14.) Aquatic Chaffers.....Heavy Artillery......Flawless Logic....

Five bucks to a Mexican in a rowboat gets me across the Rio.  I pass on the offer of horseback rides and choose to walk the mile into Boquillas.  It’s a tiny little border town, dilapidated and run down with as many burros as people, but charming nonetheless.  I grab a Tacate at the open air restaurant in town and strike up a conversation with the waiter.  He says that today is a very big day in town.  First, the government is in town for the ribbon cutting ceremony on a newly built hospital.  This is big news in itself, but my waiter friend is even more excited because the government is also here to present the residents with all the paper work they need to make their home ownership legitimate.  He tells me that everyone in town knows what house and what land belongs to whom, but with this paper work it becomes official.  They can even legally sell their houses if they so choose.  
The whole town turns out for this event.  Theres a covered pavilion with a P.A. system and everyone is waiting for their names to be called, even my waiters wife is somewhere in the crowd.  I walk over to get a closer look at the festivities.  I understand none of it because it’s all in spanish of course, but there’s still an excitement in the air and I’m happy for these people.  It’s an odd juxtaposition, this happy scene next to a number of military jeeps and humvees. There are personnel scattered throughout the crowed as well.  Some in desert camouflage others in head to toe black, complete with bullet proof vests, ski masks stretch from the bridge of the nose to the neck line.  Dark sunglasses obscure the last of exposed skin and finish off the whole covert-ops look that is apparently all the rage this summer south of the border.  All the soldiers, for some reason, are armed…heavily. It’s slightly unsettling to me, but the towns people are all too excited for the presence of soldiers or heavy artillery to dampen the mood.  
     Two young boys, maybe 4 or 5 years old are clinging to the fence that surrounds the pavilion.  I make faces at them and poke their fingers through the fence.  They think this is hilarious and get a little too loud while announcements are still being made over the loud speaker. I laugh with them, then raise an index finger to my lips and move on.  This gets me thinking however.  These kids aren't staring zombified at the screens of iPhones or xboxes, but they’re happy as can be, playing and laughing in the sunshine.  All the adults are excited beyond belief about the prospect of officially owing their homes while people back across the border are complaining about having to wait a week for their Amazon orders.  It’s repulsive the things that we as Americas whine about these days.  The people of Boquillas are wise to it however.  They know theirs is a tourist town and the residents not at the ceremony are out hocking their wares.  Bags, t-shirts, walking sticks, and trinkets of all kinds are for sale pretty much everywhere you look.  I opt for one more beer and then make my way back to the river and my rowboat chauffeur.
The next day I stop to make lunch at Castolon, an old ghost town that has been renovated into a small general store and historic site.  While I’m tossing some eggs and cheap ham slices into the pan on my camp stove, families stroll the grounds around me.  An old man with a hunched posture that suggests a lifetime of manual labor limps over to my table and hold out an ice cream sandwich.  “Here you are young man, I bought it for my wife and she refused to eat it,” he states in explanation as he rolls his eyes and shrugs his shoulders. I thank him profusely and with wide eyes as I accept the treat as if it were a bar of gold.  “No worries, enjoy!” is all he says as he turns and continues his slow, uneven gait toward a car with an ornery looking woman sitting in the passenger seat.  I shout one more chocolately fudge covered thanks in his direction, without turning around he raises an arm into the air as acknowledgment and climbs into the car.  I’m not usually one for chocolate but it’s cold, and refreshing, and best of all free.  It’s also completely gone even before my eggs are ready. Today’s gonna be a good one.  
After lunch I hike into the Santa Elena Canyon.  I don’t use the word amazing lightly.  If you refer to the ruben you had last week as ‘amazing’ you’ve really left yourself no room for upward mobility…..adjective wise.  But ‘amazing’ is apt in the case of the Santa Elena Canyon. 1500 foot sheer cliffs on either side cut by the Rio Grande over millions of years.  Massive boulders litter the small strip of land between the river and the cliff face.  Along with a few other hikers I marvel at their size and try to imagine what it would be like to witness one break free from high above and slam into the canyon floor with enough force to embed them in place; most likely to remain there long after all us hikers cease to exist.  I am, once again, humbled by nature.  No matter how incredible Man’s next “Big Thing” is, it will never compare to the amazing things the Earth does all on it’s own. 
Venturing deeper into the canyon, I reach the trail’s high point above the river.  I heave a rock out over the abyss and count a full 4 Mississippis before it hits the water.  When it does the splash is epic. KER—SPLOOUSH! Theres an audible pause between the KER and the SPLOOUSH, the sound resonates in my chest as it echoes all around me.  
The sun is beginning to set and as I make my way back toward the trailhead I turn to look back and take it all in.  The low angle of the sun rays project them down the canyon’s length and causes a mist-like phenomenon.  A soft glow that makes it seem as if angels are about to round the last bend in the river to join us here on the small sandy beach at the canyon’s entrance.  It’s quite a sight, and difficult to pull myself away from but it’s getting dark and I need to find a place to bed down for the night. 
Castolon isn’t far so I pull the jeep into the parking lot and find an out of the way spot behind the general store.  I climb into the back and get myself situated to read for a bit before I turn in.  I’m not even a full chapter in when headlights fly into the parking lot, swing around the general store, and come to rest on the jeep essentially blinding me.  I can hear a car door open and shut. “Shit” I think to myself while attempting to squint through the headlights to see what I’m dealing with.  At this moment, more headlights swing around the building from the other direction, behind my jeep, and come to rest on the other vehicle.  It’s the border patrol.  This turn of events is a double edged sword.  While I’m relieved it’s not some sort of Mad Max-like band of desert hooligans hell bent on chopping me into little pieces, dealing with law enforcement officials is only a slight improvement. 
It’s still difficult to see through the headlights so I stand up through the sun roof in the jeep and I can see 2 officers slowly approaching with hands on their sidearms.  “Hey guys, what’s happening?” I ask, in an attempt to avoid being shot at.
“What are you doing back here?” responds the nearest officer.
“Reading,” I answer with a shrug.
“Reading?! What do you mean reading?”  The book is still in my hand so I shake it at him for emphasis while he begins shining his flashlight around the back of the jeep.  What ensues is a Q & A where he’s trying to find something to bust me for and I’m trying to avoid admitting that my plan was to sleep back here.  With my sleeping bag and bed roll laid out in the back, it’s a lost cause.  
“You caused quite a ruckus down at the station.”  “We got a bunch of phone calls about a suspicious vehicle.” “You know how close you are to the border?!”  
“Um….I’m reading. I thought I’d be outta the way back here, that’s all.”  (ProTip: When dealing with any type of government official, the wrong thing to do is to insinuate a gross overreaction on their part.)  He takes my license and insurance card back to his car, in the meantime I make small talk with his partner with hopes of him realizing that I’m no threat and a decent guy; and let me off with some sort of warning.  To no avail.
The first officer comes back with my cards and tells me he’s going to write me a citation for camping outside the designated areas.  My suggestion, “Well how bout I just leave? Then I won’t be camping and you won’t have to waste one of your citations,” is met with blank looks.  
He counters. “If you robbed a bank and we caught you so you gave the money back, that bank wouldn’t be robbed anymore, but you’d still go to jail.” I blink at him dumbly for a moment.  I admit, it’s a valid point. However I believe the difference, in degree of intensity, between that hypothetical and what’s actually happening here should be taken into account.  He still gives me the ticket which proves there is no reasoning with law enforcement no matter how flawless your logic.     So now, I’m the not so proud owner of a $75 ticket AND I have to find somewhere else to spend the night.  I decide to leave the park, my reason being that if I just crash out somewhere else in the park and these guys find me again, they’ll fail to appreciate the humor as much as I do.  Less than a quarter mile down the road, I see a car parked in one of the road side pull-offs just like I had been the previous two nights where I was never hassled.  I shake my head in disbelief while I think, “woulda made a better story if it WAS the Mad Max guys…”