Good afternoon, Campers! It’s Silver Cliche’ with you again today from somewhere east of Redford, Texas. We are camping about 100 yards from the border with Mexico and 10 miles from the nearest settlement. No cell service again, so I know you won’t see this post (which I am sitting down to write on Saturday at 4:00 PM Central) until Sunday at the earliest.
The day broke cool and wet. I didn’t even bother to hike the nature trail at Rio Grande Village to look for the sun’s first rays on the mountains of Chihuahua or the first new arrivals to America. Plus, for the first time this trip I actually slept until the sun had lightened the sky before my eyes opened. I think I’m over the side effects of that second COVID shot.
We hung around the Airstream at the campground, enjoyed coffee, had breakfast and chatted until close to 11. The intermittent rain had stopped by then.
There were three possible plans for the day. 1.) head to our next planned campsite which was about 1 1/2 hours away in Big Bend Ranch State Park. 2.) sightsee in the national park then go to our next site. Or 3.) forget Big Bend altogether and head for Marfa a day early. Mrs. C’ left it up to me.
I picked option 2.
The National Park Service conveniently offers suggestions about how to see each park if you are going to be there for various lengths of stay. Their suggestion for Big Bend on a one-day visit included driving the “Ross Maxwell Scenic Drive” to Castilon. It’s 30 miles each way on pavement or about 90 minutes round-trip and we were headed right past the start of the road. “Why not?”, I said to myself.
So we headed south. I’m assuming that the road was named on a sunny day. Today it would have been better to substitute “dreary” for “scenic”. Even so, the views were awe-inspiring and the detail that started to resonate within us was the variety of terrain and the underlying geology that shaped it. If I had internet I would research and inform you of my findings. I don’t. We saw a wide range of colors from pale tan to black with significant amounts of ocher and rose accents. At times, the ground-up earth appears in piles looking like God’s dump truck dropped 100 loads then left or in spires or complete mountain ranges that thrust 4,000 feet up from the Rio Grande plain. Oddly, 50 sand piles of tan gravel may be interrupted by two rose piles. How does that happen? The strata of rocks in a weathered hillside alternate in bands of tan and black then a stray ochre layer interrupts the pattern. The effect is impressive. And baffling. It also changes (as does the weather) every time you crest a ridge on the Scenic Drive. Perhaps the oddest feature of all were a series of short, narrow, arched ridges. Each about 1/2 mile to a mile long, 1/4 of that in width and no more than 300 feet tall at the center but tapering to the level of the surrounding terrain at each end. Running the length of each was a solid stone ridge while the sides appeared to be sandy gravel that had eroded from the ridge. They were ochre. In profile the effect was like a sleeping iguana or perhaps a stegosaurus.
We reached Castilian, rubbed elbows with the locals (or more accurately “local” since there were 20 people in town and 19 had clearly arrived within the hour). She offered me guidance when I asked her about the wisdom of taking a shorter gravel road to our next stop versus backtracking on pavement. She looked at the Tundra. She looked at the Airstream. She looked at Romeo and Zachary smiling and panting in the open windows. She looked me up and down from my sneakers (No, they are not orthopedic! Well... ok... they are actually) to my baby blue polo shirt to my “Life is Good” ball cap with an embroidered Airstream. She shook her head slowly twice and simply said “No”. You can’t get that kind of helpful local guidance just anywhere!
So we backtracked, drove another hour through Terlingua, Texas (home of a famous chili cook off and a ghost town) and to the visitors center of Big Bend Ranch State Park where we got our pass. Terlingua was a pit. It would score high in the Silver Cliche’ Authenticity Test (SCAT). Way high, but in a somewhat pathetic way. From today forward, if I meet someone and they say they are from Terlingua I might think “I’m so sorry” or “I guess I know why you are here” but I will voice “Terlingua made a lasting impression on me.”
The 15 miles from the visitor center to our campsite was amazing. We drove Texas FM170 (that’s a road, not a radio station... here in the lone star “FM” means “farm to market” a term applied to roads that connect rural areas to more populous places. Of course, here in the Chihuahuan desert they ain’t no farms. The name still applies.) We entered the La Cuesta campground at about 2:00. There are four clearly marked campsites in a gravel parking area just off FM170 and 1/4 mile from America’s defense from Mexican invasion. Here’s a pic looking south to Mexico (the Rio Grande runs through the greenery and I t’s water allows that growth in this otherwise arid region.):
And one the other way:
To offer a sense of scale, the Airstream is in that picture. It’s the silver dot about 1/4 of the way into the frame from the left.
Nobody else was here, so we picked the site closest to the river. After a nap and feeding the dogs, I took them for a short walk. I kept Romeo on a short leash next to me. There are large raptors here and not many ground animals. Romeo is small, well-fed and unaccustomed to looking for threats from above. I enjoy telling stories (and embellishing a few) but I didn’t want to have to respond to Mrs. C’ asking where Romeo went. (I was rehearsing in my head just in case I should have used a shorter leash. I’d start with... “Well, honey... you’ll never believe what happened in our walk!”) Between the campsites and the road was a public facility that I visited with the dogs. Here’s what we found:
I couldn’t comfortably use the spotting scope because it was set at a height for the cast of “Little People, Big World”. I’m pretty sure that show was filmed in Texas. In fairness, I can stoop and they can’t stretch, so I found that a reasonable accommodation for all visitors.
We are nothing if not resourceful when we travel. I rummaged through the Airstream and found what I needed to create the “Silver Cliche’ Bighorn Sheep Observatory”. Mrs. C’ christened it the “BS Observatory” for short.
A local wildlife enthusiast stopped by on his way back from accessing the river by using the jeep trail just past our campsite. He asked me what I was up to and I explained. He concluded from my accent that I was a visitor. He looked at the Tundra, Airstream, my shoes, my shirt and my cap. His words of encouragement (if I deciphered his drawl correctly) told me that Yankees coming to his corner of Texas frequently brought a bunch of bull sheep. I haven’t seen any yet, but I haven’t quit looking. Thanks, “pardner”!
It’s 87 degrees and 18% humidity outside according to the Silver Cliche’ weather station. That’s roughly the conditions that ancient Egyptian embalmers found to be ideal for mummifying a pharaoh. We are focusing on enjoying the views and the solitude and staying hydrated. It’s amazing to be here surrounded by such grandeur, feeling so small and perishable in contrast to the landscape around us.
Tomorrow we will continue along FM170, turn north a bit and head for the west Texas art enclave of Marfa. Come along with us!
Later...
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