Social distancing made easy
Visitors to this park were savoring solitude long before outbreak
EDITOR’S NOTE: As of writing this, Big Bend National Park has closed all park campgrounds and backcountry campsites in response to the coronavirus outbreak, but the trails remain open for day-use. A number of campsites and unusual accommodations — including luxury yurts, tipis, a spinning VW bug, and base camp bubbles — are still available outside of the park.
We headed out well before dawn, driving miles down a gravel road that challenged both our nerves and my car.
My headlights struggled to pierce the dark as we made our way through washes, up hills and across the desert floor — inching closer to our first location: Big Bend National Park’s Grapevine Hills. Most travel blogs say you need a four-wheel drive to reach the trail head, but I learned to navigate rough roads more than two decades ago while delivering newspapers to some of the Gazette’s more rural readers. My Chevy Malibu did just fine.
As we hit the trail, night yielded to morning in the distance, but it would be hours before the sun crept into the valley before us. Hours more before we saw another soul.
No one just stumbles across this place — the biggest “city” is hours away and boasts a population of less than 6,000.
Located on the other end of Texas, Big Bend is one of the country’s least visited national parks.
After we’d hiked about three-quarters of the trail through a seemingly alien landscape of giant boulders and jagged cliffs, I sat down and waited on the light.
I do that a lot. I’m a landscape photographer, so my schedule — when I’m not at the newspaper — is planned around sunrise and sunset.
Good light, however, can occur at any time, and it almost cost us a campsite the night before.
Though we reached Big Bend with plenty of time to pitch the tent before dark, there was still about an hour’s drive between the park entrance and our campground.
A lot can happen in an hour. As we neared our destination, the storm we’d been chasing for the last 100 miles drifted toward the Chisos Mountains.
I parked the car, grabbed my camera and waited.
Good light, storm clouds
By Danielle Dupree |
and epic landscapes are the rare photography trifecta. I couldn’t pass it up, even if it meant sleeping in the car. Or going without dinner. Or dirty looks from my cohort.
A few sacrifices here and there are worth the pay off.
In the end, things worked out. I got a few good shots before the light faded and we made it in time to grab the last available spot at the base of Casa Grande.
Despite the slim pickings, our campground was relatively empty — like ghosttown empty.
Most campsites had signs posted that read “Closed due to DANGER.” Our late arrival meant we didn’t have time to inquire about the nature of said DANGER. Perhaps this was best. The scorpions, rattlesnakes and bears we encountered before bedtime were quite enough.
Like I said, a few sacrifices.
We opted to leave the rainfly off the tent that night so we could watch a meteor shower before drifting off. Because of its remoteness, Big Bend has some of the darkest skies in the world.
The next day, we headed toward Boquillas, Mexico, for lunch in the tiny hamlet along the Rio Grande.
Our plans, however, were thwarted as the park’s border crossing is only open Wednesdays through Sundays.
If you find yourself in the area on the right days, be sure to bring your passport.
I was lucky enough to visit the community in 2013 — just days after the border opened for the first time since the fallout of Sept. 11, 2001. You have the option of crossing the river on foot or paying a few bucks for a ride on the “international ferry,” which consists of a man, two oars and a flat-bottom fishing boat.
I gladly paid up and quickly found myself making my way through the desert on a horse with … Well, if he had a name, I didn’t catch it.
We tied our trusty steeds up outside the local cantina and had a few drinks before making our way down the wide, dirt street where we feasted on a simple-but-delicious meal of enchiladas, rice and beans — the only offerings at the humble mom-and-pop eatery. Back to this trip. After our lunch plans changed, we regrouped and decided to hike the nearby Boquillas Canyon trail that hugs the Rio Grande.
It was unseasonably hot as we set out on this fall day, temperatures hovering around 100 degrees. We were prepared — each of us wearing long-sleeve shirts, long pants and hats; our packs full of water.
We were not prepared. Though the hike is one of the easiest and shortest in the park, signs at the trail head warned visitors there is no shade. At all. Just rock, sand and Rio Grande.
We brushed off the warning and continued up the path at an easy pace. We’d been dealing with the heat the entire trip and it hadn’t caused a problem yet. Besides, it’s a “dry” heat, right?
Wrong.
Things were going OK at first but as we started downhill, the situation soon followed. Apparently there’s a big difference between the 100 degrees we were expecting and the 108 we actually got.
As I was going over the symptoms of heat exhaustion in my head, an elderly man sporting binoculars started serenading us from the Mexican side of the canyon.
“Hola, señoras. I sing for you.”
About that time we spotted a rock in the middle of the trail with “Donations for singing Mexican ‘Jesus’” scrawled across it.
Next to it sat a worn, blue plastic jar held down with a rock and a few dollar bills.
As we got closer, the singing Mexican Jesus got louder. Ay, ay, ay, ay,
Canta y no llores, Porque cantando se alegran, cielito lindo, los corazones. Google translation:
Ay, ay, ay, ay,
Sing without crying, Because singing makes happy,
Sweet little heaven, our hearts.
I dropped a few bills in the jar and continued walking. Soon the opaque oasis that is the Rio Grande came into view below us.
“Must. Get. In. The. Water.”
The thought played on a loop in my sweltering head, discarding concerns of bacteria and unseen, underwater critters.
As I made my way down the steep bank, Jesus — with a mustache that would make Sam Elliott proud — emerged from a lean-to shelter, hopped in a canoe and crossed the river.
I tried to exchange pleasantries as we passed, but my focus was on the water.
That beautiful, cool, brown water.
Once I was in the river, between Jesus’ broken English and my busted Spanish, we talked about our families, travels and the state of things across the globe.
Before long, he returned to his side of the water to avoid being caught and the conversation continued. Our voices bounced off the canyon walls that towered above.
It was about this time that something big brushed against my foot underwater. It felt like a fish, but just to be safe, I got out.
I slipped as I climbed the bank that I incorrectly assumed had been worn smooth by the belly Jesus’ canoe. I landed on my knees — my nose just inches from the sand and an eerily familiar, rather large reptilian track.
I pulled myself back a bit so my eyes could focus. Yep. Those were alligator tracks. In the Rio Grande.
I’d researched the creatures of the park ahead of time. Bears? Check. Mountain lions? Check. Rattlesnakes and scorpions? Check and check. No mention of alligators. At all.
Once we found a Wi-Fi signal, I Googled “Alligator, Rio Grande” and came up with the headline: “Six-foot alligator presents deadly threat to migrants crossing the Rio Grande.”
I forgot about the potential heat exhaustion.
After quick $2 showers at Rio Grande Village campground — the only shower facility in the entire 800,000-acre park — we headed to dinner at the Chisos Mountains Lodge, 45 minutes away. As Big Bend distances go, that’s virtually next door.
A warm meal was a welcome contrast to the turkey sandwiches and Pop-Tarts we’d been living off of the last few days. The sunset view of The Window, a narrow opening in the rim of rock that creates the Chisos Basin, was a bonus.
The next morning we broke camp and cruised along the breathtaking 30-mile Ross Maxwell Scenic Drive, a path that showcases some of the historic and geologic features the region is famous for, including the Sotol Vista Overlook, Lower Burro Mesa Pour-off, Mule Ears Viewpoint and the crown jewel, Santa Elena Canyon.
Like The Window, each of these stops can be appreciated from the car or within a few steps. One of the great things about the park is it doesn’t require a great deal of athletic prowess to take in the sights. There’s plenty to see from your car — or your tent. There’s a plethora of activities for those on the other end of that spectrum, too.
Santa Elena is best experienced from inside the 1,500foot high limestone canyon. For that reason, the out-andback 1.5 mile trek is heavily trafficked as it snakes along the canyon’s edge and the Mexican border.
The trail ends abruptly on the canyon floor thanks to a giant boulder and the Rio Grande. If you are lucky enough to visit at the right time — not long before sunset — the sun lights up the walls, causing an orange glow that looks like a scene from an Indiana Jones movie. If this view leaves you wanting more, a number of river outfitters are available in nearby Terilingua, Texas.
Though Santa Elena was the last stop of this adventure, we began planning our return as we drove away. No matter how many times you visit, there’s always more to discover.