Nearing the finish line

Our three-month assignment at Big Bend National Park ends this Friday. I confess to having mixed emotions about leaving. While I won't miss being so far removed from civilization, I will miss the grandeur of the Chihuahuan Desert, the beauty of the Chisos Mountains, and the majesty of the Rio Grande. I will also miss the Park Service staff and volunteers with whom we've worked. What a great bunch of people!

Activity at Persimmon Gap visitor center slowed a bit after the holidays. The change of pace afforded me the opportunity to participate in a different kind of activity, the Big Bend 50/25/10 Ultra Run. This is one of those “you mean people actually PAY to do that?” experiences that takes runners over a course that would send shivers down the spine of any driver of a low-clearance vehicle. Entrants opt for distances of 10, 25 or 50 kilometers. (That's 6.2, 15.5 and 31 miles, in case you slept through class the day they taught the metric system). They plop one foot in front of the other through Big Bend NP's roughest back roads to the finish line.

A couple of 50K runners pass our station. Eight miles

down, just 23 more to go!

Before you go thinking I was actually foolish enough to enter this grueling event, I should explain that my participation was limited to pouring cups of electrolyte-replenishing beverage and cutting bananas into bite-sized pieces so that those among us who still have knees could live out the day.

 

Feeling it our duty to spur all those weary athletes on towards completion of their quest, the two of us assigned to aid station #2 cheered every runner as if we were a throng of five. I met hundreds of people, each of whom moved me emotionally for their grit and determination. The most awesome participant I encountered was a 70-year-old woman who looked almost as fresh midway through her course as did many of her 30-something counterparts. What a gutsy lady!

 

Leonard and I now direct our attention to the next finish line in our own race, ticking off the items in our two-page departure checklist. He will be busy prepping Kong and Truckzilla – those tires don't inflate themselves, you know – as I reorganize Kong's contents with an eye towards balancing weight load and safeguarding our belongings for next week's “rolling earthquakes.”

Aid station #2. One runner called it, "an oasis in the desert."

On Saturday, we wander 

north to San Angelo, Texas to spend a couple of days with the fabulous Fabulista de Costa Rica (aka Kat) and her mother the equally fabulous Margie.

 

The plan after that – as always with full-timing, etched in Jello – is to spend the rest of winter in Texas before venturing to Kansas for another visit with la familia. Then, it will be off to NW New Mexico for a two-month volunteer gig at Aztec Ruins National Monument.

 

So long, Big Bend. It's been good to know ya'. 

On the border

The town of Boquillas, Mexico. After 9/11, all border crossings along the Big Bend section

of the Rio Grande were closed. Only Boquillas was reopened. The town just barely survives.

Park visitors frequently ask, “Is it safe here?” What they want to know, of course, is whether any of those notorious Mexican drug cartels pose a threat to their security. Our answer: no, they don't.

You see, the Mexican side of Big Bend National Park (BiBe) is even more remote than the U.S. Given a tendency towards laziness on the part of most criminals, it seems it is just too much work and too little gain to make the BiBe section of borderland worth targeting.

That said, one man's challenge is another's opportunity. A few Mexican entrepreneurs eager and willing to go the extra mile do cross the border and head for unguarded vehicles left by unsuspecting hikers out exploring the park's remotest areas. Once spotted, these horse-mounted hooligans turn their trusty steeds homeward and in the direction of the nearest fencing operation (and I'm not talking barbed wire). It's become enough of a nuisance that one area here is closed for camping as a result. Park rangers, aided by U.S. Border Patrol agents, are trying to disrupt this criminal activity, but BiBe is a big place and doing so will be difficult.

Having traveled in Mexico and lived near the Arizona-Mexico border, I can attest to the fact that these aforementioned opportunists do not represent Mexican nationals, the vast majority of whom just want a decent life for themselves and their families. (Don't we all?) This perception was reinforced by a recent visit Leonard and I made to the section of Big Bend known as Rio Grande Village near the Mexican border town of Boquillas.

Mexicans display items like this on the U.S. side hoping to sell them to tourists. Buying
them is illegal for a variety of reasons, including a desire to discourage the taking of raw
materials used to make them from the park.

Once there, we saw evidence of illegal activity of quite a different sort. Tracks leading from the banks of the Rio Grande to boulders displaying handcrafted goods and “honor” jars asking anyone purchasing the items to leave payment suggested the area was regularly trod by some hard-working soul (or soul) willing to risk arrest for selling goods and entering the U.S. illegally. We encountered Jesus, a man who refers to himself as “the singing Mexican,” standing on the southern bank of the Rio Grande and belching out the lyrics to “Cielito Lindo.” He, too, had placed several containers along the path leading to the river requesting contributions from anyone wishing to express their gratitude for his acceptable, albeit slightly off-key, serenade.

 

A row boat beached on the Mexican side of the Rio Grande

(After Jesus realized we speak Spanish, he cheerily jumped into his own boat and rowed his way onto the U.S. side to make our acquaintances, all against the law. No matter. It seems poverty is a powerful motivator.)

 

Trails like this show evidence of cross-river traffic.

The experience was sobering. It reminded me that life for some out there is very, very hard. I left the scene feeling grateful for what I have and more compassionate for those who have less.

As for Jesus? Well, let's just say he returned home that day a few bucks richer.

 

Rio Grande Village, site of what once was the Daniels Ranch. One of the ranch's original adobe dwellings still stands.

BiBe's Boquillas Canyon trail is a favorite among park visitors. (Are there any bad views in this park?)

 

My way

This week found me making my way (sans spouse and pooch) to Tucson, Arizona to attend my uncle's funeral. When I first received news of his death, I knew I wanted to be with my family but was concerned that any options for transport might not be viable in terms of cost and time. Then, I recalled passing an Amtrak facility during one of our semi-monthly grocery runs. I researched the matter and found that rail travel would be less expensive and more convenient than either driving or flying. (Also, avoiding the whole stand-in-line-for-your-public-strip-search/random-colonoscopy-thing – courtesy of the TSA – held considerable appeal.) So, this past Sunday I caught Amtrak train #1, the Sunset Limited, out of Alpine, Texas.

The station at Alpine, like most rural stops, is a

no frills operation. This guy hasn't been paid in

years!

Overpriced dinner and three-hour arrival delay not withstanding, the trip went well. That said, this recent experience reinforced my notion of some of the perqs of RV living. Not only do I not have to endure the annoyances associated with setting up camp in a strange room – personal favorites include figuring out why none of the three remote controls on the television actually works the television or stepping into the shower only to find that the hot and cold water lines have been reversed - I get to sleep in my own bed, never have to pack (or unpack) a suitcase, and know exactly which light switch operates which light.

These benefits were apparent from the start. During the past nine months, we have had a few other epiphanies, and a few adjustments lie ahead. After all, part of the fun of this lifestyle is having the flexibility to do things our way.

First off, we like volunteering. Leonard and I enjoy taking on new challenges, meeting people, basically everything associated with visitor center hosting. Both of the positions we've held thus far have required three-month commitments, tethering us in a single location longer than we prefer. We're ready to put more recreational into our brand of recreational vehicle living. From here on out, we will consider only shorter-term volunteer opportunities (two months or less).

Secondly, building a “career” as a volunteer, like building a professional career, requires knowing one's strengths and limitations. We initially planned to mix visitor center jobs with campground hosting. After seeing what the latter actually entails, such as coping with campers who think the “No Campfires Allowed” sign next to their site must have been meant for somebody else or waiting for the midnight knock on the door from someone wishing to report a broken light bulb in the bathhouse, we decided to admit that neither of us has the patience to be good campground hosts. Visitor centers, where your day ends when you turn out the lights and walk out the door, suit use just fine.

Finally, when it comes to location, remote is okay for a couple of weeks. Spending entire days refilling a propane tank or buying a head of lettuce gets old. Fast. From now on, we'll stick closer to civilization.

Pondering this fine tuning makes me think about my late uncle. He lived his 95 years with great enthusiasm and vigor, and if he had had a theme song, it would have been the old Sinatra tune “My Way.” His will be a tough act to follow, but I'm willing to give it a shot.
 

Street art at its finest. A mural on the wall of my cousin's gallery.

 

Rio Grande, Rio Bravo

Its 1,865 mile journey starts in the San Juan Mountains of southern Colorado and ends at the Gulf of Mexico near Brownsville, Texas. Nearly two-thirds of it serves as the dividing line between the United States of America and the United States of Mexico. On our side of the border, we know it as the Rio Grande. Mexicans refer to it as el Rio Bravo. The river lives up to both names, being grande (“large”) and, during summer months when heavy rains force the river from its banks and through narrow, rock-lined squeezes, bravo (“angry”).

The 196-mile section of the Rio Grande that flows between the Chihuahua/Coahila state line in Mexico to the Terrell/Val Verde county line in Texas received Congressional designation as a Wild and Scenic River in 1978. The area's location within Big Bend presents park guests with the unusual opportunity to experience two parks in one.

Band of Boaters - rangers and volunteers prepare to put in at Talley for the
start of their two-day education on the Rio Grande.

In October, as part of our volunteer orientation, Leonard was treated to a two-day float adventure down the river. This exploration was led by the interpretive ranger responsible for managing Big Bend's river district.

Where was I? Someone had to stay behind to take care of Sprocket, so I offered to play dog sitter.

(Lest you pity me, remember that we spend nearly every moment of every day together. Sometimes it's nice to be able to catch some quality “alone time.”)

I will leave you to peruse a sampling of photos from Leonard's wet and wild weekend. 

Here's wishing you all a very happy 2014!

En route to the river, our adventurers are treated to a stop at the abandoned Mariscal Mine. The mine
was once an important source of Cinnabar, the ore that yields mercury. Look, but don't touch! Mercury
is quite toxic.



Leonard moves in for a closer look at the one of the mine's abandoned shafts.

At long last, water. Let the fun begin!

The river canyons of the Big Bend are the stuff of which postcards are made. Marvelous!
 





Camping on the U.S. side of the river is allowed by permit. Our heroes wasted no time in setting up their tents and bedding.



The morning of Day 2 finds this skilled mariner soaking wet,
the result of an unplanned foray into a thicket of cane. That's
one way to take a bath!

It just keeps getting better.
 

The home stretch. From the looks on these faces, I'd say canoeing is serious business!