joshthehodge

The Sandia Mountains and the Old Town

March 11, 2020March 11, 2020Posted in national parks, new mexico, travelTagged Albuquerque, merica clothing co, new mexico, old barrel tea, old town, sandia mountains1 Comment

My visit to Albuquerque was a pleasant one despite the fact that my gum infection was raging on and I was in a continual nuisance of pain. The night before my day of Albuquerque exploration I had a hard time sleeping as the pain was throbbing and so bad that it was creating a vibration sensation in my ears. I took some Tylenol and was able to sleep a bit on-and-off. In addition to the pain was the anxiety that this infection could escalate to the point that it could hinder or even stop my summer adventure.

I was visiting my cousin Rachel, her husband Alex, and their four year old son Malcolm. They devoted the whole day to introducing me to the city and sites of Albuquerque. It was a brightly sunny day and we started with a visit to Old Albuquerque, the historic center of the city from its founding in 1706. Here the church of San Felipe de Neri stands overseeing Old Town Plaza, the birthplace of the city, which is very reminiscent of the zocalos I’d seen in the center of many Mexican cities. It had pathways, areas of green grass, benches, and a gazebo for occasional performances. Surrounding the square were narrow streets with adobe structures one after another boasting artisan shops and local eateries. After taking our picture together in front of the church we went into a few stores and I saw the touristy nick-knacks and patty-whacks. I did not buy anything except a sticker of the Sandia Mountains. I knew we’d soon be going up them. I found it humorous that Sandia is a Spanish term for watermelon. I thought it was a coincidence but Rachel explained how the mountains can look pink with the sunset cast upon them in the evenings. We also stopped by Old Barrel Tea Company where I bought myself a cup of iced tea.

Here in the old town I also called my dentist’s office to see if they could prescribe any antibiotic for my gum infection. They informed me that they could not send a prescription to another state nor give me any recommendation except that the best thing I could do was to schedule an appointment to see a dentist in New Mexico. Given that the dentist would most likely be out of the insurance network and unreachable in a reasonable time frame, I realized I was on my own and was very disappointed in the healthcare system. This situation weighed heavy on me.

For lunch I enjoyed some New Mexican fare. I did not know that New Mexican cuisine is its own category. It’s a fusion of the cuisine of Pueblo Indians, Mexican, and Spanish and it incorporates a lot of local spice. I thought my experiences having studied and lived in Mexico would be enough to understand the menu, but I needed a little explanation. I had enchiladas de carne adovada with red pepper sauce. Carne Adovada? Pork slow-braised in a spicy red chile bath for hours.

After lunch the highlight of the day came, our trip up to the top of the Sandia Mountains on the Sandia Peak Tramway. Leaving the desert floor the tram glided above the Cibola National Forest. Below were a plethora of rock jumbles and desert shrubs hugging the sides of the mountain. Higher up pine trees started to make their appearance. The tram was very much like the one in New York City that travels between 59th and 60th street and over the East River onto Roosevelt Island but unlike that one, this one ascends 5,300 feet. In the winter this is also used as a ski lift but now in summer its a scenic tram ride. At the peak there are trails that venture off into the mountains and a platform to observe the city of Albuquerque so far below that it’s nearly unrecognizable.

Up here in the mountains we all started off on a short trail together, but I traveled a bit further as the rest went back to the lift area. I didn’t want to keep them waiting for me long, so I ran the trail two miles to the Kiwanis Cabin. An old rock shelter built by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s. The work of the Civilian Conservation Corps pops up in various National Parks, National Forests, state parks, and other public lands. I enjoy coming across their work because the quality and rustic craftsmanship is to be appreciated. Not only have they built cabins and lodges but also park roads, bridges, and trails. They are no longer in existence but functioned as a voluntary work relief program for unemployed young men primarily in the 1930s. This was a part of Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal, which I am very hesitant to praise, but I am grateful for this part of it. Up here by Kiwanis Cabin I was at a rock protrusion. I enjoyed the great unobstructed view of the world below.

On my way back, on the narrow path between the trees, I began to pray to God about my gum infection and about this trip in general. I felt a great sense of peace come over me. All of my anxiety regarding my gum infection was hushed. Also up here in the mountains I felt way more in my element. I enjoyed Albuquerque below but something about the cooler mountain air was soothing. And amongst the pines and aspen I felt in the company of reassuring friends. The sweet smell of the western pines, brought back memories of prior summers, rekindled my spirit of adventure, and made me feel alive and vigorous.

After joining back with the others, we soon descended the mountain on the tram to the mainland. We stopped by a Bubble Tea cafe before heading to the house.

Back at Mesa del Sol I was able to kick off my boots and relax. I brought together all the stickers I had accumulated on this trip so far and began to sticker up my new dark green Nalgene bottle. I have a new tradition that each summer I buy a Nalgene and place stickers all over it from the parks and destinations I visit. I use the water bottle all summer, and then I retire it to a display shelf. Sometimes I’ll pull off a bottle from the past and use it again, but mostly they are momentums from the summer trips, and as I look over the bottle in hand, with all its stickers, I’m reminded of all the memories. Malcolm even made me a sticker for my bottle of his house, and although the bottle did sport it for a long while, eventually it fell off.

In the evening, nearing sunset, I went for another walk around the neighborhood. This time solo. I observed the Sandia or Watermelon Mountains in the distance and the pinkish color they reflected in the evening. I also walked by the Albuquerque movie studios. Out back they had the facades portraying an old Western main street for a Western sci-fi Netflix series in production.

Back at the house I visited with Rachel over yet another cup of tea. I learned that both Rachel and I have an affinity for hot teas of all kinds. I then told Rachel how I thought Malcolm looked like the child and protagonist, Elliot, from the recent Disney movie Pete’s Dragon. We ended up watching the movie. It is one of my favorite Disney movies. It makes sense for me taking place in the Northern woods, having a park ranger as a major supporting actor, and symbolically tying in themes and messages about life and spiritual matters. It’s soundtrack had been the background music for much of my traveling this summer.

And like this my visit with my Cousin Rachel and family came to an end. The following morning, I would hit the road. Just as one of the songs from Pete’s Dragon repeats, I would “go north,” and make my way to Colorado.

Read my previous episode “From Carlsbad to Albuquerque?” here: https://joshthehodge.com/2020/03/05/from-carlsbad-to-albuquerque/

Check out my new book “Canyonlands: My Adventures in the National Parks and the Beautiful Wild,” here:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1711397873/ref=cm_sw_em_r_mt_dp_U_UjGjEbYBGF4PR

From Carlsbad to Albuquerque

March 5, 2020Posted in Uncategorized1 Comment

Pain— intense pain. I was clenching down upon a wad of paper towel in my mouth. Somehow overnight the gum surrounding a partially erupted wisdom tooth became inflamed. I could feel it swollen. Only the pressure from clenching down offered the slightest of relief, but that only addressed localized pain. The stress of the inflammation caused tension in all of my head, giving me a considerable headache.

I was on my way to Albuquerque to visit my cousin Rachel and her family after having visited Guadalupe Mountains National Park. Carlsbad, New Mexico was the closest significant town. There I went to a Walmart to buy some things to address this situation. I was determined to fight this infection. I bought a standard mouthwash, and then a hydrogen peroxide mouthwash. I also bought salt to swish around in my mouth with water as an antiseptic. I bought Emergen-C packets, thinking a boost of vitamins may benefit me. I then began to consider foods rich in antioxidants that could fight infection which I could easily take in the car. I bought some oranges and some sweet bell peppers. I also bought cherry juice which I believe to be well…pretty much magical in addition to its immune boosting properties. Here I also found myself a souvenir t-shirt bearing the title of the state.

The drive to Albuquerque was nothing notable. New Mexico for sure has some amazing and diverse sites, but it seems that in traveling from one place to another in much of New Mexico there is not much to see. I did pass, however, by Roswell New Mexico. I kick myself for not stopping for a brief moment. From what I’ve read, the place is adorned with UFO and spacecraft iconography and it is the home to the International UFO and Research Center. It’s fame largely comes from the crash site of an alleged UFO in 1947. Although it is a complete conspiracy theory and the United States Army Air Force claims it was one of their balloons, the UFO conspiracy has lived on and brought theme to the city. I, though, was anxious to get to Albuquerque, so I took the bypass around town.

At one point I found myself on old Route 66, I drove by numerous abandoned hotels, but found one notable stop at Clines Corners Travel Center circa 1934. This is one of those places hard to put into words. On their website they say “Clines Corners is committed to providing our travelers with the finest handmade Native American jewelry, amazing gifts, first class hospitality, and the best food in the Southwest.“ But now let me paint a picture, brown carpet, streams of white fluorescent lights. All the amenities of your average travel center plus a large selection of fudge, snow globes with aliens and chili peppers, Route 66 souvenirs of all sorts, t-shirts with your run of the mill snarky sayings on them, panchos, dream catchers probably made in China, taffy, jewelry, retired elderly couples on road trips, bison taxidermy, and a machine to get your fortune told for 50 cents. Oh, and not just one but, as advertised, “2 mini-marts”! Now don’t get me wrong, I am not criticizing the place by any means. At the time, I was unimpressed. I found it to be displeasing tacky and a tourist trap. But now I’ve become fond of the over-the-top tacky. I find it charming, and a part of the American road trip experience. You never know what “treasures” you can find in such places.

Out in the parking lot I organized my car a bit. After having slept in my car the night before and then stocking up with supplies, my car had become a disaster. I wanted to be somewhat put together rolling up to my cousin’s house. I didn’t want to spend my time there organizing my car when I could be visiting, so I knocked it out ahead of time and took advantage of the trash receptacles at Clines Corners.

Two summers prior I was able to go camping and exploring Yosemite National Park with my cousin Jonathan. The following summer, I met Jonathan along with my cousin Paul, his wife Ines, and my Aunt Mary in Colorado for a hiking trip. My cousin Rachel in Albuquerque is part of that crew. She is Mary’s daughter and Paul and Jonathan’s sister. All of them originated in Illinois, as myself. I hadn’t seen Rachel in the longest time out of all of my cousins. I had seen her too long to remember when. I had not met her son Malcolm yet who would be starting kindergarten. I’d met her husband, Alex, a few times when I was much younger in Illinois. I have fond childhood memories with my cousin Rachel, but she is five years older than me and so as a child I was more often running around with her brothers when I was around, but nevertheless she is in that circle of dear family.

I was impressed by Rachel and Alex’s home and neighborhood. They lived up on a mesa in a planned new neighborhood called Mesa del Sol with nice walkways, a small park and playground, and even a center hub of the community with a cafe eatery. All of the homes were beautiful moderate sized multilevel adobe structures. Also located aside this mesa community was the Albuquerque Studios, a stretch of desert, and the Sandia Mountains in the distant.

After a friendly welcome from Rachel and Malcolm, I was shown to a nice guest room with my own bathroom, got a load of laundry started, and took out my rain-soaked sleeping bag, and pillow to dry on their back patio in the scorching sun. It was a relief to have somewhere comfortable to sleep after the monsoon the night before. Soon Alex came home from work with some Peruvian roasted chicken and fried yucca. We ate together and then I went for a walk around the neighborhood with Rachel and Malcolm learning about their life here in New Mexico.

The following day to my delight Rachel, Alex, and Malcolm would introduce me to the sites and tastes of Albuquerque.

Read my previous episode “Guadalupe Peak: The Top of Texas?” here: https://joshthehodge.com/2020/03/01/guadalupe-peak-the-top-of-texas/

Check out my new book “Canyonlands: My Adventures in the National Parks and the Beautiful Wild,” here:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1711397873/ref=cm_sw_em_r_mt_dp_U_UjGjEbYBGF4PR

Guadalupe Peak: The Top of Texas

March 1, 2020March 1, 2020Posted in UncategorizedTagged guadalupe mountains, guadalupe mountains national park, guadalupe peak, highest point in texas, hiking, top of texas, west texas1 Comment

The day leading up to the night of the monsoon, when my tent was destroyed, I took on Guadalupe Peak, the highest point in Texas, referred to as “the Top of Texas.” It’s a mere 4.25 miles to the top. But this 4.25 miles felt more like 42.5 miles.

I got an early start at 7:00 am and didn’t anticipate that this hike would take most of my day. The trail snakes around the edges of the mountain with dramatic cliffs to the right, leading from one false summit to another. The landscape of course is grandiose, looking out upon a wide expanse of surrounding mountains, but it isn’t anything terribly unique. As the sun harshly beat down on me, I observed lizards scurry and eagles fly overhead. The trail is largely exposed to the sun, with common desert shrubbery around and an occasional yucca plant or pine tree.

After having passed out in Big Bend National Park my confidence as a hiker had been damaged, and so I overpacked on food and water for this hike carrying unnecessary weight. I was very disciplined in eating and drinking every so often. At one point I found a tree along the cliffside where I could sit in its shade and take a break.

Many hours later, after dozens of false summits, I finally arrived at the “Top of Texas.” The final stretch of the trail is a rock scramble, and there at the top of the mountain is a metal triangular monument decorated with official seals and a with geocache box beside it labeled with the elevation of 8,749 feet.

I sat down and enjoyed the view looking down before me was an iconic rock protrusion that resembled a mitten or the state of Michigan. Behind it, the wide expanse of Texas was spread across earth. Dry brown hills and valleys and sandy expanses stretched as far as the eyes could see. I don’t know if it was my imagination or not, but I perceived that I could actually see the curvature of the earth from up here.

The view was similar to the views atop the Chisos Mountains at Big Bend National Park, but a major difference here was the bragging rights to claim to have reached the highest point in Texas.

I opened the geocache box and read the hiker log, like on many mountaintops hikers filled the log with Bible verses. Something about the beauty of the mountaintop causes people to reflect on the splendor and majesty of God.

When I descended the mountain I went into the visitor center. There was no one there except one ranger. This place was very quiet. I asked the ranger to play the park film for me, and I bought a pin and postcard. I then went to my car and took off my boots, my feet were rejoicing as I Iet them breathe and be free..

There was a wooden shelter beside the parking lot that looked to be constructed to house vending machines at one time, but now it was empty. I noticed an electrical outlet. Here, barefoot, I sat down in its shade, charged my Chromebook, and even caught a wifi signal from the visitor center to check my messages. Relaxed, feeling accomplished, with my back resting against the wooden structure, I called my parents who were visiting my older brother Nathan and his wife Catherine in New York City. I shared with them the excitement of crossing the U.S. Mexican border on foot at El Paso and everything I thought about that and about passing out in Big Bend National Park and summiting Guadalupe Peak.

Then ravenous. I went into the town of Carlsbad for supper. I wanted to try someplace local, but the only place that came into consideration was a Mexican restaurant. I parked my car and walked towards the entrance, but then I noticed no windows on the restaurant, and I began to receive very bad vibes from the place. Something was not right. I then settled for Chili’s and, uncharacteristic of my regular food choices, I had a grossly fatty burger. I followed this up with a stop at the store for some yogurt and frosted flakes, and then I went back to the park, got in my tent, read some out of my book on Big Bend country and endured the nighttime monsoon.

The following day I would make the trip up New Mexico, hop on old Route 66, and roll into Albuquerque to spend a few days with my cousin Rachel and her family.

Read my previous episode “What Holds Up Your Tent?” here: https://joshthehodge.com/2020/02/28/what-holds-up-your-tent/

Check out my new book “Canyonlands: My Adventures in the National Parks and the Beautiful Wild,” here:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1711397873/ref=cm_sw_em_r_mt_dp_U_UjGjEbYBGF4PR

What Holds Up Your Tent?

February 28, 2020Posted in Uncategorized1 Comment

I opened my car door after having spent the night crunched up inside sheltered from the monsoon. My legs both ached and gave out a sigh of relief as I extended them down to the sandy soil. I was at Guadalupe Mountains National Park in northern west Texas. Last night, a raging monsoon ripped off the fly of my tent, snapped a tent pole, and left me curled up in a puddle of rainwater. I soon retreated to my car.

I was hesitant to face the prospect that my tent might be completely gone. This was True Blue, my tent who had been with me for all of my outdoor adventures. We’d camped all over the West before, in the Smoky Mountains of Appalachia, down in the forests of South Carolina, and even on sandy shores in Florida and in Disney World. We had a rich history together. Yes, I’m sentimental about my camping gear.

To my surprise there she lay, completely flattened and decimated by the storm, sad but pitifully humorous. As I observed the ruins, it confirmed true, a tent pole was completely snapped.

This had me thinking, drawing the parallels between tents and lives. Allow me to consider each tent a person’s life. Each life is supported by a set of beliefs. These beliefs are the tent poles. They hold the person up, keep them going, give them the will and motivation to live. Some tents, or lives, are held up by solid strong sturdy beliefs. Ones that are unwavering in the storm, and able to withstand any monsoon. Other beliefs, like my weak tent poles, are snapped in the storm. They do not support one in hardship. They have no fortitude, and because they often aren’t even true, they snap and bring a life to collapse into misery, dismay, even destruction.

Some people hold their tents up with money, a belief that wealth is the key to keeping the tent standing. Others hold up tents with status. They believe their value is determined by other’s perceptions about them. Some hold up their tents with relationships, believing they must be dependent on another for well-being. Progressivism has taught the belief that one should always listen to their heart, follow their impulses, and do whatever makes them happy. I’d be careful for “The heart is more deceitful than all else.”- Jeremiah 17:9. Even some have noble actions that are rooted in self-righteous beliefs that if they simply do good to others and their environments karma will play in their favor.

Truth is, all of these tent poles will not hold one up in the roughest storms of life. They are weak and more importantly faulty. The tent poles crafted to withstand any storm, any winds, any monsoon, are the tent poles of God’s promises. Tent poles staked in his character.

I have considered, what are the tent poles in my life? What keeps my tent standing when difficulty comes my way? When faced with illness, unwanted challenge, and loss, what helps keep me unwavering? One of my tent poles is the belief that God is sovereign. There is nothing that is beyond God’s watch and intervention. He is aware of it all. Ecclesiastes 7:14 tells us, “When times are good, enjoy them, but when times are bad, consider this. God has made one as well as the other, and man never knows what the future may bring.” God is all-knowing. He is sovereign over both our good days and bad days. This brings me comfort. Everything is always on his watch.

Another tent pole would be that God is my strength. Even when I am weak, He is strong. Isaiah 40:29-31 says “He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.” When I physically and mentally feel like I don’t have the strength to go on, I’m often right, but God is my reserve, my strength. I have a reservoir of strength beyond my own- a never ending wellspring of life.

A third tent pole is the belief that God works all things together for good. Even in the most unfortunate situations I press forward. I have hope, because I know that in the end this will be used for good. This allows me to confront the bad things in life with a peace that sometimes the world does not understand. Along the same lines is also the belief that all my battles have already been won by God. I have nothing to fear.

Is my tent always stable and firm? No. It shakes and trembles as I work on my faith. That is life, but it does not fall. What beliefs are holding up your tent? What do you fundamentally believe when faced with the hardships of life? What do you believe about yourself and God? Maybe you share some of the same beliefs as me. But have you set up your tent? Have you camped out under its beams? Do you meditate and focus your thoughts and life on these beliefs, or are these tent poles laying flat on the ground? Is your tent not set up? Get on with it! Storms are inevitable. Don’t be caught out in the rain.

Read my previous episode “Camping in a Monsoon (and what it taught me about life),” here: https://joshthehodge.com/2020/02/27/camping-in-a-monsoon-and-what-it-taught-me-about-life/

Check out my new book “Canyonlands: My Adventures in the National Parks and the Beautiful Wild,” here:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1711397873/ref=cm_sw_em_r_mt_dp_U_UjGjEbYBGF4PR

Camping in a Monsoon (and what it taught me about life)

February 27, 2020February 27, 2020Posted in national parks, nature, texas, UncategorizedTagged camping, guadalupe mountains, national parks, north american monsoon, storms, texas3 Comments

I lay in a cold wet puddle as the wind ripped around me. I felt pitiful. I had been trying to fall asleep for a long time but the wind violently jostled my tent and whipped around the sides in a clamor. In addition, the sky every so often let out thunderous cries as lightning streaked across the sky. Unlike with my previous experience out on the sand dunes of White Sands National Monument in New Mexico, here I was protected from lightning with the towering Guadalupe mountains standing nearby, and I had the waterproof fly on my tent which I thought would keep me dry. It was just the noise and the way my tent was dancing in the wind that was keeping me up. Then, as the wind picked up and the clouds broke loose holding nothing back, the fly of my tent was ripped off and the rain poured into my tent.

There’s no use going out to retrieve the tent fly, I thought, It’s probably long gone, flailing out in the wind off in the distance. I pulled my sleeping bag over my head. It was thick. Maybe it will keep me dry until the storm passes.

But the storm wouldn’t pass. It only grew more and more intense. It was undoubtedly a North American monsoon. With intense solar heating in this region of the country during the day, winds shift and low pressure troughs are created bringing in moisture from the Gulf of Mexico and gifting the desert with torrential rainstorms.

For future reference, a sleeping bag is not enough to keep you dry from a Monsoon. Water began to soak through my sleeping bag, and it was cold. I curled up keeping my limbs close to the rest of my body to preserve heat. My car was parked about thirty yards away. This was a walk-in campsite. I couldn’t easily get to my car without being fully inundated with the cold relentless sheets of rain, and if I were to go to my car, I’d have to bring everything of value I had with me in my tent, because likely my tent would be ripped away in the wind.

I was going to wait this out. Then with a fierce whip of wind, my tent came collapsing down upon me. The wind completely snapped a tent pole. Minutes later I was shivering in the fetal position in a puddle of water. This was pitiful. Cinematically I could picture this moment in my mind. The camera ascending upward facing downward revealing the image of a man contracted in a puddle of rain water and the water continuing to pour down. I’d look so helpless… but I wasn’t. I grabbed my backpack and was feeling around the layers of cold wet collapsed tent to find the zipper of the tent door. Then with a mad dash, through piercingly cold sheets of rain, I made it to my car. I turned the heat up high and cupped my hands around the vents. I was gonna be ok.

My pillow and sleeping bag were soaked and had been abandoned in the tent. But I had a spare sleeping bag in the backseat. I peeled off my wet clothes, and climbed over the front seat to the back where I pulled down the seat to access the trunk. I retrieved some dry clothes to put on, and I pushed a sweatshirt and other articles of clothes up into the corner of the back seat to great a place to rest my head.

This was not the type of camping I imagined doing this summer. I longed for the dry, star filled nights, with cracking fires, and a peaceful quietude, where cares were long forgotten and my mind and body at ease. Here I was crunched up in a small car as the monsoon raged on.

In the moment this was all meaningless to me. I had embarked on this trip not only to enjoy the scenery and recreation but to also be inspired and hear from God. I have often found inspiration in nature. The previous year God illuminated the canyonlands to show me he could transform the deep dark places of my life. He also inspired me to be unwavering in life’s challenges. I came to moments of deep realization and inspiration by pondering ghost towns and mountain peaks. But this monsoon was a nuisance, void of meaning to me. And in regard to inspiration, this whole trip so far seemed like a failure.

However, I was quick to forget the miraculous incident at Chiricahua when locking my keys in the car. Not only did God deliver me from my circumstances but he told me, “Be Still. Be Calm. Don’t worry.” But now, here, in the literal storms of life, I had placed this off to the side of my mind, forgetting about it and becoming inundated with the negativity around me.

Sometimes we can only find the meaning in situations when we look back on them. There is meaning here. In life we face figurative storms that are in a whole other category than this summer monsoon. These storms of life are painful with suffering, loss, anger, change, and doubt. How often do we let the storms of life distract us from what God has promised us and what he is teaching us? We are quick to focus on the present suffering instead of focusing on what we know about God, what God has taught us in our lives, and all the promises he has made.

Scripture is flooded with promises of God helping his people in times of trial. We can read these and be reassured and find peace, but even greater confidence is found when we consider all the times these promises in scripture have played out in our lives. As followers of Christ we see the scripture come alive in our lives as God carries us through hard times.

I reflect back when I was a freshman in college battling depression and insecurity about my faith. After spending so much time in an unhealthy church where fellow “Christians” treated each other combatively, I began to question God’s goodness and even existence. Then in my own quiet time I came across James 1, “Consider it pure joy my brothers whenever you face trials of many kinds, for you know the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete not lacking anything.” In the trial of my faith in God himself, God began to reveal himself to me through a series of answered prayers and strength in the midst of my weakness. In a note to a God I thanked Him for doing good things in my life. I asked that I would always feel Him near, and I asked that He would give me a heart of worship. God, in the most miraculous way, answered me through Jeremiah 32:40 “I will make an everlasting covenant with you, promising to never stop doing good things for you. I will instill in you a heart of worship, and you will never leave me.”

In the storms of life, I am prone to be the pessimist, letting my thoughts snowball out of control, thinking things can only get worse and speculating my doom, but then I remember this promise: God will never stop doing good things for me. After speaking to me in that moment, God set me on a path of healing. He brought a dear friend and spiritual mentor into my life. Together we held onto the verse Romans 8:28. It was our verse. “For we know that all things work together for good for those who love God and have been called according to his purpose.”

Other substantial storms in my life have had to do with my health, between ulcerative colitis, Pancreatitis, and all the challenges they have brought, I’ve clung onto my life in the most desperate of ways in the most excruciating pain and loneliness. During this time a harmony of verses was cemented in my mind “After you have suffered a while, the God of grace Himself, whose knowledge surpasses all understanding, will restore you and make you strong.” Also with diagnosis looking grim, God laid before me many times Jeremiah 29:11 “‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’” As a feeble young man, hospitalized, making my way down the hallway with my walker, this verse again jumped out to me inscribed on the wall. Not only was it a promise in scripture but I know God was directly promising it to me. When health challenges return and I question the future I have to remind myself of these promises.

And then years later there was my drive to the doctor’s office. All they could tell me on the phone is that there were abnormalities in my blood work. I knew something was wrong. I feared for the challenges ahead. My mind flashbacked to the nights in college of rolling around on the floor in so much pain that my mind couldn’t even formulate thoughts. And I began to consider all the sleepless nights in which I always had to keep moving. Movement was the only distraction from pain. I couldn’t bear this again, I thought. As I was driving on my way to the doctor’s office God spoke to me saying,”never again will you go through the pain you’ve endured.”

I’d soon find myself in a battle with lupus and a relapse of ulcerative colitis. Miserable, yes, but physically painful, no. God spared me. When medicines fail, when blood work is out of range, I remember, “never again.” God promised me. And He’s also said He has “promised me hope, and a future,” He also “will never stop doing good things for me,” and He “will restore me and make me strong.”

When you encounter life’s storms are you quick to imagine the worst? Do you wallow in the suffering, doubt the prospects of your future, or even begin to feel like you’ve fallen away from God’s grace? Although this may be a natural human response, we can change it. When faced with the monsoons of life, pause. What has God taught you in life’s prior challenges and deliverances? What has He promised to you? Contrast your own worries and concern verses what you know to be true.

One of my favorite musical artists, Steven Curtis Chapman, in his song “Remember to Remember” sings of just that. We have to remember what God has led us through previously. He’s led us through the canyonlands and to mountain peaks. What has He taught you along the way?

A life with God has nothing wasted. Your story is a part of God’s story. He uses your past to prove himself and his character. Next time a storm rolls in, my hope is that you don’t camp out in the monsoon, but pause and take inventory of promises you know to be true. If you’ve never heard God’s voice, may you begin to seek it and begin to start a life with Him. Only then you will realize you are equipped and empowered, not just cold wet and crunched up in the backseat of a car.

Read my previous episode “The Mystique of Carlsbad Caverns,” here: https://joshthehodge.com/2020/02/08/the-mystique-of-carlsbad-caverns/

Check out my new book “Canyonlands: My Adventures in the National Parks and the Beautiful Wild,” here:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1711397873/ref=cm_sw_em_r_mt_dp_U_UjGjEbYBGF4PR

The Mystique of Carlsbad Caverns

February 8, 2020February 8, 2020Posted in adveture, national parks, new mexico, travelTagged bats, Brazilian free-tailed bats, carlsbad caverns, caves, national parks, new mexico1 Comment

The drive from Big Bend National Park to Carlsbad Caverns is not one to boast of. I most definitely found myself on a truck route, a sure minority in my small car, with flat land and oil fields all around me and little to see. But when I arrived at Carlsbad Caverns just across the state line from Texas in New Mexico, the destination would most certainly be worth the journey.

National Parks that are formed around caves are hard to evaluate in comparison to other National Parks. There is such an immeasurable difference between a cave National Park and any other. Caves evoke different feelings. They are dark, dank, gloomy, yet wild pieces of nature’s artistry. I like them and they fascinate me, as do all wonders of nature. They can even inspire me, but hidden from the sun, beneath the surface of the land, they place themselves in their own category of mystique.

I had reserved a lantern tour of the Left Hand Tunnel portion of caverns online months in advance and was very much looking forward to it. This would be my first lantern tour in a cave. The following year I would get to go on a lantern tour in Mammoth Cave and Oregon Caves, but this was the first so I was very excited for it. Along with my excitement came a bit of frustration because I had trouble finding the park. The address I had led me to the park’s administrative offices in the town of Carlsbad. I began to consider that I might arrive late, miss my tour, and add this to my list of grievances: feeling burnt out, locking my keys in my car, having a rock fall and dent the hood of my vehicle, getting caught in a lightning storm at White Sands National Monument, and getting reprimanded from a park ranger. Of course I shouldn’t have been focusing on the bad and instead should have been grateful for being out here and being able to go to these parks in the first place, but this is where I was at mentally at this point in my trip.

After figuring my way and zipping around the five miles of road leading to the center of the park, I arrived with a few minutes to spare. I changed my clothes in my car for the cooler temperature in the cave, which stays at a consistent 56 degrees fahrenheit, and went into the visitor center to check in for my tour. There were ten people for the tour. We met inside the museum part of the visitor center and the ranger and guide, Josh from Maine, took us to a classroom to distribute lanterns. They were simple wood box lanterns with candles inside them. We then boarded the historic elevators which dropped us to 754 feet below ground level. At the time they were installed in 1932 they were the longest single-shaft elevators in the world.

During the tour, in which we made our way through the undeveloped section of the cave on a dirt path, the ranger presented the history of the discovery of the cave. According to the National Park Service “Our first credited cave exploration happened in the cave in 1898. Sixteen year-old cowboy, Jim White, was rounding up cattle one evening when he spotted smoke from a wildfire off in the distance. He went into high alert. Fires could be just as devastating then as they are now. He rode closer to gather information. How big was it? Was it moving quickly? What direction was it burning? These questions and more pushed Jim to ride to the fire so he could report back to camp with the most accurate information possible.

As Jim approached the smoke, he noticed something strange: he couldn’t smell the smoke, hear the crackling of flames, or feel the heat of fire. Jim realized he wasn’t seeing smoke. He was watching bats. Thousands-upon-thousands of Brazilian free-tailed bats. Jim finally stopped at the mouth of the cave completely mesmerized by the spectacle of flying mammals filling the air above him. He once said he watched the bats for nearly half an hour before the darkness fell so completely he had to return to camp.

Because he knew the other cowboys would mock him, Jim didn’t immediately describe what he’d seen to anyone. He thought it over for several days.The deep hole in the ground and its secrets continued to gnaw at him. He had to find out what was down in the dark recesses.” Jim went on to explore the cave more and introduce others to it.

I loved this story and tried to put myself in Jim’s place, discovering such an immense marvel on my own at such a young age. On another note, an additional fascinating thing I learned on my tour was that microbes have recently been discovered in the far reaches of the cave that specifically attack cancerous tissue and that this discovery may have huge medical implications on the treatment of cancer.

Although I very much enjoyed the tour, afterward things got increasingly fascinating. I was told that if I wanted to take the elevators back up to the visitor center I would have to soon, because they would be closing for the evening. If I chose not to, I’d have to hike my way out of the cave. Of course I opted for the latter choice. This gave me time to explore the Big Room of the cave and have a sandwich. I found it unique to order food and eat at the Underground Lunchroom. Back in the early days of the park there was an actual kitchen down in the cave, but because of food preparation causing damage to the cave, food started to be prepared outside of the cave and sent down.

After my quick bite to eat I began my exploration. I cannot put into words the uniqueness, the massive scale, the variety of what is in this cave. It is its own underground world. This is a cave with massive rock formations. I pondered if up above some if these things would be considered mountains. The scale is just astounding. And unlike Mammoth Cave which is largely covered by a capstone, this cave is a true cavern meaning it is composed of soluble rock which permits entrance of mineral water which grows speleothems and therefore makes the most impressive display of stalactites, stalagmites, straws, draperies, cave popcorn and bacon, and a plethora of other cave features. At times it all looks elegant, other times eerie. With every turn there is something strangely unique to look at. In the Big Room the park service has a paved trail with railings that meander around, and many spotlights illuminate the most astounding of features.

With a burst of excitement I went from one feature to the next, but then made the same walk again to quietly savor the surroundings and be filled with a sense of wonder. I could easily imagine I was on another planet, a more desolate one. When I was done pondering and wandering I began my ascent to the cave entrance. It was all a gradual uphill hike, along a paved path. The passage narrows and widens from one set of switchbacks to another. I was the only person on this path. Despite other parts of the park and the visitor center being quite busy, I didn’t see a singular person for the entire ascent. I felt like I had Carlsbad Caverns to myself. As I got closer to the cave entrance I began to hear chirping overhead. I looked up and saw small dark creatures flying near the roof of the cave. Bats! I thought. They grew in number and in volume the more I ascended, swirling in flight above me. The cave was very tall so I couldn’t see them up close, but I reveled in the unique experience of hiking in the company of lively bats.

Back at the visitor center I told a ranger what I experienced. I would be informed that they most likely weren’t bats but cave swallows. Also in the visitor center I watched the park film and bought a pin for my collection. Then after killing a bit of time, I went back outside to the amphitheater located right at the mouth and natural entrance of the cave. It was time for the nightly bat flight program. A ranger would talk about bats and then around sunset the bats would come flying out of the gave in a grand spectacle. So, as programmed, a ranger talked about bats feeding on bugs, especially mosquitos, and how the tendons in a bats hands are designed opposite of ours. To expand their fingers from their fist it requires strength, but a fist tightly clenched is in the nature relaxed position. This is how they are able to cling onto things and one another and hang upside down. The ranger talked about the immense size of the bat population between 200,000 and 500,000 in the cave and how bat, guano a.k.a. bat dung, was once harvested from Carlsbad Caverns for its value as a nutrient rich fertilizer.

The ranger then presented some sad news: do to the nature of the weather, the bats may not be coming out of the caves. It was a gloomy evening, clouds hung low and the wind was strong. It seemed that a storm was just moments away. The bats would not come out in storms. But then as he was talking about such a predicament a bat flew out of the cave, followed by another. They flew around a group of trees and went back into the cave.

The ranger explained that these were the “scouts.” The bat colony sends out a scout to check the weather and report to the rest. If the report is good, the group then exits the cave. If the scout determines the weather to be threatening, the colony would stay in the cave for the night and postpone eating. Minutes later a swarm of bats exited the cave in the most spectacular, eerie, yet beautiful display. They came out in a spiral formation almost appearing like a tornado, Dark black silhouettes contrasted against the evening sky. They flew right above me in a beautiful display with the precise coordination of a school of fish. With Batman and Halloween and all the other references to bats in popular culture I am quite familiar with the silhouette of a bat with its wings extended, but there is something strictly exciting and beautiful to see thousands of these silhouettes moving, flapping, flying above me in the sky.

Nowhere else have I seen such a display. It was breathtaking, and I was very fortunate to see it. Moments later it began to rain. The bats probably wouldn’t have exited the cave if the scouts had reported rain. I made it back to my car and opened up a can of soup and ate it for supper with the sound and display of rain water crashing against my windshield.

A trip to Carlsbad Caverns is worth every bit of time and travel to visit. It truly lives up to the title of National Park, for it is an extremely unique place to be treasured, with great stories, most impressive natural features, and a stunning show presented by it’s natural inhabitants.

Read my previous episode “On the Rio Grande: a world between U.S. and Mexico,” here: https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2020/02/02/on-the-rio-grande-a-world-between-the-u-s-and-mexico/

Check out my new book “Canyonlands: My Adventures in the National Parks and the Beautiful Wild,” here:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1711397873/ref=cm_sw_em_r_mt_dp_U_UjGjEbYBGF4PR

On the Rio Grande: a world between the U.S. and Mexico

February 2, 2020Posted in adveture, national parks, nature, texas, UncategorizedTagged big bend, chisos basin, mexico, national parks, rio grande, terlingua, texas, west texas1 Comment

“Is there a trail over there?” I asked.

“No, but you can bushwhack,” the man replied. I was looking at Terlingua Creek in Big Bend National Park as it poured into the Rio Grande and the water flowed into Santa Elena Canyon. I had parked at the trailhead. There was supposed to be a trail into Santa Elena Canyon. It didn’t look promising, but if this man and his three small children could do it, I could too. How did they do it, really? Did he carry all his children on his shoulders? Because the Terlingua Creek was not by any means a dainty waterflow easy to cross. It appeared as a rushing river. As I put my feet in to start my “creek” crossing, the water rushed around me, and as I carefully stepped forward the water got increasingly deep. Water flowed waist up, and I nearly lost my footing. I was unsure that this was a good idea, but after crossing the deepest part, with a lunge, I met ground on the other side. Well soft silky terrain that oozed between my toes and sucked my feet down into it.

Trudging my was through a forest of underbrush, ducking my head under curving branches and pulling others aside with my handle, I was following the footsteps of prior travelers trying to find my way to the actual established trail. I knew the level of water was to blame for the covering of the actual starting point of the trail. While I was exploring my way through this jungle-like environment I got caught up in the novelty of the scenery and moment and so lost track of footprints in the mud. I tried to backtrack, but I couldn’t make sense of the footprints anymore especially combined with mine. I was barefoot, shirtless, ankle deep in mud, and bushwhacking my way through riverside growth. I felt perhaps the most primitive and truly explorative I have ever felt before.

Eventually, after a brief moment of uncertainty, I arrived in Santa Elena Canyon where giant cliffs forming the canyon walls measure 1,500 feet. Here one cliffside is Mexico and the other is the United States of America, and the Rio Grande flows in a murky pale brown in between. On the U.S. side, about halfway down the cliff faces, rock erodes leaving piles and a bar alongside the river where trees and other plant life grow. This is where the established trail is found.

As I walked through the canyon, I was met with a sense of wonder at the immense bold rock walls and the knowledge that the two countries come together at this exact location. Here I was far down below in the eroded expanse created by the river. Up above on the plateaus is where the two countries exist with all their problems and all their dealings. Here in Elena Canyon I felt like I was in some secret fortress or a hidden world, protected, encased by the walls of the canyon. I walked slowly, my eyes focusing at the majestic walls and back down to the quiet river.

I took the trail as it flowed up and down alongside the canyon wall. At one point I came across a large fish that the river must have left ashore, which had begun to dry out and be reclaimed by the earth. I took the trail until I could no longer, until it sort of disappeared and the rocks became more jagged and gave way to the river. Everyone that comes to Big Bend National Park should not miss out on this short hike. The views are among the most astounding in the park. The only word of caution would be crossing the creek.

The visit to Santa Elena Canyon was near the end of my day’s adventure. This morning I ventured out in my car to travel the whole expanse of the park and get a sampling of all it has to offer. I first stopped at the Fossil Discovery Exhibit. I learned all about the terrain and dinosaurs that used to live in this shallow sea. I even got my picture with a cask of the Deinosuchus skull. I then proceeded southward in the park on my way to the southeast corner to visit the Hot Springs. I’d read about this and was very interested I had never been in a hot spring. I stopped at the Panther Junction Visitor Center to inquire about the hot springs. New to hot springs, I just didn’t know if there were any safety precautions I should take. The park ranger said “I can tell you this: It’s about 100 degrees outside right now, and the water is also about 100 degrees. You can decide if you want to go in or not.”

I drove the 20 miles to Hot Springs.

The final few miles were on a remote dirt road. When I arrived in the small parking area a sign read “Vehicle Theft is common in this area.” That was not comforting. I got out of my car and very cautiously observed my surroundings, alert at all moments. I was near a part of the Rio Grande where the water was shallow and the girth of the river was small, where crossings from Mexico on foot were very possible and so frequent.

I observed the remnants of the old post office and bath house that used to stand on site. On the half mile hike to the hot spring, I got hit with an overwhelming sense of insecurity and uneasiness. I felt like I was being watched. Something was not right. Then, next to the trail, I came upon a grouping of small Mexican animal figurines “alebrijes” standing on the ground by a plastic jar with a slit cut in the top for money collection. Someone had crossed the river to place this and may be hiding somewhere at this moment, keeping an eye on the money jar. In retrospect, this seems silly, but this was the final bad omen. These figurines probably belonged to someone impoverished from across the border who was rather innocently trying to make some money. However a criminal is a criminal. This person broke laws by crossing into the U.S. this way and selling items in a National Park. Considering this, along with the sign warning of vehicle theft, I could almost hear the little figures saying “we are watching you,” and in the moment it scared me a lot. I came upon them but it seemed like they found me, and suddenly jumped out, unexpectedly. They seem like menaces of a Goosebumps novel. It sounds ridiculous, but such a negative energy surrounded those little figurines that I started running back to my car. I don’t know exactly what danger was there, but I could sense it. I knew it wasn’t worth it to see the hot springs.

Back on the main road I took a short stop at the Rio Grande Village which was closed for the summer, except for its store. There were very few people out and about the park but here a group of about a dozen teenagers and few adults formed a line in front of the checkout counter. They were all together. I bought some Check Mix and a Vitamin Water as well as a pair of fancy socks with an image of a bear and the words “Big Bend” sewn into them. I then proceeded to the Boquillas Canyon Overlook. I parked my car and walked the short path to the river overlook. There, on the banks of Rio Grande on the U.S. side, a short Mexican man wearing a sombrero was singing Cielito Lindo “Ay, ay, ay, ay Canta y no llores.”

There were a few other tourists at this spot as well. One man asked this singer questions about where he was from This man shared. “I’ve been crossing the river for about 20 years to sing songs, any requests.” He too had a money jar for tips.

I wanted to cross the river as well. Near this location was the port of entry to Boquillas, Mexico. One can take a short boat ride across the river, present his/her passport, and enter the small town of Boquillas for a visit and most typically a meal. Today the port of entry was closed. This man, however, did not let that stop him.

When I crossed the expanse of the park and was nearing the West end to visit Santa Elena Canyon I stopped at Mule Ears Viewpoint where one can see the two giant rock formations peaking up like ears. I also stopped alongside the road to view the enormous ocotillo plants, a native to the Sonoran and Chihuahuan deserts with their skinny stems creeping well over twelve feet tall.

My final stop before venturing into the canyon was at the Dorgan House Trail which leads to the remnants of an old homestead called Coyote Ranch. There were interpretive signs telling a brief history of the place. Settlers had to give up their homesteads when the government seized control of the land. The remnants of the buildings at Coyote Ranch are rusticly beautiful. There were clay bricks falling down from once fully constructed walls and door frames and window beams constructed of what looked to be driftwood. The homestead was up on a bit of the hill. I paused and looked out at Santa Elena Canyon in the distance and the expanse of savannah and rock formations in the distance. The place was so extremely quiet and remote. It fascinated my imagination to entertain that this was once home for people and they somehow raised animals and grew crops on this near barren land.

When my day was nearing its end, I headed back to the Chisos Basin in the center of the park where I was staying in the campground. I went to the lodge and bought a book titled Beneath the Window: Early Ranch Life in Big Bend National Park Before it was a National Park. The author Patricia Wilson Clothier recounts here childhood living in the region and the difficulties of trying to farm a land so harsh and uninviting. She mentioned how during her childhood in Big Bend, other people were rare, and those who did live nearby in the Big Bend region were a journey away. When they weren’t at their ranch, like others they would always leave doors unlocked and open for weary travelers passing by. It was expected that people passing through may need a place to stay or food to eat, so the door was always open. I found that information very insightful. Maybe this goes to explain the very apparent friendliness of West Texans. A culture was established in the past of excitement for people and visitors, because “new” people were a sure rarity in this rural land. I thought to myself, I don’t need to be in West Texas to be a rarity. You’ll find me a rarity wherever I am, for better or for worse.

I ate dinner at the Chisos Basin Lodge restaurant. I enjoyed some pork tacos with kale wand a great views of the rock pinnacles before me out the window. After dinner I bought some yogurt from the general store I fainted in the evening before, and I read my new book on the back porch of the lodge to another amazing West Texan Sunset.

The following day I would head north to the border of New Mexico and Texas to visit Gualalupe Mountains and Carlsbad Caverns National Parks.

Read my previous episode “Passing Out in Big Bend National Park,” here: https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2020/01/20/passing-out-in-big-bend/04/11/treasures-of-the-chihuahuan/

Check out my new book “Canyonlands: My Adventures in the National Parks and the Beautiful Wild,” here:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1711397873/ref=cm_sw_em_r_mt_dp_U_UjGjEbYBGF4PR

Passing Out in Big Bend National Park

January 20, 2020January 20, 2020Posted in adveture, national parks, nature, texas, UncategorizedTagged big bend, national parks, texasLeave a comment

My vision faded to a nauseous blue and the voices around me turned into muffled echoes drowned out by anxious buzzing. My eyes were open yet soon I couldn’t see. The control of my faculties was fading. The beating of my heart was spinning out of control in a desperation. I was slipping into unconsciousness. To date, this is the one and only time I’ve fainted in a National Park.

Despite what might seem most unpleasant, don’t get me wrong. This day was a great one. It just ended with a flopping crescendo. I was in Big Bend National Park in West Texas where one of the nations most magnificent National Parks hugs the Rio Grande River bordering Mexico. This wonderland in the heart of the Chihuahuan Desert ranks on the lower end of visitation when it comes to National Parks but it’s towards the top of my list of most impressive National Parks.

I would venture to say that for anyone not from this area this place would seem otherworldly, like a completely different planet. Plant life is so unique with giant agave plants of all varieties and orange twisted naked indian trees. Reading up about this park afterward, I learned one of the reasons why the plant life is so unique in this are of the Chihuahuan desert is because it is the biome developed from what is believed to have once been rainforest before land masses separated, the gulf of Mexico was formed, and the sea that covered much of the park dried out. This was also the land where dinosaurs roamed and swam. Deinosuchus, an enormous genus of crocodile swam in the shallow sea that covered the lower levels of this park where now tarantulas scurry. Looking around, the age of dinosaurs doesn’t seem so distant. The peculiarity of the landscape, the enormous rock pinnacles busting up from grasslands, and the oversized plants, like the aloe vera growing stalks up to forty feet high with giant insects feasting and pollinating, make it seem like a flashback to the jurassic or cretaceous.

The previous night I had camped in the Chisos Basin Campground located in one of the four villages in the park. Yes, Big Bend is quite big indeed. Some of the other hubs close down for the summer but this one remains the most popular one in this season. The campground was tight and crowded. Many people were packed in, but it was situated in a beautiful basin surrounded nearly completely by rock pinnacles except for a gap looking down upon the desert. Up here at the higher elevation the landscape is greener, more trees are able to grow, and the temperature usually remains about twenty degrees cooler than in the lower reaches of the park.

Today I had a significant hike planned up in the Chisos Mountains. The trailhead was conveniently accessible from a footpath leading from the campground. The footpath climbs stairs and turns left to a visitor center, general store, and the lodge but proceeds forward to join the Chisos Basin trailhead climbing upward and gaining two thousand feet into the mountains.

The sun had risen, but I was still getting a pretty early start. As I hiked around the campground I came upon a very friendly and pleasant young couple bidding me “good morning.” It looked like they were getting set up for something. Then I remember reading a sign by the bathroom about a campground worship service on Sunday mornings. I put two and two together. This had to be the “campground chaplain,” if such a term exists. I would assume they were the campground host, whom also led a worship service. I thought about stopping and joining them, but I also considered the many miles ahead of me. Regretfully, I did not stop. But the prospect of coming together with other Christians in the beauty of nature in a National Park seemed purely wonderful. John Muir himself often referred to beautiful spots in nature as “temples.”

Before I reached the trailhead, along the path was a sign titled “Lion Warning.” It went on to explain what to do in a lion encounter. It did not once mention the term “mountain lion” but simply “lion,” making it all the more intimidating. “A lion has been frequenting the area and could be aggressive towards humans,” it read. Mountain lions are a concerning creature, because unlike a bear which will make its presence known, a mountain lion stalks, unseen, unheard, and then pounces. It can break a neck instantly. Mountain lion attacks are rare, and it would be especially rare to encounter one during the day, but I had read that a mountain lion is less likely to attack a human if the human looks unnatural. So a good deterrent is to wear bright neon colors that make yourself look artificial and not like a tasty treat of nature.

The Chisos Basin trailhead was rather steep, quickly gaining elevation, passing by shrubbery, agave, and more naked indian trees. The first point of interest was Boulder Meadow where the land leveled and displayed a hidden meadow surrounded by boulder peaks. I had almost camped here, but I hadn’t arrived in the park the evening before with enough time to pack and get to this area before dark. Setting up camp alone, in an unfamiliar place, with the presence of mountain lions, just didn’t seem appealing. But seeing it in the daytime, I certainly acknowledge it would have been a great place to camp. This trail I was on led to a network of trails up in the Chisos Mountains to various areas, remote campsites, and natural features. I wasn’t exactly sure all I was going to hike. I did know I wanted to get to the South Rim. I had seen a brochure advertising the area with a man sitting on the edge of the South Rim. I wanted to be in that exact spot, but apart from that, I had an open mind, which ended with me hiking around sixteen miles.

I enjoyed the hike greatly. Nothing compares to the landscape of desert, grasslands, and forest all converging together, but at times remaining distinct, separated in patches up in the mountains.

For most of my hike I was alone, and I felt very alone too, always conscious of it, slightly concerned for my own safety. No one would be out here to aid me in the event of an emergency. The climate was very hot and very dry, and the sun was very powerful. I knew, not properly equipped, the climate could dehydrate me and claim my life. So i was very diligent to stay hydrated and calorie equipped. The one place where I saw others was at by Emory Peak. It was a mile and a half deviance from the main trail. Emory peak is the highest reach in Big Bend National Park at 7,825 ft. The trail to Emory Peak slowly dissipated, to the point where any resemblance of a trail was gone. There were two peaks of ragged rock spires, like two towers sticking up on the mountain. One of these two had to be the peak. Other hikers were there. questioning which was Emory Peak. The two peaks looked to be about the same height and there were only a mere thirty feet or so apart. In urban terms they were maybe four stories high. I chose the one that looked the most manageable to climb. There was clearly no established route, but I found places for my feet and natural steps to grab hold of and pull myself upward. At the top I sat on a small plateau viewing out upon the rock pinnacles below me and all the valleys and crevices of the landscape. I enjoyed it, and it was great no doubt, but perhaps it wasn’t the most memorable of summits, because I remember more about the climb up than the view itself. From up here I was able to look over at the other rock peak where a few climbers maneuvered their way down. Just the sight made me on edge because between these two spires was a cavity, a long and dramatic fall to any solid ground.

Back on the main trail I continued past the Pinnacles area to Boot Canyon- a very arid forest, which at one point the trail passed by a cabin which I assumed was a ranger residence. At one point the forest gave way to grassland where tall whispy brittle golden grass closed in upon the trail. Miles later I reached the East Rim, which traveled around to the South Rim. I had arrived! I found the place on the brochure and it was well worth it. I sat there by a prickly pear cactus looking down upon the sharp triangular mountains I was well above. They were all dark pale green or brown, reflective of the arid feel of the terrain. Far below I spotted a dried up river bed meandering among the hills, and nearing the horizon the plains of even dryer desert. While I was observing the landscape, I begin to hear a terrible buzz. It grew louder. The sound was approaching rapidly. From up above I began to see a cloud wisping through the air below growing bigger with every fraction of a second. I was very confused and did not know what this was, but it scared me. It caused me to crawl back from the canyon rim and stand up. I realized it was a swarm of insects. It seemed like it was heading right for me, and its sharp atrocious sound was piercing to my ears. I was prepared to drop to the ground and shield my head with my arms, when the swarm swopped to the right and zoomed off into the distance.

What exactly was that? I questioned. I have never in my life experienced a swarm of insects like this before. The sound of it made me think they were a type of fly or bee. The only thing in my life experience to relate it to is the Winnie the Pooh cartoons when the silly old bear is chased by bees after disturbing their hive. It might have been terrifying in the moment, but soon after I couldn’t help but revel in the unique experience it was, and the rather stunning visual display of thousands of insects flying in a coordinated manner with such rage. I wanted to ask a ranger about this, but the visitor center was closed by the time I got back.

This South Rim was the highlight of the hike with its stunning view. From here I looped back down to the Chisos Basin passing by the Laguna Meadows and Blue Creek which was largely dried up. Everything in my hike looked so desperately thirsty that it was strangely eerie. A bountiful forest is comforting boasting so much life, even a forest in the winter with it barren trees has its own charm, but a forested area so painfully thirsty comes across as hostile and desperate. But I wasn’t. I could certainly sense the dryness, but I wasn’t short on water. At one point I could even afford to poor some of my water supply on my head for a brief cool off.

During the last few miles of nearing my accomplishment of sixteen miles my feet became very heavy. I thought maybe I had bitten off more than I could chew. The final steps down to the Chisos Basin village were some of the most heavy steps I have ever taken. I felt like my feet could just pop right of, or my legs would fall off from the pelvis. It was evening now. Around 7pm, I had hiked at least over 10 hours continuously up, around, and down a mountain range with only a couple of brief stops. I was more than ready to sit down.I wanted to stop by the general store in the Chisos Basin village first and then relax for a bit at the lodge.

As I was in line at the store to buy a sandwich and a Gatorade, there was a family in front of me, foreign, seemingly from India. With broken English they were trying to ask questions about purchasing a camping tent. I was so desperate to sit down that I wanted to make my purchase and be done with it. With my legs extremely sore, I began to feel a bit agitated when there was a problem reading their credit card. When I realized this might not be a quick in-and-out a is when I began to lose my senses. I began to faint. Then, it was my turn. I set the Gateorade and sandwich on the counter, but my vision left me. I felt myself falling towards the group, so I tried with all the control I had left to squat down in front of the counter. Consciousness left me, but a moment later I stood back up.

“Sign this,” I heard. I must have given him my credit card too, but I scarcely remember.

“I’m sorry. I just feel like I’m gonna faint,” I said. I still couldn’t see.

“Please don’t,” said the young man behind the counter. I already had for a moment.

I intensely tried to regain vision. It was faint and disrupted but I could see just enough to sign my name on the receipt.

The young man behind the counter seemed to have no idea how to react. He didn’t offer to help or provide any advice. I’m sure by this point I probably looked like a ghost. In the aftermath, I felt sorry for him. He was probably just a college student with a summer job, inexperienced with the outdoors and first aid, just trying to earn some money. The sight of me fainting probably scared him. As we would say in the South, “bless his heart,” and bless mine too after what I’d been through.

Right outside the store was a bench, where I collapsed. I unscrewed the Gatorade and drowned myself in its cold electrolyte bliss.

A young man- the hiker junky, hippy-free spirited type came beside me. “Are you alright?”

“I just came back from a 16 mile hike, but I have gatorade and food. I should be all right.” I informed.

“A similar thing happened to me earlier. I drank some whisky. It really helped. I have some. Would you like it.”

“No, but thank you,” I replied.

He left, and I doubted for a second if I really would be okay. I still felt very weak. I was concerned to stand up and move with the prospect of passing out again. It might not have hurt to ask him to stay for a moment. But whisky? Really? Drinking whisky when dehydrated did not seem like a good idea to me.

I hadn’t considered it before, but then it dawned on me. I wasn’t dehydrated. I had plenty to drink, and I actually had plenty to eat. I had nuts, dried fruits, and cliff bars, amongst other dehydrated snacks, but then it dawned on me: I had little to no salt. I was salt deprived. This is why I fainted.

I carefully went back to my car, self monitoring for all signs of faintness. I had a can of chicken noodle soup cooking in the heat of the car all day. I took it with me to the patio at the back of the lodge. I enjoyed it along with an orange.

And there in perfect view from the patio the sunset was framed between the rock pinnacles of the Chisos Basin. A bright and warm orange spread across the sky. It was beautiful and a wondrous work of artistry, but as sunsets often do, it caused me to reflect inwardly. I wasn’t as invincible and strong of a hiker as I thought I was. This was very humbling. My body was not adequately equipped for today’s hike, and I hadn’t considered salt intake. What else might I be missing? My confidence with the wild had been slashed. I couldn’t trust myself as much as I thought I could.

I locked my keys in the car days before, been stuck out in the lighting in White Sands, got reprimanded by a park ranger, and passed out in Big Bend. I was keeping track of misfortunes. What was wrong? Was it me?

Read my previous episode “Treasures of the Chihuahuan,” here: https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2019/04/11/treasures-of-the-chihuahuan/

Check out my new book “Canyonlands: My Adventures in the National Parks and the Beautiful Wild,” here:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1711397873/ref=cm_sw_em_r_mt_dp_U_UjGjEbYBGF4PR

It’s Christmas but Where is Peace on Earth?

December 23, 2019December 14, 2020Posted in christmas, gifts, holiday, UncategorizedTagged christmas, holiday, hope, jesus, peace, peace on earthLeave a comment

It’s Christmastime, but where is peace on Earth? Will peace on Earth ever be attained? Christmas is a beautiful time of year, without a doubt. Family and friends get together. Decorations enlighten the mundane. Traditions of old warm our hearts in the cold of winter. All around us we are bombarded with the things of the season: lights, candy canes, snowflakes, reindeer, Christmas trees, carols, a hot cup of cocoa and the crackling yule log. But for some, and unfortunately many, this time of year is not merry and far from holly jolly. Families fight, relationships break, illness rages on, things are taken, things are stolen, and the ghost of Christmas Past may gift the burdensome memories of painful holidays gone by.

We turn to our distractions in life and what do we find? –bad habits, violence, and darkness. News coming from all around us at all angles shows a world in desperate need, broken. So, peace on Earth, where is it? Will it ever be attained? The truth is there is peace on Earth. It is here. It has been gifted. It is evident even in the most difficult of situations: It’s on the smile of a woman’s face when the cancer treatments just aren’t enough. It’s in the man who resolves to find hope when his only son, whom he was so proud of, has died. It’s in the trust of a family who has lost its home. It is unfathomable joy in the midst of hardships.

The Peace on Earth we hear about at Christmas is the peace in our hearts, only possible through the gift of Jesus whose sacrifice has the profound ability to calm our hearts, bringing hope in despair, peace in turmoil, wisdom in the midst of folly, joy in sorrow, and strength in weakness. It contradicts the very ways of the world and brings us peace to our innermost being.

We hear this phrase “Peace on Earth” at Christmastime primarily because of the scripture of Luke 2:14, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and peace on earth to those with whom God is pleased.” If we look at the original Greek translation we see the word for peace is eirḗnē. The root of this word is eirō, which is “to join, tie together into a whole” – properly, wholeness, when all the parts have come together. Just as the birth of Jesus brings wholeness to ancient prophecies so does Jesus restore our relationship with God bringing wholeness to our souls.

The reason why there is so much gloom and sorrow in our world, even at Christmastime, is because man’s relationship with God has been broken and made incomplete because of sin. This brokenness is not God’s intent for us. Sin has marred us and separates us from a perfect and just God. But God sent his only son Jesus into this world to carry the burden of sin and sacrifice himself, paying the price to restore our relationship with God. We must acknowledge our sorry state of sin, ask for forgiveness, and accept this incredible gift of Jesus as our Savior.

So does Jesus alleviate our sickness, restore our human relationships, take away our sadness and trouble? He certainly can, and we certainly ask him to, but regardless of our petitions, even the most devoted Christians must face hardships, illness, loss, and grief. This Peace on Earth is our ability to face these difficult worldly troubles with an unwavering stance of joy, hope, and trust that calms our souls amidst the chaos.

Despite what the world takes away from us or plagues us with, the singular most important thing, and fountain of all goodness in our lives, is our restored relationship with God. Because of this there is a peace about our future. We know God will provide and we know this world is but a temporary place. This calms our hearts as we have the assurance of eternity in God’s presence. We know that the powers of darkness in this world shall not be victorious in the end. God has already won the battle. We also have a peace about our identity. In a world that tries so hard to categorize and confuse people, in which people obsess about how they are perceived and the status they behold, we have a clear understanding of whom we are as children of God. We are loved, cared for, designed, and granted purpose.

If you know Jesus as your Savior, you know this Peace and you know how precious and powerful it is. You’ve experienced the hardships of life in a quietude and resolve the world does not comprehend. So this Christmas celebrate this Peace without reserve, share your story with others as it is powerful, and thank God for He is truly good. If you do not know Jesus, may you begin to ask questions and seek answers. You may be in a place and time in life in which you cannot find peace in the world around you, but know you can behold the most divine and powerful of Peace on Earth in your heart this Christmas.

“I heard the bells on Christmas day

Their old familiar carols play,

And wild and sweet the words repeat

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And thought how, as the day had come,

The belfries of all Christendom

Had rolled along the unbroken song

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

Till ringing, singing on its way

The world revolved from night to day,

A voice, a chime, a chant sublime

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And in despair I bowed my head

“There is no peace on earth,” I said,

“For hate is strong and mocks the song

Of peace on earth, good will to men.”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail

With peace on earth, good will to men.”

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1864; “Christmas Bells.”

A Sappy Little True-Life Christmas Story

December 21, 2019December 12, 2020Posted in christmas, gifts, holidayTagged christmas, gifts, holidayLeave a comment

The line was nearly out the door. People stood hugging their packages ready to send them off to their friends and family, in all parts of the world, to bring them a parcel of Christmas joy and let them know they are loved. No one likes standing in line, but as I stood here in the post office noting the stockings hung up above the front counter and red Christmas bows along the wall, and hugging my own box, warm fuzzy Christmas feelings tugged at my heartstrings. There is a satisfaction and hope in seeing how each person was standing here because of someone they loved and desired to send a Christmas gift to. As the delicate lines on a snowflake extend, stretch, and branch in a beautiful network, the love of each person also creates a beautiful display as it extends to one another touching their lives. What a beautiful thing it must be the stories of family and love present here in the post office on just an ordinary day in winter!

More people entered in the post office and with them a burst of cold icy air swept across the tiled floor. I stood at the counter island in the middle of the post office preparing a gift for departure. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to use one of the post office’s priority boxes or not so I brought a small brown box from home just in case along with packaging tape and scissors. I had a copy of my new book and a homemade candle to ship to a friend in Montana. As I compared the two boxes I decided to ship it in one of the post office’s. As I folded up and assembled the box I realized my candle wouldn’t fit. That’s ok, I thought. The important thing I wanted to send was my book. After securing all sides of the box tightly in tape, with the knowledge it might be sitting out in the Montana winter snow before being discovered, I went back to the line.

An older lady hands full of plush presents turned to me. “What box do you think I need? I just want to send this.” She had a plush frog and soft something resembling a reindeer’s face.

I looked over at the rack of flat boxes organized in size by the postal service. I was slightly perplexed why someone was asking for help with such a simple task. “ I don’t know, maybe…”I was just about to suggest one until she interrupted.

“—I just want something like the brown one you have there.” She pointed at the box in my arms.

“You can have this box.” I was quick to respond. “I decided not to use it. It just has some junk in it.” I went back to the counter to empty out my tape, scissors, and candle and transfer them to my pockets.

“Really?!” Her face lit up.

“Yeah. I’m not going to use it.”

She thanked me profusely especially just for an old brown box. She put her hands together as if to pray and pointed her head towards heaven. “Thank you Jesus,” she said in the most sincere way.

“Let’s see if it fits.” I said. She proceeded to explain how the item resembling a reindeer’s face was a Rudolph toilet seat cover. She had it stuffed full with other soft items. She told me how her sister had moved to Florida and she wanted to surprise her with this silly gift for Christmas. I helped her squeeze her plush toilet seat and other treasures into the cardboard box. She held the sides of the box tightly together as I taped it.

“Let’s make sure we get it taped up well,” I said as I wrapped tape around the corners. “We don’t know if it will be sitting out in the snow or not.” Then I remembered it was going to Florida.

She continued to thank me and I assured her she was certainly welcome. While assisting her I had fallen back in line, but the kind people in line just before me motioned me forward telling me that I started out in line before them.

After my business in the post office was done, and my little package was checked in for its flight to Montana, I left the post office back into the frigid weather. As I was walking back to my car I was thinking of the next errand to run. Then when I reached for my door handle I heard “Merry Christmas!” from behind me. The lady I had helped in the post office extended a large festive tin of popcorn toward me.

“Oh, no, I can’t,” I said, feeling unworthy of such a gift for such a small gesture.

“Please,” she assured me. “It’s Christmastime. You let me have your box, and you were so kind, and that just made my day. Merry Christmas!”

I thanked her and got into my car with a completely undeserved large tin of popcorn in my lap. I emptied my pocket of my scissors, tape, and candle. I looked at my candle, and thought, “I need to give this to her.”

Her car lights came on, and her car started to back up. I walked over to her car, and she rolled down her window.

“I was going to mail this candle to my friend, but it didn’t fit in the box and I want you to have it. I made it.” I reached into her window to give it to her.

She proceeded to tell me she was a school teacher of thirty years from out of town visiting Danville for the day. She told me that this time of year is difficult, especially for teachers, but how my simple act of kindness really made her day. She told me that giving to one another is really what Christmas is all about, along with celebrating the birth of Jesus. I agreed with her. “So you made this candle? You poured the wax and everything?” she asked.

“Yes,” I confirmed.

“That makes it all the more special. I will take this home, and I will say my prayers by it tonight.”

We both wished each other a Merry Christmas again, and that was that.

I sat in my car, turned up the heat, although my heart had been well warmed; and I was looking at my popcorn tin, soaking up and savoring the Christmas spirit.

What satisfaction this encounter and exchange of gifts with a lady whom was none other than a stranger at the post office had brought me! It may just be popcorn tin, and it will soon be devoured and gone, but nevertheless it was unmerited, by no means a match for an old cardboard box. This really did tug at my heartstrings and this moment truly felt like Christmas in its most organic form, for Christmas really is the receiving an undeserved gift— the gift of the Christ Child, undeserved, unmerited, but out of selfless love. There’s no good list nor bad list that extends or retracts this gift of a Savior.

An image of this lady saying her prayers by my little white candle came to mind. A sense of humility overcame me, thinking of how this simple candle I made will be used in this lady’s quiet and intimate moment with God. Perhaps it will even serve as a small impetus for her to pause and take the time to talk with God in the midst of the busy Christmas season.

With all that’s going on in our lives, in our world, and in our hearts, we must not overlook sweet, simple, beautiful, divinely orchestrated moments like this happening all around us that remind us of the beauty and love of our Heavenly Father.

As it is a prayer for myself, may it be a prayer for you, that this Christmas God uses you to touch the lives of another through unmerited love and kindness.

Treasures of the Chihuahuan

April 11, 2019Posted in adveture, national parks, texas, travel, UncategorizedTagged chihuahuan desert, davis mountains, davis mountains state park, fort davis, fort davis national historic site, national parks, texas, west texasLeave a comment

I woke up in the Indian Lodge so well rested that it was one of those moments in which I looked up at the ceiling and then around the room, taking a moment to process and recall where I was. I well pleased with the recollection that I was at the Indian Lodge at Davis Mountains State Park in West Texas.I got up, and the floor beneath me was sturdy and firm. This was a fortress of a structure.

I threw on some presentable clothes and decided to go check out the Black Bear Restaurant, the resident eatery at the lodge. I sat next to the window and enjoyed breakfast from the buffet, satisfying my hunger with scrambled eggs, pancakes, sausage, and fruit with some cucumber and pineapple water. I looked outside at the desert hills and yucca plants of the Chihuahuan desert with the morning sun spreading its golden light into every sleepy crevice of the landscape.

On my way back to my room, I stopped by the front desk in the lodge office. I was hoping to see my first West Texan acquaintance, the friendly lady from check in. She wasn’t there, but her male counterpart was- a young, round, jovial man. I asked him about trails and what to see around the park. He kindly and pleasantly provided me with a map. I took a moment to browse the small gift shop and bought myself a Davis Mountains State Park sticker.

Back in my room I geared up to go on a short hike, 1.72 miles one way up into the mountain to the right of the lodge. The day started off bright and sunny, with only a few bright white clouds wisping through the blue above. The path slithered around sagebrush, curved around a valley and a tall pointed brown rock formation, and trailed around to the spine on the back of the mountain. Once I reached the plateau the Indian Lodge to my right was just a miniature below. To my left was a fence. Someone’s private property butted up to this State Park.

Also, up here the weather started to turn it’s back on me. First there was a whipping wind that violently flustered the desert grass, then deep, dark clouds rolled in. Once again, I found myself in a vulnerable position. I was exposed to potential lightning. I decided to play it safe and return promptly back on the trail from where I had ascended. My nearly 4 mile hike turned out to be a mere 1.4 miles. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Weather never got in my way. But this was the second time on this trip in which the weather won. Despite its apparent threat, a storm never did reach the area.

Back at my car I noticed a dent in the hood of my car. The trouble was this wasn’t “my” car. It was a rental. I began to be concerned about having to pay for damages. I looked at the indent from different angles. It wasn’t that obvious. It was slight, only very apparent at certain angles. I pondered this dent. How could this have happened? I never remember anything hitting my car. Then I considered where I had my car parked all night. It was at the bottom of a short cliff where a road wrapped around just above. A rock could have easily fallen from the road onto the hood of the car. In retrospect, this was really no big deal, but at the time it troubled me. This was not supposed to happen. This trip was supposed to be perfect. This was an unhealthy disposition that was only beginning to be challenged.

Back at the lodge, the sun returned to shine. I took a few minutes to swim small laps in the outdoor pool, so perfectly situated behind the lodge in the beautiful valley. I also sat poolside to write in my journal and enjoy the desert sun.

I checked out of the Indian Lodge hoping to one day return and eager to tell people about such a wonderful place it was. It’s a true treasure. Despite my hangup on the dented hood, my stop at the lodge was rejuvenating, a breath of fresh air, a truly remote hidden oasis, a place where anyone could find comfort and solace on the outermost reaches of the United States, in the fold of the Chihuahuan desert, armored and hidden between mountains.

Leaving the lodge I drove Park Road 3A, also known as the Skyline Drive- one of the park’s proud features. The road switchbacks to the top of the mountain opposite that of my hike. The road ends at an old rock shelter, built by the Civilian Conservation Corps. From here I could see out on some of the wide plains of Texas with blue mesas standing in the far distance. Here I could also see the rainstorm that had threatened my hike earlier, pouring down across the plains. I encountered a family of travelers that asked me to take their picture. I took their picture and carried on.

Four miles from the State Park is Fort Davis National Historic Site- a unit of the National Park Service. It actually attaches to the State Park by a trail, but I didn’t have the time to hike there and back. I didn’t know why there would need to be a fort out here in seemingly the middle of nowhere Texas, but I would learn, and I was excited. Any unit of the National Park Service interests and excites me. All of the National Park Service’s sites tell one big story, the narrative of the United States of America. At each one I see my eyes opened to moments in history I didn’t know, and not only do I obtain the knowledge, but being in the actual place where these events took place, and seeing them with my own eyes, helps me imagine and obtain a greater depth of relation to the events. I love it!

In the visitor center, the park ranger offered me a park map. I asked what to see. She opened the map and with her Sharpie highlighter she began highlighting buildings within the complex. By the time she was done, she had highlighted every single thing within the map. I wondered if that was necessary. I think she really just loved using her highlighter.

Leaving the Visitor Center, I explored the history. I learned that Fort Davis was a United States Army fort built to protect emigrants, mail coaches, and travelers along the San Antonio- El Paso Trail, many of whom were on route to the rich goldfields of California during the Rush. The Buffalo Soldiers stationed here protected these travelers from the threat primarily of Apaches and Comanches. They escorted them through the area, as well as repaired roads and telegraph lines. During the Civil War, the federal government withdrew troops from the fort which was taken over by the Confederacy later to be claimed back by the Union. In the late 1800s the fort had outlived its worth. A park ranger explained how it had been sold to a Hollywood filmmaker to film western movies. Then a few buildings of the fort were partitioned off into separate pieces of private land, only be reclaimed by the federal government as a National Park Unit in 1960.

Today exploring the park is really stepping back in time to a unique era. The Park Service has preserved and restored many of the buildings. This fort is not what we typically think of as a fort. There is no man made barrier of a wall with artillery and cannons sticking out. Rather it is a series of buildings aligned in a giant rectangle around a common green. The fort is in a large canyon, protected naturally by wide canyon walls and Limpia Creek.

The main attraction of the park is walking in and out of many of the buildings which are furnished to the era. I walked into the barracks. Fourteen beds lined the walls one after another. Apart from a bed, the soldiers were only allowed a few hooks to hang their clothes and a small shelf situated above their beds. In the middle of the building stood a series of coal furnaces. This was very simple. I tried to put myself in the place of the soldiers and imagine what they came “home” to at night.

On the other side of the green were the homes of the lieutenants and commanders. They had fully furnished houses, with beautiful fireplaces and artistic mantels, wardrobes, chairs of varying sizes and style, mirrors, musical instruments, decorations, and all the basic comforts of lavish living. It was such a stark contrast to the lives of the soldiers. I might as well have assumed I was in Manhattan in these homes. Here in the middle of nowhere Texas these commanders had created, perhaps at the cost of the comfort of their soldiers, luxury of modern living. In addition to these places of living, there was a fort commissary, where soldiers were quite limited in supply, and the hospital, which was fascinating and disturbing.

Before entering the hospital I read the background on some real people who once lived here. The plaque told about their ailments, and by touring the old hospital I learned whether these people survived their illness or not. Many did not. Showcased in this hospital museum were medical tools of the 1800s and explanations of how they were used. There were saws used for amputations, drills for digging into the skulls to relieve pressure, gnarly contraptions that looked like more tools for torture than anything else, created with such misunderstanding of the human illness. I forgot most of what I saw. Gruesome as they were, my mind found them not pleasant to remember.

Like nearly all National Park units, there was also a main museum at the Visitor Center with overall history of the fort and a park film. A small area of the Visitor Center was dedicated to books, postcards, and the usual National Park purchasable treasures. I found some stickers that said “National Park Geek” which had an outline of Theodore Roosevelt’s face in a ranger hat. I had to get one. I also got one for my friend and coworker, Jamie, who is also a National Park geek. The ranger who rang up my items said how these stickers were really popular. I told her how I loved the National Parks and how I actually volunteer as a Trail Keeper in the Big South Fork back on the Kentucky and Tennessee border. She told me how she loved that park and was looking for land or a home to purchase in Oneida, Tennessee- one of the main gateways to the Big South Fork. This surprised me. First off, no one ever knows about the Big South Fork, let alone Oneida, a rural small town in East Tennessee. But then again, I was in Fort Davis, Texas a place probably just as famous and well known as Oneida, Tennessee.

Leaving Fort Davis National Historic Park, I was well pleased. I learned a lot of history. I had no idea such forts existed. This was one of many which served the same purpose. Also the way the fort was restored and the plaques and markers provided, facilitated imagination, making me feel as if I had really stepped back in time. This place is high on my list of National Historic Sites. When I pulled out of the park drive I thought I’d do a little exploration around the town of Fort Davis. Affording the title “town’ is generous, because technically it’s an “unincorporated community.” The community had one main paved street. All the side streets were gravel and scenic, situated in the canyon outlined with hoodoos and rock spires like those of Chiricahua. In “town” I observed an old western hotel and drug store, a post office, a family practice located in an old adobe structure, a bank completely pieces together from rock pieces, and a courthouse situated in the middle of a green. Everything was closed, as it was Sunday. I was ravenously hungry. It had been a long time since my breakfast at the Indian Lodge. There wasn’t much to choose from. But I saw a decent amount of cars parked out of a shack of a place titled Cueva de Leon. Here’s goes nothing, I thought. I went inside. Mexican restaurant. Okay. Sweet. This could be the real deal, considering how close I was to Mexico. I sat down and ordered some fajitas. I was served a glass of ice cold water and it was perfect for my parched mouth and lips.

As I waited for my food, I couldn’t help but observe those around me. A group of ladies were in a booth eating together and talking back and forth. They switched from Spanish to English constantly, replacing with seemingly no notable method, certain words with their other language counterpart. A middle-aged man with a cowboy hat, flannel patterned shirt, boots and a grey mustache (everything stereotypical of a cowboy) sat down to order his food. To my surprise he ordered his food perfectly and casually in Spanish. Keepin’ it truly real, from my perspective, a middle-aged white man with a cowboy hat back home in Kentucky would be the least suspected of speaking Spanish. This was not the case here. Spanish and English were truly blended together, and latino rancheros and caucasian cowboys came together with no barrier of language nor culture, no ill-will towards one another, just neighborly friendliness. They were simply gathering over good food.

I liked this scene. I liked it a lot. Much of mainstream media tries to divide people over appearance and racial heritage. Here in West Texas, it just doesn’t matter. Everyone seems to be at the same level. Everyone is a neighbor. Perhaps it is the Texas identity. Texans are Texans above all else. It doesn’t matter what you look like, what language you speak. If you are a Texan, you’re a Texan. This doesn’t hold true though in metropolitan areas. I know from my experience living in Houston, where race places a huge factor in everything. But here and in rural west Texas there is a unique bond of culture that transcends any trivial division that the over civilized parts of the U.S. have concocted. It’s all the more reason why I am in love with West Texas.

Check back next Wednesday for the next “episode” in the adventure.

Click here for the previous entry “Falling in Love With West Texas”: https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2019/03/28/falling-in-love-with-west-texas/

Check out my book “Among Blue Smoke and Bluegrass” on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Among-Blue-Smoke-Bluegrass-Tennessee/dp/1790631297

Falling in Love with West Texas

March 28, 2019Posted in adveture, national parks, nature, texas, travel, UncategorizedTagged davis mountains, indian lodge, texas, west texasLeave a comment

A billion thoughts spun through my head. That was amazing!. Was it beautiful? No. Was it safe? No. Was it inspiring? No. But my perspective and insight had grown immensely.

I had just gotten back into El Paso, Texas from walking across the Mexico-U.S. border into Ciudad Juárez. I was hesitant to make the journey, but a kind elderly woman who worked with the National Park Service at the Chamizal National Memorial, whom I have nicknamed “Mi Abuelita” encouraged me to go. When I followed up with her after my visit to Juárez, I could tell all her encouragement was a ploy to broaden my perspective. She was sneaky. I wrote in my journal that she gave me “the gusto and self-confidence” to go.

Was their validity in all the warnings from my friends and acquaintances in Mexico City about visiting the Mexican border? Most certainly. Diverse cultural biases and political views began to make all the more sense after my visit to Ciudad Juárez. I got it. I understood it. So many things people said and why they said them came to light during this short but insightful visit.

I was only in Ciudad Juárez a few hours. The whole time I was there an anxiety ran through me. I thought I had accidentally bypassed a border security checkpoint. I walked into Mexico unaccounted for. This made me especially nervous on the way back into the United States, because I thought I would be caught. And, mind you, I was singled out.

Everyone else could simply scan their Texas IDs for self service reentry into the U.S.. I was fumbling around with my passport and the scanner wouldn’t accept it. I didn’t know what I was doing. A border agent called me over.

“What was the purpose of your visit,” the U.S. Border Patrol Agent asked me.

“Tourism,” I replied.

“Tourism?” he questioned, with a look that told me, people do not go to Juárez as tourists.

Although I was grilled heavily by the agent, I was appreciative of his thoroughness and I came to find out that Mexico does not keep track nor require identification of foreigners walking across their northern border, at least not at El Paso.

It was a new, peculiar, and patriot moment for me to read the sign above the highway stating “Welcome to the United States.” My visit to Ciudad Juárez is a tale to be further unpacked at another time. I was glad I went, but I was so grateful to be back home and ready to continue on with my U.S. National Park adventure.

This day would not only broaden my perspective of Mexico, but my understanding of Texas would also be augmented. I have lived both in Mexico and Texas. But living in solely Mexico City and Houston, my perspective was limited. Visiting Juárez taught me that Mexico City is by no means the same as a border city. And my next stop in Texas, at the Indian Lodge at Davis Mountains State Park, would be my introduction to a different type of Texan than those I had been previously exposed to. This would be the extremely rural, isolated, overly friendly, and hospitable West Texan, which I became very fond of.

The drive from El Paso into remote West Texas and the Davis Mountains was beautiful and very unique. It took a while of driving past lots of semi’s and oil fields, but a turn in the road led me to a long stretch of two lanes which flowed among mountains. I had never quite been to this type of landscape. It seemed part forest but park desert. What I came to learn is that it indeed was a new landscape for me. It was the Texas savanna.

The road wound through countryside and slithered among mountains. At one point I came to a overlook where I looked down across the grasslands and the mountains. In the distance, over the mountains, it was storming. I could see the dark clouds and rain contrasting with a golden sun that was peeking out from the corner of the sky. The contrast in the sky, brought about contrast in the land between the deep greens of the scattered trees to the accents of golden grass.

I could sense the arid land giving off a sigh of relief for the rain that would soon arrive. A could feel the tension released in the air. As I continued on my drive, a parade of javelinas jumped a stone wall, scurried across the road, and leaped into the wild grass and brush. These creatures look like wild boar, and although javelina is the same name given to a wild boar in Spanish, these javelinas are peccaries, and unlike boars are native to the Americas. But combine the savanna with a javelina, and the fact I hadn’t seen a business for hundreds of miles, and you could have fooled me to thinking I was out and about somewhere in the African savanna and I’d be prone to see a zebra, or a lion.

Wait! What’s that? I arrived at Davis Mountain State Park and bright pink a sign warned- “Mountains Lions have been sighted…please use caution and do not leave your children unattended.”

I really was in a different world.

I paid an entry fee at a self-service drop box, although i realized later, as an lodge guest, I didn’t need to, and I proceeded down the road towards the lodge. It was late evening now, the sun was getting lazy, and the surrounding storm clouds darkened areas of the sky, shadowing the landscape and giving an eerie ambience, almost like there was a solar eclipse.

Except for the one elderly couple who asked me for directions at the drop box, whom I couldn’t assist with any knowledge, I didn’t see any other people on my way to the lodge. This place was very quiet. Am I in the right park? Is there a lodge here? Or is there another Davis Mountains Park? Then rounding the bend I saw, nestled between two mountains, a picturesque oasis. I had arrived.

Driving up to it, I was very excited. This looked perfect. It looked like it had jumped right out of Southwest history to be at my service. It was a white adobe structure, resembling a multi level pueblo village, with immense Southwest charm and historic aura. I learned in was built in the 1930s by the Civilian Conservation Corps. It was not just any CCC project, but I would say an achievement of art.

I walked up to the counter.

“Why hello, darlin’. Welcome to the Indian Lodge.” I could tell from her initial address she was going to be a character well appreciated in my story. “We are just so happy to have you here.” She had blond curly hair, was middle-aged, and had a life-loving and sincere essence.

She asked me my name, had me sign myself in, and handed me the key. She was extremely friendly in the warmest and most genuine and unexpecting way. She told me the hours of the restaurant, the pool, and check out, and then proceeded with: “Cell phone service is spotty, and there is wifi, but you know what we say? If you catch the wifi, take a picture cuz it won’t be here for long.” She explained how they were off the grid as far as land-based internet service concerns, and internet had to be channeled through satellite, but with the mountains surrounding, the signal didn’t always make it down to the lodge.

“Have you eaten?” she asked, only to proceed to tell me everywhere to eat was closed. And trust me, there wasn’t much option out here in the middle of nowhere.

“It’s ok, I have some food in my car,” I explained.

She smiled.

“Alright, here’s how you get to your room…”

Wait, what? I thought. That was a lot of directions, I didn’t ask her to repeat. How hard could it be? Fifteen minutes later, I still couldn’t find my room. It was some sort of maze. This adobe village had various levels that didn’t always match up with one another, with stairs here and there, landings, and random courtyards spread out in between. I knew I had to enter an inside common room, go out the other end, and go up some stairs, but I couldn’t tell exactly what was a “passageway” and what was private patios and landings belonging to other guests. I came back to the common room, there were other guests gathered. “Can we help you,” one asked.

“I am just trying to find my room. I’ll find it.” And I did.

My room was isolated at the very top of the adobe structure. It stood up like it’s own tower, with its own set of stairs and its own private patio. It was almost like I had my own private building. And uhhhhh– a sigh of disbelief and then embracing perfection. The view was stunning. My room looked out into the valley of the two mountains, the sun dipped down in the middle of the valley, creating a quintessential sunset pristinely visible from the patio and windows of my room.

I went inside.

Rustic, beautiful, charming. An old stone fireplace stood with an extending stone hearth. The walls were white abode, the ceiling wooden logs, the furniture hand made of cedar, some original historic pieces from the 1930s. The lamps here and there gave off a warm and homey glow. A rocking chair stood next to the fireplace and in front of the wood framed window with the bright orange sunset. The window on the opposite side was tucked into its own nook where a desk and chair stood, as if looking out intrigued by the view of a tree reaching out its branches. And the bed in the middle was adorned with a beautiful lacework comforter and a blanket depicting running horses and geometric designs, looking like a true piece of native craftsmanship of the area.

Hands down, in all of my travels, this is my favorite place I have spent the night. I felt like I had walked right into a Zane Grey novel.

It wasn’t just the historic charm and visual appeal that made me love this place so much. It was also this incredibly friendly and homey vibe. To unpack it, I later came to find out that nearly everyone I encounter in West Texas is very friendly and it makes sense after reading the book Beneath the Window about West Texas. Historically speaking, West Texas was so extremely rural, that the people living out in this area, fighting desperately with the land to create homesteads, found other humans such a rarity, that when they did encounter other humans it was an exciting event, so much so that these other humans were greeted with such warm hospitality and delight. I believe this aspect of West Texas pioneer culture is still strongly evident today. It has been passed down, and even still, this area is very rural. Seeing others I’m sure is still exciting and novel. I’ve been to many places I understand, but try explain this to a native New York City dweller and it might be a little more difficult to understand.

Also pertaining this this vibe was this true lodge feel. Back in the early days of park lodges, arriving at a lodge was sometimes an accomplishment in and of itself. Long horseback rides or wagon trips through challenging terrains would finally lead one to a lodge of comfort and peace. Same situation today. A long and isolated journey through very remote roads to the middle of nowhere, brought me to the Indian Lodge, and the lodge was the only thing here. There was nowhere else to go this evening. This was it. The lodge was its own oasis. Everyone staying at the lodge had nowhere to be but at the lodge. We all had to make comfort and do with our own limited amenities and food. And without distraction, we all shared the sunset together, the maze of the abode structure, and each other’s own company. Although this place was isolated, and it was quiet, I was not the only one here. I believe there was a wedding party staying at the lodge. Clues of confetti, signs, and gatherings of multi-aged people, led me to this assumption.

After dropping off my bags in my room, I peacefully explored this village of a structure. The clouds had melted away and the sky above was a calm darkening blue. Going from one adobe island to another from and one terrace and courtyard to another, I sat and enjoyed the remainder of the sunset and listened to the water trickling at a courtyard fountain. I also explored inside. The common indoor area was constructed with beautiful woodwork, old western chandeliers, nooks and crannies to sit and relax, and a small statue and area honoring the work on the Civilian Conservation Corps. I. Loved. This. Place.

I went back into the room that housed the front desk and asked the hostess if i could use a microwave to heat up some soup and oatmeal. That would be my dinner. I took them up to my room, kicked off my shoes and went over to the little desk nestled aside the inlet window.

I reflected on the day and journaled. My journal entry starts off “What a difference a day makes!” The previous night I was dodging lightning on the white sand and found myself sleeping scrunched up in my compact car with a ticket from a park ranger. Now I had the most unimaginable perfect, peace place to stay, and I had had a full and exciting day of crossing the U.S-Mexico border, learning new history, and opening my eyes to new perspectives.

This day would be the start of my falling in love with West Texas.

Check back next Wednesday for the next “episode” in the adventure.

Click here for the previous entry “Texas, Mexico, and the Experience at Chamizal National Memorial”: https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2019/03/21/texas-mexico-and-the-experience-at-chamizal-national-memorial/

Check out my book “Among Blue Smoke and Bluegrass” on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Among-Blue-Smoke-Bluegrass-Tennessee/dp/1790631297

Author: joshthehodge

The Sandia Mountains and the Old Town

From Carlsbad to Albuquerque

Guadalupe Peak: The Top of Texas

What Holds Up Your Tent?

Camping in a Monsoon (and what it taught me about life)

The Mystique of Carlsbad Caverns

On the Rio Grande: a world between the U.S. and Mexico

LEAVE A REPLY

Passing Out in Big Bend National Park

It’s Christmas but Where is Peace on Earth?

A Sappy Little True-Life Christmas Story

Treasures of the Chihuahuan

Falling in Love with West Texas

SHARE THIS:

RELATED

LEAVE A REPLY

POST NAVIGATION