the big bend, part one

The plan was simple and long overdue. An 8 hour drive out to Big Bend National Park in the West Texas desert with my father with his trusty truck, packed full with sleeping bags, water, sandwich and taco supplies. No additional baggage, no bikes or additional camping gear, no more than a weekend of stars, hikes, and a peek at the moon's reflection off the Rio Grande while sitting in the hot springs on the water. But when it comes to even the simplest adventure, perhaps all that you ask for is not all you find. The hint of espresso in my cup was the first thing that made me conscious of Saturday's 5 a.m. takeoff in the truck. I haven't seen this side of a weekend morning since Austin's South By Southwest music festival a few weeks ago, but it was peaceful and dark and desired by father and son for 4 months. Conversation sparked between my dad and I during the first 3 hours of the twilight drive out of Austin then Kerrville then open road and obscurity. Observations were fed only by heavy eyes, as I was the passenger in this 8 hour haul to what seemed like a wild west studio set. Eyes close, eyes open, an 18 wheeler passes, eyes close, eyes open, a speck of a wind turbine in the distant limestone ridge, eyes close. Eyes open, and my sight fills with the future of energy encased in blinding white towers, each with 3 spinning pointy arms. The hum of efficient turbines churning away provides a contrast over aging, dirty-black oil pumps that defined Texas in generations past. This wild west set sends a tumbleweed across the road almost on cue, just to make sure we realize we aren't on the rollercoaster of the Texas Hill Country anymore - we are in the desert of West Texas now - and its a whole different planet. With every mile we drive, all 600 of them, the trees get smaller and smaller and the grasses get less and less and the brown rubble of the West gets more and more spread through out the land. Now I am fully awake and its time to switch drivers, as I know my dad cannot say the same. I pass through western sounding hamlets, like Fort Stockton and Marathon, with indifference as my intention is to arrive at the only national park in Texas and wash away the endless stimulation constant civilization provides. It is my dad's first trip to Big Bend, but I don't blame him, it isn't near anywhere and its a grueling 7 hour drive just to get inside the park boundaries. The trip doesn't stop at the front gate, because there is still another 50 minute drive to the first main ranger station, but an exhalation of relief in the stuffy truck is noticed. The flora is now reduced to scrubs, multicolored cactus, very thirsty grasses and an occasional occotillo, with its flowers resembling tiny red rockets blasting in every direction and the stems as their condensation trails. The desert mood is reduced and slowed from the mini plants as well as from the 40 mile an hour speed limit imposed in the park - so you have time to brake when approaching retired RV dwelling birdwatchers from 15 miles away. The landscape is just quiet short notes on a violin in a grand atrium of the sky.... I smile... its quiet... inhale.... exhale.... then... VHUNNNNNT! The Chisos Mountains appear in all their glory as triumphant BROWN ABUNDANCE breaking the monotony like a sudden crescendo of strikes on a upright bass, startling the audience from near sleep to full surprise in a great opera hall. My mouth opens to a smirking smile while dad´s attention is peaked with the peaks. We are here.