Rugged Adventures in Elko: Nevada's Untamed Wilderness Experience

They call the Ruby Mountains the 'Alps of Nevada,' but that comparison doesn't do justice to the unique character of these magnificent peaks. Rising dramatically from the high desert floor, these mountains offer a wilderness experience that feels surprisingly remote despite being just a 30-minute drive south of Elko.

I spent three days exploring Lamoille Canyon, the crown jewel of the Rubies. The canyon road winds upward through changing ecosystems, and I found myself pulling over repeatedly to photograph wildflowers that somehow thrive in this harsh landscape. The Thomas Canyon Campground became my basecamp—at $15 per night, it's a budget-friendly option with clean facilities and shockingly beautiful surroundings.

The Ruby Crest Trail became my obsession during my stay. While the full 43-mile trail requires serious backpacking commitment, day hikers can access stunning sections from several trailheads. The Liberty Lake trail nearly broke me with its 2,000 feet of elevation gain, but the alpine lake surrounded by jagged peaks was worth every labored breath. At 50, I'm no spring chicken, but the sense of accomplishment when I reached that turquoise water was sweeter than any I remember from my younger days.

What struck me most was the solitude. Even in summer, I often had entire stretches of trail to myself—a luxury unheard of in more famous mountain ranges. One morning, I watched the sunrise paint the granite peaks gold while a family of mule deer grazed nearby, seemingly unbothered by my presence.

After decades of backpacking across continents, I've learned to be strategic about gear—especially when traveling on a budget. For Elko's diverse terrain, from high desert to alpine lakes, having the right equipment makes all the difference between an enjoyable adventure and a miserable slog.

First and foremost: proper footwear. The Ruby Mountains feature rocky trails with loose scree in sections, and my hiking boots proved their worth many times over. They're not the lightest boots on the market, but at my age, I've learned that ankle support trumps saving a few ounces—especially when navigating the steep descent from Liberty Lake with knees that have seen half a century of use.

Hydration is critical in Nevada's dry climate. I carried my trusty hydration pack on every hike, which holds enough water for a full day plus essential safety gear. The bladder system lets me sip continuously without stopping to pull out water bottles—a small convenience that makes a big difference in proper hydration.

For navigation, while smartphone apps are convenient, I never fully trust electronics in remote areas. I always carry a physical map of the area and a compass. The Ruby Mountains Wilderness map available at the Elko Chamber of Commerce for $8.95 proved invaluable when I temporarily lost the trail near Lamoille Lake after an unexpected summer snowfall dusted the landscape.

Layers are essential in mountain environments where temperatures can swing dramatically. I started one morning hike wearing a down jacket and finished in a tank top. My packing system includes moisture-wicking base layers, an insulating mid-layer, and a waterproof shell—all of which can be mixed and matched depending on conditions.

One of the most profound experiences of my week in Elko had nothing to do with mountains or trails, but rather with witnessing the wild spirit of the West embodied in its mustangs. Nevada is home to more than half of all wild horses in North America, and the public lands surrounding Elko offer some of the best opportunities to see these magnificent creatures in their natural habitat.

I joined a dawn excursion with a local guide (Gary at Wild Horse Encounters charges $75 for a half-day tour—worth every penny). As the sun broke over the sage-covered hills, we spotted a band of horses moving across a distant ridge. Using my binoculars, I could make out the dominant stallion keeping watch while mares and foals grazed in the golden morning light.

What struck me most was the horses' obvious family bonds. Having raised three children of my own, I recognized the protective nature of the mares with their foals—keeping them close, teaching them the ways of survival in this harsh landscape. There's something deeply moving about watching these wild families that have never known fences or human handling.

Gary explained the complex issues surrounding wild horse management in the West—the delicate balance between protecting these living symbols of freedom while managing rangeland resources. As someone who values both wildlife conservation and cultural heritage, I appreciated his nuanced perspective that avoided the oversimplification often found in discussions about wild horses.

The experience left me with a profound sense of connection to this landscape. These horses have adapted to survive in an environment many would consider inhospitable, finding beauty and sustenance where others might see only emptiness. It reminded me of my own midlife journey—finding unexpected richness in places I'd never thought to look.

After 25 years in restaurant management, I've developed a deep appreciation for authentic regional cuisine—the kind that tells the story of a place and its people. Elko surprised me with its rich Basque heritage, a cultural legacy from the Basque shepherds who immigrated from Spain and France in the late 19th century.

The Star Hotel on Commercial Street has been serving family-style Basque meals since 1910, and stepping inside feels like traveling back in time. The long communal tables encourage conversation with locals and fellow travelers—perfect for solo travelers like myself who enjoy making connections on the road.

I arrived early (essential, as they don't take reservations) and found myself seated beside a third-generation rancher and an elderly Basque gentleman who had stories that spanned continents. The fixed-price dinner ($32) is a parade of dishes: soup, salad, beans, French fries, pasta, vegetables, and your choice of main course. I selected the lamb shanks—tender, falling off the bone, and seasoned with herbs that transported me straight to the Pyrenees Mountains.

What makes this experience special isn't just the quantity but the quality and tradition behind each dish. Having managed restaurants through countless food trends, I appreciate establishments that know exactly what they are and make no apologies for it. The Star Hotel isn't trying to reinvent cuisine; they're preserving a cultural tradition that connects Elko to its past.

After dinner, I walked down the street to the Basque Clubhouse, where I was fortunate to catch locals playing mus (a traditional card game) and practicing dance steps for an upcoming festival. Though I was clearly an outsider, their welcoming spirit made me feel included in their cultural celebration.

For those interested in Basque culture beyond food, the Northeastern Nevada Museum has an excellent exhibit on Basque heritage, including traditional artifacts, historical photographs, and recorded oral histories from elders in the community.

There's something profoundly healing about sleeping under the stars, especially in midlife when we often find ourselves seeking deeper connection with what truly matters. My favorite night in Elko was spent at a dispersed camping site in the East Humboldt Range, where the absence of light pollution revealed a cosmos so brilliant it seemed close enough to touch.

As a woman traveling alone, I'm often asked if I feel safe camping solo. The truth is, I take precautions but refuse to let fear limit my experiences. In remote areas like this, I've found that preparation creates confidence. Before heading out, I always share my location with my adult children using my satellite messenger, which also provides emergency communication capability even without cell service—a worthwhile investment for peace of mind.

I selected a site about 20 miles from town on public Bureau of Land Management (BLM) land, following a tip from a ranger at the California Trail Interpretive Center. The spot offered 360-degree views of the valley and mountains, with enough natural shelter to break the ever-present Nevada wind. Setting up my tent as the sun began its descent, I was treated to a sunset that painted the landscape in impossible shades of orange and purple.

After dark, I bundled up (desert nights get surprisingly cold, even in summer) and simply sat in wonder. The Milky Way stretched across the sky like a celestial highway, and shooting stars appeared with such frequency that I lost count of my wishes. In these moments of solitude, surrounded by nothing but wilderness, I find the mental space to process life's complexities in ways that elude me in more civilized settings.

Perhaps the greatest gift of solo camping is the return to simplicity—boiling life down to basic needs and immediate experiences. No emails, no schedules, no expectations beyond surviving and savoring. After my divorce five years ago, these wilderness retreats became my therapy, helping me rediscover parts of myself that had been overshadowed by decades of caring for others.