How to see the world as the birds do

Just as we lifted off from the canyon floor, the music kicked in. And that was when a good moment suddenly turned great.

Then again, as Martin Scorsese has proved in movie after movie, almost any moment can feel better when a Rolling Stones song plays.

The song was “Gimme Shelter,” and our lift off was in a helicopter operated by the Las Vagas company Maverick Helicopters.

We’d arrived in Vegas a few days before just in time to see the Gonzaga Men’s Basketball team play its opening game of the Players Era Festival. (The Zags, you may recall, won its first two game before collapsing against Michigan).

Though we booked rooms in the Fontainebleau, which like all Vegas hotels is built around a casino, we weren’t interested in gambling. And as things turned out, the Fontainebleau offers a lot of things to do that don’t involving gaming.

The place even has an ice rink, if you can believe it.

One nice thing feature of the Fontainebleau, though, is its proximity to the next-to-the-last northern stop of the Las Vegas Monorail. We walked only a couple of blocks to the Westgate Station and, having paid just $13 and change for 24-hour tickets, rode the monorail above Vegas traffic all the way to the end, the MGM Grand, where the basketball tournament was being held.

(Quick note: The only uncomfortable part was the walk to the Westgate. Apart from the heart of The Strip, Las Vegas isn’t particularly friendly to pedestrians.)

The tournament aside, the high point of our Vegas stay was our helicopter tour over the Grand Canyon. My wife, Mary Pat Treuthart, had planned the Vegas stay as the kickoff to a surprise (at least to me) tour of what is called the Mighty Five, a collection of national parks located in southern Utah.

For those who are unfamiliar, the parks that make up the Mighty Five are Zion, Bryce, Capitol Reef, Arches and Canyonlands.

The road trip we took to visit all five, though, was in the future. On the afternoon that we jumped in a Maverick helicopter, piloted by a friendly guy named Chris, we were still in Nevada. We departed from the company’s terminal at the city’s Harry Reid International Airport.

A company shuttle had picked us up at the hotel and took us to the airport where we joined a couple dozen other travelers of all ages (we were among the oldest). After a while, we were separated in groups and shepherded by our pilot, Chris, to our aircraft, where he gave us a short safety explanation.

There were six of us, Mary Pat and me along with two couples from the United Kingdom. And because we’re courteous to our international acquaintances, we didn’t complain when one of the couples was the first to sit up front (we got our chance later). Soon we were aloft, the last of a half dozen helicopters to take off, one after the other.

If you’ve never flown in a helicopter (this was my fourth flight, the first two of which were on Army aircraft in Vietnam), it’s hard to explain what it feels like. We rose up and Chris had us cruising smoothly along the runway and then, suddenly, had us soaring over the heart of The Strip.

Soon we were winging our way east, headed the 169 miles (as the crow flies) to the west rim of the Grand Canyon. Our route took us over Hoover Dam, and we could see Lake Mead, Boulder City and, in the distance, the Mojave Desert.

We dipped down into the canyon itself, and as we did all six of us were either looking in awe or vainly trying to capture the grandeur of the scenery with our phones. We ended up landing on a ridge some 300 feet above the Colorado River. Each helicopter in the flight set down at a different picnic table at which we were served snacks and drinks and given a few minutes to walk around and, of course, continue taking photos.

I took the opportunity to talk to Chris, the pilot, and found out that he’d been in the Army but hadn’t learned to fly there. But he was intrigued and, once out, took lessons and now had 15 years flying experience (not that I was worried or anything).

Then it was time to leave, with Mary Pat and I sitting up front. And the trip back, which included a refueling stop, was equally impressive. The rocky, arid Utah and Nevada desert landscape looked even more ruggedly beautiful as we headed into the setting sun.

Our return to Vegas, which was highlighted by the glow of The Sphere in the distance, was even more dramatic as we swept over The Strip – still clicking photos with our phones – as it lay there in the fading light.

Then it was over. And after a three-plus-hour excursion, we were back on the ground, still processing the memories of witnessing one of America’s great natural wonders in much the same way any number of birds do.

Birds, though, don’t do it while getting to listen to Mick Jagger and Merry Clayton wail about peace being “just a kiss away, kiss away, kiss away.”