The "secret" of Christmas Tree Pass
What begins as a routine trip to the airport takes a thrilling turn when an unexpected rental car upgrade leads to an off-road adventure deep into the Nevada desert. Trading the smooth asphalt for treacherous, sandy mountain passes, they journey through the ancient Grapevine Canyon and bravely navigate the pitch-black, rugged terrain of the Spirit Mountains. Balancing on the edge of panic and pure exhilaration, they finally crest the summit to discover a magical, evergreen oasis hidden in the heart of the barren wilderness—a journey that leaves an indelible mark of desert dust on their rearview mirror.
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CHAPTER I: The Unexpected Luxury: A Nissan Xterra Instead of the Booked Economy Class
Every time we fly back to Germany from Laughlin, we rent a car for just 24 hours. We drive this car to Las Vegas, drop it off at the airport there, and fly home. That’s exactly what we did last year when we reserved a cheap compact car for our last day in Laughlin.
When we arrived at the airport in Bullhead City, however, we were in for a surprise: Instead of giving us the cheap car we had booked, the clerk handed us the keys to a four-wheel-drive SUV of a much higher and more expensive class—and for the exact same price!
Since he knew us well by then, we figured he probably kept giving us upgrades because we had always left him a generous tip in the past years.
With the keys to a brand-new, white, all-wheel-drive Nissan Xterra in my pocket, we first went for a leisurely lunch at the Riverside Casino Hotel. While we were in the middle of eating, I said to Mischko: “Since we have such an awesome four-wheel-drive SUV now, let’s go explore the desert off-road!” She agreed immediately.
CHAPTER II: Thrills in the Nevada Desert
The Path into the Wilderness
Full and happy, we were sitting in the car shortly after and turned onto SR 163. From the bridge at the Colorado River, we drove about six miles uphill to the yellow sign marking the exit for Christmas Tree Pass.
There, we turned right—at the exact spot I had ridden past on my bicycle just two and a half hours earlier. A brown sign pointed the way to the pass.
After only a few yards on asphalt, we were already on pure sand. On the right side, two more brown signs appeared. They indicated the various attractions, gave distances to specific destinations, and marked the route through the passes. Next to them, signs urgently warned not to shoot in this area, and gave the clear recommendation to drive the mountain route exclusively with a four-wheel-drive vehicle.
CHAPTER III: The Hidden Light of the Desert: Grapevine Canyon
We left civilization behind for good, turning off the seemingly endless asphalt road of Nevada State Route 163, heading straight for the rugged, reddish-white granite walls of the Newberry Mountains. The terrain changed immediately: The tires left the asphalt, and the familiar, rhythmic crunch of coarse sand and gravel began to sing beneath the wheels.
Before the trail led steeply into the mountains, we made a stop after about two miles at the entrance to Grapevine Canyon. We had to leave the car here because a barricade prevented us from driving closer to the rocks. On foot, we followed the dried-up riverbed deeper into the canyon, to where fresh spring water nourishes a vibrant oasis of wild grapevines and shady trees.
On the steep rock walls, dyed deep black by the desert sun, a centuries-old secret awaited us: Countless ancient rock carvings—petroglyphs—covered the hard stone. These intricate symbols, lines, and figures were carved into the rocks hundreds of years ago by the ancestors of the Mojave Native Americans. They stand as a testament to the indigenous people’s deep spiritual connection to this magical place. We touched history with awe and took beautiful photos before returning to the car an hour later.
CHAPTER IV: Country Music and Monster Rocks: Adventure in the Spirit Mountains
As soon as we were back in the car, we ventured deeper into the desert and higher up into the Spirit Mountains. The dirt track now twisted narrowly and windingly up into the isolated mountain world. We were both incredibly excited, felt the adrenaline, and were deeply moved by this entirely new experience.
The pristine white new car, the fine leather seats, the modern dashboard—everything was perfect. Country music played on the radio, and the landscape around us radiated pure adventure. In some places, the path could only be guessed at by tire tracks in the sand.
Even though we had to be in Las Vegas very early the next morning, we acted recklessly like typical tourists. Without wasting a single bad thought on what could happen to us in the solitude of the desert, or that we might miss our flight because of it, we just kept driving further up the mountains.
The trail was in a condition that would have been absolutely unnavigable for normal cars, which gave Mischko quite a scare more than once. Several times she urged me insistently: “Let’s turn back!” We drove over literal monster rocks, conquered steep drop-offs, and crashed the car into deep potholes. Still, we both had a blast because the car rebounded softly after every hard impact.
Whenever the car plunged deep into a hole again, Mischko laughed out loud; for a few seconds, she forgot the potential danger and thoroughly amused herself, while I had to keep steering with a grin on my lips and deep concentration. After all, they weren’t our tires and it wasn’t our own car. In those moments, I didn’t care at all how much the vehicle was being tested. It was a real SUV, after all; it had to withstand something like that! I must honestly admit, however: With our own car—even if it had been an SUV—I would have driven much more carefully. Since we had absolutely no idea where exactly we were, fear slowly began to mix with the excitement for her, and eventually for me as well. She kept begging me: “Please, let’s turn around.”
CHAPTER V: Thrills in the Nevada Desert
Visibility Fades
As we push further and emerge from a sharp curve, visibility suddenly drops to a mere twenty feet (six meters). The trail is steep—up to a 45-degree incline. Mischko is begging and absolutely wants us to turn around. I think to myself: Reversing all these tight curves would be a massive challenge, even for me.
Even though I am an absolutely top-tier driver and have never had an accident, I decide to keep going.
Darkness slowly falls over us. Minute by minute, it grows darker. We have to turn on the headlights so I don’t miss a pothole.
CHAPTER VI: Inch by Inch Over the Monster Rock
Around the next curve, deep holes and monster rocks suddenly block our path. I get out to assess the situation: If I drive over the rock with the first tire, will we get hung up on the undercarriage or the body?
I gather all my courage. With a lot of finesse—exactly how I used to maneuver our Camaro with the door open over holes and rocks back in Croatia—I inch forward. The driver’s door is open, one hand lies on the steering wheel, while my gaze wanders downward to see if the exhaust is touching the rocks. Inch by inch, the front wheel slowly climbs up the rock. When it is at the top and slowly rolling down again, the process repeats. Inch by inch, going down.
Just before the wheel reaches the bottom and this giant rock is positioned exactly between our front and rear wheels, I pull the handbrake. I get out again to check if the body still has enough clearance. I look closely: How much further does the front wheel have to go to reach the sandy ground? Is there still enough space in the middle of the car? This act takes an agonizing five minutes.
CHAPTER VII: Made It—But the Relief is Short-Lived
Once I am absolutely convinced it will clear, I get back in. I release the handbrake and carefully ease off the foot brake. The front wheel touches the ground. Another quick check shows: It worked! There are only a few inches of clearance left between the rock and the body.
Still, extreme caution is required. I feel the rear wheel now climbing the rock, inch by inch. When the rear wheel is also at the top, the car sits completely lopsided in the air. Unfortunately, we were so busy, tense, and excited in that moment that it never even occurred to us to take a photo of the car at this extreme angle.
CHAPTER VIII: The Perils of the Desert Trail
When this path was created by excavators back in the day, the sand had simply been piled up to the sides. Nature has since reclaimed the space: Wild shrubs and desert plants run rampant in all directions. I wonder why that giant rock was never cleared away. Then a thought strikes me: Maybe it was intentional? A natural obstacle designed to make even drivers of 4×4 vehicles think twice about whether they really want to cross this pass. Immature and inexperienced drivers are guaranteed to damage their vehicles here if they drive off such rocks uncontrolled and too fast, letting the full weight of the car slam down hard.
After leaving the rock behind, visibility is back to about twenty-five feet (eight meters).
CHAPTER VIX: The Silent Danger in the Back of the Mind and the Eyes of the Desert
What secretly worries me deeply, however: These paths are steep, bumpy, and really only meant for goats. Tire tracks from other cars are nowhere to be found here. Since it is getting darker, I try not to show Mischko my fear. What I dread most internally, I keep to myself: I fervently hope that the engine doesn’t stall.
If the machine gives out here, we would have to spend the night in the car. What many people don’t know: In the Nevada desert, there is no official rescue service in such remote areas. If you break down here, you are dependent on neighbors, friends, or relatives. Up in these mountains, we have absolutely no cell phone reception. If the car gave up the ghost now, even I would be terrified to walk back on foot through the absolute darkness—because of the wild animals.
CHAPTER X: The Eerie Inhabitants of the Wilderness
In the black of night, the Mojave Desert truly comes alive. As we struggle through the mountains, we are surrounded by creatures perfectly adapted to this unforgiving environment. Invisible in the thicket, mountain lions and coyotes lie in wait for prey, their howling echoing for miles in the silence. Beneath the rocks and in the crevices hide venomous Mojave rattlesnakes and scorpions, ready to punish any wrong move in the dark. Even the mighty desert bighorn sheep roam these steep cliffs. The thought of having to wander defenseless on foot through this hunters’ territory in the event of a breakdown takes my breath away.
CHAPTER XI: The Living Thicket
Wild bushes run rampant around us, and behind them bloom the most beautiful cactus and desert species. During this war of nerves, I feel as if this vegetation is watching us and thoroughly enjoying seeing us struggle.
CHAPTER XII: The Living Thicket
Wild bushes run rampant around us, and behind them bloom the most beautiful cactus and desert species. During this war of nerves, I feel as if this vegetation is watching us and thoroughly enjoying seeing us struggle.
CHAPTER XIII: A Pothole with Consequences
We pass the narrow section. The next curve is even tighter and more blind. Country music plays in the background: Toby Keith entertains us with his song “American Ride.” Coming out of the curve, the path opens up a bit, giving us about forty feet (twelve meters) of clear visibility. I hit the gas because the surface looks like harmless sand.
I am doing about 20 mph when I suddenly miss a deep hole. The car crashes right into it! Because I was going fairly fast this time, the car violently bounces up and down several times. Luckily, we are both securely buckled up and stay safe in our seatbelts. While Toby Keith rides on undeterred, something unexpected happens: Having just frantically begged me to turn around, Mischko is suddenly having fun and laughing hysterically.
I was no longer sure myself if it was wise to steer even further up into the rugged mountains. But the urge for adventure was simply stronger than reason. In some places, the paths ahead were just as wide as our Nissan. To our left and right, there were only dense bushes, deep ditches, and piled-up sand. Behind the sand walls stretched various cactus species and desert scrub. Up here—unlike down on the highway—there was fortunately no trash whatsoever.
CHAPTER XIV: The Unforgiving One-Way Street
After about a kilometer, the dirt track narrowed so extremely at one point that it was barely the width of our car’s length. That was the only spot far and wide where you could theoretically have turned the car around if you wanted to drive back the same way. The path we had chosen was like an unforgiving one-way street. Had another vehicle come toward us, that tiny spot would have been the only place to even attempt squeezing past each other.
Looking at the tire tracks in the sand, I could clearly see that several drivers before us had decided to turn back right here because they had simply become too terrified to continue the drive. After backing up and pulling forward an estimated twenty or thirty times, I might have managed it too—provided we didn’t get stuck in the deep sand. Who knows if the four-wheel drive would have even helped us out of that?
CHAPTER XV: A Vague Memory from Berlin
As we drove higher and higher, a memory suddenly shot through my head. Sometime back in Berlin, I had studied a map online. There, I had seen that an unpaved road leads from our side on SR 163 right through the mountains to the other side toward Searchlight. This shortcut was supposed to be at least three times shorter than the official route via SR 163 and Highway 95, which I still planned to conquer on my bike today.
I had stored this information firmly in my memory. However, whether this rough trail was actually the exact road I had seen on the internet back then, we absolutely did not know in that moment. Still, my curiosity won out, and I fervently hoped that we were on the right path over the peaks to Searchlight.
CHAPTER XVI: The Light at the End of the Ghost Mountains
Because I had already gained plenty of experience driving our sports car—a Camaro Z28 E—on the unpaved and extremely poor roads around Gdinj on the Croatian island of Hvar, I trusted my driving skills.
Back then, I had brought our car through the nasty dirt roads without a single scratch. For this reason, we pressed on with the Nissan Xterra undeterred, even as the terrain became increasingly extreme. Despite Mischko’s repeated, worried pleas to turn back, I clung to the hope that we would somehow make it through with the SUV—no matter what else might stand in our way.
But the higher we climbed in the twilight with our high beams on, and the closer we got to the apex of the pass, the more magically the world transformed. Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, a hidden green oasis opened up in the middle of the bare rock.
The dirt road now led us straight through a dense mini-forest. To the left and right of the trail they stood: countless, small, lush green trees that, with their thick branches, looked exactly like real Christmas trees. For a brief moment, the barren desert was completely forgotten.
These were California junipers and single-leaf pinyon pines—the dominant, shrub-like conifers that grow at these higher elevations of the pass, creating the illusion of an enchanted forest with their conical shapes.
It was an oasis of tranquility where time seemed to stand still. The scent of fresh resin and dry wood hung in the air as we slowly approached the final yards to the summit.
Then we reached the pass elevation, and nature’s play of light cast a spell on us.
All at once, it was bright as day before our eyes, almost as if someone had flipped a light switch in the cockpit. On the east side, from where we had just come, darkness was already falling, and the deep canyons lay in cool shadows. But when we finally stood at the very top of the pass and turned our gaze to the west, the sky tore open.
Over there across the wide valley, where Highway 95 runs and the glint of metallic paint can be seen from miles away, the golden, warm light of the blazing evening sun was still shining. It was a spectacular contrast: Behind us, night falling in the mountains; in front of us, the vast, sun-drenched desert plain. In that moment, confidence returned to both of us. We found new hope that, in the end, everything would turn out alright.
We didn’t stop, but immediately began the descent. The next three miles went downhill swiftly. The road widened and led us across expansive, sandy plains that gleamed in the evening light. Behind us, the car kicked up a massive, thick cloud of the finest desert dust, hanging in the air like a veil.
When we finally reached the bottom and rolled onto the asphalt of Highway 95, we took a deep breath. We looked back up at the darkening mountains. A glance in the rearview mirror revealed the perfect souvenir of our adventure: The rear window was completely covered with a thick, gray layer of desert dust—the seal of an unforgettable drive through the mystical history and the hidden oasis of Nevada.
CHAPTER XVII: A Quirky Tradition
How the Pass Got Its Name
Christmas Tree Pass owes its name to an unusual tradition: Because the juniper bushes there are roughly shaped like Christmas trees, travelers and locals started decorating the trees along the dirt road with real Christmas ornaments, tinsel, and baubles year-round decades ago.
Note for travelers: Although the decorated desert trees are a popular photo opportunity, national park rangers and environmentalists now urgently request that no new decorations be hung. The falling plastic and glass ornaments massively harm the local wildlife—such as the endangered desert tortoises living there—and must be regularly and painstakingly collected.
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