13.) Racist Anagrams.....Scaredy Asians......Indian Mutiny

     When I return to the jeep, I can see the preparations for the birthday party are well underway.  A decent sized group has already congregated in the little park across the parking lot from the Starlight.  There’s horseshoes, fire pits, and picnic tables. People are unloading firewood from truck beds and carrying in grocery bags full of food.  A chubby girl in a rainbow wig distributes brownies, first to herself, then to a guy in a full length, leather duster jacket, and finally to another young man in tri-point pirate hat.  I overhear the term “magic” used in someones description of said brownies and it solidifies my opinion of the town.  Overwhelmingly positive.  It’s like stepping back in time.  There are no fast food joints, no warehouse sized everything stores, I don’t even think I’ve seen a gas station in town.  The Starlight Theater is still the local hangout, in a town for outcasts and misfits.  On it’s porch, guitars haven’t stopped playing since I arrived.  Residents and visitors alike, drinking and singing. Friendly people out to just have fun living life.  My soft spot for this town continues to grow until I grab a beer on the porch and listen to the conversation taking place in the group next to me.  One of the participants uses the word ‘ginger’, only with the letters in a different order, followed by “they told me not to say it anymore so I told them I won’t be coming back.”  Then he and the guy next to him clinked glasses in a “cheers to that” gesture.  I’m sure the “They” he was referring to were more than pleased at his announcement and I instantly decide that this guy is not from this quaint little town where impromptu parties are thrown in the park while a soundtrack is provided by a porch full of old hippies with guitars whose liquid courage has them singing along with the confidence of the fat lady at the opera.  
Upon my return to Big Bend, I find there are no campsites available with the upcoming week being spring break.  “Busiest week of the year” a ranger tells me proudly.  I was told the same thing a few days ago and didn’t really buy it.  No big deal, I can just sleep in the car outside the park, and with my plan solidified I head back into the Chisos Basin to the Window Trail.  

The Window.  200 foot drop past that ledge.

The ‘Window; refers to the low point in the basin.  What rain does happen to fall here exits the valley via the window.  The trail begins at the campground and descends all the way to the window itself.  Along the way, the trail is sporadically littered with debris from the last significant rain. Tree limbs, bushes, even boulders snake back and forth across the trail, deposited wherever they happen to be when the water levels drop too low.  All is dry now, having not rained for the duration of my visit.  Towards the end of the trail, stairs have been built with flat rocks and cemented in place to form a path, quite a feet of engineering all the way down here.  It’s 3 miles or so to the window itself, solid rock on all sides; and immediately followed by a 200 foot drop to the desert floor.  Nothing remains here long, the force of the water after a considerable storm being too much for anything to hang on.  The power of water is so great that it has smoothed all the rock surfaces to the slick finish of marble.  I get as close to the edge as I am willing which isn’t terribly close. I snap a few pictures, exchange pleasantries with a family that has also made the trek and head back up thinking what a terrifyingly powerful thing water can be.  
Back in the jeep I find a secluded spot on one of the roadside pull-offs and bed down for the night.  With the roof open, laying in the back looking at the night sky I contemplate.  Spending all day wandering around the desert makes you realize how small and insignificant you are in the world as a whole.  Then at night, staring at the starts and a moon so bright it keeps you up, you realize how small and insignificant the earth is in the universe as a whole.  It has a tranquilizing effect and your troubles become less significant and easier to deal with.

      I sleep through the night without a hassle and spend most of the morning reading the in back of the jeep.  Afterwards I head to the Lost Mine Trail.  The story goes that Spanish explores found a rich silver mine near the summit and forced indians to work it. Shortly after, the Indians rebelled, killed the explorers who enslaved them, and sealed the entrance to the mine so it would remain lost forever.  After about 3 miles I reach the top and am rewarded with unbelievable views in every direction.  Unspoiled beauty, thick luscious forest, and valleys as far as the eye can see.  I munch on a snack of mixed nuts and watch blue jays hop in and out of the bushes.  On my way back down an Asian man strikes up a conversation and he mentions that last night was the first night he’s spent in a tent. He’s been doing whats referred to as ‘zone camping’.  Since no sites were available because of spring break, he was forced to chose an area, hike at least a mile from the road, and set up camp there.  He suggests that maybe, since I don’t have a place to stay either I follow him. The previous night he only spent a few hours out there alone before he lost his nerve and retreated to his car.  “Too scary by myself” he says.  I thank him, but tell him that I’ll probably just sleep in my car again.  He warns me that if a ranger finds me sleeping in my car I’ll receive a ticket but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.  I wish him safe travels and head back to the jeep.  The pain in my back seems to be dissipating with the more hiking I do. Hopefully, if I keep it up, the spasms and soreness will be no more.

The following day, after another night spent in the jeep with no hassles I leave the Chisos Basin and head back to the east side of the park and into the Rio Grande Village Campground.  I wander the mile and a half through the nature trail.  It’s both peaceful and gorgeous.  The sun dances across the surface of the Rio Grande and the village of Boquillas, Mexico sits sleepily in the distance.  Further still, the Sierra del Carmen mountain range looms ominously as an idyllic  backdrop and has a calming effect.  The trail has a floating walkway through an eddy of the Rio Grande complete with large schools of fish, turtles, and a blue heron standing motionless in the tall grass.  It’s a fine place to spend the morning but it’s a short trail and quickly I’m moving on.