I keep meaning to write, and promising people I’ll write, and then not writing. I think the trouble at this point is that there is so much to say that I don’t know where to start. So, I guess I’ll start right now, which is as good a place as any, I suppose. I have the distinct advantage of not having any data coverage on either of my cellular networks, and it’s too early to go to sleep, so here I am. Of course I won’t be able to post this till later, but that’s the easy part.
Big Bend National Park has restrictions on boondocking, otherwise known as dispersed camping. That means even though the park is over a thousand square miles, I’m forced to find a spot in the limited campgrounds or “not camp.” There’s some curiosity around that definition, since the park doesn’t actually close, so in theory I could be stargazing by the side of the road and accidentally fall asleep. Although the regulations are pretty dumb, I’m doing what I can to abide by them, and so I rolled into Cottonwood park just before noon. Fortunately there were several spots available, and I claimed one by parking in it temporarily, leaving something in it during the day, and filling out the self serve envelope, into which I deposited $20, since I couldn’t come up with $14 without shaving down a krueggerand. Happy to have the spot, I locked my as-yet-unused camp chair to the picnic table and went for a walk.
I went down to the river, that being the Rio Grande, and found it to be at least River Pretty Big, at this point. I ate a sandwich I’d bought in the morning from two crunchy folks running what they call a French Grocery in the town of Marathon, where I spent last night. Marathon is also the home of the absurdly overpriced diesel fuel topping off my tank, and the White Buffalo Bar, a nice but snooty restaurant where I’d had dinner. It was one of those places where the waitress is overly helpful to the point that I felt rushed to vacate my table, the bones of my $27 chicken unpicked. It was the kind of place where you’re supposed to eat chicken with a fork, which I could tell because there were two of them and they were needlessly heavy. I was keen to move on anyway lest I end up in the newspaper for stabbing the elderly man at the next table in the eyeball, with a heavy fork, for advocating genocide against “all the injuns.” To her credit the mom at his table told the kids to pay no attention to their grandpa, but I do feel that a right good murder would have made a stronger point. Also, I’d left my good knife in the RV, and since I hadn’t ordered the $49 steak, I wasn’t provided with a scalping knife. Pity.
After my sandwich lunch I went for a walk along the river. The chalky powdered sand was broken up by hoofprints, clumps of tall sturdy reeds, and the charred remains of scrubby bushes. The reeds hadn’t been burned so the fire must have been a growing season ago or more. Across the river I saw some Mexican horses, on account of them being in Mexico. I was unable to distinguish their dialect.
Having had my fill of that, I returned to the RV and drove it to the westernmost end of the park. On the Mexican side of the river here there’s a prominent ridge overshadowing the river later in the day. In the morning when I drove into the park I’d seen a canyon clefting the ridge, and had mentally added it to my list of places to go. I hadn’t had time to build any sort of plan beyond making a beeline for the Cottonwood campground, once I’d heard from the ranger that all the reservable spots were… reserved, so I was pleasantly surprised when the western road led me directly to the cut I’d seen earlier.
In fact it’s called the Santa Elena Canyon, at least by those of us who don’t know how to say Canyon in Spanish. It’s the spot where the Rio Grande cut through the aforementioned mountain range, and therefore where the international boarder jogs southwest. There’s a trail which crosses Terlingua creek, on a gaggle of river stones, then precariously up and over a steep ridge. The trail is sufficient, but if you lost your step you’d slide swiftly into the shallow swale below, certainly sustaining serious injury. Past that point, the path proceeds placidly, with paved pediments preventing precarious plodding.
There’s an amazing array of tumbled boulders, imbued with the shells of ancient oceanic organisms in one layer, and ferrous fingers in others. Polished bulbuous greys with suspiciously plant shaped impressions contrast with sharp shards of shale and sandstone and quartz. In the steep canyon walls one can make these out barely, but up close among the crashed varietals the rocks invite close reckoning. I took lots of pictures, stuck my finger in the silty river and hit Mexico with a less interesting rock.
As I was leaving the sun was setting, so I set out for a side stop before settling in. The canyon was previously overlooked by two families, the Dorgans and the Subletts, as they tended their herds from high above the valley in adobe abodes. These survive in ruin, straw sticking out from stacked bricks, some exposed after the collapse of the coating. The wooden archways of the facade framed idyllic views in the failing light, as the warmth of the day rapidly receded. I took lots of pictures, trying mostly to capture the breadth of the sky, an impossible task, for a screen smaller than THAT.
As I returned to the RV I encountered a man and a rotting rig I’d passed in the morning as it puttered along. He is from Dallas and has been here nearly every winter around this time since the 60s. This explains the ancient RV, but more importantly he advised me to follow a long hiking loop to see a picturesque part of the park called the Basin. I’ll be getting up early and pushing hard all day to follow this track, but it correlates well with my guide, so I’m in. Besides what else have I got to do tomorrow but see what I can before I have to go find internet and get back to work?
I didn’t bring my actual backpacking pack, but I should have enough room in my 16L day pack for water, food and a few other things. He said it was 17 miles, which is more than I’ve ever done in a day, but there are a few ways to shorten it if needed. I’ll be waking up early to get to the ranger station when it opens. I need to buy some more portable and dense food, since I won’t have room for a stove to prepare the mountain House freeze dried packages. Worst case I’ll pack a bunch of peanut butter sandwiches, which will keep me from dying, at least in one way. I’ll drink a ton of water before I go and carry all I can. It’s not hot out at all, so I feel like I will be ok.
Supposedly there is WiFi at the ranger station, so I’ll post this then. Meanwhile I need to sort out dinner and get to sleep early.
Happy New year!
H