Westward Ho!

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 17^th, 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 18^th 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, 20^th 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 21^st 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 23^rd. 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 24^th 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 26^th 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 28^th 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 29^th 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 29^th, 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 5^th 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.