What bubbles up at Balmorhea ...

The restored San Solomon Cienega at Balmorhea State Park

Heading east, the sprawl of El Paso and Juarez falls off immediately. A series of small border towns follow, the green ribbon of Rio Grande and Mexico’s imposing border ranges never far away. Eventually the highway jogs away from the border into higher elevations toward Van Horn and other rugged West Texas outposts.

As two interstates split off for the populous ends of Texas, we took a rural route and in 15 miles encountered not a single car. Mountains greener than we recalled rose to the south.

Pool entrance

At the crossroads that leads to Fort Davis, you could almost smell the oasis. We never stopped missing the waters of Balmorhea State Park, a jewel in the desert. Our whole West Texas trip hinged on a return trip to these waters, an odd oasis in the West Texas desert, far from everything but unavoidable once you’ve dipped in these waters.

Entering the pool grounds, signs warned of rattlesnakes (none were sighted). The blue pool beyond sat mostly empty. On a weekend it might have been crowded. On a September Monday, barely 10 other people visited its intoxicating waters. At times, hundreds of yards separated us from the other swimmers. Thanks to its multiple shallow and deep wings, anyone could claim their own corner of the pool. It was a lazy Monday afternoon at Balmorhea, only two years passed since our first visit.

We moved gingerly into the water – while the spring’s natural flow negated the need for chlorination, the concrete floor can be quite slippery.  Water shoes helped combat the slimy pool floor, which was littered with stones and rocks in places. Once we found our footing, we realized the lack of people didn’t mean we were alone.

Quiet Monday at Balmorhea

Atop a depth marker, a Texas spiny softshell turtle sunbathed, eyes probing the waters for anyone who drew too close. The eyes twitched and swiveled even as the turtle held its position. Swimmers came within feet of the turtle, who watched carefully but hesitated to flee. As we posed near the market, the turtle soon slid off the rock and disappeared. Minutes later, a much smaller turtle climbed upon the depth marker. Unlike its predecessor, the younger softshell turtle fled into the water before we stood within 20 feet of its resting spot.

Balmorhea's fearless turtle

Water levels definitely ran higher; where we once walked comfortably with necks above the surface I now hopped and paddled to stay afloat. The white-topped depth markers at the edge of the deep springs were not visible, indicating the water levels were higher than last time. Despite the promise of 74 degree temperatures, the waters alternated between warm and chilly depending on where we stood. Plumes of cold water were never far away.

No turtle would pose with me

Balmorhea’s pool came with a tradeoff. When the Civilian Conservation Corps constructed the pool facilities around San Solomon Springs during the Great Depression, the desert wetland environment (cienega) that thrived for millennia vanished. The pool still brims with life - Millions of tiny fish plus a handful of turtles and catfish subsist in the clear waters.

Throughout our last visit, the sky alternate between sun and threatening clouds. This day was no different, as the beams occasionally broke through and aggressive gray clouds drifted above the pool.

For the first time in two decades, I jumped from a diving board, squeezing into a cannonball to plunge into Balmorhea’s depths. I might have sunk 10-12 feet down, nowhere near the maximum 25-foot depth were the 15 million gallons of spring water flow out daily.


I can’t think of waters where I would rather dive. Not that I did much diving. Full disclosure: I’m no swimmer. I never have been. Through years of lessons I garnered just mediocre stamina. Nancy could swim laps around me. Balmorhea gave us an option – a rocky lip, generally three to six feet deep, surrounds the pool’s deeper arms. She swam, I occasionally swam but hopped and walked where permissible.

Campsites

When we stopped, little fish surrounded us, pecking our skin daintily if we stopped too long. Time slowed down in this waters, and neither of us rushed to exit the pool.

I took a break and discovered water breached the lens of my previously waterproof camera. Two trips to Balmorhea proved too much, although two days in a bag of rice back in Nashville restored to lens to working order. As dressed and left the pool, the rain finally arrived. The skies unleashed a cool, comforting rain befitting the desert monsoon season. Before leaving the park for the Davis Mountains, we swung past the motor court and the adobe camping shelters.

Headwater catfish

Unbeknownst to us, this corner of the park housed its greatest trove of wildlife. Two decades after the park first rebuilt the ecosystem, the cienegas thrives again. Here the waters flow through a 3-acre restoration of the San Solomon Cienega plus another one-acre Clark Hubbs Cienega near the park entrance. The environment are packed with wildlife – scarcity of water forces animals to live at greater densities than they would otherwise.

The second cienega was a revelation, even if its water-level viewing station offered murky glimpses to the wildlife inhabiting its waters or deep vegetation. We felt like observers seeing the previous incarnation of Balmorhea, where limited desert resources forced species into close quarters for survival.

Turtles, catfish and swarms of tiny fishes livened the cienega’s transparent waters. Despite their numbers, populations of two tiny fish species, the Comanche Springs pupfish and the Pecos gambusia, live only in Balmorhea. The headwater catfish, the “black shoe” often seen on the pool bottom, has other wild populations, but the Balmorhea population are genetically pure.

Cienega turtles plus a million tiny fish

As we approached the boardwalk, the turtles showed interest in our presence (someone likely fed them). A half-dozen or so red-eared sliders treaded water around the boardwalk, while two spiny softshells drifted around, propelled by powerful legs. Sliders are common turtles, but those swimming in the cienega showed no fear and did not divert for deeper waters. As long as we observes the wildlife, the sliders observed us.

Prickly pear

In the stands of marshy plants, a chorus of bird chirps and clicks emerged. Grebes and ducks floated in the clear pools as sparrows and other species soared around the dense brush. Rabbits hid beneath the massive prickly pear cacti, their magenta fruit popping off mature arms, young greener arms sprouting off the plants.

Balmorhea need more than a day. Each time it has been a stop on the road to the Davis Mountains. To camp beneath its starry nights and lie so close to the mass of wildlife occupying its wetlands demands a third another dip in its calming waters. The park hosts monthly night swims beneath the Milky Way. The mere thought of unobstructed skies, a cienega full of wildlife and a quiet place to sleep make me want to pack a tent and hit the road for West Texas. For this trip, our lodging lied on higher ground.

The storms of the West Texas rainy season rolled on as we rose into the Davis Mountains. Irregularly the sun cut through, brightening patches of mountainside. Every surface was greener than before. Dried creek beds now bubbled with water, wildlife surrounding new watering holes. Ancient cottonwoods soared along the road.

Road to Fort Davis

Near Fort Davis, Nancy spotted a bighorn sheep on a mountain bluff. Last time we stayed on Fort Davis’ main drag at the Hotel Limpia. This trip would continue the Civilian Conservation Corps theme at the Indian Lodge in Davis Mountains State Park. The park road descended into a steep canyon bordered by campgrounds and a dry creek, mountain ridges rising above us.

At the road’s end, the white adobe bulk of Indian Lodge contrasted with the mountains. Each room had a patio, some more private than others. The lodge also had a large common area, one of the few places phones and Internet worked. I avoided it, fine without a direct line to the outside world. As we entered our room at the Indian Lodge, the rain subsided and a double rainbow broke from the eastern clouds.

View from the porch at the Indian Lodge