Greater Vegas—Bristlecone Pines

Excavations and carbon dating of artifacts discovered in a number of caves around Nevada, including Tule Springs and Gypsum Cave near Las Vegas, have supplied evidence that aboriginals occupied the region as early as 11,000 B.C.

In northern Nevada live a prehistoric species of sucker fish known as cui-ui (pronounced kwee-wee) that teemed in the inland sea covering the area 15,000 years ago and still survive at the bottom of the little remnant known as Pyramid Lake.

All this is all well and good for history, but present-day Greater Vegas is host to one of the oldest living beings on the planet. High up on the highest peaks in Nevada are bristlecone pine trees (pinus longaeva) that have been alive for thousands of years.

When it was felled by the Forest Service in the 1970s, the oldest known bristlecone, named Prometheus, was determined to be 4,900 years old — more than 1,000 years older than the oldest giant California sequoia, 1,200 years older than the Egyptian pyramids, and only 700 years younger than the date that the Old Testament gives to the birth of the world.

Up at 11,000 feet in Great Basin National Park, 300 miles northeast of Vegas, a nice hike from the highest campground and paved road in the state takes you to a glorious stand of this arboreal phenomenon, where these ancients cling to life with the most tenacious yet precarious grip in God’s Great Kingdom. The reverence here is palpable and you’ll unconsciously adopt a hushed tone and a light step as you move in awe through this divine forest.

The grove of bristlecones at Great Basin National Park, with Wheeler Peak, second highest in Nevada, in the background

But you won’t be shy about caressing the trees. The barkless wood, polished by thousands of years of wind and rain and grit, invites touch and not a hint of a splinter will you notice. The bottlebrush needles, likewise, are soft and sensual, surprisingly young feeling.

The living parts of these trees are vital and triumphant, but even the dead parts of beautiful and, in their way, immortal. It’s said of bristlecone pines: “They’re part of history. But history is also part of them.”