11-11-2022
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After a dark, peaceful night at the campsite, I was awoken
fairly early in the morning by the yelling of many children. Apparently, there
was an entire class of schoolkids camping on the upper ridge for a field trip,
and apparently, they had woken up very excited. Not that I blame them, I was
excited too. And very fortunately, their hollering sounded fairly distant,
since the campground owner had cleverly put them on the ridge, high enough up
that they couldn’t be too much of a bother. Nevertheless, the din was enough to
get me out of my sleeping bag earlier than usual.
I had planned on staying another day here at Rancho Topanga,
but abruptly decided to change my plans. Today was going to be my last day in
the Big Bend area, and while originally I had planned on exploring the Lajitas
area to the southwest, I found myself more interested in going down to the Rio
Grande visitor center in the far southeast corner of the park. So I was going
to be spending the day fairly far away, and was unlikely to get back before
dark – especially considering that I had a hankering for another steak at the
Starlight Theater. But I knew that if I got back to Rancho Topanga after dark,
I would never ever find my campsite.
So, I booked myself another night at the Buzzard’s Roost –
yes, the bougie tipi place – and went ahead and loaded all my gear back into
Jane. And then we took off for our last day of exploring Big Bend.
Jane rumbled along sleepily, passing through a
still-slumbering Terlingua, back through the now-familiar park entrance, and back
past the now-familiar Panther Junction visitor center. But this time, instead
of turning off to the scenic drive or the haul up to the Chisos, we just kept
right on past, heading southeast. The road that opened up in front of us was
absolutely sublime – one of those perfectly black, perfectly smooth strips of
asphalt, the kind that arrows through the landscape unerringly towards its destination,
swooping gracefully up and down swales in the landscape without a hitch. In the
distance, massive cliffs loomed larger and larger, beckoning me onwards.
But for once, I was not so focused on the cool rocks nearby.
Instead, my attention was drawn downwards to the road itself – or, rather, what
was on the road.
I’ve seen tarantulas every single day that I’ve been out
here. I’ve seen them on the road, I’ve seen them on the trails, I’ve seen them
in the campgrounds and at roadside stops and in parking lots. There are a lot
of tarantulas around here. But as I drove down that road, weaving around these
giant slow-moving arachnid monsters, I suddenly found myself really considering
them.
If you’ve never seen a tarantula up close and in person
before, you probably imagine that they are just extra-large, extra-terrifying
versions of your average house spider. But they really aren’t. They’re kind of
a different type of beast entirely. Sure, they are definitely giant hand-sized hairy
spiders, so maybe that’s terrifying I guess. But they behave very differently.
Instead of skittering about, hiding in corners and fleeing across the room to
disappear under another object at the slightest provocation, tarantulas are
world-faring adventurers, and they’re as steady as they come. They march their
way across the landscape, all eyes on their destination, unerring and unafraid.
It’s nearly impossible to scare them into changing pace or direction. As cars
swerve around them, they maintain course, walking straight across the road
without pause. If you come across a tarantula while out on a hike, you can crouch
right next to them to observe closely and they will ignore you completely,
continuing about their business with nary a flinch.
That fascinates me. It has to take a lot of courage,
completely ignoring all of the vast huge animals in the world in favor of doing
whatever it is they’re doing. They don’t devote any time to reacting to
something that is outside of their influence, and that doesn’t seem to bother
them one bit. They’re fearless and unapologetic, unreactive in the face of
inevitable danger, the masters of the “mind your own business” mentality.
It seems that every other wild animal on the planet has some
way of interacting with humans. Most run away, some might be curious, and still
others learn to ply them for tasty morsels. But I have never seen an animal
just completely ignore a human the way tarantulas do. Tarantulas behave as if
we don’t exist – not us, not our modified landscapes, not our fantastic inventions.
They just walk, carrying on towards wherever it is they’re going with a kind of
timeless single-mindedness that says, “I was here before you, and I will be
here after you as well”.
I feel we could all learn something from tarantulas.
My spidery musings entertained me all the way down to the
border, where the arrow-straight road finally developed some character, slaloming
gleefully around hills, down into steep gullies, and back up the other side
with little regard for appropriate road grades. No tarantulas here – or if
there were, I simply couldn’t see them as my car’s nose was either pointed into
the sky or down into a gully most of the time.
I reached the Rio Grande visitor center in short time, where
I stopped in to inquire about a trail for an interested geologist.
Unfortunately, the couple working there was unable to tell me about the rocks
of this area – but they did indicate that there were a lot! Surprising (not).
I opted to start with the Hot Springs/Daniels Ranch trail,
as it came highly rated for spectacular views of the Rio Grande, but was also
reputed to be a very warm hike in the afternoon. So off I went down towards the
trailhead, just past the campground. Now the whole time I’ve been in Big Bend,
I’ve seen almost exclusively desert-y landscapes. But down here, I found myself
driving through a large stand of giant cottonwood trees, surrounded by very
suburban-looking grassy lawns and alive with the sounds of a myriad of birds. It
appears that I have finally descended down into the Rio Grande floodplain.
I parked Jane beneath a towering cottonwood and took a
moment to enjoy its cool shade and the melodic rattling of its leaves, so
similar to the sound of the aspens of Colorado. Then, I marched right past the
Daniels Ranch – an adobe structure like the rest of the adobe structures I’ve
seen around here, just bigger – and up to the base of a steep hill that was the
trailhead. Why do all of the trails in this park start with a steep hill??
I slogged my way up, already feeling the midday heat
approaching and considering feeling sorry for myself. Fortunately, I am easily
distracted from feelings of self-inflicted pity, especially when there’s cool
rocks to be seen! And the rocks around here are rocks that I know very well:
clearly Cretaceous in age, full of shallow-water fossils that are as familiar
to me as the stones beneath my feet at work (incidentally, this is because they
are the exact same).
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| Radiolitid rudists! A type of mollusk specific to the Cretaceous period. |
I soon reached the first overlook of the trail, which showed me sprawling plains, soaring vistas, and glimpses of the Rio Grande, served up on a
platter of prickly pears and Texas sage.
It seemed that this trail was going to run along the tops of
the hills adjoining the Rio Grande for quite some ways before dipping down at
the very end to hit the hot springs – perfect, because that ensures that I get spectacular
views for most of the way! I can imagine, too, that staying down in the gorge
by the river, although having the benefit of giving you a bit of shade, would be
extremely hot in for eight or nine months of the year. I’ll take the shadeless
hills with a nice breeze, thank you very much.
The trail was a real treat, alternating between incredible
wide-open views of the desert of the Big Bend area – the Chisos Mountains far
in the background – and equally incredible views of the folded hills,
mountains, and cliffs of Mexico and the border. And all along the pathway I found
fossils galore, rudists and oysters and ammonites, all wonderfully preserved.
Eventually, it wound its way closer to the river, descending
down slowly towards a wide spot between the hills where the river slowed and
swelled, taking advantage of the extra room. The Rio Grande runs higher in the
month of November – not at its highest, but still significantly more than in
summer. And there’s plenty of evidence that it can run very high indeed,
sourced from a myriad of seasonal streams from here to the Rockies. One gorge I
crossed was heavily eroded, the basal rocks smoothed into channels by thousands
– or maybe millions – of years of rapid flooding and runoff. Thick deposits of
mud trapped in the flutes spoke to sediment-laden waters running through the
area at some point, although deep mud cracks indicated that it had been some time
since that had last happened.
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| Butterflies were super into this mud |
I approached the Rio Grande and meandered along its banks,
the deep sand, lush grasses, and dense stands of cane a stark change from the
rocky path I had traversed just prior. Eventually I arrived at the trail’s “destination”
– the hot spring!
This hot spring, which pops out very conveniently right on
the banks of the Rio Grande, has been a destination for weary travelers – and now
tourists and hikers – for well over a hundred years. Long ago, an enterprising
local thought to wall it in and make a deep soaking pool. It didn’t take long
before the Rio Grande reclaimed it, sweeping the building away and leaving only
the foundation behind. That foundation still serves as the main border of the
soaking pool, a place to sit and dip your feet. However, depending on the time
of year, the foundation can become nearly (or totally) submerged, more or less
eliminating the “hot” part of the hot springs. Such was the case when I came to
visit.
But, that’s okay, because it was a solid 90*F and I had no
interest in hot anything at that point. Instead, I trekked a little ways down
to a nice ledge right at the edge of the river, and sat and dangled my feet in
the swirling waters while I had a sandwich.
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| A very oddly placed stand of palm trees in the distance... unfortunately on the wrong side! |
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| A cool look at the flaggy, booklike exposure of the Boquillas Fm! |
My lunch completed and a sufficient amount of relaxing done,
I stuffed my cooled feet back into my hot boots and headed back up the trail,
seeing all of the cool rocks and scenic vistas in reverse.
I arrived back at
the trailhead midafternoon, and decided that I had time for one last stop.
Jane and I got back on the road and followed it further
towards it end, tackling its swooping curves, abrupt drops, and surging ascents
with delight. My original intent was to head to Boquillas Canyon for a short
walk – but a wrong turn took me off to a spectacular overlook instead.
There at the edge of the parking lot, overlooking the river
into Mexico, I found a large collection of pottery, embroidery, artwork, and knick-knacks.
A bucket in the middle of the assemblage featured a sign that said, “HONOR
SYSTEM - PLEASE PUT MONEY HERE”. A peculiar thing to find deep in the depths of
a National Park!
I looked across the river, and found answers in a trio of
canoes pulled up on the other bank. On the Mexican side, only a mile or so
away, there is a tiny artisan town called Boquillas. Otherwise isolated from
the world, it is reliant on Big Bend visitors – arriving via the Boquillas Port
of Entry – for income. Apparently, some enterprising artists from Boquillas had
figured that some tourists didn’t have the time, energy, or passports to cross
the border to get to town, and thus instead elected to bring their art to us! A
creative, and effective, solution, considering that I witnessed a bunch of
tourists paying for items while I was there. As for myself, I bought two
handcrafted mugs – ten dollars, a steal!
By then, it was late afternoon, so I elected to head back to
Terlingua instead of trying to shoehorn in a quick hike of Boquillas Canyon. I
know that I’ll be coming back to Big Bend sometime, so I don’t mind leaving just
one stone left unturned. And I really wanted to get back to town in time to do
some shopping for some new cool art, and of course to put my name in for a seat
at the Starlight Theater.
We started back north, Jane’s solid rumble echoing off of
the hills and mountains of Big Bend one last time as we headed back to
civilization. It’s been an incredible week – one of true rest and relaxation,
despite the occasional wind-related setback or extra-strenuous hiking day. It’s
certainly been a nice departure from what my trips have become in recent years.
Since moving to Texas and acquiring a “real” job, my road trips have covered
the same distances but in less time, meaning that I’ve been essentially running
through parks and experiences, trying to see as much as possible in the short
time I have allotted. There’s only so much you can do when you have to drive a
couple thousand miles to your destination and be back home in a few weeks! But I’ve
really enjoyed reverting to a more leisurely, thorough exploration of an area.
I think I’ll do it this way more often in the future.
We arrived in Terlingua just before dusk, with just enough
time to stop in at the local art gallery to buy a few items of interest. While
there, the extra-friendly attendant encouraged me to stop by Terlingua’s cemetery,
supposedly one of the most-photographed spots in Texas. She was not the first
one to tell me to visit the cemetery this trip – not even the third – so I
figured maybe I should give it a go. So off Jane and I went, to visit…. graves.
Weird.
I can’t say that I got more comfortable with the idea once I
got there. It seems disrespectful, somehow, to go around taking pictures of
peoples’ graves, especially the graves of people that I don’t know. But in
Terlingua, they celebrate their dead – not for being dead, of course, but in continued
remembrance of the lives they lived, the people they loved. Instead of
manicured lawns and straight rows of marble headstones, Terlingua’s graveyard reflects
the nature of the town: chaotic, resourceful, simultaneously unapologetically slapdash
and reverential.
Although some of the deceased found their way all the way
underground, more commonly it seems they remained above ground, with piles of rocks
or concrete encasing their coffins. Considering the rocky terrain, I can see
why burying someone six feet deep would seem an unattractive – and very
difficult – proposal. Graves are scattered about at random, thin twisting treks
ducking between them and the creosote bushes. Most are adorned by crosses,
ranging from ornate painted iron affairs to simple crossbars nailed together
and weathered into the landscape. And there’s a distinctly Mexican flair to the
whole thing, with many graves bearing prayer candles, marigolds, and Dia de los
Muertos offerings.
But in addition to the necessity-based architecture, and the
Mexican styling cues, there’s a very unique feel to the graveyard that could
only be the imprint of Terlingua’s come-as-you-are culture. There is no “traditional"
grave type, no rhyme or reason or organization; but beyond that, many graves reflect
the people buried within. Many are stacked with trinkets that are clear
references to the person’s life: on one grave, a myriad of chicken statues; at
another, a number of flags and Buddha statues; at still another, a massive pile
of beer bottles (I’d like to think that that one is friends drinking to their
memory, not remembrance of a massive alcoholic). My own favorite – and it’s
weird to have a favorite grave, and I mulled over the implications of that
quite a bit already, trust me – was a Lord of the Rings-themed one, complete with
a Hobbit door and a headstone inscribed in an Elven font.
I have to say that this must be the best graveyard I’ve ever
visited (not that I’ve been to very many). I far prefer this style to the
sterile lawns and soulless marble markers of most modern graveyards – it seems
a better way to really remember and celebrate the fallen. And you can tell that
the residents of town are truly devoted to the memories of those who came
before them: not just by the myriad of Dia de los Muertos offerings, but by the
comfortable chairs placed by some graves, by the multitude of written messages,
by the little personal trinkets left behind. It’s a comfortable place, the kind of place to
retire to at the end of the day, a good spot to have a beer and a conversation with
a friend - alive or dead.
So, I guess it's been a pretty good last day in Big Bend. I started with tarantulas, and ended with a graveyard. Such is life sometimes, I suppose. You know, as much as there is a lot to learn from tarantulas, and the way they just keep on living without paying heed to that that they cannot control... there's also a lot to be said about people and the way they imbue everything with meaning and memory. Which, I guess, is why I had so many thoughts about tarantulas and their way of life to begin with. Hmm.
Tomorrow I’ll be leaving, but I know I’ll be back sometime.
Until then… well, a comfortable bed in a fancy tipi is calling my name.
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| One last look at the "ghost town" |
Kelly signing out.
