When time is lost, time is also found. I finally found the time I lost in December to write. As a bonus, I wrote a poem. What follows is the tale of a week spent in the desert over the holidays.
Big Bend, A Poem
I hold my breath to not interrupt the silence For even my own breath seems too loud. In the desert, sound has no equivalence. There’s no match for the distance The eyes can see and witness. I want to hear its heartbeat Devoid of my own sound. It’s a soul retreat One that’s profound when found.
Desert Trip
I hold my breath to not interrupt the silence. Even the soft rhythm of my breathing becomes too loud for the desert. I want to hear its heartbeat, devoid of my own.
The desert’s presence is so powerful it demands your full attention. Feeling my senses awakened and more alert, I noticed there was not a lack of noise. The silence brought to my ear the distant buzz of a single bee. I could hear the specs of dust blowing gently in the breeze and the swaying of small grasses. It’s almost like you could hear the clouds move and the cactus sleep. I could sit there all day, content, just contemplating the desert.
Big Bend Frontier
For perspective, Big Bend National Park is larger than the state of Rhode Island (poor Rhode Island probably gets used as a scale so often…) It is a Dark Sky Park meaning it has the darkest skies in the lower 48 states. It sits on the banks of the Rio Grande which acts as the border to Mexico and you can even cross over by boat. Everything you see beyond the river is Mexico. Its terrain is so vast that goes from river to arid flat desert with minimal animal life to peaks of lush green mountains with bears and mountain lions.
Desert tradition
This past December was my family’s fifth annual road trip to West Texas as a holiday tradition. A week-long affair of camping in the backcountry of Big Bend National Park.
Each night as we cooked dinner, the sun went down and the entire sky put on a light show. The blue turned purple turned orange and red. As we put the first bites of bean chili in our mouths, we saw the first stars come out. After dinner, we’d shut off the soft whistling gas stove and lamp then sit back with our full stomachs and look at the stars. Within a minute of our eyes adjusting to the darkness, we could spot a shooting star soaring across the ink-black sky.
Star shower
We were tucked away in the heart of the park about 45 minutes from the paved road, an hour away from other campsites, and over two hours away from the closest town. There was no light pollution at all. Not a single car light or a single lamp post for miles. The skies were at their rawest. The stars seemed almost reachable. The Milky Way was visible just over the backdrop of the Chisos Mountains.
I felt a sense of smallness and immensity at the same time. Four little ant humans (and a dog) in the middle of the Chihuahua desert staring up at the same stars that people have been staring at for thousands of years. The same stars people looked up to when they were in the middle of the Mexican-American War on these very lands.
Each previous year camping in Big Bend we’d stay at one of the campsites that had bathrooms and running water. We’d see the stars then, but there was still droning generators from RV campers nearby, lamp posts, and car lights. But this time we were truly away from all civilization and closer to mother nature.
I wish for every human to see the stars, to really see the stars without any light pollution, at least once in their lifetime. Seeing the Milky Way makes you contemplate life and fills you with wonder. It’s a feeling rarely experienced except when staring off into twinkling space and the unknown.
One of the commodities we brought was a camping shower. A big ol’ bag we filled with water and set on the roof of the car and rise off with a hose. Normally we stick to the grime and dirt without showering for a week but this was a warmer year and after a sweaty day’s hike, I was ready for a rinse-off. Right before going to bed one night, I decided to take a nature shower. So under the dark skies dotted with stars, I stripped down and had the most glorious rinse-off. The water was freezing and it was cold outside, but it just heightened my sense of living and adrenaline filled my veins. In the middle of my nature shower, I saw two shooting stars.
The desert is unpredictable
I thought I’d sleep well that night after that shower, but the desert is unforgiving, and decided to draw up a storm. Until 2 am I didn’t sleep a wink. Winds were howling and rain pelted the tents. Thankfully the thirsty land absorbed the rain, but the wind picked up sand and blew it right into our tent through the netting. I felt sand scrape my face so I squirmed myself deeper into my sleeping bag. At 2 am I had enough and made the odyssey to my parent’s tent which was sealed and sand wouldn’t penetrate it.
It was a movie scene when I opened my tent and the wind almost knocked me down. I grabbed my sleeping bag, sleeping pad, and pillow and started my headwind-ridden walk of shame into my parent’s tent. My sleeping pad got away from my grasp and I had to run and chase it down in the dark before it landed on a cactus. My parents laughed when I entered their tent asking for shelter. Mac our dog was sleeping carelessly in his corner of the tent. I climbed into my sleeping bag again and realized I lost my pillow along the way. Damn it, it must have blown away on my way over here.
The next morning all four of us had red puffy eyes from little sleep. As I was finding a place for a nature pee, I spotted my pillow logged in a bush about 500 yards away!
When everything goes wrong is when adventure starts
It would be silly to think a trip to the desert would go smoothly as planned. Each time we’ve come, something comes out of nowhere.
In past years we’ve hit deer, had car engine problems and even gotten kicked out of the park due to a government shutdown. This year we got a shredded tire, ran into a bear on the trail, and experienced a freak wind storm.
In the desert, just like in life, expect the unexpected. And learn from it. This year my dad taught us how to maneuver our non-4x4 car through the toughest back roads that people in 4x4 Subarus couldn’t even get through. We learned how to respond when we encountered a bear (aka act big, walk in a pack, don’t turn your back, and throw rocks). I learned that camping with the elements, it’s natural to expect storms that interrupt sleep. It is what it is.
I learned that the hot springs in the dark are a magical place. Where people mingle and exchange stories of adventure. Where you can see the stars from the comfort of warm waters, then jump right into the cold Rio Grande for an adrenaline rush.
I learned there’s absolutely nothing better than quality time with family who when together laughs so much until everyone’s short of breath and snorting. Nothing better than not checking your phone first thing when you wake and last before you go to bed. Nothing better than the feelings of introspection and reflection that come with being out in nature for an extended time. You treasure clean water, food access, and power. You tap into a bit of those primitive instincts that we bury in our regular lives. You remember that to be happy you need very little, but those little things mean a lot.
Here’s to the enchanted land of the West. Big Bend.
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