Rockslides, Blizzards, and other Hazards

Skip all the hoo ha and look at photos of Big Bend and the Big Blizzard

Summer's gone for sure - cut by a sharp wind.

A pack of scrawny coyotes yips at dawn circling something out there in the cold open flats east of Tornillo Creek. Maybe they're just circling around each other to keep warm until daylight covers the long shadows of the Del Carmen. The tent snaps and flaps as it shudders too, facing the brunt of the chill while we keep warm inside.

I should wake and tend to something. Already clouds are crawling down from the north, heavy and low to the ground, they mean to rain or worse.

When I do stir, I have enough sense, at least, to break camp; but not before we play in the ruins by the creek, and hike up to Ernst Tinaja, stopping at every turn for one more click. We tell Emory how we hiked up here long ago all the way from the black top, and how I asked Anne for her knife to open a tin of oysters - she hates oysters. And how I jumped into the frigid pool, not once, but twice, all on account of wanting to show her I wasn't afraid of hard work, or something like that.

We drive to Terlingua for lunch and coffee and to shop at the Trading Post. Really, I am hoping old friends will be on the porch, but it is too cold, or too early. Plus it is starting to rain pretty hard. I take my sweet time - no hurry. We have arrangements for a room in Marathon out of the weather.

I steer the bus, our as yet unnamed Highlander, inching up the hill through the Park as it starts to snow. What a sight! The Chisos foothills all white in the late afternoon. A word of caution. The light is fading, but I just want to soak in this dream all the way before it's gone.

The coyotes are huddled somewhere out of the wind by now I bet. I'm all white knuckles on the wheel.

The snow covers the road, and we slide in and out of ruts where there are any. Somehow I have to climb up the grade to Marathon some 70 miles away. The snow flies at the windshield. Emory says it looks like stars in space. We talk of warp speed, but the going is slow and rough.

A car ahead decides to give up the chase and eases over to the embankment. I have no thought but to keep it slow and steady. Just don't stop, I think. It gets darker and the snow comes down harder while I try to look past the shooting flakes at the road ahead. Two sets of headlights tag along, and we caravan single file. I plow the way. De facto guinea pig.

What a drive. We spend a lifetime before the Gage comes into view and we pull to a stop. Release. Fun. Snow balls. A snow man. And a warm bed.

Morning comes. The sun returns. The snow begins to melt away. Yepper. Something to remember then...

Best Thanksgiving ever.