We went to Big Bend National Park almost as an afterthought--driven mostly by the lousy weather everywhere else. What a lucky break--this place is one of the gems of the country--unspoiled, varied, and inexpressible beautiful. It's sort of like the Grand Canyon--no photograph or description can do it justice. If you're ever thinking about a cross-country trip, put Big Bend on the list.
It's hard to know where to start with the pictures, but here's the view from our bathroom window--what a way to start the day.
Our camp site (is it appropriate
to call it camping when you bring along satellite TV, two cellular phones,
and dual air conditioners?) was about two hundred feet from the Rio Grande
and thus the Mexican border. Those hills you see, both near and in the distance,
are in Mexico.
There used to be quite a bit of casual trade across this stretch of border, particularly of Americans crossing for the day. This has all ended since September 11.
We got to Big Bend via US Route
90 which runs south of Interstate 10 out of San Antonio; essentially the
same route, but one tenth the traffic and much more interesting.
We
had visions of taking this trip entirely on "blue highways" and avoiding the
interstates altogether. This was before we fully understood the implications
of driving a 12 foot high vehicle that can't be backed up (like at an unexpected
low bridge) without unhooking the car, tying up traffic for half an hour,
and generally being thoroughly embarrassed. The solution? A wonderful
book called "the Professional Drivers Road Atlas" which shows truck routes
(interstates and others) in every state. This allows you to depart
the interstates with some degree of confidence. As I mentioned earlier, there's
nothing like the relief of meeting an 18-wheeler headed in your direction
on an off-the-beaten-track road; you know you can go wherever he's been.
Another
view on the way to Big Bend. Driving the RV on a road like this is a real
pleasure--just set the cruise control at 65, and point it down the road. Lot's
of people have asked whether it's hard to drive something so long (40' of
RV and 20 more of car); the answer is yes in town where there are lots of
turns; on the highway, however, it's no problem--there's no sense of length,
except when you have to judge where to pull in after passing someone. Yes,
I have passed occasionally; not often, but sometimes you just can't stand
it.
Here's what I mean about beautiful; this is about half way up a hike we took
the second day in the park. Notice, also, the weather. As I looked at the
Weather Channel each night (remember the satellite?), the little nub of southwest
Texas (where the Rio Grande literally takes a Big Bend) was consistently the
only part of the country without the green or white splotches indicating precipitation
of some kind.
I never knew what the term "azure blue" meant before I saw this.
Here are Mary and Molly on a section of the same climb; again, if you're wondering why we're doing this, here's a big part of the answer.
The gang in the midst of the climb (the mountain was about 6,000 feet, but we started at least half way up). Ben is trying not to, but if you look closely, he can't fully conceal the beginnings of a smile.
Here's another view in the park; as you can see from these pictures, it's
part mountains, part desert, and all spectacular. We saw roadrunners (where
was Wiley Coyote?), deer, huge jackrabbits, and a kind of wild pig called
javelinas, a herd of which wandered into the camping area one evening like
they owned the place.
And how's this for one of your run-of-the-mill desert sunsets? This was taken from right in front of the RV.
One of the great things that happened in Big Bend was that we met up with another family doing the same thing as us. Beth and Chris Powers had left New Jersey with their four kids about the same time we left Maine. The kids immediately bonded and the parents loved having someone else to swap home schooling stories with ("you mean yours won't do cursive practice, either?").
Here's Molly with new friends
for life, Kate and Grace. One of the hard things (and good things, as well)
about an experience like this is that the family has only each other--for
conversation, play, and company. This is great to a point, but we've found
that a few outside associations every now and then are important. The Powers'
showed up in our lives at just the right time.
And we all went for a raft trip down the Rio Grande; Mom and the kids resisted, but Dad insisted. Dad was right. (See why it's an advantage to be the guy who writes the history?). It was spectacular; take a look--
Just enough rapids to make it interesting.
Ben got a chance to show off his rowing skills, while the guides told us tales of this country of cowboys, Mexican wars, flash floods, and incredibly hot summers. Visit in the winter or spring; 110 isn't unusual in July and August. While we're on the subject, why would George W. come down here for August--beautiful as it is--when he could be in Maine?
And Mary liked the whole deal so much, when we stopped for lunch, she just couldn't hold it in. That's a happy lady.
After the raft trip, which took all day, we had dinner at The Boathouse in Terlingua; what a setting. On the right is another sunset, this time through the open air bar (where I met a guy from, you won't believe this, Skowhegan),
And how's this for one of your run-of-the-mill desert sunsets? This was taken from right in front of the RV.
One of the great things that happened in Big Bend was that we met up with another family doing the same thing as us. Beth and Chris Powers had left New Jersey with their four kids about the same time we left Maine. The kids immediately bonded and the parents loved having someone else to swap home schooling stories with ("you mean yours won't do cursive practice, either?").
And we all went for a raft trip down the Rio Grande; Mom and the kids resisted, but Dad insisted. Dad was right. (See why it's an advantage to be the guy who writes the history?). It was spectacular; take a look--
Just enough rapids to make it interesting.
Ben got a chance to show off his rowing skills, while the guides told us tales of this country of cowboys, Mexican wars, flash floods, and incredibly hot summers. Visit in the winter or spring; 110 isn't unusual in July and August. While we're on the subject, why would George W. come down here for August--beautiful as it is--when he could be in Maine?
And Mary liked the whole deal so much, when we stopped for lunch, she just couldn't hold it in. That's a happy lady.
After the raft trip, which took all day, we had dinner at The Boathouse in Terlingua; what a setting. On the right is another sunset, this time through the open air bar (where I met a guy from, you won't believe this, Skowhegan),
Next
stop, Fort Davis, Texas--the Buffalo Soldiers and a trip to the stars.