Lost Mines, Border Crossings and Ghost Towns

View from the top of the Lost Mine Trail

The air remained cool in the sunny morning. No bears greeted us at the Lost Mine Trailhead. We started with a hearty breakfast at the lodge, seated against giant windows that look onto the Chisos Peaks. We geared up and took the five-mile roundtrip into a quiet, red-rock country.

Trail switchback

People passing on the trail pointed out a Texas lubber grasshopper. It was tiny grasshoppers of the eastern U.S. but a four-inch monster. Another grasshoppers along the trail with brown bodies opened turquoise wings when they buzzed around. Hummingbirds seemed to follow us along the trail. They were not the ruby-throat hummingbirds of home, but dressed in abdomens of blue.

The trail crept upward at a decent incline (not nearly as hard as the switchbacks at Guadalupe Peak) and forced us to scramble up some rocky inclines. After those switchbacks and a few scrambles, the trail rewarded us with a long, flat stretch along a ridgeline. An older couple warned us that a fallen tree blocked the trail. We scrunched into the tiny space the prickly branches afforded us. A few hundred feet later, the ridgetop opened into a promontory of rusty rock.

Nancy atop the Lost Mine Trailhead

The Lost Mine Trail doesn’t lead to a lost mine – legends about adjacent Lost Mine Peak, which is visible from the trail, mention a hidden gold mine which has ore occasionally visible from 20 miles away in Mexico. We saw no veins of gold ore, but plenty of rare wildlife and even better views.

 The trail leads to 360-degree views of the mountains, Fortunately we reached the ridge early in the day, when the forested trail was still cool. Clouds covered a few peaks around the Chisos Basin but at these heights we had mostly clear views.

Wandering atop the Lost Mine Trail

The day cleared as we descended and more people passed us heading up the trail. The early morning shade disappeared so we were glad to have hiked when we did.

Cleaning up and having a little rest, we decided upon lunch across the border. We couldn’t visit the Hot Springs Historic District. A 105-degree springs bubble up immediately next to the Rio Grande. With the river levels high, the springs become inaccessible.

Anytime the bosque habitat arose from the shorter, scrubbier desert plans, we knew the river flowed near. In the Chisos, tall trees were common but elsewhere, they could not survive without the floodplain. As we approached the river on the park’s east side, a series of colorful buildings on higher ground. This was Boquillas.

The little village sat above the Rio Grande’s flood plain, but it needed Big Bend to survive. Twelve years without the border business nearly killed the town, essentially blocked from the rest of Mexico by the Sierra del Carmen range. Boquillas thrived as a border crossing until 9-11, when U.S policy abruptly closed the crossing. People abandoned the town after that major source of income evaporated. Now they could sell their local food and wares to tourists crossing the river.

Path to the Rio Grande

I was a little concerned with the higher water levels – I remembered a joke from my childhood about how the Rio Grande was wide enough for a man to relieve himself while keeping a foot on both banks, but that was not the surging river we encountered.

We went anyway. A border agent gave us a briefing on what not to bring back – Boquillas sat in a conservation area, so painted rocks and any item containing animal parts were forbidden. Once we stepped through the border station’s back door, there was no turning back. A short, verdant trail led from the border station to the crossing. Lizards ran among downed limbs. Water coursed at a brisk pace.

Boquillas River Crossing

No sooner had we arrived than a man scrambled down the bank to a lone boat, rowed a big U-shape across the river (he paddled hard upstream into the middle of the river, then let the current push him to our bank) and coasted onto the bank.

Middle of the Rio Grande

Once we boarded, he duplicated the strokes effortlessly and we landed on Mexican soil. We paid the ferry fee ($5 each) then arranged a ride into town ($5 each). The river concessionaires have burros for rental or you can walk into town for free, although it would have been a tough hike in the mid-day heat. They take U.S. dollars so no money exchange was necessary.

Lunch on the porch

Despite not asking for a guide, we ended up with Esteban, who wore a “Borders Make American Great” that a tourist gave him. I wasn’t sure he understood the connotation, but it didn’t matter. He was friendly and eager to encourage us to come back for a tour of the intimidating mountain range beyond the village.

From the bank, we drove through a series of gulleys rich with vegetation and gravel. Up a short hill, we reached Boquillas’ main drag, a series of one-story buildings, several business and many falling apart. After a brief visit to Mexican customs for a temporary visa, we strolled into Boquillas for some lunch.

One restaurant offered a patio and views of the river. Another boasted a patio looking onto the main road, plastic chairs and tables in a well-shaded spot. We told the proprietor what we wanted, and she disappeared into the kitchen after delivering Nancy a Tecate Light and me a Carta Blanca.

Tamale and enchilada feast

Both delivered relief from the intense heat – unlike the temperature Chisos Basin, Boquillas sits along the river, less than 2,000 feet above sea level and where summer brings 100 degree norms. From the patio we could watch the people of Boquillas go about their days.

Esteban gave Nancy a bracelet, then attempted to sell us some handcrafted scorpions, which we declined. Nancy had homemade tamales and I went with enchiladas the owner cooked up while we enjoyed a few Mexican beers on the porch. The lady running the restaurant and the kitchen also sold knitted bags, so I bought Nancy the one featuring a javelina.

Boquillas homes

We wandered around the town briefly before the relentless heat overwhelmed us. In fences that surrounded the stony houses, people often kept horses or burros. A lone Chihuahua approached us looking for food, mostly standing in our shadows before returning to a sheltered spot at its owner’s house.

 Heading back into the U.S., we had to revisit Mexican customsWe couldn't wait to visit because the small customs station the air-conditioner set to high. The same agent reviewed our IDs. Then we flagged down a pickup and drove through the flood plain below the town to meet the river.

The oarsman returned us to the U.S. bank in a riveting minute. On the second trip, the boat struck a submerged gravel bar near reeds in the middle of the river, a sign of its normal shallowness. We stepped out, cruised through the U.S. customs station that involved scanning passports then taking a to an El Paso customs official (if you don’t bring anything, it barely a minute) and walked back into the national park.

Looking east toward Boquillas Canyon

Impact of the heat led us to skip the Boquillas Canyon overlook a few miles from the border crossing. Evidently we missed a canyon as deep and spectacular as Santa Elena. By point in our Big Bend travels, both Nancy and I would emphatically insist there will be a next time.

As we reached the turn back into the Chisos Lodge, we had to stop. A massive rattlesnake crawled across the road at a speed indicating it recently fed. Gray-scaled and broad, the snake couldn’t have moved slower. A ranger headed in the other direction made a comment about the traffic jam.

As we pulled away from snake, a ranger arrived behind us and put on the sirens. We got pulled over. Once I explained about the snake, we avoided a citation. I understood the ranger’s concerns – it was on a windy portion of the Chisos Basin Drive and not a place I would normally stop. But the snake came out, I had to give it time. I essentially let the ranger call me stupid to avoid a citation, even though I fully understood the situation. I even offered her pictures of the snake, which she didn’t need to view. But it was resolved.

An unhurried rattlesnake

Later we headed west to Study Butte, we ran into three javelinas running along the roads. Up close, they looked less hospitable. Snorting and covered in bristly hair with leathery bodies, the largest of the three galloped across the highway as the other two retreated into a creek bed with sporadic water. The speed at which the lead javelina cross the road surprised me, its stride an indication of how quickly the porcine creatures could cover ground.

Only one place would do for dinner: Terlingua’s Starlight Theatre. At one point, the Starlight had no roof, just four walls. But it was resurrected with some concerts in the roofless space. The theatre sports a new roof and has become a top dining spot in the ghost town. They had some good cocktails and Texas wines. The menu was egalitarian, with both sandwiches and salads alongside some eccentric, locally bent entrees. Nancy picked the stuffed quail with tequila-blueberry sauce, I went with chicken-fried wild boar.

Looking toward the Chisos Basin

I have to applaud the music at the Starlight. A guitar duo played a share of Bob Dylan and Grateful Dead covers along with a few originals. The quality of the music stood out. These guys could have played anywhere, yet they played at a restaurant in a ghost town.

At the bar sat a surprising familiar face in jeans and a white T-shirt sipping from a clear bottle of Mexican beer. I nudged Nancy and told her “The Little Man” from Inglorious Basterds sat at the bar. The actor and writer B.J. Novak from The Office and Quentin Tarantino’s second-best movie sat at the bar. When driving to Balmorhea earlier in the week, I had quoted the passage where Christoph Waltz’s Hans Landa tells Novak that the Nazis call him the Little Man.

If anything from Nashville has rubbed off on me, it’s the ability to sit in the same room as the famous and not make a big deal. The only lasting effect of the encounter was that when we came home, I checked out Novak’s book of short stories from the library.

Sunset clung to the Chisos Basin, fully visible with the rising full moon from the Starlight’s porch, the ghost town’s gathering spot. As we drove back from Terlingua, the actor stood on the porch with his cell phone. A series of witty lines popped into head. Instead, we just drove. Javelinas, possibly the same group we encountered heading into Terlingua, congregated in the creek bed.

Deep into dusk, we returned to the park, the rumpled desert darkening with every mile we crossed. The moon seemed to rise more rapidly this night, brightening the sky on our whole drive back. There would be no astronomy tonight.

Miles into the park a pale, tan-green snake crossed the road. Its scales shown in the headlights. As I drove above the snake, I cringed, hoping it was short enough to find the safe zone between our car tires. I was shaken, hoping that I had not crushed the serpent. At one point I even let two approaching cars pass us. Unintentional or not, we didn’t come to Big Bend to assault its wildlife.

Bright as the moon glowed, it could not penetrate the darkness of the last miles of the Chisos Basin Drive. With good reason, we moved increasingly slower. Big Bend wildlife held a few surprises in reserve. At the cutoff road to the park campground, a gray fox sprang from the road into the foliage.

A few hundred yards later, where the Chisos Lodge lights intruded, we saw a cat, a large cat, skulking low on the road in full prowling mode. With the park’s other cats rare (ocelot, jaguarundi) or too large for our car (mountain lion), it could only have been a bobcat. In the span of 36 hours, Big Bend provided encounters with many of the animals Nancy and I had rarely or never seen in the wild.

As we left Big Bend the next morning, the snake encounter at dusk occupied my mind. Across the last 10 miles toward Big Bend’s west entrance, I fretted whether we would cross a stain of blood and crushed snake on our route. I watched the opposing lane more than the pavement in front of me. But in the entire span, there was not a carcass, a trace of blood or even a missing scale.

Moon rising over the Chisos Basin, Terlingua Ghost Town