I flew into El Paso. The flight time was three hours from Seattle via Phoenix. It was dark when the plane landed, about 6 p.m. I rented a car, and by 6:30 was on my way to the most remote national park in the lower 48 - Big Bend, in the far reaches of southwest Texas.
I drove through inky blackness for hours, not seeing another car, or a town, or even a ranch light. Finally, five hours later on the dot of midnight, I pulled up in front of the Chisos Mountain Lodge. The office was closed, as they had told me it would be, but an envelope with my name was taped to the door. I extracted my room key, checked the directions and drove to my unit.
Wow - was it cold! And I was so far south I was almost in Mexico!
The next day I saw the wild country I had been driving through the night before: the high peaks of the Chisos Mountains surrounded by the Chihuahuan Desert.
This great open space, the largest in Texas, was established in 1944 and covers over 800,000 acres, more than three times the size of Mount Rainier National Park. It is located along the big bend of the Rio Grande River; directly across the river is Mexico. Not only is there the park, where virtually no one lives, but the country all around is exceedingly thinly populated. The proof of this is that the nearest major airport is a six-hour drive away.
One day I walked to an old windmill, virtually all that is left of the Sam Nail Ranch of 1916. Another walk took me to Lonesome Chimney, far out in the desert, where Native American petroglyphs are carved into the red rock face.
Next I visited Langford Hot Spring and saw the remains of a motel and trading post built in 1927 by J.O. Langford The place was an old-timey resort for long-ago sunseekers. A trail runs from the hot spring along the rim of the canyon, and on a rock I sat and read and looked across the shallow Rio Grande to Mexico.
A couple from Minnesota were bathing in the natural hot tub, and I came over to check the water temperature. As we talked, two Mexicans waded across, and the lady from Minnesota declared, "Here come the salesmen." They looked more like campesinos to me, but she was right: they were selling handmade walking sticks!
The Rio Grande, rising in the Colorado Rockies, forms the southern border of the park and is an emerald oasis in a desert world. More bird species - 450, including the rare colima warbler and Lucifer hummingbird - are found in Big Bend than in any other national park. There are 1,200 species of plants here as well. This is a desert with a difference.
Most of my hikes have been in the desert, but this day I wanted to venture into the Chisos Mountains. According to my guidebook: "The South Rim is probably the classic hike of Texas."
I decided to experience this hike for myself. After walking for six miles through a forest of juniper, oak and pinyon pine, at last I came to the South Rim and, in awe, sat down. The view stretches approximately 100 miles, beyond crumpled brown hills and volcanic plugs, past the thin line of the Rio Grande and far into Mexico, with not one sign that a human had ever passed this way.
After seven wonderful days of hiking and exploring Big Bend, I left for Presidio, Texas. A bit down the road I pulled over and got out at a park exhibit that pointed out the nearby mountains. I had left the car engine on and closed the driver's door. Thirty seconds later when I returned to the car, the door was locked! Damn-I couldn't believe this! The car was running, the radio was on-but I couldn't get in. How did this happen?
At home, if I close my car door, it's closed - not locked.
I hailed a passing Jeep containing two friendly couples from Indiana. They turned around, drove back to the entrance station and alerted a ranger who phoned headquarters. Thirty minutes later a National Park ranger showed up; after 10 minutes of maneuvering various devices, he got my door open.
How nice it was to be inside, driving again.
I visited the fun and funky old general store in the ghost town of Terlingua, then slowly drove the Camino del Rio to the border town of Presidio. I visited historic Fort Davis, a U.S. Army fort dating from the late 1800s, now reconstructed and administered by the National Park Service as a National Historic Site.
After days on quiet roads, I hit I-10 and headed west past El Paso, spending the night at a motel in Deming, N.M.
The next morning I continued west on back roads through the "bootheel" of southwest New Mexico. I saw a road sign that said "Playas." I looked at my AAA map; it showed no such town.
Intrigued, I turned south on a very lonely road and saw Playas off to the left. I drove up and discovered a modern-day ghost town. It had been a Phelps Dodge company town from 1976 to 1999, when the Hidalgo smelter, 10 miles away, shut down. Virtually all of the 1,000 residents left. Their homes, all looking the same - along with the shopping mall, two churches, schools and parks - were still there; only the people had gone. It seemed strange, so quiet and empty.
I continued on, driving to the closed yet still intact smelter. A car was parked outside. I entered and a friendly woman told me the story. In May of 2004 the town will be sold to the New Mexico Institute of Mining and Technology and the former mining town will become a center of training for the Department of Homeland Security.
This is indeed a desert with a difference.
As I drove through the hamlet of Animas, a sign (perhaps political?) outside a church proclaimed "The Lord loves what is Right, not what is Left." In a few minutes I had crossed from New Mexico to Arizona, and was in another wee hamlet, Portal, at the base of the Chiricahua Mountains. Cave Creek, which flows out of the mountains, is renowned as an outstanding birding area. Visitors from many countries visit, seeking such species as the blue-throated hummingbird, pygmy owl and the elegant trogon.
I was sitting on a rock in Skeleton Canyon having lunch. The canyon is in a desert mountain range near the Chiricahuas, but because of a stream, it is relatively lush, at least by Southwest standards. Skeleton Canyon is covered with juniper, oak and sycamore. But there is more than mere beauty and peace here: on Sept. 6, 1886, General Nelson Miles captured the Apache chief, Geronimo, at the mouth of Skeleton Canyon, bringing an end to the Indian Wars.
As I gazed at the orange rocks and green oaks, I contemplated a way of life that is gone - the life of the nomadic Apaches. Yes, the Apaches still exist, and live on two large reservations in eastern Arizona, the San Carlos Apache and the Fort Apache reservations.
If you are interested in learning more about the legendary Apaches, you can visit Fort Bowie and Cochise Stronghold, a natural granite fortress that the Chiricahua Apaches used as a hideout between raids.
I spent the night at a very modest motel in Willcox, Ariz., and the next day drove to Chiricahua National Monument. I walked into the Heart of Rocks, a fantasy land of extraordinary rock sculptures such as Kissing Rocks, the Camel as well as Punch and Judy.
My thoughts kept returning to the Apaches, for this had been their land.
I spent time exploring in and around Tucson, then drove north on the Pinal Pioneer Parkway toward Phoenix. At dark I stopped at a Best Western motel in Gold Canyon, just east of Apache Junction. The next two days I hiked in the legendary Superstition Mountains. Legend has it that somewhere in the shadow of Weaver's Needle is buried a lost treasure of gold. Many have searched, a few have died, but none have found it.
Today, for most folks, the gorgeous desert, canyon and mountain scenery is reward enough.
When not globetrotting, David Birkner lives in Magnolia.
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