See Photos in the AABig Bend album to the left
I finally made it to Big Bend, by way of the McDonald Observatory outside Fort Davis and the Chinati Foundation in Marfa. I was born in El Paso, grew up in Fort Worth, went to college in Houston, and have been to just about every corner of this fascinating state, but the high desert of Southwest Texas is so huge and remote (not to the people there, of course) that travelling to Big Bend requires a serious commitment.
And it is so worth it, especially in the early fall after a good rainy season. The plateaus and mountains are in bloom, the clean air is fragrant and the journey is good for the soul.
It's about 7-8 hours from Fort Worth to Fort Davis, rising from 620 ft. elevation to 5050 ft. Karen Vlach (Mullins to some) and I stopped to tour that well-restored and maintained old frontier mountain fort on the Butterfield Trail before going on to Marfa, 25 miles south and slightly lower at 4640 ft. These mountain sites east of the Pecos guarded supply and pioneer trails in the 19th century.
Marfa's a tiny railroad/cattle/horse country town that was transformed into a tourist mecca by two events: The stars of "Giant" stayed in its classic western Hotel Paisano while filming, and sculptor Donald Judd made it home to his spectacular artistic vision, the Chinati Foundation.
Linda Kay Tarpley Peterson and Betty Kay Kugle Anderson joined Karen and me at Hotel Paisano for the night. They had flown to Midland (the closest airport to Big Bend) from Houston and then drove three hours to Marfa(told you it was remote - Midland's the closest airport to the region). We had a suite with kitchen that overlooked the lovely indoor pool but most importantly looked across to a very private room with rooftop patio we're quite certain must have been where Elizabeth Taylor stayed. Were we in Rock's room? Could be.
Instead of sitting outside town hoping to see the mysterious "Marfa lights," Karen, Betty Kay and I drove up to the McDonald's Observatory (elevation approx. 7000) for a "Star Party" (lecture with laser pointer) in an outdoor amphitheatre. The night sky was encrusted and viewing was almost optimum, with but a sliver of moon. We watched Hubble pass overhead and gawked at the Zodiac above us. Guides at telescopes gave us views of Jupiter and its moon, the surface of our moon, and a galaxy 13.5 billion years old, among other treats. Every night of our trip I drank in the stars like I used to do as a kid, though never this close and this brilliant.
The next day - Chinati. The morning tour begins at 10 am and it's best to have a reservation (they're not open every day, so plan ahead). Judd bought an abandoned army post that once housed German POWS - over 300 acres of old buildings. He turned barracks and other military structures into galleries and a big party/guest house for his epic sculptures as well as exhibits by friends like lightmeister Dan Flavin. Most of the art at Chinati is designed to be there permanently, set in the landscape with extremely fine judgement. The work must be seen in person; you have to walk around it, study angles, watch the light, listen to the world around you, even pay attention to the occasional eland and the ubiquitous colorful grasshoppers as part of the experience. There's no way to describe Judd's 100 milled aluminum cubes set in two gigantic barracks with window views to his enormous concrete cubes far outside (running on a line magnetic north). Just go there and be amazed.
Lunch was paninis and potato/jalapeno soup at Squeeze Mama's, a bistro opened by a Swiss woman who visited Chinati and couldn't leave. And we grabbed snacks for the trip from a very hippie Get n Go as we set out for the wilds of the Rio. Our hotel concierge told us a Terlinguan friend of his called that part of Big Bend "the world's largest outdoor insane asylum." I could hardly wait. Sounded like my tribe.
We drove 1.5 hours through mountain passes (I recall especially Wild Rose Pass) and across high plains from Marfa to Terlingua (elevation 2200). Terlingua/Study Butte are really one small town - ask the locals about the name. They're at the northwest entrance to Big Bend National Park - it's another 30 miles to the lodge and visitor's center inside. (Big Bend State Park is northwest of the National Park, so a huge portion of the river and its "bend" are protected wilderness.) Snowbirds flock to Terlingua and its neighbor about 30 miles west, Lajitas, in the mild winters, while many of the hardiest locals find a reason to leave in the brutal summer heat (mainly June/July).
After checking into our stone cabin in Chisos Mining Company Motel (which for some reason has fake Easter eggs on the office roof), we headed for Old Ghost Town Terlingua (5 miles west). Once a thriving mercury mine (hmmm, could drive you insane), this Terlingua collapsed when its industry died after World War II. People still use the funky cemetery there in the rocky soil. Anyone who wants to can dig a hole within three days of someone's death and put them there. We wandered around the Ghost Town Terlingua cemetery, paying our respects and watching the beginnings of a spectacular sunset. But then every sunset and sunrise there is marvelous. Dinner at Hotel Dorado's Bar & Grill was most satisfying; local human color abounded.
Next to our motel we discovered Kathy's Kosmic Kowgirl Kafe - serving breakfast and lunch next to an outdoor campfire, Bikers Welcome. A local singer/songwriter serenaded us at 8 am breakfast. You can't go to Big Bend and miss Kathy's.
Fortified by Kathy's kuisine (I had the Calamity Jane), we set out for a day's hike in the park. At about 5600 ft. we walked all of a few minutes to the lookout over "The Window" to the river and Mexico, one of the park's most distinctive features.
From there it was a short drive to the foot of Lost Mine Trail, a 2.4 mi. path that ascends 1100 feet (via switchbacks). It turns out this doesn't lead to a lost mine but rather to a magnificent 360 degree lookout from which you can see a mountain peak even higher up where legend has it there was a mine. Which was lost, never to be found again. But I'm getting ahead of the trek.
Karen read to us factoids from the guide ($1 at the trail head) to the 24 markers along the way. That gave me opportunities to catch my breath and listen to the birds instead of the crunch of stones under my feet (which one must always watch carefully to avoid twisted ankles). Not. good. at. altitude. Stunning views along the way as we climbed higher and higher above the Window and looked through other passes into mountains beyond.
At the top, almost three hours later, we rested. It was peaceful, Edenic even. birds and butterflies doing their singing, fluttering things, peregrine falcons playing on the currents. Among the flora sighted so far: Mountain ash, prickly pear, strawberry cactus, ocotillo, lichen, basketgrass, sotil, several junipers (alligator, weeping and one seed), salvia, stipa (pale beige grasses), fireweed?, and ubiquitous yellow-flowered shrubs (sedge? Mary Beth, are you reading this?). But, alas, we had to head back down while we still had the light. Not a trail you want to follow in the dark. Did I mention the bears and mountain lions that frequent the area at twilight?
If you're still with me, here's The Legend of the Lost Mine, short version: The Spaniards who stumbled upon this region circa 1600 enslaved local Indians (Yumanos, the Humans, to distinguish themselves from the other critters) and forced them to work a silver mine up there (7000+ ft.). The Indians revolted against their brutal masters, killed them, and covered up the mine so no one would ever find it again. No one has.
The night was for wine and card-playing. Karen and I had to give up our plan to put in karaoke time with the locals at THE Terlingua night spot, The Kiva (just down the road west), but we had a fine little party in the cabin. Betty Kay and Tarpley left early the next morning for Midland and then Houston. Karen and I drove a mile east to put ourselves in the extremely capable hands of Guide Jack at Big Bend River Tours for our Rio Rafting Adventure. Couldn't have had better weather (sunny and 70s and dry) or a better guide.
Jack and our driver/assistant Buckner (a film documentarian who's looking for distribution for "Mexiphobia") took us to Lajitas Pass, about 30 minutes west. There we set into the Rio Grande at Lajitas Pass on our raft at about 9:30 am with boats of other outfitters - all a jolly community - who assured us Jack is the best guide on the River. FYI - There is no place between Lajitas Pass and Santa Elena where you can launch a vessel for a trip through that canyon. Other Rio trips set in below Santa Elena (if you're looking on a map).
Across from where we launched was a half-submerged rowboat. Story goes that before the Border was closed the cross-Rio communities were all one. A man would wait with his rowboat at Lajitas for people who wanted to cross over to Mexico. You just signalled for him, he'd row over, and for a fee he'd take you to the other side for a while or the day, and vice versa. This wasn't about anyone's trying to flee to one country or another or to dastardly things to America; it was a way of life people on both sides had known for centuries. Extended families and close friendships that bridge the river depended on the rowboats at the limited passes to take them to villages on the Mexican or American side. Now DHS has had to seal the border and disrupt that peaceful way of life.
Sidenote: We heard from locals that there's no crime in this region and little to no drug smuggling (it's remote, remember, and if you study my pictures you'll see how rugged it is - no profit to trying to get through this area). Some little Mexican villages have dried up because they lost the gringo trade. Big Benders miss their Mexican friends. They argue that the craziness in Mexico is the result of internal power struggles that go to the top of government and wealth, since most cartel Big Shots are related to the "legal" people at the top. Terlinguans claim the cartels don't want gringos on the American side to feel threatened - it's not about us, it's all about them. It is now illegal for an American to go to the Mexican side for any reason except an emergency (and unmanned drones are watching!), even though much of the time that sunnier side has the best campsites and hiking areas.
The Rio Grande is a serene muddy brown, with occasional ruffles as we pass over rocks and negotiate bends. This isn't whitewater teeth-gritting, it's listen, watch, wonder, dream (while your guide rows). Jack told us all about local flora and fauna, geology and human history, and the river's various ways. He also told us about his solar-powered house with rain catchment he and his wife built themselves. Often he'd stop rowing so we could float in silence, and he'd turn the boat around so we could look upstream as well as down.
We took our time meandering downstream past limestone cliffs, with purpling mountains in the distance on either side. Red-eared slider turtles, turkey vultures, black vultures, blue herons, Says phoebes, short grasses and tall grasses with massive tassels, Century plants, pale violet asters, yellow daisies, buttery butterflies sipping on the flowers, hummingbirds mating or fighting (one never knows, does one?), mesquites, sotil, prickly pear, yucca, basketgrass, horses here and there on the Mexican side grazing on land villagers hold in common. Non-native tamarisks that have invaded the river banks (and choked other plants) are dying due to some sort of lab-invented bug we can only hope doesn't start feeding on anything else when the tamarisks are gone.
Jack took us briefly to a site where Indians used to camp below a spring. We saw the round holes in rocks they used for grinding seeds and grains as well as larger holes for cooking fires. Many of the plants along the river are good for weaving baskets and nets (in case we all have to go there when the Apocalypse arrives).
We stopped on a sandy shoal just above the canyon's entrance for a deli lunch and a chance to stretch (as well as use Nature's water closet). Because he knows every turn of the river, Jack gauged our trip for maximum enjoyment.
Time to enter the canyon. First we saw a rocky mount called "False Sentinel" because it was in the past mistaken for the "true" rocky mount that signals the canyon's entrance and caused great havoc to explorers. We watched the terrain begin to change - eons ago (30-65 million years, sorry Creationists), volcanic activity in this region forced iron-rich magma up from below the earth's crust. However, the limestone that had formed earlier (from when this was an inland sea and home to both sea critters and dinosaurs) capped that magma and simply rose with it. Occasionally the magma extruded through layers of limestone. Eventually the earth's tectonic plates shifted dramatically, splitting open the magna/limestone formation and causing the river that had crossed it to drop.
We spotted the True Sentinel. We wove around bends to where that spectacular split forms an 8 mile river canyon. At its mouth is a jumble of gigantic blocks called (imaginatively) Rock Slide, which must be negotiated to truly enter the canyon. Foolish explorers once hauled enormous boats over these (echoes of Aguirre and of Powell on the Colorado).
Jack adroitly steered us into Santa Elena canyon and halfway through it. We were gobstruck. He's been on just about every major river in North America, including a very tricky one in Alaska, and believes this trip compares visually to riding the Colorado through the Grand Canyon. Huge tall grasses, giant tobacco plants (Nicotiana) with trumpet-like yellow flowers, two kinds of sweet little phoebes (Says and black) whose lovely songs echo down the canyon, ravens, a white swallow, roadrunners on cliffs above, Fern Canyon off to the Mexican side (looks just like you might think).
Because the river tacks this way and that instead of being one straight line, every few moments there's a surprise around a bend. Limestone low to the river has been washed clean of "desert varnish" so it's almost phosphorescent gray-white. And at many points we could see where waterfalls course down in the rainy season because portions of those cliffs are washed clean as well.
At about 5:30 Jack found a site that combined grassy knoll with pebbly shoal. Karen and I helped him pitch our dome tent on a high spot surrounded by tall tobacco, while he stayed down near the boat (in case the water rose during the night, which it didn't). We relaxed while watching Jack cook our filet mignon, and together we three soaked in sunset and nightfall with a very good bottle of wine. Through the screen roof of our tent that night we looked into stars so huge and close it was almost as if we were on an alien planet.
We took our time getting going in the morning with a fine breakfast and black cookstove coffee as the sun found its way into the canyon. Reluctantly, at around 11 am Karen and I climbed back into the raft after breaking camp for journey's end.
The end of the canyon is as abrupt and surprising as its beginning. All of a sudden we were back into wide open spaces on a spreading river. There's a pretty little park on the U.S. at that point, with a trail you can access from inside the National Park. Jack pulled us in downstream a ways, where Buckner met us. Karen and I enjoyed tuna fish sandwiches and a nostalgic look back at the canyon. From that side of it, it looks as if there's one massive wall, no canyon at all. Buckner drove us back to Terlingua by 2:45 through a part of the park we hadn't seen (coppery snake sighting! a red racer), which sported among other things layers of white volcanic ash.
And so we had to say goodbye to Jack, Terlingua, Big Bend, and the adventure we had talked about for years. Even better than imagined. How often does something exceed expectation?
From Terlingua to Alpine (1.5 hours, elevation ), where we checked into our motel and then rushed to the campus of Sul Ross University just in time for 30 minutes at the Big Bend History Museum before it closed (at 5, on Saturday). Very interesting museum all about not just Big Bend but the Trans-Pecos Region as well. And a fascinating film about Pancho Villa and the Mexican Revolution. As if that weren't enough, we watched the Rangers beat the Yankees in Game 3 before heading back into town to dine on the patio of the original Reata. Margaritas were mandatory.
Final day, but not the end of tourism. Once you've made the journey to that part of the world, you shouldn't miss a thing unless necessary (still sorry about foregoing Marfa Lights, The Kiva, and the Observatory's really big telescope). Next - Fort Stockton, childhood home of my friend Elizabeth Vickrey Lodal. We followed the historic driving tour of that frontier fort town (each fort is unique), took pictures of ourselves with the World's Largest Roadrunner), and then headed back for I-30 and the long drive to Fort Worth.
But - can't go through Odessa without checking out the Meteor Crater and its museum about - meteor craters. Just south of the highway, folks, stop and stretch your legs. Walk through an actual meteor crator about 500 ft. diameter, marvel at the smaller craters left around it by baby meteors. Then and only then could we truly commit to the many hours more of driving home, dropping down down down from the high desert across the Brazos and into the prairies and Cross-Timbered Trinity River ecosystem we now call home.
