Reaching the Big Bend gate, I show my pass, put a sticker on my car saying I've paid, and get some maps before parking in a Visitors Center within spitting distance to look them over. The center has a big “CLOSED” sign on it, but a balding Park Ranger comes out to change it to open before inviting a man who parked after me inside.
Following after them, I wanted to ask some questions before excreting a growing bowel movement, but the Ranger's already talking to the other man. It didn't seem like the park was having a busy day from the roads, so I wander around the Center a little, looking at the exhibits, but by the time I come back, 2 more men are in line. I hear one of them, a large, greasy haired (even more so than me), younger guy, talk about registering for a campsite. The ranger is a nice guy. Like, a really, really nice guy. Like, nice to the point you want to yell at him to stop being so nice because it's getting annoying. So when the greasy guy starts asking questions the ranger gives him an answer...and then suggestions...and then alternatives to those suggestions...and then returns questions of his own: repeat 10 to 30 times as neccessary. It's excruciating.
While waiting in line, I read a brochure and find out what Big Bend is about: the big bend is the part of the Rio Grande river that bends from south to north. Looking at a map of Texas, you can see a horizontal S shape on the southwest quadrant. The left half of that S is the big bend. The river is used as a naturally occurring border between Texas and Mexico, meaning the park is not only at the border, it's named after it.
I don't have time for this wait while I've gotta poop, so I use the bathroom. Coming back out, the greasy man is at a laptop on the front desk, going through a registration process, and the line has not moved past the next person, but luckily, no one else has entered, so I only have two more people to wait on. 15 minutes later, I'm finally at the front of a one man line, excluding the man still registering a campsite to the side of me.
"Do you need to pay for admission?"
"No, I did that at the gate. I'd like to know what the most scenic trails are that aren't too tough."
He gives me a look like I've completely confused him.
"I was climbing the Guadalupe Mountains yesterday so I'm in a little pain, so I don't want anything too tough, and am wondering what the coolest stuff I could still see is."
"Okaaaaaay..."
I can't tell who the idiot in this situation is, me or him. He finally starts making some suggestions but ask me several times throughout our conversation, "So you need to pay for admission right?" I imagine what happened is the gate house closed right after I entered, and they put a sign up saying “Pay at the Visitors Center” which is why he was opening, so he figured anybody who came in hadn't paid yet.
After talking a while, he says, "I'd like to make some more suggestions on this if you'd be willing to wait 5 more minutes while I continue with [the greasy man's] registration process." I'd rather not, but he is a nice guy, so I wait so he can make his suggestions.
During this "5 minutes," he and the camping guy start discussing where the best place to take a picture of the sunset would be from, what direction the bordering towns are, and how many street lights are in those bordering towns, all while my mind wonders, “Is this really happening?”
"Is there a town here?"
"Yes, there'll be too many lights there."
"What about here?"
"There's a town, but they don't have lights. They're growing fast though, so probably soon."
While the discussion about street lamps executes my brain cells, a rush of people comes in, most of them wanting to pay for admission, so the Ranger decides to go ahead and handle all of them at once, because making anyone wait in line for something as trivial as admission would be rude.
15 minutes into my 5 minute wait, the Ranger returns.
"So how many days are you here for?"
"Just today."
"Okay, so where are you camping at?"
"I'm not, I'm just here for now and leaving tonight."
"Oh, so will you be leaving after sunset?"
"I'm not sure, maybe." Hell no, I've got another 2-3 hours of driving to do.
"Okay, so that gives you...about 5-6 hours of time..." Not if I stay here much longer.
"...but it'll take you about an hour just to get down to this trail, so if you're leaving tonight you may only have time to get there and back and maybe stop at these points along the way."
"Thanks, sounds good."
"You're welcome. And you still need to pay for admission, right?"
The trail the Ranger suggested is the Santa Elena Canyon Trail. It's right at the Rio Grande river, and since that's what the park is about, I'd like to go see it, but it's all the way down to the bottom of the park which is why it takes an hour to get to. I woke up late and wasted ungodly time at the Visitors Center, so two hours of driving seems like a waste of daylight. As I head south, I think, "How are they gonna force me to go slow enough it takes an hour to get there?" Then I see a speed limit sign with a sign below it saying, "Speed limit enforced by radar." Of all the things for California and Texas to agree on, it had to be mockingly overt radar signs. I got pulled over the last time I decided to ignore those, so I guess I'll let the man stick it to me again.
It's a very dusty day at the Big Bend, so it's hard to get a good shot of distant landscapes, but it was an impressive sight to see. It's another place the pictures don't do it justice, but I definitely wish I'd woken up earlier so I could spend some more time here.
After about 40 minutes of driving, the map says I have one last “scenic” road to turn onto. After turning onto it, the scene very quickly turns into “massive rocks and dirt in the road”. For I'm not sure how many miles, I heard several things I was sure were the sounds of my tires bursting. There's no way the Ranger would've sent me down this road without warning me, so I finally decide to stop and check the map. Sure enough, this isn't the right road. This is Old Maverick Road, named, I assume, because it should only be flown over in a jet. According to the map, I overshot my road by...13 miles. I was supposed to turn ONTO my road after 13 miles but, not reading the distances beforehand, drove 26 instead. The lesson: know how far you're supposed to drive on a road before driving it.
I'm lucky enough to turn around without getting stuck (I don't think mouthwash would've helped me this time) so I backtrack Maverick and the 13 miles to turn onto the correct road. Having wasted some more time, I only pull over when I see water to take a look at the Rio Grande, our natural border between America and Mexico:
Well hell, that's not very intimidating. No wonder Mexicans try to get in illegally. Crossing that looks a lot easier than taking a test and filling out paperwork: I'd try it too. And for a moment, I do think about doing it. The Park Ranger told me Big Bend normally has a crossover point into Mexico, but it's closed on Mondays and Tuesdays (this was a Monday). I asked him how it worked anyway, and he said, "First, you have to show your proper paperwork, such as your passport. Homeland Security takes you into a room and talks to you with a window they can see you behind. And then they take you on a canoe over the river...a canoe paddled by Mexicans." I'm not sure why the sudden final emphasis on the boat being paddled by Mexicans, but I didn't question it. Either way, I'm tempted to cross over here just to say I reached Mexico, but I'm worried Homeland Security driving by while I'm on the other side might result in a very sudden stay in Mexico, so I keep going.
This area of the Rio Grande is bordered by cliff walls leading to the Santa Elena Canyon.
The Santa Elena Canyon Trail is only 1.7 miles on fairly timid terrain, so it's a relaxing hike after yesterday's exhaustion. The trail leads you into the canyon which involves going up and over a rock ledge. About 40 feet up, there's a sign pointing out bivalve shells in the rock. Those shells are evidence that this area was once under water.
Further up, I find a peculiar looking plant object, about the size of a small walnut, that looks like some sort of alien birth pod. I pick it up, look at it, roll it around in my fingers a little, and finally squeeze it a few times as it starts puffing black gas out. It was really neat, but I threw it away before thinking to take any pictures.
While I'm not a fan of any plant that can attack you, I've seen enough cacti on my trip to appreciate the ones at Big Bend: they were pretty beautiful looking. I wish I'd found one where all the flowers were in blossom though. Looking closer at the unblossomed buds, I feel like I've seen them somewhere before. They had a peculiar shape about them and were about the size of a small walnut OH CRAP IT WAS A CACTUS BUD I TOUCHED!
I hurriedly get my pocket knife out and look at my fingers: there's a black residue on them that wasn't there before. Apparently, something sticky came off the bud I touched, and every time I touched my black camera bag since then, the color somehow transferred. I look even closer and start to see the tiny cactus needles stuck inside my fingers. I use the knife to draw out as many as I can see, but they're so small, there's no telling if I really got them, so for the rest of the hike I have several phantom itches: itches which I swear are from getting stuck with a cactus needle but that go away as soon as I stop thinking about them.
Getting over the rock ledge, the trail suddenly leads into a lush, green paradise of shrubbery. Hiking the rest of the way, I hit a dead end. I look across the river...
...and decide if I can't make it to Mexico, the least I can do is hit Mexico with a rock. So I start picking up small rocks around me and chunking them at the wall. "Yeah, take that Mexico!" I think for no particular reason since Mexico never really did anything to me except provide unique and tasty foreign cuisine. But I do it anyway, cuz 'Merica! Unfortunately, Mexico doesn't mind at all, because I can't throw the rocks far enough. I try looking for some to skip across, but that doesn't work out either. Then I start to think about all the National Park signs that have told me it is illegal to remove any piece of nature from National Park property, realizing that not only does that probably make it a federal offense for me to throw rocks into the river, but since I was trying to get them to another country, it also counts as smuggling contraband: no wonder the police never caught me, you'd need the FBI to stop this criminal mastermind.
I get done throwing rocks and start to head back, when suddenly 3 Hispanic children come towards me on the trail. I don't see there parents with them and they're all speaking Spanish. I normally try to keep my mind in a classy place, but my first thought was, "Sooo...you new to town?"
Having a 3-4 hour drive to get back to the interstate, I head for the exit and leave the park. I stop at a Rest Area to sleep for the night, but before getting there I pass through the border patrol check point. The check point looks like it's gonna be very intimidating. At the edge of the road, they have several lights and cameras pointed directly at you and in various other directions. You pull into a large covered structure where a man is waiting on you to roll down your window so he can say...
"Hey, how you doing today?"
"Good."
"Just yourself on board?"
"Huh? Yeah."
"You a U.S. citizen?"
"Yeah."
"You have a good evening."
"Thanks."
It's the most easy, unintimidating experience you'll ever have with a government authority figure. It's almost a pleasure really. Well, unless you don't speak English, I imagine.
If you ever want to go through another border patrol checkpoint you should go to Tombstone, AZ. It' probably one of my favorite places out there! I used to go as often as I could!
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