Into the Wild (Light)
I've always romanticized the idea, as I suspect many people do, of spending an extending period of time in "the wilderness", or away from civilization. While I didn't expect to solve any deep personal crisis, I did go into this trip down the Rio Grande hoping to clear my mind by shocking my senses with new surroundings. At the very least, I figured such an adventure would prepare me for any serious existential emergencies later in life, giving me some useful experiences to draw back on if I ever embark on much longer, lonelier, and more dangerous quests.
Situated in the Chihuahan Desert, I imagined Big Bend National Park to be a stark yellow sea, interrupted only with tall, rebellious cacti. Fortunately, since my vision of desert environments was based solely on Super Mario levels, the reality proved to be much more interesting. While plenty of cacti and agave plants decorate the park, several varieties of trees and shrubs, including squat honey mesquites, provide lush greens against the handsome and rugged brown landscape. The Chisos Mountains, the only range to be fully contained in a U.S. national park, also provide surprising majesty for a park located in Texas.
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| Brought my two favorite vehicles |
Perhaps most notable of the park's features, several magnificent canyons tower above the Rio Grande as it winds and carves its way between Texas and Mexico. After seeking the advice of local outfitters, my friends and I settled on Boquillas Canyon for our first Big Bend river trip. The proposed 33-mile trail offered an opportunity to camp three nights in the isolated interior of the canyon, and our outfitter, Desert Sports, would pick us up on the fourth day to take us back to the launch point. We reserved one of their two-person canoes, and as the third person, I would set off in my trusty solo kayak.
Arrival - An Alien Landscape
After a long night of driving, we arrived at the park at mid-morning, and were stunned by the colorful scene all around us. Whether due to the arid climate or the lack of any smog-producing cities within hundreds of miles, the surroundings appeared unnaturally crisp, as if our eyes had transitioned from shoddy analog screens to digital high definition. The mountainous terrain, studded with resilient shrubs, stretched horizontally all around and vertically into the brilliantly clear blue sky, seemingly transporting us to another planet. Typical of winter months at Big Bend, the temperature was a pristine 70 degrees. Taking advantage of this, we set up camp in the central Chisos Basin, and hurried to the nearby Lost Mine trail, a 2.4 mile ascent (4.8 mile roundtrip) to a grand view of the park after an elevation gain of 1,300 feet. Rigorous, but not particularly difficult, the hike gave us an opportunity to cleanse our lungs with refreshing mountain air and enjoy glorious views from the Chisos peaks.
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| View from the Lost Mine Trail, Sweet Chisos! |
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| Plenty of signs warn against leaving food out, since black bears live in the park. This one was in the restroom. |
The sun had set by the time we returned to camp, and lucky for us, a new moon promised the best possible view of the night sky. Big Bend is internationally recognized as one of the least polluted and best locations on Earth for stargazing, and growing up in a congested metropolis, I was awestruck at the picturesque scene above. Seeing the world the way humans did in pre-modern times can remind you why certain cliches exist. I had no idea that stars actually twinkle and shine, but here, each point of light glimmers, shifting between white and green as it paints a picture of a crab, a bull, or a bear.
Day 1 - Wind, Rain, and Donkeys
Orange cliffs pierced by blue sky
Shrubs stretch to water
Curious burro peeks out
-Rio Haiku
On Tuesday morning, we drove out of the park proper to the Desert Sports shop in the small town of Terlingua, where we loaded our gear into the truck that would shuttle us and our vessels to the launch site. On the way there, our driver explained the border dynamics to us. Although a shallow, relatively narrow river separates the United States from Mexico for hundreds of unprotected miles, there are, surprisingly, almost no incidents of violence or border crossing fiascoes at the park. In fact, before 9/11, the border was completely open here, and Americans could cross over to several small Mexican villages that survived on tourism. Since the border was closed, only one or two remain, including Boquillas, the namesake of the canyon we would be traversing. Since the border re-opened two years ago, the small town has been progressing positively, according to our guide. We also asked him whether we should be concerned about the local fauna, after reading all the signs about bears and lions. "Oh no, the only wildlife you'll see down at the river is probably racoons and burrows, lots of burrows".
At 11am, we launched near Rio Grande Village, and pushed hard against the wind to traverse the first 3 miles of open river before the canyon. At a particularly difficult point, Jadd and Z kept getting their canoe stuck in the mud while attempting to overcome the blasting wind. A group of Mexican men on the southern side of the river looked on as they filled buckets of water, offering signs of encouragement and even gesturing for them to come over to their side for help. Soon though, a professionally guided canoe trip passed us, displaying the key to canoeing - coordinated paddling. Shortly afterwards, we were through the tough part and approaching the sheer walls of Boquillas Canyon.
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| Hello, Beautiful |
Once inside, the canyon treated us to spectacular views of towering rock cliffs, riddled at times with great caves, and spotted with verdant shrubbery. At the entrance to the canyon, another small group of canoeists was resting by the riverbed. The leader of the group waved to me as he spoke with an accent. "How far you going?"
"Um, about 30 miles?" I called back.
"Oh, La Linda", he nodded. "We are just exploring this area, it's part of a new program from right here", he pointed back towards the town of Boquillas, which we had just passed. Clearly, this was not a guided trip from the American side, and it was exciting to witness firsthand the progress the Mexican village was apparently enjoying. So far, we were two-for-two as far as friendly encounters with Mexicans!
Our wonder at the sights of Boquillas Canyon continued on into the afternoon, but our shoulders ached from fighting relentless wind, and the temperature had dropped uncomfortably as rain began to fall. We stopped at what appeared to be a decent camping site on the American side of the river, but quickly became concerned when we found piles of animal dung along with large tracks. This, along with the lack of protection from the wind, convinced us to continue our search for a spot to spend the night. Just as we turned around, however, we heard the sound of a hoofed animal running down the mountainside. A gray donkey appeared suddenly, whirled to face us, and stopped. "Burro!" I said, as we laughed at our guide's earlier lack of any attempt to pronounce the Spanish word for these animals that so abundantly populated the canyon.
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| What is this, a kayak for ants?? |
As a slight drizzle increased to a steady pour, we shivered and winced at the thought of being stuck without proper shelter after dark, when the desert night promised freezing temperatures. With an hour of light left, we spotted an indention in a cliff wall and dragged our boats up the rocky bank. With teeth chattering, we huddled our gear into the protected cove, and rushed to prop up a tent in order to change into dry clothes. By this time, Jadd, Z, and I, were blue, pink, and purple, respectively. Miraculously, we found enough dry wood to start a fire, and managed to set up a dry campsite to take refuge in. The rain stopped and we breathed easy, having feared just minutes ago that we would die of hypothermia. I had brought an additional one-person tent for myself, but that night, all three of us rushed into the two-person structure for shelter and passed out from exhaustion.
Day 2 - Crossing the Border
The night was rough, and our bodies ached from waking up uncomfortably in contorted positions as the temperature had plummeted, but we had made it to the second morning alive. As the sun finally thawed out the canyon, we heated some water to make tea and bring some freeze-dried lasagna to life before packing our gear back into the boats. By 10 we were back on the Rio Grande, marveling at more cliffs and caves as the river twisted. We paddled hard, aiming to make lots of ground (water) so that we wouldn't risk falling short of the finish line if the weather turned bad the next day. As an alternate plan, Jadd suggested we eat all our food, sleep for a day, and then paddle non-stop until the end. He was banned from making further suggestions.
Around noon, we approached a towering nest of felled trees around which the river forked. Although I can't recall ever seeing a beaver dam, we instantly recognized it as such and noticed that the water rushed quickly past it and around some large boulders. While this stretch of the river wasn't known for rapids, this would be the trickiest section so far. As my kayak zig-zagged through, narrowly avoiding ominous rocks, I worried about my friends in the bulky canoe behind me. Let me rephrase that. I worried about my dry sleeping bag, tent, clothes, and water supply in their canoe.
But as I watched from below, Jadd and Z emerged cheering and high-fiving from between the boulders and we were back on the trail. Shortly afterwards, to reward ourselves for the day's progress and just for the story, we decided to stop on the Mexican side for lunch and coffee. Not that we were doing anything highly illegal; the interior of the canyon is pretty much a free-for-all (as I understand), although a park attendant had suggested we only camp on the U.S. side. After a surprisingly delicious snack of Mountain House freeze-dried yogurt and blueberries, we returned to our country to knock out a few more miles before dark. Little did we know we would spend so much more time in Mexico....
Immediately downstream of our picnic site, the river forked again. I swung left, and the canoe entered faster water on the right. Seconds later, I heard shouting and my heart sank, along with some of our dehydrated bags of beef stroganoff. I turned to see that the canoe had flipped after catching on a branch, and Jadd and Z were struggling to hold it sideways in the rushing current as they climbed the bank. Luckily, most of our gear was tied to the bottom, and only dangled in the water. I guarded the river downstream for a minute, intercepting a floating paddle, life jacket, and some trash. But then I had to let the rest of the debris float by to help pull the canoe to dry land.
Kayaking tip #7: No matter how cool you think you look with your sleeping bag strapped into the holder of a hiking backpack, it should go INSIDE the dry bag on a river trip.
A few minutes of cursing and exasperation later, we slumped on the rocky bank to evaluate our losses. Nothing particularly important had floated away, but our sleeping bags had soaked up the river like sponges, and my backpack had been completely submerged. It would be a rough night....
Luckily, the mid-afternoon sun dried our clothes as we paddled on, planning to stop early in order to dry our gear as much as possible before dark. An hour later, we emerged from the canyons into open water, where the river was lined only by tall grass and shrubbery. Since mountains rose on the horizon, I assumed we would duck back into the canyon in another hour or so, where we could take shelter for the night. Yet, miles and miles later, my shoulders ached from keeping up with the speedy canoe and it became clear we were out of the canyon for good. Unfortunately, this meant a lack of sheltered campsites, and as sunset threatened, we settled for the most suitable site, a sandy beach on the Mexican side in front of a small forest of young trees.
We worked frenziedly to set up the two mostly-dry tents,and erected a structure to dry our sleeping bags over a fire. Our smartest move had been to store dry clothes in waterproof bags, and without them, we would have been in serious trouble. After changing and bundling up, we rejoiced around the fire as it seemed our chances of surviving the night had increased. But uneasiness crept upon us as the night sky darkened and the cold set in. There had been all kinds of animal tracks in the mud, including javelina, raccoon, and some other beast we did not recognize. Also, the sleeping bags hadn't dried at all and the icy sand would be our only bedding. Just as I ducked into my solo tent, a chilling howl thundered across the night sky, followed by three shorter, disturbing calls. Disregarding his ban, Jadd brandished a hatchet and flew into a flurry of proposals to arm and defend our camp against lesions of raccoon-bears, assigning battle stations and planning for a massive all-night bonfire...
But I was too exhausted to worry about what I assumed was a coyote or bobcat, and fell asleep surprisingly fast on the bare tent floor. My sleep was marred by the dread of having to get up and seek warmth, as I awoke in misery to freezing temperatures over and over. After a few hours, the cold ground stung as if I was laying on an ice skating rink, and, shivering violently, I had to sit up.
"You awake?", Z said between chattering teeth from the other tent. "This is crazy, what the hell!?"
"We have to get the emergency blanket from the first aid kit".
We attempted to share the paper-thin sheet of tin foil that was supposed to save our lives, but it didn't do much. Jadd had piled clothing and a somehow-dry blanket on top of himself and didn't seem to be suffering as badly. Somehow, we managed to get a few more hours of shattered sleep as the night dragged its way out. A friend asked me later if I reached any epiphanies on the trip. Yes, trying to pass a freezing night outside is worse than being hungry, and it's painful to imagine how much suffering people without shelter endure around the world.
Having covered at least an estimated 15 miles the previous day, we were in no hurry to depart in the morning. Our sleeping bags took turns toasting over the fire, and by the time we set off at noon, all of our gear and clothing were dry. Sure enough, we never re-entered the canyon, and by mid-afternoon, we spotted the one and only bridge on the trail, which marked the anti-climactic end of our journey at the Mexican village of La Linda.
Around noon, we approached a towering nest of felled trees around which the river forked. Although I can't recall ever seeing a beaver dam, we instantly recognized it as such and noticed that the water rushed quickly past it and around some large boulders. While this stretch of the river wasn't known for rapids, this would be the trickiest section so far. As my kayak zig-zagged through, narrowly avoiding ominous rocks, I worried about my friends in the bulky canoe behind me. Let me rephrase that. I worried about my dry sleeping bag, tent, clothes, and water supply in their canoe.
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| A wild beaver dam appears |
But as I watched from below, Jadd and Z emerged cheering and high-fiving from between the boulders and we were back on the trail. Shortly afterwards, to reward ourselves for the day's progress and just for the story, we decided to stop on the Mexican side for lunch and coffee. Not that we were doing anything highly illegal; the interior of the canyon is pretty much a free-for-all (as I understand), although a park attendant had suggested we only camp on the U.S. side. After a surprisingly delicious snack of Mountain House freeze-dried yogurt and blueberries, we returned to our country to knock out a few more miles before dark. Little did we know we would spend so much more time in Mexico....
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| Team J/Z almost flip from the force of the high-five |
Immediately downstream of our picnic site, the river forked again. I swung left, and the canoe entered faster water on the right. Seconds later, I heard shouting and my heart sank, along with some of our dehydrated bags of beef stroganoff. I turned to see that the canoe had flipped after catching on a branch, and Jadd and Z were struggling to hold it sideways in the rushing current as they climbed the bank. Luckily, most of our gear was tied to the bottom, and only dangled in the water. I guarded the river downstream for a minute, intercepting a floating paddle, life jacket, and some trash. But then I had to let the rest of the debris float by to help pull the canoe to dry land.
Kayaking tip #7: No matter how cool you think you look with your sleeping bag strapped into the holder of a hiking backpack, it should go INSIDE the dry bag on a river trip.A few minutes of cursing and exasperation later, we slumped on the rocky bank to evaluate our losses. Nothing particularly important had floated away, but our sleeping bags had soaked up the river like sponges, and my backpack had been completely submerged. It would be a rough night....
Luckily, the mid-afternoon sun dried our clothes as we paddled on, planning to stop early in order to dry our gear as much as possible before dark. An hour later, we emerged from the canyons into open water, where the river was lined only by tall grass and shrubbery. Since mountains rose on the horizon, I assumed we would duck back into the canyon in another hour or so, where we could take shelter for the night. Yet, miles and miles later, my shoulders ached from keeping up with the speedy canoe and it became clear we were out of the canyon for good. Unfortunately, this meant a lack of sheltered campsites, and as sunset threatened, we settled for the most suitable site, a sandy beach on the Mexican side in front of a small forest of young trees.
We worked frenziedly to set up the two mostly-dry tents,and erected a structure to dry our sleeping bags over a fire. Our smartest move had been to store dry clothes in waterproof bags, and without them, we would have been in serious trouble. After changing and bundling up, we rejoiced around the fire as it seemed our chances of surviving the night had increased. But uneasiness crept upon us as the night sky darkened and the cold set in. There had been all kinds of animal tracks in the mud, including javelina, raccoon, and some other beast we did not recognize. Also, the sleeping bags hadn't dried at all and the icy sand would be our only bedding. Just as I ducked into my solo tent, a chilling howl thundered across the night sky, followed by three shorter, disturbing calls. Disregarding his ban, Jadd brandished a hatchet and flew into a flurry of proposals to arm and defend our camp against lesions of raccoon-bears, assigning battle stations and planning for a massive all-night bonfire...
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| Had to blur out the incorrect time stamp. It was actually Christmas Eve |
But I was too exhausted to worry about what I assumed was a coyote or bobcat, and fell asleep surprisingly fast on the bare tent floor. My sleep was marred by the dread of having to get up and seek warmth, as I awoke in misery to freezing temperatures over and over. After a few hours, the cold ground stung as if I was laying on an ice skating rink, and, shivering violently, I had to sit up.
"You awake?", Z said between chattering teeth from the other tent. "This is crazy, what the hell!?"
"We have to get the emergency blanket from the first aid kit".
We attempted to share the paper-thin sheet of tin foil that was supposed to save our lives, but it didn't do much. Jadd had piled clothing and a somehow-dry blanket on top of himself and didn't seem to be suffering as badly. Somehow, we managed to get a few more hours of shattered sleep as the night dragged its way out. A friend asked me later if I reached any epiphanies on the trip. Yes, trying to pass a freezing night outside is worse than being hungry, and it's painful to imagine how much suffering people without shelter endure around the world.
Day 3 - Christmas in Mexico
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| Feliz Navidad! |
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| ♫ Wet novels roasting on an open fireee ♫ |
We had underestimated the flow of the Rio Grande, and covered the 33 miles much faster than anticipated. It was disappointing that we passed through the majestic canyon so quickly rather than spending a second night there, but next time, I'll know to plan a much longer trip through multiple canyons, as our guide suggested when he picked us up 24 hours later.
We made camp, and with nothing to worry about, drank the last of our tea, and ate the last of our food while watching the sun depart behind the canyon in the distance, eventually giving way to another brilliant starry night. For the first time, I got to enjoy my tent and sleep warm and dry after reading about 50 pages of the novel I had roasted over the fire that morning. Midway through the night, the same beast as the previous evening awakened me with its call, this time, seemingly, just a few yards away from our campsite. But upon hearing the subsequent grunts up close, I recognized the familiar "hee-haw" and laughed, realizing the raccoonbearcougar we had feared had been another friendly burro all along.
We made camp, and with nothing to worry about, drank the last of our tea, and ate the last of our food while watching the sun depart behind the canyon in the distance, eventually giving way to another brilliant starry night. For the first time, I got to enjoy my tent and sleep warm and dry after reading about 50 pages of the novel I had roasted over the fire that morning. Midway through the night, the same beast as the previous evening awakened me with its call, this time, seemingly, just a few yards away from our campsite. But upon hearing the subsequent grunts up close, I recognized the familiar "hee-haw" and laughed, realizing the raccoonbearcougar we had feared had been another friendly burro all along.
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| No filter |
Day 4 - Green Chile Cheese Moth Fries
After breakfast, the sun quickly beamed the desert back to a warm haze, but the still-cool sand provided an exceptionally pleasant napping ground. Our pickup arrived an hour early, which was great, since the ride back took three hours, and we were ready to grab some real food and drive back home. We had burgers in Terlingua, which wasn't anything to write home about, except for the crushed moth under my fries...Regardless, it felt great to eat fresh meat, and downing an espresso energy drink, I powered through the overnight drive to Houston.
Kayaking tip #8:
Strapped down with regular straps on the stock rack of my Outback, the
kayak didn't budge for all 8.5 hours of driving 80mph on the highway,
and you can too.
Kayaking tip #8:
Strapped down with regular straps on the stock rack of my Outback, the
kayak didn't budge for all 8.5 hours of driving 80mph on the highway,
and you can too. Day 5 - Glazed
At dawn, we ate Shipley's Donuts in Houston since Z hails from Dallas and had never tried them. We also drank milk.
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