Big Bend State Park: Pt III

2022-09-28

Number 20 in the Georgia and Back Series

We are staying at a rustic campground in Big Bend State Park near the banks of the Rio Grande River. There has been a great deal of rain this season and recent flooding. The flow of the Rio Grande River is still running pretty high with some rapids and there is uncertainty as to what is under the muddy brown water.

We set out to see if we can find a beach, a spot to take a dip and inspect the extent of the flood and damage.

Nobody else is in the 45 other campsites along this river bend. Nobody has been here since we arrived, except for a few moments.

We can walk through the dunes and brush and down to the river and back. We can hide our bare bodies, if need be. We grab our cameras and some water for a late afternoon stroll.

We’re following our noses. This entire area has been recently under a torrent of water. Everywhere, there is evidence of the stages of flooding. The river made new banks, almost up to the level of our camp.

The road and sandy labyrinth between islands of plant life shows the streaks of sheet flooding, which has pushed gravel aside and off of the road. The accumulation must have been happening all the way upstream to the drainage of the nearby mountains and hills. It has jumped the banks and become many times as wide and deep and now is back in its more usual course.

Everywhere there are the plants that held on by the roots, with debris wrapped around them. Carried by the high water, it hangs above our heads to this reasonably wide stretch of canyon. This happens from time to time. The reeds and other foliage have taken root around the edge of the river, growing tall and protecting the rest.

The debris attracts mud and silt, which makes a cycle of soil building. The opportunistic thrive.

Inside this meander, which is usually protected from water flow, it has cut big groves and piled up embankments of sand like a beach. The turmoil has left its evident mark. Everything is a victim washed away and tumbled.

As the flow calmed smaller ruts were carved.

The slower water began to deposit silt on top of sand. The sand soaks up the moister rapidly, so the silt then dries fast, giving to cracks. Where it deposited thick, the patterns are like a tile mosaic. Where silt lies thin, the cracks peel up in flakes. Some sunbake and curl like multitudes of bowls.

We can pick them up. Others crumble at our touch. They can be caressed as smooth and some more fine, sandy, feeling like crushed velvet.

Where moister lies trapped under the surface, in shade, or percolating up as the afternoon temperature changes, there is still a deeper darker color.

Everywhere it is fun, like a God’s art project. The variety catches the lens and our imaginations.

Afternoon light plays with shadows amongst the patterns.

There are the familiar patterns of waves which have lapped and stood increasingly more still. I am fascinated; I can see the progressions the recent history as geology was sped up from rapidly rising and falling water.

We are in search of a spot where the water is calmed and we can slip into the refreshment of the river. The meander has been here for a while and the vegetation is thick at the edge of the river. It is thicker still from flooding, bent and tangled and established. The water is high. The flow is still very strong. We can’t get near the water to dip.

As we enjoy each moment in each step. It varies, mushy, crunchy, slippery and also hard under our feet.

The water, as it flowed, was channeled by the determined tamarisk and reeds along the shore. That which escaped the river banks was not able to easily return back to its channel. There is just one opening, the boat launch, where the vegetation has been cut back and out of the way. As a funnel, a large groove has been created.

The ever decreasing moving mass, cut deeper, until finally at the bottom, at near the current water level it is just wide enough for us to jump over and cross to the other side.

At the boat launch there is a sign warning of quicksand. I can imagine that here. It might have engulfed us had we found a way through the brush at river’s edge.

The flow cascades before us. There is no crossing to Mexico, which is close enough to toss a rock to change its nationality, without a body being washed away.

I find a sign warning of border crossings. I’m surprised by a $5000 fine threatening me.

Many years ago, I used to cross the border in Arizona just for fun, or just because it didn’t matter in remote locations. I have a right to enter and leave my own country, as I feel.  From my citizenship, I am supposed to be a free man. I remember visiting the Berlin Wall.

DF creeps closer to the water. It is silty brown, just a tad more clear at the edge. She is cautious because, just a step away, it could be steep, slippery, or quicksand.

In a safe position, she reports the comfort of the water’s temperature.

The murky water holds mystery, hiding unknown hazards. She places a stick into the water to find it sink deep into the unseen mystery. No skinny dip today.

There is a campsite nearby. It shows signs of extreme erosion. Next to us we can see the embankment falling back several feet.

The carpet is being pulled out from under the campsite, which is a sandy beach starting several feet above the river. It is now an unstable cliff. As we near the edge, we can’t know if where we stand is ready to fall out from under us, .

Beyond, the river takes a bend here. It stops taking the terrain only because it encounters bedrock. There is power there. We feel respectful of the beings that are the river and the earth.

Everywhere, the desert vegetation reminds us of home. There are many common species, but some have a different look about them. The hackberry has more of the red fruit that we love to eat. We experiment , as each will taste different, on each plant and dependent on its point of ripening. This is an odd collection of vegetation. Well, as far as we are used to. It is like some lost relatives of what we see in Tucson.

The Christmas Tree Cholla is larger, thicker and filled with its small buds.

The evening colors illuminate the region, sharpening the contours and shadows and these plants glow in contrast.

Back at camp, we have a meal, but no fire.

We’re excited about the coming starry glow in the sky. A fire’s light would only take from that astounding spectacle.

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