Magnificent Views and Mishaps (Big Bend and Aguirre Springs Redux)
Journal Entry #47
April 3, 2023
Though the busy-peoply-ness of Austin was a blast, after six days of burning the midnight oil it was a relief for us retreat to quiet open spaces. As we made our way westward to Big Bend, a solid seven hour drive from Austin, we learned that a rare March snowstorm passed through the area of the National Park the night before. The park website indicated the roads up into the basin were closed. We hedged our bets by booking an RV park in Marathon, Texas just in case we couldn’t make it in. We were lucky. About four hours into the journey we called the park lodge and got the word that the roads had opened back up again. Interestingly, the website hadn’t been updated yet. When we arrived at the park, making our way through a stunning white fairyland, the camping spots were largely empty. This is a very popular National Park where camping is completely booked long in advance. We guessed many folks had assumed the park roads were still closed (Note to all millennials and younger: making old fashioned voice phone calls to talk to real humans does pay off!)
We visited Big Bend last year on our year-long trip. It was one of a handful of places we both enthusiastically agreed we’d return to again, even as remote (or perhaps because of how remote) it is. Words to describe this place? Starkly beautiful, epically vast. Camping in Chisos Basin at 5400 ft in elevation, with trails leading far higher, surrounded by massive, craggy red-hued peaks, and watching how the sun’s moving arc creates shadows that transform them is awe inspiring. I am not religious but this place does make me feel very quiet, aware that I am small part of something much bigger; earth time, the eons. I feel reverent here.
Big Bend/Chisos Basin is a hikers paradise. The Window Trail is an easy four miler to the view point. Beyond that, the hikes get more rigorous but also more rewarding. On our first full day the sky was blue, and snow was gone. We made our way to the Window, then extended our trek by working our way up and over the basin edge on the Oak Springs trail. On our way up, we caught sight of a flock of horned Barbery sheep. Then we hugged the ledge and eventually switchbacked down the other side into the high desert valley teeming with yuccas in bloom—— we could see green oaks in the distance signaling water.
We stopped in the shade of the trees of a mostly dry wash bed. To our left, we noticed a sign indicating another two mile trail to something called Cattails Falls, which was not on any of the official park maps. Well, that was JUST the kind of “lure”we love —a water feature on an off-the-beaten-path trail. Of course, we both predicted it would be dry. Or maybe just a trickle? We were about five miles out from camp. Another mile out was doable and would put us at about 12 miles round trip, a respectable distance and in the range we like. We climbed a gentle rise and around a bend. Before us was a dry wash. As the path descended and bent towards the massive exterior mountain walls of the basin, we could hear the sound of water. A lot of water. We rounded several large boulders and there before us was a spectacular waterfall, cutting through high red desert rock, against a bright blue sky. It was enthralling. So enthralling in fact, I was distracted and, my with eyes staring foward at the base of the falls, I climbed over a dirt rise and through rocky formation… and cracked the top of my head on a low hanging rock. OUCH. It was an impact like you see in cartoons where birds fly around your head and you see stars. I even had Tom check to make sure that there was no cut in the scalp. I applied pressure and we carried on. We reached the base of the falls. It was well worth the effort and the “headache”! Water cascaded down from the red rocks and the mist of the water created a rainbow near the pool. Maiden hair ferns framed the water. A true oasis.
After two days of 12+ mile hikes, including a revisit to the stunning south rim of the Chisos basin with distant views of Mexico, we carried on to another favorite hiking and vista campground, Aguirre Springs, just east of Last Cruces in New Mexico. Spring in the desert is often called the windy season. And we are not talking soft gentle breezes; there is often a stiff, sometimes howling wind, usually whipping across vast plains and through mountain passes and canyons. We had one day open for hiking at Aguirre and we decided that we weren’t going to let the wind stop us from hiking.
We geared up with hats, gloves, coats and wind breakers to make the trek up to Baylor Pass. The wind increased as we climbed toward the saddle of the pass. The wind was loud enough that we couldn’t hear each other well and the tall golden grass was being blown nearly horizontal against the hills.
We were having fun, laughing at how we could lean into the wind and its force was practically holding us up. I was taking video and pictures of Tom straining against the wind when a gust ripped his hat off his head. It began to bounce down the saddle like tumbleweed. It landed briefly on the ground and, in that moment, my instinct was to chase it in an attempt to set my foot on the hat to stop it from flying away. This was a BAD idea.
The same wind that snatched Tom’s hat gave me a huge shove forward down the hill. I was quickly out of control, running/careening down the rocky meadow slope. I knew I was going to fall, the question was where. It was both like being in slow motion and fast motion all at once— I saw rocks on the ground. I saw the barbed wire fence about 30 feet in front of me. Somehow, in the few seconds remaining before I would reach the fence, I spotted a “less rocky” grassy patch of ground. In that moment I told myself, “fall now, Amie.” I landed face down, eagle spread.
I didn’t move.
Tom later recalled thinking I must have hit a rock and was unconscious. He ran over and asked if I was okay. I took a moment to consider his question. I moved all of my body parts. All good. I slowly arose. The only scratch I seemed to have was on my right hand, the first thing to hit the ground. Miraculously, I had no significant injuries. I somehow managed to avoid landing on all of the many rocks on the ground. Tom suggested that I please let the hat go next time or at least learn a quarterback slide!
Back at the campsite, as the winds subsided and the sun began to sink low behind the peaks, we lit a fire. I reflected on the day, my injuries and close calls, and on the trade offs between risks and rewards. At 54, I generally don’t see myself as a big risk taker/thrill seeker. Challenging hikes however, are still within my comfort zone and the way I see it, occasional mishaps are part of the price of admission. At the same time, I am aware of my own aging self. On one hand, I feel good and lucky that in my middle age I still have the physical strength and endurance to take adventures, endure mishaps and recover from them. On the other hand, incidents like these do give me some pause. I suppose they are a reminder that time and age may eventually limit me. For now though, I figure the best way to retain my ability to go on adventures like these is, well… to GO ON THEM.
I can’t ignore the signs of aging but I can choose how I want to age. It’s like this: I have decided not to let aging be self limiting. I will, however, let flying hats fly!
If you’re not having an occasional mishap, you aren’t trying.
Love your perspective on age.