Faces of Texas

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"After the Beatles, everything changed. And the war."

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- Lorenzo, pictured with his grandson, on life in the United States in the 60s. I met Lorenzo in Clint, and while his grandson played in the parking lot, we chatted. He recalled the sort of cultural revolution that occurred in the states, led, he believed, by the popular music quartet. Later, Lorenzo was drafted, like many others, and did a tour in Vietnam. When he came back, he recalled the looks that people gave him in uniform, like he was a baby-killer, scum of the earth, and he shriveled inside. Lorenzo got quiet for a moment, remembering those stares of hatred, shaking his head. The memories still burned.

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Clint, Texas

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"Does the border look secure to you?"

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- Mary Miller, seated next to husband Craige, on the security of the region. The couple gave me a night's stay at their place in Fort Hancock, and we talked for an hour before going to bed. A huge hole in the border used to exist directly behind their land, a mere stone's throw away. Illegal migrants used to cross right by their home at all times of the day. They would call the border patrol who often came too late to apprehend the crossers, long gone in a vehicle.

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A fence has since been erected south of Fort Hancock, but it is not continuous. A gaping hole now exists several miles to the west, forcing the same problems on those closest to the gap.

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Fort Hancock, Texas

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"I couldn't destroy something beautiful to accommodate mediocrity."

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- Former teacher Carmen Ganser on her teaching curriculum. A six-year LA veteran, Carmen developed a multi-media course to engage an apathetic classroom. When new requirements adopted by the district became mandatory, she elected to get out. It was too much to redesign her class, to throw out everything she had worked years to create. She went on what she calls "a working vacation," joined her father in Terlingua, and though he went back north for the summer, has lived in Terlingua ever since.

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Terlingua, Texas

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"Life. Ain't it beautiful?"
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- Jean, an Appalachian Trail thru-hiker, on our serendipitous encounter. I was sitting at the Study Butte grocery store, waiting for the heat to die down before going into Big Bend National Park, when Jean pulled up. I wouldn't have seen the Appalachian Trail decals on the back his vehicle, but he parked backwards and went in. When he came out, I asked him if he had hiked or worked on the A.T. He said one word: "Ballpahk." I stood up, mouth gaping.
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I met Jean in 2003 when he gave me a ride to Trail Days, an Appalachian Trail festival for hikers. He had hiked the A.T. in 2002 under the trailname "Ballpahk" (he's a baseball fan from Boston, MA). Jean later picked me up in Maine and treated me to a meal and conversation.
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After he said his trailname, I said mine: "Rubberband Man." Smiles all around. We gave each other a big hug and caught up on our lives.
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Study Butte, Texas
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"I didn't urinate for three days."
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- Brennan Black, a Big Bend seasonal employee, on the aftermath of his first case of heat exhaustion. Brennan, who is approaching his last semester of college at Ohio State University, wanted a break from all the people, so he opted to live and work in Big Bend National Park, one of the most remote places in the lower forty-eight.
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A serious runner, he never ran with more than a liter back in Ohio, one of the coldest, snowiest places in the USA. After moving to West Texas, he hadn't considered changing the practice and took off for an 8-mile run with his usual liter. The run went by without a hitch, but shortly after getting into his car and driving off, he started halucinating and shaking. Brennan saw the world change shape, spoke with friends and family that he knew weren't there, and started losing muscle control in his arms and hands. He pulled over to the side of the road, tried to take in more liquids, vomited, then ripped out an emergency IV (he had previously received EMT training), and hooked himself up (he missed his artery the first two times because of the shaking and involuntary muscle movements). For the next eight hours, he would stay in his car by the side of the road, waiting for the symptoms to subside.
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As you can see, Brennan's made a full recovery.
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Pather Junction, Big Bend National Park, Texas
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Big Bend National Park

Big Bend. The name refers to the bend of the Rio Grande, but it has come to connote mountains, desert, beauty, ruggedness. I came here during my junior or senior year in college for spring break, but I made one mistake: my traveling companion wasn't really a hiker. We drove 500 miles in 10 hours and didn't hike but half a dozen miles. This time around, I didn't intend to make the same mistake.

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I hiked over 100 miles of Big Bend National Park, about 50 of those with Raisin, canoed Santa Elena Canyon, visited the Rio Grande hot springs (via car), and visited Mariscal Canyon. I drank from mud puddles, hiked through 30-40 mph winds, startled a rattlesnake, spied two bears, and climbed a vertical mile in a single 30-mile day. I washed my face with water from the Rio Grande and night-hiked up a canyon trail while shining my light into the trees looking for lions. In almost every way, I tried to do the opposite of my first trip to Big Bend, and I do believe I succeeded.

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South Rim Vista, BBNP, Day 301

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There's a lot more to say, but I'd prefer to hang on to some of it for an article. I want to add a few scattered notes, though: 1) The No-Pet-on-the-Trail Rule. Not my favorite rule, but it makes sense. Between Terlingua Ghost Town and Terlingua, I stayed up half the night thinking Raisin was being hunted by local fauna. At one point, I heard a semi-circle of coyote yelps around us, and they were close. So not allowing pets into the hot zone of Big Bend protects both the pet owner from loss and the indigenous predator population from depending on imported meat. It put me in a big bind, of course, but with a little luck, it worked out. (Thanks, Patricia and Jim of Castolon!) 2) The Desert and Water. I packed out 11 liters of water yet found myself needing more along the way. The big storm I mentioned outside of Castolon filled various spots in the desert with fresh rain water. I stumbled upon three decent water holes (clayish earth which acted as a natural cachement) in the first 20 miles. I skipped the first two but thankfully thought better of it at the third and filled up. I treated my water with Grapefruit Seed Extract (better known as GSE) which is an unofficial water purifier. It makes the water really bitter, but after seven years of using it, it's not so bad to me anymore. The desert really took it out of me, slowing some of my walking to a snail's pace, but I was able to bounce back with the water. I was most proud of finding a little water hole at the start of Mariscal Canyon Trail (I was looking). I needed it, and there it was. 3) Solitude. I didn't see anyone for 72 hours. It was during this time that I saw some of my most amazing views, drank mud water to get by, and saw two bears. It was an altogether splendid stretch.

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Chisos Basin Vista, BBNP, Day 301

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Even casual views of Big Bend are like this one: vast, beautiful, perfect. This shot was taken from a paved road and was shared by all that day. However you feel about the road network (I'm currently reading Edward Abbey who has some choice things to saw about the roads of the national parks.), the natural beauty of the place will get your attention and keep it. It is a wonderland.

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Panther Junction R&R, BBNP, Day 302

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Like all trips, you need time to recuperate. Ours is no different. Even though Raisin spent most of the time eating, sleeping, and enjoying A/C, even she needed to recharge after her first few miles back. We rested and then at 5 o'clock got back up and headed north toward Persimmon Gap and the park exit.

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And we're still going.

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Until next time...

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