Mini-vacation at Lantana Lodge -- Day Three

Somehow we managed to go to bed earlier Saturday and get up later Sunday. Must of been the peace of mind from knowing we didn't have scorpions in our bed -- or we had so much fun Saturday we were really tired.

Breakfast at the restaurant was another stuff yourself affair. Sharon ordered pancakes, and they were huge. So was my omelet. Lots of running in my future.

We decided to forgo another day's sail in favor of hitting the hiking trail. Hikers, cyclists and horses share the trails, with horses always having the right of way. The trail was sanded, in spots heavily so. I took it that was for the horses' benefit, but the heavily sanded spots made for slow going.

We saw more tracks -- criss-crossing lines made by lizard tails, the occasionally thin, slithery track that probably belonged to the slender, green snakes like the one Sharon spotted, possibly a deer track and a rabbit track. Makes you feel like you're in the wilderness.

Riders and mounts take a dip in the lake.

We heard voices ahead and figured we'd have to get out of the way of some horsemen, but we came to a clearing where we could see people riding their horses in the lake. This may be why I'm not such a big fan of lake swimming. 

The morning passed by too quickly, and we had to leave. The lodge was a wonderful place, and I would be happy to come back another time. Rates are reasonable and include your daily fees for the state park units, food at the restaurant was good, and as I mentioned before, the whole atmosphere was peaceful and relaxing. And no, I'm not being paid to puff the place.

We decided to stop off at Cabela's on the way back, having never been to one, and just for fun we fired up the GPS to guide us on the trip. Really, it's a simple hop over to the interstate at Sanger and then a straight shot, with the store plainly visible and signage directing you to the sportsman's amusement park. But Ronnie, as I decided to call the GPS in Sharon's car, took us on the most amazingly tortured route to the interstate. I wonder who programs these things.

I had wondered about bringing the boats but needn't have. Boat trailers and RVs dotted the parking lot. We passed the pond that I assume they use for fishing demonstrations, crossed the bridge and saw a large, yellow, corrugated tube contraption sitting in front of the store -- a storm/survival shelter. And it was on sale! Just $69,999. Shoot, for that price I wanted to buy two, but we don't have a place to store the other one.

You can walk through the shelter. The beds seemed kind of small for adults. I suppose you could put a sleeper sofa in there.

The store is huge. We'll spend a good bit of time wandering about and not see the whole thing. We didn't find what we wanted at the price we wanted to pay, but it was interesting just to see all the stuff.

All good things must come to an end, or so someone said, and we had to return to life as usual. Laundry, grocery shopping, putting everything away, but it was all the more bearable because of the trip to the lake.

Mini-vacation at Lantana Lodge, Day 2

Despite the dire warnings about scorpions in our bed, we passed a restful night and prepared to embark on our adventures for the day.

After breakfast we grabbed cameras and headed out to explore the paths that led to the shore from the lodge. Most of the shoreline was rocky, but one section smoothed out into a kind of beach. We found lots of animal tracks in that section -- from my five minutes of Internet research, I have decided most were probably tracks of a coyote and either a squirrel or a skunk. Some obvious bird tracks appeared as well.

We were interested in the beach area because we'd brought the Hobies and thought we might beach them at lunchtime and walk up to the restaurant. We didn't need to because the lodge had a floating dock around a bend on the other side.

While we were walking back up to our room to change into our boat clothes, I felt something stab my toe. I wear closed-toe sandals, so I was a bit confused as to how a thorn managed to get in there. Back at the room, Sharon pulled what we thought was a thorn from my toe, but I noticed I had another spot just below the thorn site that looked like an ant bite, and my toe hurt a lot more that it does when stabbed by a thorn.

Kayakers cross the lake while we explore the shoreline.

Maybe a scorpion? Who knows. A scorpion sting certainly makes for a better story.

We headed for the lake and decided to sail around an island we'd spotted just east of the lodge. As we drew closer, Sharon noticed tree stumps sticking up from the water. As we passed the edge of the island we saw telephone poles as well as tree limbs. Plans for sailing all the way around were abandoned. It was late enough for lunch, so we headed back in.

We ordered hamburgers for lunch, and they brought us monsters. Big, juicy patties with what appeared to be homemade buns. The meat had to weigh in at a half pound, and the menu indicated you could order a bigger one if you wanted. We made up for it by ordering salads on the side instead of fries. But our diets were blown for the weekend.

Back on the lake the winds had kicked up over the morning but were quite manageable and made for a pleasant afternoon of scudding about the lake. For a change, Sharon fell way off from me. I'm usually chasing her wake.

The lake is large enough that even though plenty of boats were out, we never felt crowded, and by the time the wakes passed us, they weren't the toss-you-about wakes we're used to on smaller lakes. All in all, a pleasant, peaceful day on the water.

In fact, the whole weekend could be described as pleasant and peaceful. Despite the number of guests, including some children, the place seemed quiet. Even the boats didn't seem to make as much noise as at the smaller lakes we usually inhabit. The space seemed to swallow up sound. No push, no hurry. Just relax and enjoy yourself, the area seemed to whisper.

We decided to try out a Mexican food place in Pilot Point that we'd seen driving in and whose telephone book ad promised low-fat, low cholesterol fare. Either they changed their philosophy in the years after that book was published -- it was several years old -- or they lied. Either way, if our diets had been blown before, they certainly were after supper. But it was yummy.

And apparently Ernesto's is the place to come in the area. The parking lot and restaurant were jammed with people.

Back at the lodge, we popped in another movie we'd brought and crashed as soon as it was over. Another grand day.

Mini-vacation at Lantana Lodge, Day 1

Wow. Has it been that long since I've posted anything here? Has it been that long since we've been away and done anything?

Yeah, pretty much. We've visited the kids but not much else. Those trips are enjoyable. Good times visiting and eating good food. We went to Inner Space Caverns with Kevin and Michelle, but I was too lazy to write about it. Oh, and we went camping a couple of times -- also too lazy to write about.

Since then the boats came into our lives, and we've spent nearly every weekend at an area lake learning how to sail them well.

But I decided we needed to get away. Not far away, but away.

While looking for information about nearby lakes and state parks, I found out that Forever Resorts -- the same outfit that operates the Chisos Mountain Lodge in Big Bend National Park -- operates a lodge at Lake Ray Roberts, near Pilot Point, Texas.

I thought we might go the weekend after our anniversary, but Sharon told me we already had plans, so I set us up for the weekend before. The lodge's website informed me that we needed to be there by 8 p.m. or call to find out how to check in late. No problem, I thought. The trip's only about an hour; if we leave by a reasonable time, we should make 8 easily.

Sunset at Lake Ray Roberts, Aug. 10, 2012

We left in what I believed was plenty of time. There I go thinking again.

While we were eating supper somewhere north of Fort Worth, my phone rang. Because it was the general ring, I let it go to voice mail, as most such calls are misdials. I checked in a bit to see if I recognized the number, which I didn't, but I had a message.

The number seemed familiar, so I asked Sharon to give me the number from our reservation confirmation, and behold, the lodge had called. The message was from "Donna," who left me instructions about checking in after hours and suggested I call her back, so I did.

I told her we'd just passed the Texas Motor Speedway, which I guessed was at least halfway there, and as it was just a bit after 7, I thought we'd be there in plenty of time. Unfortunately we'd cranked up the GPS and were following its directions instead of the ones I'd printed off the lodge's website.

The GPS took us to the town square of Pilot Point, after we missed the initial turn it wanted us to make. But the lodge is not located on the town square. Using the printed directions, we were able to arrive just as the woman I assume is Donna was about to put out our key for us to pick up.

She explained that she would check us in, but her husband's birthday was that night, and she needed to scoot home. We could finish our registration in the morning. I teased her about having a bunch of questions but let her go on.

We found our room, unloaded our stuff and grabbed the cameras because the sun was going down, and we figured we could get some nice pics. While we were shooting and wandering the grounds, I looked over the materials we'd been given with our key.

The lodge is part of a state park, the material informed me, and as such was part of a wilderness area. We should, therefore, keep an eye out for critters, especially scorpions. Scorpions can enter your room, and you should be careful to check your bed before retiring for the night. Oh, yay.

We only encountered a cricket in our room, but I may have had an encounter with a scorpion. More on that in the next post.

When dark fell, we went back to the room. I turned on the TV to see what was happening with the Olympics. But for some reason, the one network channel that would not pop up on our TV was the NBC affiliate. So, we watched a movie we'd brought with us. Then Sharon carefully checked the bed for critters, and we called it a night.

The celebration ends

The San Jacinto Monument

We stumbled into the 175th anniversary of Texas Independence. We're life-long Texans but had never really thought about it.

Fittingly, we found out about it at the celebration of the signing of the independence declaration at Washington on the Brazos, and though that was the only site we visited during a time when some sort of official event took place, our visits to key places in Texas history renewed our knowledge, and appreciation, of the state's past.

As a part of the state celebration, the parks service or the historical commission, or some other group came up with the brilliant idea to create a "passport" listing essential historical sites that tourists could visit. While there, tourists could have their passports stamped to show they'd visited. The idea appealed to us and became a great excuse to take a series of weekend vacations for the rest of the year.

We'd visited Goliad and Gonzales, the Alamo and the missions in San Antonio. All that remained was for us to visit the San Jacinto memorial and San Felipe de Austin. With vacation in Big Bend recently completed, paid time off was a bit scarce, so we decided to fit the last trip into a standard weekend.

We packed and headed out after work on the 12th. For a change, Alice, the voice of our GPS, didn't really provide a good story to be included in these musings. I had changed the settings on the device, so once we approached Houston, Alice wanted to shuttle us off onto toll roads, but I had preloaded a Google-map route on the iPod, so we avoided the tolls.

A stop in Corsicana provides the unusual story for the trip down. We looked for a place to eat along I-45 and found the pickings a bit slim. Seems we'd connected with the highway on the southern end of town and missed most of the restaurants.

We spied an Applebee's and headed that direction. We were greeted at the door by a man who asked us if we had a reservation. Now, Corsicana qualifies as a smallish town, but really, could Applebee's really be considered an upscale establishment or was it such a busy place that patrons would need reservations?

Alas, no joke could be found. Seems the restaurant was brand new, not officially open, and they were having an invitation-only night before the grand opening. We settled for Subway instead, where the guys manning the joint served us with somewhat less than a jovial attitude.

Another diner sought directions to a Holiday Inn just a stone's throw away, but the area is so new a road from the Subway to the motel hadn't been built, so no easy route was available. The diner was confused and the server irritated.

The bad part about traveling at night is that your perception of distance and time are distorted. The trip through Houston to our hotel in Baytown seemed to take forever. I worried a bit about staying Baytown because of the refineries. (We used to live in the Borger area, and the Phillips refinery could sometimes assault the senses.) But they provided a beautiful sight as we drove past, with the colored lights shining off the water.

The trip to the memorial took us across a bay, and we drove over a cool bridge that looked like a piece of modern art. I wished I could have taken a picture.

The memorial dominates the landscape. It's taller -- thanks to a star placed at the top -- than the Washington momunent, and the star, we discovered, was designed so that no matter what angle you view it from, you see the five-pointed star that is the symbol of Texas.

The museum at the base contains a theater where they show a short film on the battle of San Jacinto, narrated by Charlton Heston, or someone who sounds like him. The film is interesting enough, but the narration nearly drove me nuts. Heston would occasionally try to pronounce place names or people's names using their Spanish pronunciation. Sometimes he said it properly. Often, he did not. And at other times, he used Anglicized pronunciation. But hearing San Jacinto pronounced as Sawn Jo-seen-to gave me the shakes.

We took the elevator to the top and gazed out over the battleground and the city, a pretty impressive sight. Then we took in the rest of the displays in the museum, where I learned that my impression that his loss at San Jacinto had pretty much ended the career of Santa Ana was entirely mistaken.

View from the top of the memorial. The stands of trees at the end
of the pool are where the Texans encamped before attacking Santa Ana's troops.

I took Texas history many moons ago, and whatever I may have actually learned had long since dissolved into the mists of time. Santa Ana led a long life of making Mexico miserable until they finally ran him off to Cuba.

Another fact I picked up while there was that the Texans turned items captured from Santa Ana and turned them into to souvenir cutlery.

The USS Texas

The battleship USS Texas lies at anchor nearby, and we headed there next. The Texas is the only surviving warship to have served in both World Wars. We've visited the aircraft carrier USS Lexington in Corpus and were amazed at the spartan nature of the accommodations for the sailors and marines. Compared with the Texas, though, the Lexington was a cruise liner.

Crew accommodations. That's bunks for eight men, short men.

The ship was designed for a complement of 900 plus men but sailed with up to 600 more. As a result, you see bunks hanging everywhere. And the officers didn't have much better accommodations, just privacy.

By the time we'd finished crawling over the ship, we'd been touristing for most of the day. We'd discovered that the Kemah boardwalk was nearby and decided to go there for supper.

We'd visited Kemah a bit more than a decade ago, and then during the week. I don't remember it being quite as crowded and nuts as it was that night. We walked around for a bit, then headed over to The Aquarium, a seafood restaurant with an aquarium built inside. Seems a bit cruel to dine on fish while their cousins are swimming in giant tanks nearby, but I didn't let it bother me.

After dinner we walked around a bit more, checking the boardwalk in hopes that a boat would sail near by on its way to the marina, which had happened the last time we were there, but no luck.

We picked up a giant muffin to split for dessert and headed by to the motel. I was so tired that when I lay down, I immediately fell asleep. A good day.

Sunday we headed for San Felipe de Austin, about an hour's drive west of Houston. A small state park has been established at the site of Austin's colony, which was commonly called Austin.

Stephen F. Austin, the father of Texas.

They have a statue of the man, some interpretive signs, a restored general store that serves as the visitor center, and a replica of the only home Austin ever owned -- a two-room, dog-run built in the 1820s. Though a reproduction, the cabin is supposed to contain some bricks from the original fireplace.

Replica of the only home Austin owned.

We were the only visitors at the time, so we had the full attention of the attendant. The park had a grand opening the week before, but she told us that it wasn't very grand. The interpretive signs arrived barely in time, and the visitor center wasn't completed. Not very many people attended. So, she said, we hadn't missed anything.

The final highlight of the trip came, of all places, at a Whataburger in Waco. Waco is the home of Dr Pepper, and the interior of the eatery was decorated in a Dr Pepper theme, including a display of bottles the company has used through the years.

This display explained to us that the company changed typefaces in the '60s, and the typeface chosen used an "r" in which the the little serif at the top that makes the letter an "r" was slightly separated from the letter's stem. When a period was added, it looked more like an "i" followed by a colon than an "r." So, the company dumped the period and never brought it back.

The anniversary trips are over now. I'm glad to have re-learned the history of the struggle endured by Texians and Texans that eventually resulted in a major expansion of the territory occupied by the United States.

From "Come and take it" to "Remember Goliad; Remember the Alamo," the story of Texas gives us a heritage worthy of the braggadocio we Texans are so fond of indulging in.

One last adventure, or two, before coming home

Day 4

We're up before the sun, which means we only had, oh, nine hours sleep. Don't know how we'll survive.

We break camp, pack the car and head to the campground store to buy souvenirs and pay way too much for enough gas to take us to a place where the price will be more reasonable. I notice that my low tire light is on, but don't think much about it because it seems a bit cooler this morning, and sometimes that will cause one or more tires to be low.

I put some gas in the tank, find the offending tire and air it up, and we head out. We plan to stop at the fossil bone exhibit, which isn't as exciting as it sounds, and take the auto trail to Dagger Flats, where giant yuccas live, or so we've read.

Along the way we stop at an "interpretive exhibit" that turns out to be the grave site of a woman who had settled in a small oasis area with her husband, who taught at the school for the Dugout Wells community.

We climb around a bit at the fossil bone exhibit, read the signs and look at the fossil replicas, then head for the auto trail. On the way I ask Sharon if she wants to have some real excitement on the way home. I suggest that we run the Border Patrol station outside of Marathon and see if they give chase. She laughs but doesn't think it'd be a good idea. Imagine.

The auto trail is a gravel road with a bunch of markers linked to a guide that explains the plant life in the area. It's a bit rough but nothing the cube can't handle, until we arrive at a wash that crosses the road. Some black sand covers the road along with some kind of rubber grating the park has put down.

We cross that easily enough and then come to another part of the road covered with black sand. I don't think much about it since we crossed the last patch without incident and proceed. The road falls off a bit to the sandy area, where we promptly become stuck. I try the techniques for snow and only manage to dig myself in deeper. The sand comes up to the bottom of the bumpers.

I think that maybe I can push while Sharon drives and get us going, but that doesn't work. Sharon checks her cell phone and finds that she has a signal, so we agree it'd be best to call 911. I'm still trying to figure out a solution. There's less behind us than in front of us, so I decide that's the direction to go.

Almost out. Notice the dug out area in the right front corner.

We have nothing really suited to digging with, so I drop to my hands an knees and start digging with my hands. I dig down behind each wheel until I hit hard packed ground, get in the car and try backing up. The wheels bite and push the car back a few feet till the sand stops it.

Repeat the digging. Back up a few more feet. Repeat. Eventually we gain enough traction to put us back on the gravel portion of the road, where we turn around and head back for the main road. Sharon calls 911 back to report we're out of trouble. I've no idea how long this has taken, but I have a feeling no one had been dispatched to help us.

By the time we return to the main road, I notice my low tire light is on again.I pump it back up and think that perhaps being stuck aggravated what I had hoped was a slow leak, and we wouldn't have a problem. I really shouldn't think. We make a stop at the Persimmon Gap visitor center to look at the souvenir offerings there, and by the time we return to the car, the tire is low again. I pump it up again.

Off we go, but we have to stop before we get to the Border Patrol station to air up the tire again. I don't want to have to unload the car to put the spare on, and as long as we're driving, the leak doesn't seem be as bad somehow.

I behave at the Border Patrol station, where they ask if we've been at the park and whether we're American citizens. We're not asked for any identification. The agents peer through the windows and seem satisfied we're not a threat to national security and let us go.

In Marathon we stop for a soda and check out the possibilities for tire repair. The Shell station appears to do some mechanical work, but I decide I'd rather keep pumping up the tire and take my chances in Fort Stockton. I only have to stop once before we make it to town.

Sharon has checked TomTom, which tells her that Fort Stockton has a Firestone, which is good because I bought the tires there and have road hazard. But when we try to follow its directions, it doesn't take us to a deal, it takes us to Firestone Road, which is not in the town.

We go back to town, stop at the Ford dealership and ask about the Firestone. Turns out it's just down the road, not far past the intersection where the GPS sent us left instead of right, which would have brought us to our destination.

The tire was repaired in due course, but it turns out the tire shop is just an authorized seller, not a dealer, so I have to pay for the repair. We find a place to grab some grub because it's been a long time since breakfast, about 8 hours, and a soda and pretzels were all we'd had.

The adrenaline subsides while we munch away, and we agree we've had enough adventure for one trip.  We're ready for a normal rest of the trip home. Ask, and you shall receive.

The day of wonder

Day 4 

The sun is fully risen by the time we are. Yessir, I'm a-likin' this sleeping-in thing. Last night we had lots of wind early in the night and then rain. Not a heavy downpour, but sufficient to make us zip up the windows.

After the rain we visit the nearby washroom, but while walking through the grass we can't tell that it has rained in the slightest -- our shoes are dry on our return to the tent. Sometime after we dozed off, the rain started up again, falling for about as long as the first rain lasted. 

The only way you can tell in the morning that it has rained is by the tiniest of puddles on the improved road in the campground. The ground still looks cracked and dry where it's bare, and only the barest drops of moisture cling to a few blades of grass.

We return to the Rio Grande Village nature trail, properly equipped with walking sticks and water. 

The route takes you through the wetlands and along the river. Across the river lies the town of Boquillas, a small village you can't visit since 9-11. You can also see a large sand dune. 

 I take the trail to the top of the overlook hill; Sharon elects to stay on the main trail. At the top I pose for pics. Such a ham. The trail is most interesting for the contrasts. You go from a wetlands area to the edge of the river to desert to hills. Not bad for a walk of less than a mile.

 We've decided to check out Dugout Wells and the Window View trail starting in the late afternoon. The choice will be the most spectacular of an already over the top trip. 

Dugout Wells is the site of a spring that created an oasis around which a small community developed for a short time a hundred or so years ago. Great cottonwoods grow there, in the midst of which the park has built a picnic area. 

 We made the short jaunt around an interpretive trail that described much of the flora visible in the desert. Back at the picnic area, Sharon walks up into the cottonwoods. 

I follow along in a few seconds, thinking there's nothing to see but another picnic table. 

Monarchs everywhere

Just as she comes into view, I hear her say, "Oh!" Monarch butterflies are swarming just overhead, dozens of them. As we looked closer, we see that the trees are full of butterflies, hundreds of them. The annual migration is on, and we'd seen quite a few at the campsite, but this is a riot of flashing orange joy on the wing. 

While I'm busy trying to take the perfect photo of the fluttering horde, I hear "Oh" again. When I look over at Sharon, she is standing one leg so I think she's having a foot cramp. She says there's a whole pack of Javalinas up under the trees. This starts an effort o bot our parts to take a picture without disturbing the dozing beasts to the extent they'll be sufficiently aroused to express their displeasure with us. 

Javelina napping

From here we head up into the Chisos mountains. It's a long, uphill drive made longer by the stunning views and the number of conveniently placed pull-off areas along the route that fairly beg you to stop and shoot too many pictures. 

We finally arrive at the lodge area in the basin, check out the merchandise in the camp store, shoot some more pictures of interesting rock formations then wander down the Window view trail. The short walk on a paved surface brings you to an overlook area. You can see the area called the Window with the outline of more mountains in the distance. I shoot way too many pictures at a variety of exposures and zoom lengths. And for a while we just sit and look.

Into the mountains

We intend to attend a ranger-led program while we're in the basin, but it's about an hour until it starts. We've brought food and have supper in a picnic area. As we're finishing cleaning up, a fox strolls through the picnic area we've just left and across the road to one of the lodging areas, stopping nicely in front of one room. The residents are, of course, delighted. 

The program is pretty interesting. The ranger shows pictures of what the park looks like each month of the year. The variety is amazing, especially the pictures from the "rainy season." The desert areas come alive with plants and color.

End of the day at the Window view

After the program we make our way safely down the mountain and head for out campsite, spotting at least a half-dozen jackrabbits along the way. We'll go to bed late this night, a little after 10. It's been a good day.

Into the wild, sorta

Day 3
We begin again as the day begins to dawn. I'm beginning to like this long sleep thing.

After breakfast Sharon finds a place near the site that seems to lead to the Rio Grande. The park literature indicates that a nature trail that begins in the campground, so we wonder if she's found it. If so, it will be a disappointment because the ground at the bank has fallen away -- the trail leads nowhere.

But I don't think she's gone down far enough, so I go exploring a bit later. I discover the trailhead we're looking for farther down the road. On the way back to our campsite, I see a tree covered with large birds. Turns out they're turkey buzzards. The site is creepy, like something out of a B horror movie. They seem to be waiting for something, and I hope it's not us. 

Congregation of the creepy

The nature trail starts at a wetlands area that's the result of  beaver dams, but we don't see any beaver. We don't see much besides reeds and the pontoon bridge that crosses the water.

The trail leads up a hill from the bridge, but we're not sure about it, and we haven't adequately prepared for a real hike, so we turn back. We'll be back on the morrow.

The plan then is to do the Boquillas Canyon trail, which is supposed to be an easy trail. For us, it's a bit more strenuous. The trail immediately goes up -- it's like climbing the stairs at the office.


On the trail we encounter an older couple who hail from Massachusetts but live in Florida now. They won't make the entire hike -- in part because she's wearing dressy slides.

We also meet a couple from Bavaria -- he's all duded out in boots, jeans and a big, black cowboy hat. They're both very nice and chat in very good English. At the high point of the trail is a small promontory that makes a good place to take pictures, so we all swap cameras and take each other's pics. When I tell the Bavarian dude he looks like a Texan, he seems pleased. 

He probably shouldn't be doing this.

We separate, the older couple turning back, the Bavarians working their way down to the river. We take the trail to the left toward the canyon entrance.

In a few minutes the Bavarians come up to us and say he's taken a picture of a man on a burro crossing the river with a bunch of trinkets for sale. These souvenirs -- walking sticks and a variety of bead animals -- show up on every trail near the river, and you are not supposed to buy them. While we're talking, I notice a man riding across the river on a horse and take his picture.

As we draw near the mouth of the canyon, we hear a man singing, the sound echoing off the canyon walls. He knows three songs -- "Cielito Lindo," "De Colores," and one I've not heard before.

We hang back, figuring he'll want a tip, so of course, he trundles up to us, wanting to sell us walking sticks. We politely demure. I address him in Spanish, and the Bavarians look surprised. I guess I don't look Hispanic. 

El Cantador

Getting to canyon entrance didn't seem so bad. After all we were relatively fresh, but the return trip up the hill takes its toll on Sharon. We took a couples of liters of water each, but it's just not enough for the dry climate. I buzz ahead and bring another couple of liters more for her, and we make it back to the car. The rest of the day is spent reading and relaxing at the campsite.


We still have most of the campground to ourselves. An RV with an older couple will roll in later in the afternoon, but they pick a spot on the other side. We marvel at the difference between this place and home. You almost always hear the sounds of traffic at home. Here you hear insects, the sound of the leaves rustling in the wind, woodpeckers banging away in the trees.


On Monday we saw what we later decide was a vermillion flycatcher, a small bird with a red head and breast. Today we see Monarch butterflies and the woodpeckers and spend time chasing them around the trees trying to shoot pictures. I get a good shot of a Monarch; Sharon may have caught a woodpecker.

The vultures soar in the late afternoon, and I take a shot I think will be one of my favorites -- a vulture soaring with the half moon nearby. They may be vultures, but while soaring high in the sky they are an impressive sight.


The nights are incredible as well. The park has worked to eliminate light pollution, and the night skies produce stunning views. Without binoculars or a telescope you can easily identify clusters and nebulae. When Orion rises, it looks huge, not because of its proximity to the horizon but because the starlight is unobscured in the clear, dark sky. 


As with other nights, bedtime will come just a couple of hours after sundown. I look forward to what the new day will bring in this wonderland.