The Big Bend of my Spirit

[TexasShadow]

Horses with No Names

On the first part of the journey
I was looking at all the life
There were plants and birds and rocks and things
There was sand and hills and rings
The first thing I met was a fly with a buzz
And the sky with no clouds
The heat was hot and the ground was dry
But the air was full of sound.​

My first introduction to the American southwest desert was when I hitchhiked to Tuscon, Arizona, many years ago. A new song on the radio followed me there and kept me company during my too-short visit in the Arizona deserts and mountains. A desert song: A Horse With No Name by the band America. Serendipity? Karma? Who knows. But it was then that I was captured by the desert; it's life, solitude, starkness and raw beauty. I still hum that song. It was in my head every day for two weeks.

"So what does one do in the desert?" I was asked the other day. What does anyone do in the desert? It depends who you are. Let's see what our core Desert Rats group did during our stay.

When you wake up to this, sleeping under the thick blanket of stars, it's hard to get motivated to do anything.

You may find us sitting or reclining, muttering, "Uh huh"ing, slurping, sighing, maybe an occasional snore.

We'll feed the quail, listening and watching them patter to and fro with their little antennas on their heads.

Visitors may stop in. Roger shares his vistas with anyone; he's very generous that way.

Then the big question comes; "Okay, folks. What do you want to do today?"

Some of us may get geared up, go for a ride and do some exploring.

Small groups may mosey off exploring elsewhere.

Perhaps with a destination in mind or then again a spontaneous goal. We seemed to meet friendly folks from everywhere.

Including the locals; permanent or seasonal.

The food was delicious. Especially the cobbler with ice cream, found only in the Chisos Basin Lodge. Our waitress was from Alaska and very friendly. Be sure to request the cobbler and ice cream in a bowl. Otherwise it is served in a cocktail glass and rather difficult to eat.

Graeme gave his seal of approval.

We had a few visitors. Roger found Mike in Study Butte and led him up to share several days with us. Mike is on a trip from Alaska where he is a trails guide for a national forest. He rides an older BMW and he does well on it; he traversed the creek crossing on Fulcher Rd perfectly. We all enjoyed his company, his stories, and sharing rides and hikes. Rog and I 'escorted' Mike to the Basin (via the infamous water crossing )and sent him off on his visit in the Park. He came back for another night with us before he left town and headed east. I sure hope we see him again.

Big Bend has its own Waldo: Bubbly Bob. Or Bouncing Bob. He and his wife are retired and live in the BB area during the winter. Bob is everywhere; no matter where we were -out riding, eating, hiking, sleeping....- Bob would appear out of nowhere. Sometimes even several times a day. He puts a lot of miles on his KLX250 every day. A LOT of miles.

I ran into people all over the place in BB that were from where I've lived. Well, maybe that's because I've lived in a lot of places, or maybe those places came back to haunt me. Kim and Chris, from New York, are on a year's sabbatical traveling around the country in their Toy Hauler and bikes. We ran into them here and there, Chris on a KTM950 Adventure and Kim on a BMW650.

After over a year of corresponding, we finally meet. Ara and Spirit. Ara's black-eye pea stew replenished a worn-out hiker from Big Bend State Park (me). Hopefully we'll have more time next time to sit and chat, Ara.

There there's the mascot: Wiley. Our trusted mascot that endurs spills and thrills.

We always regroup at the end of the day to feed and refuel, facilitated by the best Chuck Wagon Chef, David.

We gawk over the sunsets and sit around a campfire until we drop. Then crawl into our bags and tents (or cot) as owls and coyotes lull us to sleep.

I've been through the desert on a horse with no name
It felt good to be out of the rain
In the desert you can remember your name
'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain.

 

[TexasShadow]

Pieces of Terlingua

“Man cannot discover new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight of the shore. It is only in adventure that some people succeed in knowing themselves - in finding themselves.” – Andre Gide​

The travelogue of my two weeks in the Big Bend area will not be a ‘ride report’ per se. I didn’t go there just to ride a bike. I can do that anywhere. What I did was experience the Big Bend area at a deeper level off the roads to develop a sense of place, especially the Terlingua community.

It was an adventure. Well, what is an ‘adventure’? A dictionary defines it as:

1. An unexpected undertaking or enterprise of a hazardous, risky or questionable nature.
2. An unusual or exciting experience.
3. Participation in hazardous or exciting experiences.

You can go anywhere for an adventure. Any time you step out of your routine or your own little box and out into the unknown can be an adventure. Riding to the next town or state, trying different foods, making new friends, taking up a new hobby, nearly anything new or different can be an adventure. Especially traveling.

Being a traveler is an active process: searching out or being open to new experiences, new people, and new viewpoints. When you stop to immerse yourself in new places, cultures, people and surroundings, you are an adventurer. When you expect things to just happen to you, when you drive or ride through without stopping to experience, you are a tourist, a ‘sight-seer’.

One of the reasons (second to lack of time) I stopped reading ADV is the lack of heart and spirit in many of riders’ adventures. Many times the reports are about how gnarly the roads were or the number of miles peeled away in a day underneath two wheels of rubber (knobby and smooth). The chest beating and peacock feathers become weary as riders try to outdo each other. That’s not what adventuring really is.

Anywhere can be an adventure. You don’t have to ride into Mexico, Central America, Europe or to the land of Frozen North to have an adventure. Anytime you go beyond your comfort zone can be adventurous. In our contemporary city lives, try turning the cell phones off for a day. You just might have an adventure.

One reason Alaska and Mexico are so enticing, often serving as the ‘reference adventure’, is the raw and wild land. The large gaps between concrete canyons and billboards are filled by land with minimal human impact and exploitation. We are so used to everything ‘humanized’ in our surroundings that we fail to see the surface upon which we live and draw our subsistence from. In fact, such Gaps make many people uncomfortable and fearful.

Another reason travelers seek Gaps is the people that live there. Travelers want to see how the ‘Other Side’ lives. Their lives lack the complexity, pressure and man-made ‘noises’ that we are so used to: ringing cell phones, yakking people, screaming car alarms, honking horns, blinding lights, blaring signs (do this, don’t do that, buy me, sell you, go here, don‘t go there….), ticking clocks and whining voices. People in the Gaps live uncrowded and simply. Most are friendly and helpful, sharing food, water and stories. They are simple people. But that doesn’t mean their lives are easy.

Many of us living in this country, especially in cities, search for that: simplicity. Perhaps not to live, but to experience from the perimeter; the outside looking in. Sometimes it helps us shed our own complexities, reminds us what is important in our lives, and slows us down a bit to refresh our own outlooks beyond the clocks, computer monitors, TVs, phones and emails. It may even recharge your batteries.

But you can't really experience different places unless you stop to let it happen. Driving in a car you are still cushioned in your own box, looking at life on the outside as if watching a movie out the windows -safe and cozy. On a motorcycle your senses are exposed: the myriad of odors and frequent temperature changes. But if you don’t put the kickstand down and get off the bike, you are still only a sight-seer riding through. You can’t know what it is like to really be in those new surroundings or what people's lives are really like. You are limiting your adventure.

Although I lived for several years in Maine and Oregon as one of those Gap people, my intention this trip was to experience as much as I could life in the Big Bend Gap. I wanted to meet and spend time with the locals -those of the past and now- to learn how they lived in their Gap. Although only skimming the surface these past two weeks, I met many interesting people. I saw many similarities to the small communities in Maine and Oregon where I lived and felt at ‘Home’. Real Home.

The following posts will chronicle some of these meetings and describe pieces of Terlingua that most tourists don't see. So stay tuned.

 

[Eltee]

Elzi, thanks for your pics and travelogue of such a special place. You are likely sowing seeds that may result in some folks throwing a sleeping bag on a dual sport bike to experience some time there.
Neal

 

[Jbay]

nice post Elzi

nominate you as poet laureate of the site

 

[Voni]

I live here and love to "see" with your eyes.

Thanks bunches for all the work - and play - you do to share with us all.

Voni
sMiling

 

[TexasShadow]

Terlingua

Terlingua is a name of many faces, locations and meanings. With a history as long as the Spanish occupation of Mexico, communities called ‘Terlingua’ hopped around the Big Bend area like a desert jackrabbit. From a location in the present national park, once near Lajitas and then to the modern community residing on today’s Texas map, Terlingua’s occupation has winked in and out like jewel washed down the creek.

No one really knows the origin of the name ‘Terlingua’. Although several theories exist most agree that the modern name was adulterated from earlier names. A common thread amongst all is ‘three.’ ‘Terlingua’ is thought to be derived from Tres Lenguas, Old Spanish for ‘three tongues.’ Extrapolating from that (and the most likely explanation) it might have referred to the three languages spoken in the area: English, Spanish and American Indian.

However, ‘three’ is associated with the name in other ways: the nearby three forks of Terlingua Creek, three locations with the same name, and three nearby mountain ranges: Chisos, Rosillas, and Corazones. Early maps show a Tarlinga Peak (present day Hen Egg Mountain) and Tarlinga Creek. Somewhere along history the former peak assumed a new name and ‘Tarlinga’ became ‘Terlingua.’

Before 1905 when cinnibar, a mercury mineral, was discovered in the region a small community of Hispanics and Mexican Indians farmed land next to the Terlingua Creek not far from where it joins the Rio Grande del Norte. Small adobe huts on hillsides provided shelter near the flats where they farmed and eked a humble subsistence.

Construction of several mines in the Big Bend area offered means to make more money for nearby poor Hispanic families and refugees fleeing Mexico and bandits during the Revolution. Many families left Terlingua near the river and moved into the growing mine communities to work. The Mariposa mine, one of the largest in the area and approximately seven miles northwest of the present-day Terlingua, attracted hundreds of workers. The town that grew up around that mine assumed the name ‘Terlingua.’

A few families stayed near the river to grow vegetables and gather other materials for the demanding mining towns. It was soon called ‘Terlingua Abajo’ or Lower Terlingua. Ruins remain today in the National Park and accessed off of Old Maverick Road, a fun gravel/dirt road that leads down to Santa Elena Canyon.

As the area’s population grew, estimated to be 2,000 people, many natural resources were overtaxed and some disappeared: cottonwoods on the river belt held up mine shafts and houses, livestock ate the grasses, and some indigenous bird and animal species were hunted or killed, many that never recovered.

The Chisos Mining Company brought in large equipment and eventually was the largest quicksilver mine in the world. Perry, a native New Yorker, was president of the company and developed a town which also assumed the name ‘Terlingua.’ And the name remains today.

As the town grew, it became segregated. Hundreds of Hispanic workers built rock and adobe structures on the east side of the mine, the Anglos lived on the west side. Perry built a large hacienda-style mansion specifically for his wife, who never lived there because the desert didn’t agree with her.

Perry also built a school, which was attended by all the children in the area regardless of status or ethnicity. As in all growing communities, a church and jail were erected and, most important, a trading post that sat on a hill overlooking much of the town. Looking down at all of this was the huge lurking Perry Mansion that remains today.

Quicksilver mining for mercury went bust in the mid-1940’s. Perry and the Chisos Mining Company filed bankruptcy and workers left in droves. A Houston company bought the town and set up a short-lived minning operation. In 1946, the last mercury flasks were transported out, the mining equipment removed and most of the buildings destroyed. Terlingua, known as the Queen of the Big Bend, was dieing.

An estimated 350 residents were in Teringua in 1947, and in 1958 ten people lived in remaining buildings. It was a ghost town.

“Outside, all is quiet. Several buildings can be seen, and some of the mine shafts are still open. As the visitor leaves Terlingua and goes east, he sees the sizable graveyard, a grim reminder of the civilization which once flourished in the southern tip of Brewster County. Perhaps it is proper that this ghost town is nestled in the ghost-like shadows of the towering Chisos Mountains.” (James Day, 1960)

In 1973 Mel LaVergne, a Houston investor, bought the town for $250,000. An underground water supply was located and restorations of the town for tourist venue were planned. Before the new water was found, the only source was the creek several miles away. Yet the town remained an unknown until the 1990’s.

Bill Ivey, a native of the area, bought Terlingua Ghost Town in an auction in 1982. Ivey grew up behind the Lajitas trading post, where his father was the storekeeper. Back then Lajitas had an official population of just seven, four of whom were Iveys. It was a small and simple community, unlike what it is now with the Resort.

“The Big Bend is not the kind of place you want to drive through and look out your window at,” Ivey commented in an interview. “It’s not the Grand Canyon, where you park your car, walk to the edge, take a picture, and then say, ‘Okay, let’s go to California now.’ Big Bend tourists want an active part in what’s going on. They want to hike, raft, and go get a beer on the porch in Terlingua. When I bought the Ghost Town, I wanted to make it a place you needed to go to if you were in Big Bend. But it’s not the reason anyone’s coming out here, and that’s why I’m proud of it. I did nothing more than let it happen, and a real community is there now."

Ivey goes on to state his philosophy behind his plans for the town. He “ensures historic preservation at Terlingua by simply refusing to sell off any of it. He will lease an old ruin, but only if the lessee preserves the exterior and makes no additions that wouldn't be correct to the time and place of the old mining community. Tenants can fix up the inside as elaborately as they want, creating what Ivey calls ‘upscale ruins.’ “

"We've tried to preserve that image of ruins on the outside, and in doing so we've been able to build a residency of very creative people who've put a lot back into the community. They appreciate the opportunity to be here and appreciate the ghost town for what it is," Ivey says. "It's created a community we never had before. Lajitas and Terlingua were always one-man towns, but we're entering that community phase now."

I got a strong sense of that when I visited with a few people in the town. Everyone remains independent, but a community bond is visible and they like to share it.

Evenings in Terlingua usually end up on the porch of the Trading Company and Starlight Theater (now a restaurant). Sit, watch the sunset over the Chisos, chat, drink your preferred liquid or sit and chill.

And there's always a motorcycle or two.

 

[achesley]

Thanks for a very interesting vision of the Big Bend area. I find most places I end up in very spiritual. And being on a motorcycle doing this, just adds to the experience.

 

[TexasShadow]

The full version of "Viva Terlingua!".

 

[Cagiva 549]

Thats the lazyest looking bunch of riders I have ever seen , It looks like a major effort just to roll a bike out and crank it . I wanna go back . SEYA

 

[aircrftmec]

Great pictures. We were in Terlingua just before Thanksgiving 08 after a 22 year absence, I had forgotten what a beautiful place it was. Now we are heading back again in March to do some more riding.

 

[Steve-O]

Yer killin me!

 

[TexasShadow]

A Hike Through History

Goodmornin' everyone! It's time to get out of those cozy sleeping bags, fill your coffee mugs, find a chair and sit. Watch the blazing show in the eastern sky as the sun rises over the Chisos. It's like a glowing fire announcing the rise of a giant magic ball out of a cauldron of jagged black mountains. Now, don't look away or you'll miss the changing of the guard: from black to dark blue mountains, red to orange streaks, yellow to white clouds, blue to amber hills, black shadows creeping along the alluvial fans, and here comes the bright ball and glimpses of bright blue sky.

Yessiree; this is the dawn of another day in the desert, but not just any desert. This is the land of never-ending rainbows: in the sky, the canyons, the hills, the sands, and the mountains.

Ya can't get anything better than this.

So now that we're all sitting here comfy and cozy, what's cookin' for today?
Roger is explaining something profound,

And.....Well, look who's here; it's Bouncing Bob!
He and Hardy are having an animated discussion.

We'll let them all work it out. I'm going riding and hiking today. Today, we're going to walk through some history.

Most visitors to the national park are struck by the majestic vistas, the grand scale, the starkness of the landscape. Natural history -that of the earth and the river, the animals and plant life- is naked for everyone to see. You can't help but see it. And the variety is what makes this park so special.

What few see is the human history. Most people find it difficult to imagine people living on that land. But they did; hundreds and hundreds of years ago. People leave imprints behind in one way or another. This land takes back and slowly lays itself over most human changes. But in some ways, there are still pieces of evidence, still tracks and signs, of human habitation, be it structures, cliff paintings, grinding mortars, worn trails, adobe ruins, old fence posts, pieces of barbed wire, dugouts and caving shelters.

People also brought with them seeds of plants and animals from the outlying areas. Some took hold, some still grow and shouldn't be, most died after their caretakers abandoned them. When the surge of population from the mines demanded wood and hay, meat and water, they took and took. Rarely did they give back.

But there were a few that were stewards of the land and its resources. They knew it was also in their best interest; in the long run.

Two sons of a Confederate general that lived in Tarrant County and Dallas were to be the first ranchers in the Big Bend area. The Gano brothers purchased nearly all of southwestern Brewster County, bought thousands of head of cattle in Dallas and Denton counties (and later from more southern locales), herded them down to the Big Bend area to graze on virgin grass along the rivers, creeks and in the mountains. It was called the G-4 Ranch, and it was the largest in the entire Trans-Pecos region.

By 1891 30,000 head of cattle were spread from Agua Fria Mountain on the north to the Rio Grande on the south, and from Terlingua Creek on the west to the Chisos Mountains on the east. The ranch headquarters was built at Ojo de Chisos, what later became known as Oak Spring, just west of the Chisos Mountain Basin. Anyone that has extensively ridden in the Terlingua and Big Bend area knows how vast that land holding is.

Nature works in cycles, and after many years of plentiful rain the dry period came. A few years of drought and other factors caused the ranch to disband in 1895. But it wasn't the last ranch there.

In the early 1900's, Francis Rooney owned and leased land in the Nine Point Mesa area. Rooney bought a Sears and Roebucks prefab two-story house and had it shipped by rail to Marathon, the nearest shipping point. The crates were hauled up to the home site near the Mesa and put together.

Rooney bought several sections near the Chisos Mountains and moved his house to Oak Canyon just below Oak Spring, near the same location of the old G-4 headquarters. Rooney sold his holdings and after a number of absentee owners, it was bought by Homer Wilson.

Homer M. Wilson was born and grew up in Del Rio. After graduating with a degree in Petroleum and Mining Engineering and several years in military service (WWI), he ranched 9,000 acres in Juno, Texas. After a few trips to the Big Bend country during 1928 and 1929, he began buying land in areas west of the Chisos. Wilson bought the Oak Spring section in 1929 and several other sections, including high up in the Chisos Mountains. By 1930 Wilson owned much of the former G4 ranch in the region that would one day be a national park.

The Wilson family set up house and headquarters at the Rooney house near Oak Spring and on Oak Creek. The house was on a rock terrace along the creek just below the spring. A long screened porch on the front of the house and large trees near the creek shaded the house.

Although the Oak Spring house was the homestead and ranch headquarters, Wilson built a line camp on Blue Creek which became the heart of the ranch. A secondary house was built in which the ranch foreman lived along with several outbuildings: a one-room house for quarters for the ranch help, a small storeroom, outside barbeque fireplace, cistern for fresh rain water, circular corral with a post to train young horses, a dripping vat and chute for animals, a chemical outhouse, and chicken house.

It is here we hiked that day. Riding through the park down Ross Maxwell Drive, parking at the trailhead and overlook, exchanging motocross boots for hiking boots, helmet for billed mesh hat, and hiking stick. From the overlook the view east is breathtaking. In the shadows of Carousel Mountain, down in a valley is the partially restored foreman's house and a few outbuildings.

I recall stopping the last time to look. Only 'look'. Well, that's not enough for me. This time I was hiking down to really see what it was like down there. That's what you have to do in the park and that area: get into it. Step off and immerse yourself. You'd be amazed at what you see. It's like getting on your hands and knees, face close to the ground and seeing a whole different world.

Now, I've always been curious about building construction -from the 'Taj Mahal' fort of hay and trees I built as kid, to the igloos in winter, blanket tents in the house, the cabin in Maine, and the house in Oregon. I was curious to see how the house was built.

The house is built so that it is indigenous to the area. In other words, nearly all the materials in its construction came from the area. The 24x60-foot house had a 16x60 foot screened porch on the south side with a view of the Chisos, including Emory Peak.

With two bedrooms, a kitchen and a large living/dining room area, all the walls were made of rock mortared together to achieve a thickness of nearly two feet at the base. A large fireplace in the middle of north wall heated the living room area. The mantle is artistic placement of long slabs placed horizontally.

The double roof is interesting. It's supported by large poles set in cement and the ceiling is made of reeds in a hounds-tooth pattern. Wilson used a two-inch concrete mixture on top the reeds and above that, a sheet metal roof to make it leak proof. This construction makes the house cooler in summer and warmer in winter because of the air space between the roof and ceiling.

The floor of the house is selected flag stones, mortared in between, whereas the porch floor is concrete. The floor was quite cool when I went inside. The entire house was cool and I noticed the length was cut-and-fill: one half dug out and set into a slope, the other half-end built up with fill.

All the stone, sand and gravel came from Blue Creek Canyon and creek bed, the timbers from Chisos Mountains and the reed from the Rio Grande. The plaster on the inside walls were probably based on those materials as well: mud, sand, clay and a binder such as some cement.

I could live here.

The other outbuildings were also typical of the region: adobe, etc.

I've had a love affair with adobe since I was a kid and reading about the southwest. After moving back to Texas I briefly entertained the thought of building a small adobe house here in the MMess, but that was short-lived. Not here.

But after visiting several places down in the BB region, that is now more a probability than a possibility. But not here. I even have a project here to practice on

It was time to begin the hike on Blue Creek and into the Red Rock Canyon. Up the trail is the remains of the corral. One with quite a view, too.

It was a wonderful hike.

I think next time this would be a good candidate for a camping hike.

One thing I forgot to get a photo of was a sign that still makes me giggle:

"This trail is dangerous for children. Do not bring children on this trail."

Lettering under a nice looking cougar on the sign.

 

[Cagiva 549]

A couple years ago while riding Pinto canyon area the store was open at Riodosa , a stop was in order . While talking to the lady running it she mentioned she grew up at the Wilson Ranch in Big bend and told us some tales of her youth . I could have spent the rest of the day listening to her . The time spent talking and listening to her was worth the trip , I was very impressed by that little trip into real history . SEYA

 

[ed29]

Wow, cherish that memory. Sadly we learned from her son that she passed away several months ago. If his humor and quiet wit reflects hers I would have enjoyed spending time visiting and talking with her.... Mostly listening though.

 

[TexasShadow]

And the store/house are for sale.

Her son Rusty is quite a character. Just don't wake him up from a nap.

 

[Butte]

Can't wait to get back. Better yet just to go and stay.

+ a million

there's just something about that place... it draws

 

[TexasShadow]

Big Bend Karma

Fate? Karma? Coincidence? I don't really know, nor ponder on it. Partly it amuses me, most of all it sews the seams around my plans and firms the future, or what can be.

I had my annual physical/lab tests this afternoon. Knowing that my GP/MD (General Practitioner) is from Marfa, his eyes lit up when I responded to his question, "Happy New Year, and how was your Holiday?"

"It was the best two weeks I've had in years. I spent it all in Big Bend."

We always seem to spend ten minutes talking about Big Bend and the surrounding area. This time it was longer because I told him about my Four-Year Plan. That's when he dropped the hook and anchor.

"Have you been to Casa Piedra?"

"Unfortunately, no. It was on my List, but we never got over there. But we did ride on Pinto Canyon Road, which I love."

[big smile] "Then you will love Casa Piedra. It is my family's ranch, where I grew up. My family and all the community people living in adobes, gathering at the store that my father kept, the dinners, singing, sharing, working together, crying together, it was a world unto itself.

My mother moved us to Marfa after my father died. But my aunt still lives there and she has a little museum of sorts. She would love to have you visit and she will tell you stories and stories."

So now I have Mission Number Two. Well, I think I will move this one to Mission One. This could be a great story.

Mission Two will follow. I feel it.

 

[Infinite Madness]

For all of you who have never been there is a "feel" to the place that is like no other. Went last October for first time and can't wait to get back.

Texas Shadow's writings are a delight because he is able to capture that feel with his words.

 

[TexasShadow]

Pieces of Terlingua

Inside Terlingua

Visitors that drive or ride by the popular ‘ghost town’ of Terlingua see ruins of rock and adobe dotting the hillsides and flats. A cluster of fully or partly renovated structures on the east side of the restored trading post and restaurant serve as permanent or seasonal homes for local residents. The old and dusty appearance of cars and trucks parked next to them suggest residents are not employees and owners of high-dollar businesses. Nor can be seen the usual fare of commercial enterprises that choke larger towns and cities. But then, that’s one of the many reasons people live there.

During the lucrative mining years in Terlingua, small adobe and rock structures dotted hillsides on both sides of the modern highway 170. A large complex of buildings and machinery processed the cinnabar that was removed out of the mines on the backs of Mexican workers. Perry’s large two-story mansion stood above them all like a bloated sentinel, its size and expanse implying authority, power and status in the economical community.

A few structures served a communal purpose: a jail that was full every weekend, school for all children regardless of background, trading post which was the heart beat of the area, and a church to gather in neutral faith and spirit. Some of these building still stand in various stages of disrepair.

The desert is a dictator; you survive with your senses and adapt or you perish. Its climate is unforgiving with the harsh sun, burning heat and stark cold nights. Water and trees are scarce and all living organisms in the desert adapt or die. People are no different. You learn to do without, work with available resources, and become attuned to changes in weather and conditions. And you work together. Nothing is taken for granted here.

People used to build their homes to serve as shelters. Because they spent most of their waking hours pursuing food, making clothing and footwear, or in the service of others to pay for goods and food, most of their time was not spent in their homes. They cooked outside over fires and often slept outside in the cool night breezes. Thus the shelters were small, humbly constructed of materials they found and gathered in the desert.

Adobe is one of the oldest forms of materials in the world to construct buildings. Used from native materials in arid places, the blocks can be a mix of vegetative fiber, animal dung, clay, sand, straw, and gypsum. Add water, pour into a mold and let the blocks dry in the sun. Then stack on top of each other in any shape or form, apply a plaster of mud and water which helps hold them together to form walls. Roofs were made of scrap metal, woven canes or ocotillo, straw and reeds from the river. Windows were small and sometimes absent, glass was rare and a luxury.

Rock is abundant in the Terlingua desert and was often used for walls. Like adobe blocks and bricks, they were stacked but not plastered. Adobe and rock walls were typically thick to insulate more against the sun than cold. Open shelters with roofs made of branches, canes or reeds, called ramadas, provided shade outside the main shelters. Open to daytime and night breezes, these were places where people cooked, ate and relaxed.

Like most towns and communities, when the economic base goes bust, the life leaks out of them. People go elsewhere to find work and often abandon everything behind except what they can carry on mule, horse, ox, or, as in modern times, in their vehicles. Homes, ramadas, stores and other buildings stand empty and silent; the only hint that once life was plentiful around them. Rabbits and snakes, birds and feral animals may temporarily use them for shelter, but the wind, rain, sun and dust eventually wear them down. The desert reclaims her own.

“Today Telingua, or Chisos, is a ghost town. In 1946 it closed down for good. Houses and machinery were torn down and moved away, and today it is a ghost town where the ruins look like they have been atom-bombed. Most of the buildings have been torn down, and those left look rather sad to us who still remember the booming mining camp. Even the post office has moved over on Terlingua Creek where water is more available, for when the mine pumps stopped for the last time, there was no more water. Only two Mexican families live there now. The post office and school (which has only nine pupils) have moved to another site six miles east on Terlingua Creek.” Walter Fulcher, The Way I Heard It: Tales of Big Bend, 1959.

These structures and all the imprints upon the land made by humans become ghosts. Even the people that lived here become ghosts. These are not supernatural entities, but material and all living things that have nearly reached the vanishing point. Bits and pieces of their presence remain, some intact, some close to disintegrating into the land. They are ghosts that some people can see and feel –in written stories, oral recollections, memories, historical facts, changes in the land, archeological remnants- but most do not.

Terlingua was beginning to vanish and at one time the official population was twenty-five. It was a Ghost Town. Since the late 1960’s it began to crawl back into life. After a brief period of serving as a playground for a few wealthy city-dwellers, it was dropped back into the desert forgotten and neglected. A few individuals that grew up in the vast area of the Big Bend wanted to preserve the way of life they knew and bought the land and embraced the ghosts. Since then, life has begun to take hold and the town now breathes and beats again. It is again a living entity.

Terlingua Today: Menagerie Press

Lauren Stedman, a graphic designer and printer, left her native Fort Davis, Texas, and moved to California. But, like many native Texans, the circle remains unbroken.

In California Lauren bought two old Chandler and Price platen-style printing presses in Ukiah, north of San Francisco. Both presses, weighing about 1,200 pounds, were transported back to her home in Fort Bragg on the Mendicino Coast. One press is considered an Old Style and built before 1911. The other one, a New Style press, was built around 1941. There in Fort Bragg she and her son built a print shop, which she named Menagerie Press.

Big Bend’s open spaces, vistas and climate beckoned Lauren back to Texas in 2005. She and her son began renovating the old Terlingua church rectory and moved the heavy presses in with the aid of many locals. The rectory is now a beautiful printing shop with commanding views of the ghost town and the west edge of the national park.

To print a document, Lauren designs the layout: type, graphics, color, and paper. From several type cabinets, she chooses each piece of typelead and loads them into a composing stick on the composer’s table. This is set into a frame, called a chase, and locked into place with wood blocks. When complete, the chase is loaded into the press.

The adjoining room contains her design studio and a large and old paper cutter.

Now comes the fun. With lots of labor, an orchestration of ink, typeleads and press are readied for the paper. Each piece of paper is hand-fed into the press and the rest is art, conducted by the artist and the loaded press.

Lauren uses modern computer technology to design type and graphics that are later merged with letterpress printing. Files of type and graphics are emailed to typecasters and engravers that supply her with custom-designed typeleads and blocks for embossing. Thus Lauren with her presses produces distinguished products with design, quality paper and crisp type impressions: business cards, small posters, invitations, and books.

Through the old-glass window of the printing room, the Chisos Mountains float in the background and over other buildings on the outskirts of Terlingua Ghost town. When the spirit takes her, Lauren might grab the helmet off the hook in the hallway and fire up her motorcycle for a ride in the cool of a Big Bend morning.

A heap of Thanks to Roger who shared with us his world in Big Bend and introduced me to several local people. His love and bond with the land and its people there gleams in his eyes and smile when he shares it. I don't know if he knows how visible it is, or catching, but I share that sense with him.
Thanks, Rog.

 

[Tourmeister]

Texas Shadow's writings are a delight because he is able to capture that feel with his words.

He is a she

 

[TexasShadow]

The Big Sky of my Spirit

I can't think of any other place on this planet that I have been where the skies never cease to amaze me. Both day and night, but especially those transition times.

The roads are nice, too.

 

[TexasShadow]

Pieces of Terlingua

Thought I would post a few more photos. (I'm still weeding through the >1,000 I took those two weeks).

The original church from the mining days. It is being restored by voluntary efforts of people in the community. As you can see, it is adobe. Most of the outer stucco is worn away.

One of the many things I like about adobe is the interplay, and interrelationship, with color. Not only is adobe structurally solid and cheap, but aesthetically pleasing to the eye, a trait missing from most of our modern architecture and building. It's also simple and humble, which to some people relay a strong beauty of itself.

Note that the corners and foundation are built of rock.

Another aspect of adobe is the freedom of expression: shapes. Even arches.

....and the interplay of color, shapes, texture and light. The colors and materials blend in well with the surrounding desert; most of the materials come from the desert. This is how we adapt to the surroundings and environment rather than try to dominate and change it.

Several other examples of adobe, and adobe hybrids (adobe block with other materials) will be explored when time permits me to upload and post.

 

[Butte]

Thank you so much for sharing all this with us, Elzi. It is something of a relief to know that there are others out there that still hold these kinds of things in high regard.

 

[TexasShadow]

Roads in and out of my Spirit

Roads carry us through more than just space. They transect topographies, geologies, geographies; history, time, cultures, societies, and mysteries. But never do they transect nothingness. For some, at times, these roads even take us on journeys into and through ourselves. Like our lives, these surfaces -paved, sand, dirt, mud, gravel, water- connect us to the earth we live on and all those that live on it.

If you are receptive, you will see the 'roses'.

My most favorite paved road, Texas Scenic Road FM170 in Big Bend.
It is such a joy to ride, I rode it on a motorcycle six times before I finally stopped along the way to photograph it. Which took six more passes (on bike and in truck).

From Terlingua and Study Butte heading west, the first great roll in the landscape it ThirtyEight Hill, or called Pepper's Hill locally. On the maps it is the former, named after a nearby mine called Mine ThirtyEight.

You can't help but stop at the crest of this hill and look back east toward Long Draw at the bottom, Terlingua over the rise and the Chisos Mnts in the distance. I often stop here on the side, turn off the engine and just sit like a big bird overlooking its domain below. I feel small, yet so much a part of what lays below and to the sides, as if it was the road to my home.

Further west on FM170 is the Big Hill. Like the name implies, it ascends hundreds of feet. Now going west to east is a climax depicted in this next series:

I enjoy sitting on the side of the mountain and watching the scene below, including the road as it drops down and east along the Rio Grande.

Many miles west on FM170 toward Ruidosa the road winds through the desert and past long-forgotten communities, ranches and cavalry military posts. A lot of history in this area that few people are aware of. Now the land is sleeping and most all the buildings reclaimed by the desert except for a few ruins and the burial places as a reminder.

Now heading north is a county road with a long history and a devoted following of dual sport riders, and is one of my favorite back roads. It literally crawls and winds through the desert and mountains, an area more primitive than anything near Terlingua and even the national park. Much of the area has not changed for hundreds, maybe thousands of years. Yet it is not devoid of human habitation: the Chinati Mnts sheltered ancient peoples of this area for which archeological finds provide evidence, bandits and military traveled this road since the 1800's, and a few ranches scattered across thousands of acres still exist.
Pinto Canyon Road; it blends in so well with the terrain and vegetation, it's hard to see unless you look closely.

A perspective that is daunting, Hwy 118 as it snakes across the basin and Badlands of the Big Bend towards Study Butte.

North of Big Bend lies a large basin, an ancient ocean bed, over which Hwy 90 crawls. If you look closely at the walls of the earth where the road was cut through, you can see the many layers of sediment, sandstone and limestone. In places you can see two different periods of geological history where dark brown mudstone layers top white-beige sandstone and limestone. I unfortunately was not able to photograph any of those. I guess I'll have to go back and do that.

 

[klrno2]

As the Talking Heads sing...we drive, on these highways of fire...