Big Bend National Park

It is impossible to take a bad picture at Big Bend National Park.

Every direction is simply more breathtaking and more awe-inspiring than the last.

We arrived at dusk on a drizzly afternoon in late December.  It was the first rain they'd seen in a long time.  And it was going to be our first time camping in what was to have been nearly two weeks of camping.

Big Bend is huge.  1,252 square miles of huge.  Beyond comprehension.  And what we'd come to know, as we went further and further west, is that nothing is close.  We were getting used to driving across a long ribbon of road with vast expanses of land on either side of the car for sometimes hundreds of miles.  We'd been to gas stations in no-man's land.  Competing gas stations.  No people.  Just a pump, a sign, and a family of cats.  Orange cats at one place, grays at the other.

We stopped in at the visitor center, Panther Junction, when we arrived.  An apt name, kind of cute and definitely a reminder:  We were in big cat country.  After years of having small cats and watching them chase mice, birds, and pom-poms, we learned it all again.  Only this time from the perspective of the mouse.  If only those little guys knew they'd be safer if they didn't run!  The other tips like looking big, making scary noises, throwing rocks; still a bit beyond their reach, I'm afraid.

By the time we got to Chisos Basin, it was closing in on 4pm.  And drizzling.  We found a campsite and pitched our tent.

Then a very nice Ranger who looked strikingly similar to Michael Caine came over.  He welcomed us and asked us if we knew how things worked.  Well, yes, you find a campsite and pitch a tent.  Well, no.

Right, the little pieces of paper in front of the campsites meant something.  Like somebody had it reserved.  In my haste to set up, I'd forgotten.  I couldn't help but think with some weariness that I'd just been on the verge of relief having set up the tent before dark and real rain, was comforting one tearful child who'd stepped up to help and hammered his own finger instead of the stake -- and now we'd have to strike the tent, move, and pitch again with it getting darker and drizzlier and bellies still empty.

Fortunately, our friendly Mr. Caine suggested we just carry the tent.  A solution that was eminently practical and agreeable to my pride since it came from him and not me.

Getting some attention as we relocated to a new campsite.

All is well that ends well.  Before long we'd gotten ourselves situated and made friends with the nice guy next 'door' who let us use his shelter to cook in the spitting rain.

And it wasn't too long after that that we got cozy in our little tent, played a round of Uno, and turned out the light.  I won't say we slept much, but we were happy to be inside with the wind blowing around us outside.  And just happy to be there at all.