gigi’s tail was drooping, her head was hanging, and she was giving me that look, the one that says, “Can we go home now so I can sleep on the sofa until tomorrow?” (We later found Gigi had a paw injury—apparently not uncommon as we ran into a couple with a dog who also had an injured paw.)

I regarded the canyon in front of me. I wanted to keep on hiking. However, it was obvious that on this day I wasn’t going to see much more of Sloan Canyon.  At least I could say I’d found it. The petroglyphs would have to wait for another day.

Gigi and I turned around. At the outcropping, the tired and hungry (and bored) males were tossing pebbles at each other.

Before long, we were in the Jeep, headed home.

Have you been to Sloan Canyon? 

Vintage Vegas Pics: The Days When Lake Mead Had No Bathtub Ring

I was searching through my family pictures this evening, and in between the tintypes and Texas farm houses, I found a handful of these shots taken in 1983, when Lake Mead’s spillways were put to use for one of only two times (the first being when Hoover Dam was built).

Some unknown person from my family captured these shots of the water not long after it first started cresting the sides. Later on, misty waterfalls were created by the water rushing over the spillways. 

The intake towers look like they're floating on top of the water, and you’ll notice there’s not a trace of bathtub ring around Lake Mead,

Today, we’ve got rock outcroppings in front of the spillways. Both the old family photo above and the 2012 shot below are of the Nevada Intake Towers. Quite a transformation, isn’t it?

Recent photo of Hoover Dam, Nevada Side Spillway, courtesy of Gnaphron at Flickr. 

Scroll to the bottom of this page from Missouri University, and you'll see photos of the spillways in full waterfall. 

Were you here in 1983? Did you see the spillways turn into waterfalls?

Las Vegas on a Sunday Afternoon

Did your weekend go by too fast? Mine certainly did. Before I knew it – Poof! – Monday morning had arrived and I was driving to work, thinking about my awesome Sunday.

The Scene on Sunday:

A winter afternoon in Las Vegas: blue skies and 70°. The hubby and I have agreed that we don’t care about the football game. It’s 1pm and I say…

Me:    Let’s go to Sloan Canyon.

Hubby:   It’s too late.  

 [Grimacing, making faces at the clock.]

 You have to catch me early.

Me:     I don’t like early.

 [Resisting the urge to point out that it’s only 1pm.]

Hubby:     But you know I like to do things early.

Me:   [Short sigh before realizing this means an hour-long walk alone. Smile and say…]

 Guess I’ll go for a walk. 

Where’s your favorite place to go for a walk on a Sunday afternoon? 

Looking at Old Pictures & Wondering, “Where Was This?”

I thought it might be interesting to dig around my old photo albums (yes, I’m talking film here) for some vintage Vegas pictures. I seem to have every photo I’ve ever taken, so I hoped I'd find some gems.

I sorted through my albums, searching for pictures of Vegas in days gone by. The yield was grim. In those pre-digital, pre-blogging days, I was foolishly taking pictures of my friends instead of documenting the city (and desert) that would soon disappear.

However, I did uncover a bonus of sorts: photos of travels from many years ago, so many years ago, in fact, that some of my photos left me wondering, “Where was this?”

I Knew It Was At Lake Tahoe, But…

Thanks to a diligent Google search, I’ve identified this as the Tallac Historic Site in South Lake Tahoe. 

I knew the picture was taken at Lake Tahoe, but that was the only thing I remembered about this photo's location. My memory of this entire trip is dreadfully dim. (Excessive drinking was involved.) At any rate, I do recall the incredible beauty of Lake Tahoe and an afternoon hike to find this place, which I remember as being not so well-known at the time I explored it (well before it came under the oversight of a public-private partnership in 1996).

A Santa Barbara Mission

Which mission? Beats me.

The interior of the mission was silent, dark, and creepy. I much preferred taking pictures of the photogenic, non-creepy exterior.

During my trip to Santa Barbara, my visit to this mission was one of the few things I did with a companion. For about a week, I spent every day walking about Santa Barbara blissfully alone, taking pictures and doing whatever I pleased. Ah, the memory makes me smile.

I Suspect It’s Slide Rock

When I first drove through Oak Creek Canyon and Sedona, “Hotel California” was selling strong and I was not of legal age to drive a vehicle. The number of trips I’ve taken to this area, over such a long period of time, are so numerous that they’ve run together somewhat—which is why I’m pretty sure this is Slide Rock, but really, I’m not 100%. I love the picture, though.

Not Exactly Red Rock Crossing

I thought I knew the name of this place. As it turns out, I only had it half right.

When I took this picture, finding Red Rock Crossing (outside of Sedona) felt like an accomplishment. Today, it’s not so off-the-beaten-path (like all of Sedona). Thinking about how long ago this picture was taken, I thought I’d better verify that I had the name right.

As it turns out, the rock formation in this picture is Cathedral Rock, and Red Rock Crossing refers to the area where this picture was taken—and specifically to a giant bar of sandstone in Oak Creek.

Somewhere, in one of these albums, there’s a picture of that, too.

Do you ever find pictures that leave you asking yourself, "Where was this?" 

Or am I the only one?

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All pictures by Terrisa Meeks