It’s a tour we’ll never forget – a helicopter trip to the West Rim of the spectacular Grand Canyon in Nevada, the Hualapai Indian Reservation and the famous glass SkyWalk.
It revealed our planet at its most dramatic and delivered the most awesome of panoramas. But it did mean an early start from our hotel in Las Vegas. An hour before dawn we were making our way to the airport and the Maverick Helicopters base, the city still draped in darkness. We both felt shattered after a late night on the black jack tables.
We’d splashed out around $500 each for the flight to the West Rim, which included stops at the bottom of the canyon, beside the Colorado River, and at the Indian reservation at the top.
Our biggest challenge before booking, back in the UK, had been what rim to choose. The South and North Rims are both in the Grand Canyon National Park. The north is wilder, less touristy and therefore has fewer visitors, tours and facilities. The South Rim is the busiest, home to extensive facilities and accommodation at the Grand Canyon Village, but it’s also further away from Vegas. It was the place to go to hike down, or ride a mule, into the canyon itself.
We were persuaded to go for the West Rim because of the famed SkyWalk, the glass-floored viewing platform that juts out into thin air from the towering cliffs. It’s also the closest stop to the city.
Neither of us had been in a helicopter before we climbed aboard so I really had no idea what to expect. Under the watchful eye of pilot Neal, six of us squeezed into our fancy ECO-Star. I expected to be bounced around, to lose my stomach frequently, but as we climbed away from the airport towards the east, the flight was amazingly smooth. I watched planes taking off and landing around us as Neal negotiated us a path through with air traffic control.
We passed the extinct volcano Fortification Hill, clattered above Lake Las Vegas, skirted around the majestic Hoover Dam and stopped to re-fuel out in the wilds. I was fascinated by the ancient volcanic landscape, the colours of the old lava flows and rock formations, all of it a geologist’s wet dream. Neal ensured we rotated seats so that we all got to share in the views and soon the canyon appeared through the morning haze, jagged slashes in the rusty brown plateau of the earth’s crust. It was an awe-inspiring sight.
We descended towards the Colorado River at the foot of the canyon, the water looking sluggish like a thick brown soup, the banks dotted with green bushes and cacti. As Neal took us down, I struggled to take in the colours in the rock.
We jumped out to admire the views, the walls of the canyon towering above us. Neal warned us about rattlesnakes as we snacked on a ‘champagne breakfast’ – in reality, cheap sparkling wine and a dodgy muffin in plastic. It was a bit of a disappointment bearing in mind the amount of money we’d spent.
A short while later we were flying back to the rim, the SkyWalk clearly visible, clinging to the canyon not far from the mini airstrip that serves the Hualapai Nation’s modern attraction. After landing, we wandered around a village of traditional dwellings designed to reflect how Native Americans have lived in the region since about 500BC but it wasn’t the most gripping of exhibits. Today’s Hualapai and Havasupai tribes are descendants of those early inhabitants and the SkyWalk is their big income earner, and a very touristy one. Cameras were banned, at least when we visited, so that official photographers could charge a fortune for prints, and we were trooped through the obligatory shop, packed floor to ceiling with tacky souvenirs. But who couldn’t resist standing on a glass floor suspended in thin air?
Well, a lot of people actually. Those of a nervous disposition who did make it out clung nervously to the rails with manic smiles writ large across their faces, some refusing to look at the 4,000ft gap between feet and the canyon floor. It didn’t bother me – I found it fun and memorable. Nearby, we walked to the edge of the rim, with nothing to stop us plunging to our deaths below. Chipmunks posed for photos and the views were extraordinary; out to the south-west we spotted a big grey storm sweeping in towards Vegas, heavy curtains of rain lashing the desert.
A few of us jumped on the bus that stopped out at Guano Point, the part of the West Rim that offered the best of the views. An average meal of mass-catered slops later (included in the tour price), we walked out to the remains of the old guano mine and the cable car that served it. With just one or two others around, it was an eerie place but the views of the canyon beyond were the very best – the muddy river below us, winding through the landscape it had created over millennia. It was almost too much to take in.
We began our journey back, Neal guiding us over majestic Lake Mead and the colourful desert beyond. A road slashed through the landscape, which otherwise looked untouched by humanity.
We arrived back at Vegas, that bizarre oasis of neon and sprawling development in the parched desert. Neal turned the helicopter south and headed down the Strip, the city’s landmark hotels below us like Lego models, to our landing at the airport.
A real case of going from the sublime to the ridiculous.