East End

I woke the morning of my third day in Big Bend National Park with a mixture of excitement and sadness. Excitement for sights I was going to see, but sadness that it would be my last day in the park. Many of the sights I’d seen before, but so long ago I’d nearly forgotten them. By the time I headed for the exit from the park, it had been such a full and rewarding day that I felt satisfied - at least, until my next visit.

Walking around the van that morning, preparing to break camp, I noticed something concerning:

Can you spot it? That little fleck of green at about the 10 o’clock position on the tire is a cactus thorn. I must have picked it up the day before pulling into one of the many parking spots I used, which are sometimes no more than a wide place on the shoulder of the road. It’s hard to see from this angle, but it enters the sidewall of the tire just below the deepest part of the tread. I honestly couldn’t tell if it was embedded in solid rubber or pushed through into the air chamber of the tire. My first impulse was to pull it out, but a) it wouldn’t budge with a moderate tug, and b) I realized it was better off where it was until I could get to a service station. I did twist off much of the part that stuck out so it wouldn’t be pushed in any deeper. The van and I crept to the camp store half a mile away, and - yes! - they did have a can of Fix-a-Flat for sale. I didn’t use it immediately, but held it in reserve for when the tire started looking low. I do have a full-sized spare tire for the van, but honestly, I’m hoping I never have to use it.

The closest station that might be able to assess and possibly fix the tire was back at Panther Junction - a 45 minute drive away. Add in the repair time and a large portion of my final day in the park would be shot. So, relying on the ( potentially false ) confidence the Fix-a-Flat gave me, I decided to proceed with my original plans and see what would happen. Well now, nine thousand miles later, the thorn is still there, and that tire is holding pressure as well as the others, so my calculated risk paid off.

The turnoff to Boquillas Canyon at the southeast corner of the park is only a mile from the camp store. The road takes you beside the Rio Grande River for a while:

and across the way you can see the town of Boquillas, Mexico:

When I’d first visited forty years ago, my friend David and I waded across the river into town and had a delicious lunch of authentic Mexican food. I was tempted to do so again, but hadn’t checked at the ranger station how regulations had changed in forty years.

Further along the drive to the canyon, you come to a promontory that offers a good view of your destination. I was fiddling around with my tripod to get a shot of myself with the canyon in the background when a compact car pulled up and six college-age kids piled out. I stopped a moment to watch as they literally ran around and hopped onto every rock in sight just to burn off excess energy. Ah, I used to be that young. Now one was approaching, motioning to me. If I’d take a picture of their entire group, they’d take a picture of me. Okay, deal:

Then one of them offered, “Hey, how about a picture of you with us?” Alright, why not?

It’s a wonderful, memorable shot, but I have to admit that when the group broke up I checked to make sure I still had my wallet. We visited for a while afterward; they were a great bunch of fun-loving kids that had driven out from Austin for the weekend. I asked them if they knew anything about park regulations for wading across the river to Mexico. The idea hadn’t even occurred to them, but I’m afraid I may have planted a seed.

Once you arrive at the trailhead to the Boquillas Canyon, much like the Santa Elena Canyon at the other end of the park, you have to hike up a considerable way before descending back to the level of the river. Here’s a picture of my lonely van taken from the top of the trail:

Along the trail, Mexican artists leave unattended crafts for sale:

It’s on the honor system; if you want something, you push a dollar or two into a bottle and take the item. On my hike in, I passed another group of folks on their way out, this time closer to my own age, and again we traded picture-taking duties:

One guy joked that I better not run off with his camera. I replied that at our age it would be a hilarious slow motion chase if I did.

Once you get back down to the level of the river, there’s plenty of cracked mud from previous floods, some crispy dry and some deceptively shoe-sucking gooey. I just love cracked mud:

Soon enough, you’re as far as the trail will take you into Boquillas Canyon:

Lots of caves in the cliffs on both sides of the river, no doubt occupied at an earlier time.

On the hike out, I noticed Mexican workers gathering long grasses on the American side of the river.

I suppose the grass is used for crafts back in their village. Later, they passed me along the trail with their sacks stuffed full, then took a turn back toward the river:

I also passed this very interesting rock:

I sent this picture to my rockhound friends, Nancy and John, and a day later they wrote back that the white shapes are squid fossils.

On the drive back, I stopped to read a sign that I’d passed on the way in:

Early in the twentieth century, there had been an aerial tramway moving ore mined in Mexico to transportation on the American side. Today, all that remains is the sign.

There’s no place in Big Bend without some interesting geology to appreciate:

Along the road from the east end of the park back toward Panther Junction is a turn off for the hot springs ( yes, Big Bend has it all ). Unfortunatedly, RVs are allowed to drive only so far down that gravel side road. No problem, it gave me an excellent excuse to break out my electric bicycle - for only the second time since I’d hit the road:

A couple towing a trailer had stopped at the same point, and were breaking out their bicycles, too. I thought their trailer was particularly cute:

A hundred years ago, the Big Bend hot springs were an important tourist attraction. Now, all the associated buildings have fallen into disrepair:

The trail to the hot springs follows the base of sandstone cliffs:

On the cliffs, you can see bird nests built from mud:

and petroglyphs:

Eventually, you come to the remains of the hot springs pool beside the Rio Grande River:

If you look carefully at the far end of the pool in the photo above, you might see some wisps of vapor rising from the water. Signs along the way caution that the pool is at 105 degrees F, but that’s just about perfect and I gave my feet a nice long soak. I also hung a hand into the Rio Grande rushing past and estimate it was at 60 degrees, quite a contrast.

On the ride back up, I stopped to take another photo of the bike:

Between the gravel road and the occasionally steep grade, I was grateful for the electric assist and used it liberally.

It’s funny how we get attached to small things. I had sold off nearly all my possessions, rented out my house, and never felt one pang of regret. But when I got back to the van, I patted my pockets and realized my sunglasses were missing. I was distraught. These were special, magnetic clip-on shades that came paired with my eyeglasses. The magnetic attachment made them particularly easy to use, I could put them on or take them off one-handed, which is often invaluable when driving. There was no hope of getting replacements until I bought new eyeglasses. Nuts! They could be anywhere: along the trail, at the hot springs, even in the river. The chances of finding them by retracing my steps were infinitesimal. But I had to try something. A little voice told me to go back to where I’d taken that last photo of the bike. It wasn’t far, and maybe they’d fallen out when I pulled the camera from my pocket. I searched and searched and searched. Insignificant though they were, I said a little prayer under my breath. After at least ten minutes of searching a 30 by 30 foot area, I gave up. I should learn to let go of things; that’s the lesson I was meant to learn. I turned on my heel, took one step back toward the van and… there were the sunglasses! Perched so perfectly on a little tuft of grass that you’d swear they’d been placed there for display. And well within the area that I thought I had so thoroughly searched. Many things have brought me joy on this trip, but finding those sunglasses is near the top of the list. I say a little thank you every time I put them on. Lesson number two from this episode: Those sunglasses are now allowed to be in exactly two places - on my face while driving, or in the special sunglasses holder built into the ceiling of the Sprinter. No exceptions! I use cheap drugstore clip-ons for excursions.

This visit to Big Bend was nearing an end. From the east end of the park, I drove back toward Panther Junction, giving me the opportunity to capture one last shot of the Chisos Mountains:

From Panther Junction, I headed north along the road I’d come in on. I took time to stop at the fossil exhibit the ranger had told me about on my first day in the park:

Interesting, but I’m glad they’re working on upgrading it.

Anticipating that there’d be little to no cellphone or data coverage in Big Bend, I’d made a reservation at an RV park in Marathon, the closest town to the north, before I’d entered the park. It was a charming stop over, complete with a Spanish-style courtyard in the center. It’s soothing touch softened my return to civilization - until freight trains roared by three different times during the night, 100 feet from my camper. No matter what isolated corner of the country you find, the affinity between trains and RV parks is a universal constant.

Big Bend was the culmination of my sightseeing for several weeks, but I was still excited about the days ahead. I’d be making stops to visit many friends, some I hadn’t seen in over forty years. And I’d be with family for Thanksgiving in Omaha. I’ll summarize those visits in my next post.