Spectacular Volcanic History Grows Gorgeous Vistas!

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Wow. I think I'm the only person I know who has ventured this far to this spot, and oh am I the lucky one! Because I am so very behind, and because I did take so many pictures, I think I will attempt brevity for this entry, and let the pictures do the explanation.

I drove southwest all day, covering landscapes I have never had to absorb before. Stunning mountains and peaks between great expanses of flat desert, for hundred of miles.

Big Bend National Park traces the Rio Grande along the Mexican border, covering a huge territory the size of a small state. I gabbed with the entry guy (he lived in Amherst way back while his lady went to Umass!) and got hike recommendations, then headed in to make camp. The Rio Grande Campground is RV city and fills up even this early in the season. I realized once I settled a bit, that this Park is so spacious (I drove about 40 miles from one trailhead to another on Sunday) that bikers love to bring their bitches (that is the term, isn't it?) and ride along the red roads. This meant that most of my neighbors kept to themselves and other bikers in their campers. One wonderful conversation I heard between them went like this:

"So, moto-tours, huh? In Mexico?" "Yes, a little pricey, but we stayed at the best places and it was organized" "I see you have one of the new babies" guy B said as he tapped the truck "Yeah, what can I say, guzzles gas, huge and heavy..." "Right! Terrible gas mileage, a real pain sometimes, big and heavy, why do we do it?" "[Chuckling] I don't know, I don't know, but every time.."

And so this was a weekend of solitude. I shut off my phone, looked at my maps, cooked up some spaghetti, and went to bed. Lucky me, that night in the basin the temperature dropped to one of the coldest nights of the season, down to at most 28 degrees. I ordered a top of the line 15 degree bag before I left, but for now I have an early nineties cosmetic LL Bean bag (it was great as a summer bag for the kiddies). I wore five layers on top including my puffy down coat, a hat, two hoods, and two layers of fleece on my legs and I was really worried about waking up dead, one of those comical stories of a camper on the brink of hypothermia wrestling out of their layers to freeze to death hanging out of their tent, or worse, discovered two days later when rangers checked the tent because I wasn't paid up, to find my blue body there, icicled to my bright red bag. But instead I slept poorly, cold all night long. Phew!

I was into the routine of sleep with the sun and wake up to dawn, so the next day continued as such, with a nice breakfast and a drive to hike! I did two trails, one much harder and longer than the other, but the second trail had spectacular views to rival the first. The Lost Mine Trail went up to the peak of same name. The switchbacks of the west propelling me onward at a prideful speed, oh what luxury! The trail then followed a little ridge, where my view encompassed the Northern Rim of the Chisos, and the expansive desert with random volcanic upcroppings below. I saw a few roadrunners and what looked like a gigantic bluebird. I smiled the whole time and wrote much in my journal at the top. A sample:

"There are craggy peaks, rolling hills, stubby limestone plateaus at the feet of the Chisos Mountains, loose earthen mounds, and canyons. The geology of this verdant desert is staggering- it is beautiful and diverse and powerful. This place is a wonder. Some peaks look like swept dust collections, some are wrinkled with age- they look like dead mountains. Every time I look up I see a new vista. This basin is formidable, the sucking of heat at night, the rising thrusts of orange rock from plates deep below- of cliffs near impossible to ascend. And yet it is quiet in a peaceful manner, not of death or fear (of the mountain lions and bears!), but quiet birds still in their perches, the drumming staccato of the roadrunner, murmurs of camping families. On the ridge the geology is exposed to the elements and my untrained eye- I can see layers of age and oceans- juttings and troughs. This was once an ocean, these peaks islands, those, maybe sandbars."

The first hike I realized what a joy it is to dedicate myself to my own pace. That will be a constant joy through this adventure. I wonder whether when you find your mate, you are finding someone either already at, or willing to go at your hiking pace?

Even the drives were awesome. And the Santa Elena Canyon trail- a quick 3 and a half mile there and back again, from cooking desert bottom to cool canyon traverse, what an experience. The Santa Elena river feeds the Rio Grande, but has its own canyon, where the green, silt-rich waters mosey during the low season. The riverbed was speckled with colorful stones, unlike the gray interior. It smelled of sweating cactus, a cool, dry place that fills your nostrils with its strong perfume. Inside, the water was opaque enough to reflect the rock walls of the canyon. 

I turned back to make dinner before nightfall. I slept better, woke at dawn, demolished my camp in about fifteen minutes (gotta work on getting that down), organized my car, and set off to New Mexico.

There are dozens of photos from this picturesque leg- please give me your email address if you would like a link to them on snapfish.