Westward Ho!
By necessity this blog is occurring after the fact, due
firstly to a lazy blogger (me), tight timelines with busy schedules at home
(yes that even happens to us retirees), and ultimately, a lack of connectivity
in Big Bend National Park. Enough already with the excuses and on to this new
Blog, that covers a trip to Texas and Florida, visits to old Hawaiian friends,
my daughter Jess & family, Big Bend
National Park and Cassie’s graduation from Nursing School in Lakeland Florida. Many thanks to Toyota, that produced my
Highlander; the Beast, that carried me safely around on my journeys.
It’s April 17th, and its all go with the Go, cleaned,
lubricated, packed and hooked to the Beast. I headed out that morning just as
Andrea was leaving for work in Savannah.
What can be said about my first stretch of driving but that it began
boring four years ago visiting Cassie in Lakeland, Florida and it has only
become more so with redundancy! I
generated even less enthusiasm for I-10 West to Pensacola, FL. An almost seamless view of slash pine along
both sides of the interstate is the best that can be said for my initial seven
hour drive south and west.
My first overnight stop was a little south of Pensacola, FL
at Big Lagoon State Park, a State Park tucked in along the intercostal
waterway. Probably the biggest draw are
some fairly extensive boardwalks and watch towers that allow views of
waterfowl, the intercostal Waterway and the city of Pensacola in the
distance. Nearby is the Gulf Islands
National Seashore, which to be honest, has a beautiful long stretch of white-sand
beach with picnic facilities, bathrooms and changing rooms. Its only detraction is its close proximity to
a burgeoning forest of high-rise condominiums, along a stretch of road I would
characterize as tourist retail. I did
find a local seafood restaurant at Perdido Key, which featured local catch and
PEI Mussels. The P.E.I Mussels tempted
me and I paired these with a fine Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand.
Dawn on the 18th of April was following a now
necessary routine of cleaning, repacking and buttoning down the Go, followed by
a quick shower and programming of GPS for the next night’s destination. I fortified myself with a hearty breakfast at
one of the ubiquitous interstate McDonalds and then joined the big rigs, RVs
and assorted vehicles wending their way west on I-10. With Pensacola a few hours in my rear view
mirror I crossed over a major waterway on a suspension bridge, and was
presented with an impressive view of a WWII battleship and the Mobile, Alabama
skyline. For a brief moment it was
De’ja vu back to the Missouri battleship anchored in Pearl Harbor, HI that I
had seen so often while taking new tourists around Oahu during eighteen years
on the island. The sight of those
large-bore guns bristling from the surface of the battleship is always
awe-inspiring for me. In my minds eye I
replay the scenes from multiple film clips and war movies when the spit flames
while projecting a massive from their throats.
Motoring through Mobile, you have to slow down to an unaccustomed
45 MPH as you wend your way around some relatively tight turns in the downtown
area. This is followed by more mind-numbing
I-10ness, till you break the monotony is broken by elevated stretches of causeways
in around St. Charles LA. Take note; if
you are looking for radio stations other than God, and Country you will be
disappointed in this part of the South. This
couples with the visual scenery that consists of billboards screaming at you of
the “If you are hurt in an auto accident” variety. These always are adorned with schlocky, ambulance
chasing attorney pictures. To keep you
inspired and awake, you are affronted with in your face anti-abortion billboards
presenting either fetuses or the ultimate WASP-looking cherubs.
St. Charles the city
beckons the traveler to indulge one’s gambling fantasies at slick looking
casinos. Further inducement comes from musical
offerings that proffer high-end, 20th century musical talent,
including the likes of 80’s group Styx, Diana Ross from the Supremes and
various western singing idols.
Not being overly drawn to gambling, I continued my chosen
route towards New Orleans. However, rather
than trying to negotiate New Orleans with the Go, I chose I-12 that runs north
along Lake Pontchartrain. Some six
hours from the Pensacola area, I pulled into Fontainebleau State Park, it being
pleasantly situated along the shores of Lake Pontchartrain. Never having seen a bayou, I laced up my
hiking shoes and took off hiking, hoping to take in some wildlife along the
way.
I wasn’t disappointed in the wildlife seen, to include a
couple of red-eared slider turtles laying eggs along the path, some
White-tailed deer, two Black Racers (snakes) and some Leopard Frogs (so prolific
in my youth but now relatively rare).
The green hues of the lazy body of water that is the bayou, was quietly
idyllic.
The only living thing I saw
stirring were water striders (the insect that scoots across the water using the
water’s surface tension to stay afloat).
Only saw four other people along the six-mile loop hike, which was fine
by me, as it allowed me to see wildlife that would have otherwise been scared
away.
I tracked down another local restaurant that just served
fresh local catch, enjoying a Cajun fish sandwich and beer, before retiring to
my Go and enjoying a pleasant evening sipping Lindeman’s Chardonnay while
finishing Andrew J. Bacevich’s excellent military history, America’s War for
the Greater Middle East. No happy
ending for this book. The portrayal is of an America with naive presidential
and military leadership, inserting itself into the greater Middle East time and
again, with no potential benefits either to America or the countries they have
invaded.
I packed up fairly early in the AM and headed out, consuming
less than stellar coffee at the campsite.
Folgers coffee bags, while convenient, just don’t measure up to our home
brew of Starbucks French Roast. With
coffee mug in the Beast’s cup holder and an empty stomach, I maneuvered back on
to I-12 West heading towards Houston, Texas where Hawaiian friends Alan and Ria
Walz awaited me. They have resided in
Houston for the past ten years, since leaving our little enclave of Kailua on
Oahu. An uninspiring drive ensued for
the five-hour trip to Houston’s northwestern suburbs. From the eastern outskirts of Houston it was
a full hour to get to their two-story brick colonial on a quiet, tree-lined street.
Their four-bedroom home with small pool is relatively
inexpensive by most standards, however Texas has a way of taxing you in
creative ways with property taxes taking a chunk out of everyone’s income. Houston is the largest city in Texas coming
in at 2.2 million, which puts it in fourth place by size in the U.S. It reminds me of another pavement-covered
megalopolis, L.A., in California. Shortly after arrival, we caught up on family
happenings and health issues (what seniors don’t talk about their health?)
poolside. The antics in Washington D.C.
were another topic that made for some shaking of heads and a few
profanities. We did this while enjoying
“beverages” as my friends euphemistically call hard liquor drinks.
I suspected the Beast needed some attention before I
ventured off into no-mans land in the south of Texas, as I heard a persistent
whine from the front end, which brought to mind wheel bearings going bad. The day before I had asked Alan to locate the
nearest Toyota dealer, as I had no knowledge of local auto repair shops that
could be trusted. With fingers crossed
that the cost wouldn’t be exorbitant, we left her with the dealerships auto
surgeons. They confirmed the right front
wheel bearing that was going bad, and $600 later the replacement was
installed. While no auto mechanic I knew
this was a 30 minute job with a bearing puller, rubber mallet and grease gun,
so knew the $600 was an outrageous amount to fork over, but the assurance of
having reliable transportation going forward ultimately was worth the financial
pain. The thought of being stranded with
the Go on some lonely stretch of Texas highway in the middle of the desert just
did not appeal!
Come Friday the 21st at 8AM I headed out with Go
in tow for my daughter Jessica’s home on Randolph Air Force Base, located on
the outskirts of San Antonio. I
anticipated a three-hour drive given Texas speed limits of 85 on I-10, and
after slaughtering a few thousand black, mating Love Bugs, arrived at the front
gate of Randolph Air Force base. Getting
clearance on base required Jess to join me as my sponsor, while I provided them
with driver’s license and details of my stay.
After clearing whatever security requirements were mandated, they
provided a pass some fifteen minutes later. I was required on first entry to
provide the pass, my driver’s license, registration and proof of insurance,
which is SOP from what I recall on past occasions.
Since Randolph is a Joint Command Base with Lackland Air
Force Base, with some 16 Generals in residence, security precautions are tight
compared to most bases like the Paris Island Marine Corp Base in Beaufort
County.
Jess led the way past beautiful, Spanish style older
buildings and churches,
Before arriving at her home, situated across from a sports
field/sports complex. I noticed they
were graced with Greater Fly Catchers, who perched themselves upon the historic
looking street lamps. The base has a
surprising number of full-grown trees, which makes for a green canopy in
places, which in turn promotes a certain tranquility juxtaposed to the periodic
roar of jet engines overhead.
Jess’s home is an older, stucco, Spanish style four-bedroom
home with 2.5 baths built sometime in the 1940s. I recognized many of her furnishings from my
visit to the family in Guam, yet was still amazed at the creativity and
diversity of artwork and furniture all of which having been hand-constructed by
Jess with simple hand tools. It is a
very comfortable, cozy home for husband Abel, and my two grandchildren, Logan
and Lizzie (16 and 13). Since I arrived
around noon, Jess and I were able to relax and catch up a bit before I headed
off to the airport to pick up Andrea. In my anxiousness not to be late, I
arrived 45 minutes before the flight was due and spent my downtime, cleaning
and arranging the inside of the Beast, which I gotten somewhat discombobulated
during my drive to San Antonio. She was
flying in from Savannah, via Charlotte, NC for a four-day weekend. I always get a thrill when seeing my nattily
dressed Andrea in new surroundings, and I wasn’t disappointed on this occasion.
After returning to the base we had to go through the same security pass process
for Andrea, and finished just in time to pick up Logan and Lizzie from their
respective schools. Both modern schools,
are are on base, but shared with the local community.
I managed to embarrass both Logan and Lizzie by getting out
of the car while they were approaching and giving them hugs. Both were initially quiet, but Lizzie turned
loquacious in short order while Logan offered up limited verbal
communications. Returning home, I
presented both with gifts I had made them; their names spelled out in shells
from Sanibel Island, Florida within a framed glass box. Both seemed reservedly happy to receive the
gifts, and Jess thought the black frames would go well with their room
décor.
That evening, we ordered pizza for the family and
afterwards, attended one of Logan’s soccer games, a short thirty- minute drive from
the house. While the Lion’s lost, Logan
deftly scored a point for the team.
Logan has a long-striding lope while playing, which befits his 15-year
old, 6’ 2’ frame. I got to see Lizzie
practice and play as well on successive days.
The next day, Saturday, we decided to investigate San
Antonio and its noted River Walk. The city was especially festive in light of
Fiesta Week, a local celebration of Hispanic heritage. We parked near the Alamo, cause you just have
to have that first on your list of landmarks to take in. Crowds were standing in line to get in so we
circumnavigated the walls and took in the museum, before embarking on a bus
tour of the city in a London double decker bus.
Not sure that was worth the money for all of us, as San Antonio is
relatively unremarkable with the exception of the Alamo, some historic churches
notwithstanding.
After walking up and down the River Walk a ways, we finally
found the starting point for the open-air boats which take you on a tour of the
river, really more of a canal system than river. It wends its way slowly through a small
portion of the downtown area. Periodically
we would see a splash of color in the hair of women passerby’s.
Vibrantly colored artificial flowers woven into
headpieces made for a festive atmosphere.
Following our boat tour, we took in lunch at a burger joint near the
Alamo, then headed into the thick of the Fiesta Day activities just a few short
blocks away.
Throngs of people, mostly
of Hispanic heritage, crammed into a pedestrian alley nestled between retail
shops.
Makeshift stages were scattered
along the route with Mexican bands and Hip Hop artists performing for the
crowds.
A Mexican drink called a Machilada,
made from a dozen or so ingredients plus tequila and beer, was the drink of the
day.
Some came in sizes approximately
large sombreros.
Needless to say, many
of the locals were in their cups.
On Sunday the 23rd. we convoyed north towards
Austin, to Kyle, an upscale suburban development transected by the Blanco
River. This well-off community had
outstanding soccer fields where Logan frequently plays his games. Logan’s game got off to a chilly start at
8AM. Logan came in for some dressing downs from his British accented coach in
the first quarter; giving him hell for not playing aggressive defense. Logan
got pulled, but later came back in to shoot the winning goal. Since all were ravenous post game, especially
Logan, we stopped at The International House of Pancakes for hearty breakfasts,
before driving further north to Austin.
This side trip was at my request, as I wanted to have some sense of why
all the young (Thirty Somethings) rave about the city, and are flocking there together
with Seattle and Portland.
We picked out Covert Park on the outskirts of Austin to
visit, and it was a great choice to take in panoramic views of the Colorado
River that ran below us in a general north south direction.
The river was below us some four hundred
feet, and is festooned with multi-million dollar homes. Looking south and east,
we could clearly see a dazzling skyline that was downtown Austin. I was envious
of the slick watercraft zipping along the Colorado below us, while we baked in
the afternoon sun.
After an uneventful
drive home of about an hour and a half, we chilled for a while then Abel took
us to the Texas Pride barbeque restaurant, out in the middle of nowhere.
This made to look retro barbeque was true to
its name, with outstanding barbeque choices.
Your choices came down to one, two or three meats!
Truth be told, the meat was very tasty and
Andrea was only disappointed that the ribs had already sold out by the time we
got there around 7PM.
The next morning after dropping the grandchildren off at
school Jess, Andrea and I went to the gym for our second workout in four days. The conveniently located gym was massive, well
stocked with new equipment and populated by predominantly by military
retirees. Jess, did her routine with the
bar and weights, doing some eye-popping routines that have resulting in a beautifully
sculpted body.
Monday was departure day for Andrea, so we loaded up the
Beast with her bags and drove back to San Antonio airport for a quick
goodbye. Wasn’t as difficult parting as
we both knew we would be seeing each other in a little over a week in Lakeland,
Florida for Cassie’s nursing school graduation.
If it’s Tuesday the 24th of April it must be time
to visit Natural Bridge Taverns with grandchildren in tow. Jess allowed Logan and Lizzie to skip school
for a day to go on an excursion with Grandpa.
We loaded into Jess’s SUV and drove out of town about 45 minutes to the
caves.
None of the family other than
myself had been in a cave, so this was a totally new experience, which by all
accounts was well received.
Our tour
lasted about 90 minutes with an experienced young guide explaining the multitudinous
varieties of stalagmites and stalactites in this system of caves that had only
been discovered in the 1960s. Well worth the time and price of admission for
this genteel spelunking expedition.
After getting some lunch at a Greek restaurant not far from
the base, Jess and I returned to a western gear store where she had previously
looked at cowboy boots. By her own
admission, Jess said she had a hard time making such choices, so this was the
second time round for completing a selection and letting dad pay for them. This time round she went in, saw a different
pair of boots that met her needs and had them purchased all within 10 minutes.
Go figure! She looked great in her new
shit kickers, as we used to refer to them in Michigan.
Big Bend National Park is now on the near-term agenda, with
all my planning having been completed and the day for travel south arrived. I
took off with Go in tow on Wednesday the 26th once again on I-10
West for about four hours to Fort Stockton where I picked up 385 south to
Marathon and onwards towards Big Bend.
Some pretty desolate country with wide-open expanses and mountain vistas
in the far distance. Felt like I was
really in Texas when I passed through Six Shooter Gulch, and noted that I was
driving past the same ranch for thirty minutes at seventy MPH. About thirty minutes before entering the
park, you pass a border patrol station where vehicles coming north from the
park are scanned carefully. The park
entrance is still about forty miles from Park Headquarters at Panther Junction
(see map).
I stopped at Park Headquarters to get the lay of the land,
get advice on hiking and birding and see what was available for food and
gas. There was a gas station and a small
selection of food at a nearby store. With my previously made reservation in
hand I drove the 17 miles up into Chisos Basin.
The Chisos Mountains and Basin located in Big Bend Nation
Park, and are the only U.S. mountain range to be found completely within a
national park. Easier done in a park that is larger than the
state of Rhode Island! The basin itself is
a unique ecological area that gets twice the normal desert rainfall of around
twenty inches a year. While this doesn’t
sound like a lot of precipitation, it is enough in the cooler temperature
ranges to have a flourishing mixed hardwood and pine forest. In fact, the south rim sports the southern-most
grove of Aspen in the U.S. Because of
the availability of water beyond that found in the surrounding desert, the area
is a magnet and haven for varied wildlife including a large number of bird
species. Of particular note, is the fact
that this is the home of the Colima Warbler; the only place it lives in the
world. Talk about being geographically
selective!
My reservation was in the regular campground, and after
navigating along the narrow roads within the crowded campground I found my
reserved site #31. With great
consternation I noted that there was no way in hell to park the Go! It was a tent only site. To say I was pissed off after eight hours of
driving is an understatement, especially since the site clearly indicated on my
reservation that this was for a 15’ trailer.
I sought out the camp host but he/she was off duty, so I made the
decision to drive back down to Park Headquarters at Panther Junction to see how
to resolve this SNAFU. There, I connected
with the Ranger in charge who attempted to contact the host at the campground
by phone and then by radio to no avail.
After an hour plus, we both reached the conclusion that it would be best
if I were to drive to Rio Grand Village where they had open camp sites that
could accommodate the Go. The Ranger
asked that I contact her around 9AM the next morning by which time she thought
she would be able to find me a suitable site in Chisos Basis.
Basin
I then made the forty-mile trek west to Rio Grande Village
where I found a vacant campsite. I could
tell this campground wasn’t as popular because of its lower elevation and
higher temperatures. That being said, I
set up the Go and took a short drive to Boquillas Crossing, a border crossing
that connected the U.S. with the Mexican town of Boquillas. I didn’t have my passport with me (note to
self to bring along whenever I am travelling near a border), so I contented
myself with viewing the crossing and parking on a plateau that overlooked the
small town.
Early the next morning, before the heat started to kick in,
I put my binoculars in a day pack and drove to the takeoff point for the
Boquillas Canyon Trail (see map).
A short climb over a rocky outcrop brought me down onto the
Rio Grande flood plain. The river itself
is unprepossessing, as it meanders here and there on a crooked path between rocky
outcrops. The river looked to be maybe
2-3 ft. deep and there were donkeys and a couple of goats grazing along the
banks on the Mexican side of the river
perhaps four hundred feet distant.
The
path I was on ambled along the flood plain then followed the canyon wall for
perhaps a half-mile, before ending as the canyon narrowed and steepened.
I came across only two other hikers on the
trail but saw and heard an old Mexican man who called himself
“The Singing Jesus”.”
He was hawking handmade trinkets made by the
school children in Boquillas, according to his crude signage.
I didn’t purchase any of the trinkets but
passed along five dollars and wished him a good day on my way back along the
trail.
I next checked in at the Visitors Center at The Rio Grande
Village with one of the Rangers, who attempted to connect with the Ranger at
Panther Junction. She was out and about,
so couldn’t confirm if I had a new reservation.
We agreed that I should check back with him around 1PM, so in the
interim, I drove to the hot springs which were located fifteen minutes up the
main road, then another 15 or so along a narrow, winding and at times single
track road. With a short ten-minute walk I passed an abandoned store and simple
adobe motel before reaching the hot springs.
This hot spring dumps right into the Rio Grande River, and had once upon
a time prior to the 1960s, been an overnight destination.
Now the spring flows into about a twenty-foot
square raised pool before emptying into the river a couple of feet below. Taking
cover in some bamboo along the river’s edge I changed out of my hiking gear and
into a bathing suit, joining 8-10 others in the pool.
The temperature was perfect, but with the
outside temperature in the 90s I didn’t feel the need to soak for long.
I ventured directly into the Rio Grande to
cool off and stood on the soft sandy bottom, with the lukewarm waters caressing
my legs.
Getting back to the Visitor Center around 2PM, I connected
with the Ranger who told me they had worked everything out and that I had a
reservation for the balance of my stay at Chisos Basin that would accommodate
the Go. Relieved, I returned to the campsite, packed up the Go and drove back
up to Chisos Basin. The Technicolor drive brings you to a 5,400
elevation, surrounded by mountain cliffs and a view out to the Chihuahuan
Desert below.
I immediately drove to my reserved site #5, got out and stood
aghast: another campsite that could accommodate a tent, but not the Go! In a
decidedly despondent mood, I sought out the campground host, only to note once
again, that he/she was off duty. Looking
a bit befuddled, a white pickup truck pulled alongside me and a large mountain
of a man with a husky voice asked what he could do to help me. I related my
story and he just shook his head. He
told me to follow him in my SUV around the campsite, but he couldn’t find a
suitable vacant site. He then asked that I wait at #5 for a few minutes while
he reconnoitered the situation. Quickly
returning, he told me to leave my vehicle and Go and hop into his truck. We went out of the campground and down a
short distance to the group campground.
It was completely devoid of campers. He pointed out a few options and
then took me to campsite “M”, which he informed me was the best campsite in
Chisos Basin.
Sure enough, it had a nice
pad for the Go and overlooked the “Window” to one side and up to a stunning
butte on the other. The “Window”, is a cut in the mountains that surround the
basin, allowing a vista of the Chihuahuan Desert ‘s expanse a few thousand feet
below.
There is a trail that takes you
down to the “Window” and outflow, where water tumbles down a cliff from the
basins only creek. Somehow this small part of the world just seemed to have
been set right, what with the prior campsite issues now history.
While the campsite was great, my setup of the Go was anything
but, as two of the plasticine windows at the rear of the Go were failing. Studying the construction, it looked like the
plasticine was originally sandwiched between the two sides of tent material,
then glued into place with no additional stitching. For whatever reason, the glue had become a
translucent mush, and I had to put an initial fix in, by duct taping the inside
and outsides of the two windows (not easy since I didn’t have long enough arms
to put pressure on the opposite side while taping). After Go repairs I finished setting up camp,
heated up my precooked, packaged dinner of quinoa and beans, poured a hefty
glass of wine and sat down in the recliner chair. I exhaled and started to enjoy the quietude
of the moment and my simple meal. The evening’s entertainment was starting a
new book, “Killing Kennedy”, authored by a man I fully detest, Bill
O’Reilly.
The morning of the 28th was bright and sunny, and
you could feel the temperature rising with every minute the sun rose in the
sky. After studying the provided maps, I
determined a drive to the southwest portion of the park was in order, as I
wanted to hike the Santa Elena Canyon trail.
Turning left at the Castolon/Santa Elena junction, I headed south and
stopped at the Sam Nail ranch. This
ranch abandoned in the 1930s was noteworthy due to the canopy of trees near the
old homestead. The surrounding
vegetation is the typical scrub found throughout this part of the world. The
cottonwood trees had grown up over time, nourished by water still flowing from
an old metal windmill. Interestingly,
the brand and style of the windmill was the same as one still operational on
the Bailey family property, Sanibel Island, where I had been just a few months
prior.
This ranch, established by the
Nail brothers in 1918, was then configured with an adobe-walled house, a well, fruit
trees and gardens. It operated as a ranch
into the depression years of the 1930s when the Federal Government, with an eye
towards the creation of the national park, bought the land, and tore down the
house. What remains however is a
pleasant interlude of green oasis, populated with abundant bird life. I caught sight of what I thought was a Varied
Bunting along with a number of bright yellow bodied, black-headed Scotts
Orioles.
This ranch, along with numerous others, became part of Big
Bend National Park when it was signed into being by President Roosevelt on
D-Day 1945.
Continuing my drive south I made my way to the parking area
by the Santa Elena River and Canyon. A
park volunteer requested I complete a survey, and I complied, figuring the
survey information must be important if someone was willing to stand out in the
wilting heat to secure my input. In
between questions on the survey, I pumped her for information about the hike, including
the fact that air temp would be around 120 degrees in the sunny sections. I set off with the Osprey backpack loaded
with two liters of water, and my wide-brimmed safari hat for protection from
the intense sunlight.
The hike’s path zigzagged up a rocky promontory at the bend
of the river then leveled out. There
were many fellow hikers on the trail, and I was surprised to see how many were
with children, which confirming this would not be difficult hiking, albeit
under high heat conditions. Beyond a few
spotted lizards, there was not much wildlife to see with the river below a
muddy brown, meandering flowage. In fact
it was strikingly similar to the Rio Grande I had observed near Boquillas. After perhaps thirty minutes of hiking I came
to a dead end, where the trail stopped up against the canyon wall. It was past noon by now, when I climbed up
into a small overhanging cave that afforded limited shade. I indulged myself with some water from the
Osprey backpack and one of my favorite snacks, tuna with crackers. The return was unremarkable with one
exception. While I was starring at a
patch of the river, what looked like a tan colored salamander looking creature
came up for a breath then paddled back underwater. Later I tried to determine what this creature
was at Park Headquarters, but the Rangers couldn’t I.D. it and I was unable to
find it in the retile books at the Visitors Center.
Looking for birdlife, I drove the short distance back along
the incoming road to the Cottonwood Campground.
There, they routinely irrigate the area with water from the Santa Elena,
so the grounds were shaded by numerous Cottonwood trees, and depressed areas
had significant low groundcover and grass that attracted all manner of
birds.
Amongst other birds I recorded
there was the bright red summer Tanager, standing out in splendid red amongst
the rest of his bird brethren.
On return to the campsite in Chisos Basin, I stopped along
the way by some prominent, white-colored ash deposits, which varied from small
hills to large mounds splayed against the ocher colored rocks. These are
actually ash deposits left millennia ago from the last volcanic activity in the
area. While this entire area was created
from volcanic activity, this was the only location where you could clearly see
the ash in such volume. Upon return to
my campsite, I felt particularly hot and grubby from so much sweating, so filled
my gallon jug and pail from the nearby spigot.
Ducking behind my Go, I disrobed and had myself a quick splash-shower
with the limited water available. With
the campground still blissfully empty, no one was offended by my nakedness. Thereafter I indulged in a short glass of 39-degree
wine from my refrigerator that worked silently in the back of the SUV whenever
the engine was running. I succumbed to
some horizontal therapy for at best an hour, which turned out to be a bust due
to the Go’s inside temperature. With no
available shade, the Go had heated up under the unrelenting sunshine.
Around five that evening I drove over a rugged, unpaved road
to an area called Grapevine Hills. There
was one other vehicle in the makeshift lot when I arrived for the 2.5-mile
trail that led to Balanced Rock. I set
off and was amused by the multihued lizards sporting light blue and green skins.
They look like tough little brutes what with their wide foot stance and
broad chests. The view at trails-end was
spectacular with the desert’s expanse below me.
There was a couple from Vancouver, B.C. who were glad to see me, as the
man, while able to climb up upon a large boulder to get his photo reward, was
unable to get down without my assistance.
They returned my helpfulness by taking a picture of me under the
Balanced Rock. It wasn’t until I returned
home that Andrea with a wry giggle noted that in addition to the Balanced Rock
there was a very phallic rock prominent against the skyline! I had a sense of aloneness in the desert’s
gloaming on the return trip and was relieved to finally get back on the paved
highway before full nightfall.
Sunday the 29th arrived, and I was determined to
take my long-planned hike up into the basin, having scoped trail options out the
day before. All trails begin right
behind the store, up by the lodge and visitor’s center, a quick five-minute
drive from my group campground location. I got up before the dawn, wishing to
hike as much as possible during the cooler part of the morning. I had been instructed by on of the Ranger’s
at the Visitors Center, that the elusive Colima Warbler was along Boot Camp
Trail, so this then became my goal. I started off through the woodlands on a
slightly uphill climb. Some twenty
minutes into the climb, I heard a group of hikers talking bird lingo, for lack
of better terminology. There were four
younger types, three males and an older 40 something female. Two of the males carried cameras with large
telephoto lenses and from what I could overhear were trying to decipher a
bird’s song that could be heard through on the wind. It was quickly evident,
that I had happened upon some serious birders.
While they were stopped taking pictures of a startling blue
Mexican Jay, that seemed to be posing for the cameras, I entered into
conversation with them and asked whether they would mind me tagging along as
they hiked up into the basin. Being
quite friendly and personable, I fell in with them, trying to keep up with
their younger legs and lungs. Eventually,
through staggered conversations, I discovered how and why they came to be on
the trail that day. There was Theodore (36), a teacher by trade with a Masters degree
in Biology, and Matt, a 23 year-old recent undergrad with a degree in
Environmental Science who was contemplating what graduate degree to
pursue. Then there was Louise, with a
Masters in Marine Ecology, and a recent transplant from Seattle, who found it
too difficult to live on her own in the city when her rent for a 500 square
foot house went from $1,000 per month to $2,500 per month. At 45 years of age, having survived
lymphocytic leukemia, she bagged it all and came back to live with her parents
in Colorado. Then there was the
infinitely personable Mike McCloy, a 28 year old with a Master’s in
Environmental Science who works as an environmental consultant on and off.
The four of them were superlative birders. They would I.D. birds on the wing by the
sound and patterns of their wing beats, or through unintelligible ( at least in
my mind), a myriad of birdcalls and songs.
They spoke of E-Bird, an online birding depository with great enthusiasm
and showed me pictures in E-Bird, so I could gain a better understanding of
what they were identifying. This boy from Hilton Head felt a bit clueless in
comparison to these birding wunderkinds.
Mike related along the way that he had seen and recorded 549 out of the 554
U.S. species of birds. It was not lost
on me that all four were on their day off from conducting bird surveys across
the west, for a group called the Rocky Mountain Bird Observatory. What
else would you be doing with yourself on a day off, if you did bird surveys for
ten days straight, but hike into the mountains to observe more birds!
Amongst the 50+ bird species we observed during the
five-hour hike that gained and lost some 1,600 feet, we saw six Colima
Warblers, three of which buzzed over our heads for some period of time on
flitting short flights. Up along Boot
Camp trail where there is an old CCC cabin, we crossed paths with a Mexican
Black Bear, who eyed us warily then sauntered off. Until relatively recently, the black bear was
extinct in this area, but with the creation of the park in 1945, and a respite
from being hunted, a few have migrated up from Mexico. This young male hung around long enough for
me to get a short video and picture. I
had to laugh inside my head as the birders very briefly took in this relatively
rare sighting of a Mexican Black Bear, only to return with earnestness to their
hunt for a Townsend Warbler they had hear in the nearby tree canopy.
Ultimately, mammals, even rare ones couldn’t hold the interest of this crew.
After hiking the 10.5 miles up Pinnacle and Boot Camp trail,
we returned to the lodge area where the cars were parked and I made a beeline
back to my campsite for a quick open air shower and some horizontal time. While I kept up with the youngsters, my body
was telling me in no uncertain terms that it needed some respite. I re-met the birding group at 5PM at their
campsite and we walked down to the Chisos Basin sewage works. The secondary sewage outflow was released
into a marsh area filled with verdant grasses and Honey Suckle. The birds flocked to this green,
water-enabled marsh in the otherwise dry landscape. We took observed the fast
darting Lucifer and Blue-Throated Hummingbirds amongst numerous other species
that late afternoon.
Having had my fill of birding, I said goodbye to my friends
after insuring Mike had my email address so he could send me the lists of birds
seen today via E-Bird. I made my way up to the lodge restaurant for a real meal
and a Chisos Basin Marguerita. Bed came
early that evening, after determining that I had accomplished both my hiking
and birding goals, and that family in San Antonio had a bigger draw than more
hiking in the park.
By 8AM on the 29th, I was ambling along at the
Park’s 45 MPH speed limit back towards Marathon. After a cursory stop and inspection at the
border control station, I motored on across the desiccated landscaped through
Fort Stockton and on to San Antonio. Had
a relaxing Monday with Jess, seeing Logan and Lizzie off to school, lunch with
Jess, picking the kids up from school and having a last dinner at home that
evening. Early Tuesday morn, I drove
out of Randolph AFB headed east on I-10 back towards Florida, stopping
overnight not far from Mobile, Alabama where a Hampton Inn beckoned along the
expressway. Driving a further seven
hours the next day, brought me within an hour and a half of Lakeland, my next
destination.
I rolled into Lakeland the next morning around 11AM and made
contact with Cassie, and was informed that Andrea would roll in with Ryan and
his girlfriend Rebekah around noon. We had a quick family reunion, then, checked
into our rooms at the historic Lakeland Terrace Hotel. This iconic stone-faced hotel was constructed
in 1925. It has the usual stone façade from that era, with five stories of
quest rooms, along with a nice dining area and old-fashioned outside porch. Here, guests gathered to sip their morning
coffees, and later in the day their cocktails. The hotel is nicely situated in
a rejuvenating downtown area, just across from a small lake with terraced
gardens.
May 5th got started with a family breakfast that
included Stephen Ley (Ryan and Cassie’s dad), and Zach, Cassie’s boyfriend. The
long-awaited pinning ceremony was scheduled for 1 O’clock that afternoon. We arrived early for the ceremony at the
chapel designed by Frank Lloyd Wright and took copious pictures both in and out
of the chapel. Andrea and I met Zach’s
parents, who drove in from the Villages (a very large-scale (150,000
population) retirement community, about an hour and a half east of
Lakeland.
The time-honored practice of pinning was described as
follows by one source found on via a Google search. “The pinning ceremony has a more personal
induction into the medical community rather than the graduation itself. The
earliest record of pinning ceremonies being used in the nursing community was
during the Crusades of the 12th century. Monks participated in similar rituals
with the Hospital of St. John where they agreed to treat wounded Crusaders.
They were given Maltese crosses as their badges for nursing the injured
soldiers. Florence Nightingale, considered the founder of modern nursing, also
presented medals of excellence to her nursing graduates. The medals evolved
into pins and by 1916, nurse pinning ceremonies were commonplace.”
Cassie, through dint and diligence completed
her BSN with a straight 4.0 grade point average, and was presented with an
academic award from the School of Nursing. The ceremony entailed a short speech
by a local nurse practitioner, as well as by one of the graduating nurses,
presentation of the awards and then a procession across the stage to receive
the nursing pin from Florida Southern College School of Nursing. All graduate nurses were dressed in white, sans
nursing caps. Female graduates at my
nursing school in Australia as well as at Andrea’s in Canada sported nursing
caps, but this traditional emblem is now archaic. We spent the balance of the
afternoon taking pictures of Cassie in her graduation robe and cap, followed by
Andrea and I hosting all assembled, everyone Stephen and the Zimmers, to a
dinner at the Terrace Hotel restaurant.
While it was a good gustatory experience, it took about an hour and a
half to be served the main meal, which made for some overly hungry guests.
The next day was the college graduation ceremony,
which convened in a large convention hall near downtown Lakeland. The commencement speaker, the Editor and
Chief of the Wall Street Journal, gave an excellent speech based on life’s
lessons learned while a reported and editor both in England and the U.S. Cassie,
who was sitting towards the way-back of the graduating students, finally made
her way across the stage and was presented her degree and announced to be
graduating Summa Cum Laude. In a celebratory mood, we all convened afterwards
at the local brewery in Lakeland for some great suds and appetizers. In the evening, Andrea, me, Ryan and Rebekah
took ourselves around the block to a hookah bar. We indulged in drinks and enjoyed smoking a
flavored tobacco via a hookah (water pipe).
Note: the last time I had indulged in a hookah
was in 1973 while in Kathmandu; then it was opium in a large attic space converted
into an opium den with rugs on the floor and large throw pillows for
comfort. This time round, I was tired
not from stupor-inducing opium, but rather from an early rise, and a full day
of activities within the context of a 66 year old body.
Our plans for Sunday were to convoy (both
Andrea and I had separate vehicles) with Cassie who drove her red Sonata, to
Jacksonville, for the sole purpose of hitting the REI store. This was the closest REI retail store, since
there were none in South Carolina. Cassie and I needed to select equipment for an
upcoming hike on the Appalachian Trail in June.
The selection process was rigorous and consumed several hours. Styles and technology for hiking equipment
have changed dramatically over the years since I trekked to Annapurna in Nepal,
sporting a second hand backpack, an inadequate sleeping bag and Indian
moccasins on my feet. Backpacks are now
ultra lightweight, sized proportionate to the individual and have webbing and
various pull straps. These allow adjustments
so that the vast majority of the weight rests on the hikers hips, taking
considerable strain off the shoulders. Likewise, sleeping mats are
sophisticated, ultra-light blowups and tents for two no longer require stakes
and come in at a mere 3 lbs., for a two-person tent. Some $700 later we exited the store with an
uber-excited Cassie and great gear.
Andrea and I completed the trip to Sun City Hilton Head in about two and
a half hours, and I then stowed the Go at it’s reserved location inside Sun
City’s secure RV/Boat Lot.
This road trip encompassed three weeks, seven
States (South Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Alabama, Louisiana and Texas) and
covered 4,600 miles. After some
reflection, I’ve come to realize that each trip I undertake is a gift. A gift from my wife who encourages me to
remain adventuresome, from my country that encompasses scenery and wilderness of
unbridled grandeur, and the gift of time in retirement to fully explore what
the boy within me cherishes.
