They say the rain that falls in Nevada stays in Nevada, never reaching the Pacific Ocean. Personally, I didn't even know it rained in this state, but, man, was I wrong. As I sit here at tree line on the rocky shoulders of 13,063-foot Wheeler Peak, Nevada's second-highest mountain, slushy droplets are soaking me mercilessly. I'm OK with it, though. I'm wearing a black trash bag with a hole cut out for my head, borrowed from the nice people at the Great Basin National Park ranger station. It's keeping me pretty cozy, and the views of Snake Valley and Wheeler's own glaciated amphitheater are enthralling. Best of all, there's not another soul around.

I didn't realize before I came here that many of Nevada's highest mountain ranges are dripping and fertile, like steep tropical sky islands rising from an arid, sagebrush sea. This particular island is in the Snake Range—in eastern Nevada, near the Utah state

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line—and it's teeming with plants and animals. I particularly like the bristlecone pines, which I'm spending some quality time with right now. They're the official state tree, and they're fascinating, even spiritually stirring. Rooting themselves in improbably rocky soil, they live up to 5,000 years—making them the oldest living trees on earth. They often appear to be lifeless, with limbs stripped of their branches and their trunks looking like petrified wood. But if you peer closer, there are usually one or two small live branches with green needles. The oldest bristlecone, a tree dubbed Prometheus, lived on this very mountain and was 4,900 years old when it was cut down in 1964 by a graduate student trying to figure out how old it was.

The bristlecone I'm sitting under is multi-trunked, gnarled and twisted. I've chosen it as my special homie and given it a name: Gil, after Gilgamesh, the ancient Babylonian ruler who dreamed of living forever. That's a little corny, I'll admit, but I'm sticking with it. This tree was putting down roots when Jesus got fitted for his first pair of sandals. It deserves a bit of reverence.

Alas, though, I'm going to have to say goodbye to Gil. The rain is turning to snow, and it looks sunny and warm down in the valley. It's time to ditch the trash bag for shorts, sunglasses, and flip-flops.