August 10-12, 2021 —
After two busy days in White Sands, Carlsbad Caverns, and Guadalupe Mountains, Maria and I continued our journey south. Smoke continued to blanket distant Colorado – our original destination – as we enjoyed clear skies in the Chihuahuan Desert. Our next stop? Big Bend, one of America’s most isolated national parks. Almost one year earlier, I had visited the park with my friend Shane. In spite of grueling summer heat and heavy COVID-related closures in the park, we managed to have a blast. The vast and beautiful park quickly made an impression on me, and I couldn’t wait to return. The wildfires in Colorado – though they forced us away from our original trip – gave me a golden opportunity to return to Big Bend with Maria.
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Day 1: A Stormy Arrival in Big Bend
We began our journey to Big Bend late in the day on August 10th. At almost 6 PM, we departed Guadalupe Mountains and started driving through western Texas. The area is truly the “Wild West” that is depicted in movies. It is vast, scarcely populated, and defined by the endless Chihuahuan Desert. Early in the drive, we passed Blue Origin’s West Texas Launch Facility, where I’d launched a zero-g project two years earlier. Once we entered Van Horn – about 30 minutes later – we started to hit summer thunderstorms.
I love thunderstorms, and I love them even more when you can see them from afar. In west Texas, you can spot a thunderstorm from 50 miles away. The lack of trees and vast vista provide long lines of sight in every direction, everywhere you go. This allowed us to see spectacular lightning shows that dotted the horizon during our drive. While the landscape was boring, the sky kept me excited. We were a little nervous about being swept away by a flash flood on several occasions, but that thankfully didn’t happen.
Cooking in a Parking Lot
Since restaurants were scarce along our route, Maria and I opted for a less traditional dinner. At about 8 PM, we pulled into a gas station parking lot in Marfa, a little town still over 2 hours from the park. There, we unpacked my camp stove and used it to heat canned soup on the asphalt. I kept expecting the gas station employees to run outside and shout at us to leave, but they just shot us confused looks through the front windows. It was an odd yet instantly memorable moment that highlighted our evening.
After this, we continued our southward trek. As the night grew darker, the road became curvier and more hilly. We began to pass fewer and fewer cars, reminding us how isolated we were. Thinking about what would happen if I overshot a turn or hit a deer out there – with no cell service or nearby towns – sent chills down my spine.
A Sky Full of Lightning
After a respite from thunderstorms, we began to notice distant lightning on the horizon. The looming storms no longer gave me a warm, excitable feeling. The darkness coupled with the realization that these storms likely were raging in or near our destination evoked dread. Please, I thought, keep the lightning away from our campground.
It was almost 11 PM when we finally reached Chisos Basin Campground in Big Bend. Even though the storms kept their distance from us, it was a small distance. We saw frequent lightning and heard deafening thunder as we erected Maria’s tent, but felt no raindrops. Though the sky refused to drop rain on us, the lightning grew frighteningly close, forcing us to retreat to the car. I had already evaded lightning strikes in Yosemite back in June, and didn’t want to test my luck a second time.
Eventually, the storm began to dissipate and Maria and I returned to her tent. We fell asleep as the thunder grew quieter, drifting off well after midnight. Already, I knew we were in for an interesting couple of days in the park. I hoped that “interesting” equated to “good” in this case.
Day 2: Wading into the Santa Elena Canyon
As soon as I woke up, I stepped out of the tent to observe the view that darkness had obscured the night before. I decided it was handily one of the best views I’d ever slept beneath.
As Maria and I nibbled on CLIF bars for breakfast, I began to take stock in the park’s differences since my last visit.
The first difference was something we discovered the previous night: rain. In 2020, Shane and I visited in late August, and we did not encounter a drop of precipitation. It led me to assume that Big Bend was always dry in the summer: a bad assumption, to say the least. I found out that the wet season runs from May through September, and that Shane and I had been very lucky to avoid storms during our visit. Maria and I, it seemed, would not be so fortunate.
The second difference was what enabled Maria and I to camp the night in Chisos Basin: less COVID restrictions. When I visited with Shane the year before, most of Big Bend was closed. Only the Chisos Mountains, the Fossil Discovery Exhibit, and the roads necessary to access them were open. Access to Ross Maxwell Scenic Drive, the Santa Elena Canyon, the Rio Grande Village, and Boquillas del Carmen was all restricted. Visitor centers and campgrounds had been closed, too. Now, all of those things – except Boquillas del Carmen – were open again.
Ross Maxwell Scenic Drive
I was eager to start the day with the main attraction that I’d missed in 2020: the Santa Elena Canyon. Maria and I loaded up our hiking packs and excitedly began the journey down Ross Maxwell Scenic Drive. The drive is aptly named, because everything about it was indeed “scenic.” The winding road took us along the back side of the towering Chisos Mountains and guided us around canyons, rock towers, and scenic views. The determined hiker could easily spend a full day on this road alone, stopping at the many hikes and overlooks along the side of the road. Since we were on a mission, we only stopped once on the drive to see Mule Ears up close. Maria enjoyed that stop greatly.
Big Bend’s Centerpiece
Before long, we arrived at the Santa Elena Canyon parking lot. I was giddy with excitement, and Maria was awestruck by the massive canyon walls visible from the car. We approached the canyon entrance, and since it was only 9 AM there were few others to disturb the peace. The muddy Rio Grande flowed majestically from the canyon’s mouth, separating the U.S. state of Texas from Mexico. I snapped a picture of Maria with the canyon before anyone else could photobomb the frame.
We followed the trail to the canyon entrance and immediately discovered a problem. Terlingua Creek – which apparently is normally barren in the dry months – was full, muddy, and flowing directly across the path into the canyon. If you look at the photo above, look for the fork in Rio Grande next to Maria’s head. That fork was flooding our way into the canyon.
My heart sunk. There was no way we’d be able to cross the murky water. There were no indicators as to its depth, and I didn’t want to chance getting swept away by the forceful water. Terlingua Creek ripped away my dream of entering the canyon and buried it in its muddy depths. I began to walk away, but Maria didn’t budge.
Into the Mud
In a total reversal of roles and in one of the greatest shocks of my lifetime, Maria grabbed a big stick, took off her hiking boots, and ventured out into the water. Between the two of us, I’m typically the one to engage in borderline dangerous activities. Maria has scolded me many, many times for my reckless behavior outdoors. Watching her do something so spontaneous and without regard for the repercussions bewildered me. It was amazing. I love this woman, I thought as she started coaching me into the water.
Following her lead, I rolled up my shorts, removed my footwear, and stepped into the creek. Nearby, another couple was watching us, and they decided to join our adventure. We quickly had a group of four attempting to navigate the creek together, trudging through the mud and sludge. By some miracle, Maria used her stick to find a path shallow enough for us to cross the creek. The water nearly reached our waist at its deepest point, but we never had to fully submerge ourselves. When we reached the other side, I couldn’t believe we’d done it.
Exploring the Santa Elena Canyon
Once we climbed out onto the shore of the creek, we dried off and continued the hike into the canyon. The other couple joined us, serving as our photographers along the way. To enter the canyon, we climbed up several switchbacks that took us to an overlook of the Rio Grande and the rest of Big Bend in the distance. Initially, I refused to put my hiking boots back on my muddy feet, but I changed my mind after stepping on several sharp rocks.
As we took in views of the canyon walls and the Rio Grande, we spotted dozens of lizards scurrying along the ground. We began a “lizard count,” which I think surpassed 40 if memory serves.
The sun continued to heat up our surroundings as we ventured further into the canyon. After its initial climb, the trail took us back down to the banks of the Rio Grande. We followed its muddy flow, passing through fields of tall reeds and encountering birds and more lizards along the way. The other couple, Maria and I continuously gazed up at the canyon walls. At over 1000 feet tall – 1500 in some places – it loomed over us majestically. I found myself mapping climbing routes, though I knew no established routes existed.
Back on Dry Land
After reaching the end of the trail, we journeyed out of the canyon and returned to Terlingua Creek. Maria retrieved her stick, we removed our hiking boots, and she guided me and the other couple back across the creek. When we reached the other side, we encountered several families and hiking groups surveying the creekbank. They were searching for a way to cross, as we had done an hour earlier. Maria handed a group her stick, pointed to the general path we followed, and wished them luck. We then returned to the car, not staying to see if they made the attempt.
At the car, we removed our shoes and spent 15 minutes cleaning the mud from our legs. Fortunately, I had packed a “dirty towel” for the trip, and it served us well in lieu of a shower.
Return to Big Bend Ranch State Park
For our next activity, I convinced Maria that we should visit Big Bend Ranch State Park. I had done the same thing with Shane in 2020, and we had discovered great fun there. I wanted to show her one of the most scenic drives in the country – FM170 through the park – and she agreed. In my head, the drive was just a hop, skip and a jump from the canyon. As the crow flies, this was true. As the car drives, however, this was false.
It was almost 90 minutes before we even reached the start of the drive. Since we arrived to cloudy conditions in the early afternoon, the views were less scenic and dramatic than when I’d visited early in the morning the year before. Because of the long drive to return to Chisos Basin, we decided to turn around only a few miles in. We stopped at a scenic overview of the Rio Grande, took a few photos, and hopped back in the car.
Car Troubles
The Lost Mine trail was next on our agenda. Due to the threat of afternoon thunderstorms, we wanted to reach the trailhead as early as possible. Unfortunately, my rushed mentality led me to making a critical error while driving Maria’s car. Shortly after turning around, we encountered a decently-sized rock in the road. I swerved to avoid it, but it was too late.
THUMP.
I nailed the rock with the car’s front-left tire. Initially, I thought nothing had happened. But, as we continued the drive down FM170, we noticed a repeated clunking noise emitting from the car. We pulled over at a gas station to find that the car’s exhaust pipe had been loosened, and had likely been scraping across the pavement. Maria asked the gas station attendant where we could get the car fixed, and she directed us to Diego’s Tire Repair, a tiny auto shop in Terlingua outside Big Bend.
At Diego’s, we met the gruff owner, a man of few words. Without question, he took Maria’s Buick Lacrosse and spent about 40 minutes wiring up the exhaust pipe. We paid him and continued back to Big Bend, but then discovered another problem. We heard a second clunking noise, this time emitting from the tire I had hit with the rock. Since the car hadn’t fallen apart yet, I assumed the noise was benign, but Maria wasn’t convinced. She persuaded me to leave Big Bend the next morning – earlier than planned – allowing time to visit a mechanic in Austin. I reluctantly agreed to follow the new plan.
Afternoon storms had begun when we returned to Chisos Basin, eliminating our plan to hike the Lost Mine Trail. Instead, we visited the gift shop, visitor center, and cooked dinner. To wrap up the day, I drove her to the Fossil Discovery Exhibit, where we distracted ourselves from our car worries. After we returned to the campground, we went to bed early. We had decided to hike to Emory Peak in the morning and needed all the sleep we could get to do it.
Day 3: Sunrise at the Highest Point in Big Bend
When our alarm woke us up at 6 AM, the clouds had cleared and the stars were shining brightly overhead. Big Bend National Park sees some of the darkest night skies in the country, which – until then – had been obscured by clouds during our trip. While I had seen the night sky the year before, it still struck awe in me when I opened the tent. I excitedly woke up Maria and showed her the spectacle, and we gaped in wonder.
We drove the short drive to the trailhead and started our hike as dawn began to break. I had conquered the trail – plus extra miles to reach the South Rim of the mountains – with Shane last year. Being on the trail in the early morning light, however, was something truly special. I firmly believe that morning is the best time to be on the trails, both to avoid crowds and to get some spectacular views. The journey to Emory Peak was no exception.
Our journey was peaceful and quiet. Unsurprisingly, we did not see a single soul on the trail. Birds chirped and ground critters scurried in the bushes around us. Maria and I kept our eyes peeled for black bears and mountain lions, since both species live in the Chisos Mountains and are especially active in the early mornings. After spotting a fresh mountain lion pawprint in the mud, we began talking loudly around every corner. We hoped that our loud voices would deter any potentially nearby cats or bears from investigating us.
As we ascended the Pinnacles trail, the sun rose higher and the day grew brighter. Our view became more impressive as we began encountering massive rock spires around us. We started being able to see past the surrounding mountains, catching glimpses of peaks over 50 miles away. The sights were spectacular.
Emory Peak
Shortly after 9:30 AM – about 2.5 hours after starting the hike – we reached Emory Peak. We scrambled up the rocks that led to its summit, meeting a lone hiker who had evidently started even earlier than we did. From the top, we could see over 50 miles in every direction. We spotted the Santa Elena Canyon, Terlingua, Big Bend Ranch State Park, and distant mountains from our perch. Ladybugs buzzed around us (there is an inexplicably high concentration of them at the peak) while we rested, drank water, took photos, and chatted with the other hiker.
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There is no other view in Texas quite as impressive as the one found at Emory Peak. While not the highest point in Texas (that honor goes to Guadalupe Peak), its prominence from other peaks in the park does wonders for visitors who venture to its rocky summit. I could see myself easily spending hours there enjoying the solitude and the landscapes. While we sat and gazed at our surroundings below, we spotted our tent parked several miles away. We could make out cars driving around Chisos Basin and hikers preparing to start hikes in the area. Once again, I congratulated Maria and myself for starting so early in the day.
Escaping the Afternoon Heat
We spent an hour at the peak before beginning our return around 10:30. The hike back down was swift and steady. The trail began to heat up as Maria and I started to crave lunch: both factors helped us move quickly. We reached the trailhead at 12:45 PM and our campsite at about 1:00. There, I packed up our tent while Maria cooked us lunch. Meanwhile, we conversed with our neighbors: two older gentlemen whose tent was still soaked from yesterday’s storms. While Maria’s tent was fully waterproof, theirs was not. So, they had to hang all of their clothes and gear on makeshift laundry lines to dry them out in the sun. They remained optimistic about their plight, and they didn’t hesitate to swap stories with us about our respective travels.
We hit the road at about 3:30 PM, beginning our long 7.5-hour drive to Austin. As we left, I lamented not being able to do more in the park with Maria. After 2 visits, I still felt like there was more to do in Big Bend and things I still wanted to revisit. I beat myself up for bringing the car to Big Bend Ranch State Park and hitting the rock that started our predicament. If I hadn’t done so, we would have had time to do plenty more than we did.
Despite my slight regret, I was incredibly happy with the time Maria and I spent together in the park. It’s truly special to find somewhere so isolated, desolate, and vast to explore with the person you love. I vowed that we would return one day, preferably after getting many more national parks under our belts. After the second visit, I have continued to sing Big Bend’s praises to whoever may listen. If you’re uncertain about visiting the distant park, I encourage you to make plans to do so. Consult my info page on the park (linked below) to get ideas on when and how to visit and what to do while you’re there. The National Park Service even has a helpful itinerary planner to help you plan your trip.
Epilogue…
Maria’s and my adventures – both good and bad – didn’t stop after we departed Big Bend. We navigated several massive thunderstorms as we drove through the Chihuahuan Desert. Several of these storms reduced visibility to mere feet in front of us. Meanwhile, the clunking noise in the front left tire continued. 5 hours into the drive, however, we discovered that the clunking noise was the least of our concerns. Near Junction, TX, one of our rear tires blew out. The rear axle’s alignment was so bad that the brand-new rear tires had been worn down to the wire by 4,000 miles of driving. The back right tire blew on the highway, and the back left tire was only a few miles from following suit.
We spent the night in Junction after getting towed by AAA. Since the car’s undercarriage was rusted out, we couldn’t even jack up the car to apply our own spare tire. After acquiring a fresh set of tires the next morning, we met Maria’s friends in Austin and spent the day having fun there. From there, we popped into a car shop that told us the clunking noise in the tire was simply the tire rod, and that we shouldn’t worry about it until after completing our road trip. Relieved, we continued to Fort Worth, where we spent the night with Shane. The trip concluded with a stop in Hot Springs National Park, a night with my family in St. Louis, and the final 4-hour stretch to Indianapolis. What. A. Trip.
Believe me when I tell you that nothing makes a trip more memorable than when things go wrong. Unplanned snaffoos are what make the best memories and strengthen bonds with those you experience them with. Needless to say, Maria and I grew even closer as a result of our plights and triumphs on the not-so-Colorado road trip. I would never intentionally do such a hectic trip like that again, but I know – based on experience – that the next one is all but inevitable. I look forward to it.
— Paul
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