Big Bend OML Day 1: A Group of Seven (Randos)

November 15th, 2019
Miles: 2.8
Camp: Pinnacles 3

I was so excited to have finally found ultralight Texas backpacking peeps that it didn’t occur to me how others might view my plans to backpack Big Bend’s Outer Mountain Loop. You know, where two people I met on Reddit are picking me up in the middle of the night and driving me to basically the most remote corner of the state so we can walk into the desert wilderness with and additional four strangers also from the internet.

“They are randos,” declares my partner. “But they have meticulous gear lists and we’ve coordinated with real phone numbers and they seem like totally nice people,” I counter. “Did you meet them on the internet? Then randos.” At least it isn’t Criagslist or straight up thumbing it, right?

Still, I’m so excited about the trip, I actually teared up when offered a ride from two Dallas-area hikers Johanna and Jared who insisted they could pick me up from my house. Which involves driving an hour in the wrong direction. At 2am. At the start of what is already an 8+ hour drive. I find myself once again humbled by the incredible kindnesses of the hiking community. And so, so grateful for this particular offer as there’s no other way I could pull off a Big Bend trip mid-semester since I don’t drive.

The evening before we leave, I rush around attempting to wrangle seemingly endless details. No, not weighing my sleeping pad to see if it’s a few grams under spec (it’s not). I mean grading papers, making from-scratch mac and cheese for the fam, lining up babysitters…The at-home coordination as a full-time professional and parent to a toddler are so much more involved than the trip logistics themselves. Hiking 40-ish desert miles on a trail with a 50% drop-out rate? That will be the easy part.

Still in disbelieve that all the pieces are actually coming together, I stuff my pack with my usual gear minus a few things because bug-free fair-weather desert conditions. I throw in the dehydrated leftovers of summer adventures, some seasonal beverages that are somehow also Cliff bars, and a bag of pepperoncini kettle chips. Then I repack everything, crushing the chips for the total vanity purposes of making my pack look tiny. This is an ultralight hiker meet up, after all.

I manage a few hours of the kind of fitful half-sleep that one suffers before an eventful early wake up, checking my phone repeatedly. My ride appears right on schedule, and we meet in the 3am darkness of my driveway. Jared and Johanna turn out to be a super-kind mid-twenties married couple with matching ultralight packs. Hopefully they are equally relieved so see my tiny pack as legit-hiker cred (and which they immediately identify as an Atom, and like seriously, there can only be a handful of these in the whole state of Texas, so ya really know your stuff kids). If this is a murder plot, it is the ultralight hiker nerdiest version of Clue ever: “Pa’lante fan with the Deuce of Spades on the Dodosn trail.”

We chat a bit about our gear, the Pacific Northwest where we all have family, and who has been to Big Bend before (none of us) and other pleasantries that seemed required, no matter the hour, before passing out in a near stranger’s car. I text home to report “super nice people, no weird vibes” and try to get some sleep. Which does not happen so I do work emails until we stop for gas at what turns out to be a 24hour Czech bakery. I wander in a daze past bakery cases overloaded with fresh pastries before locating the restrooms behind a freezer-wall packed with massive sausages, so deliciously kitsch with a side of uncanny.

In Austin, just after dawn, we pick up Matthew, a 20-year old college student and walking encyclopedia of technical gear knowledge, who adds the tinniest pack yet to the pile. Rolling hills of juniper flattening into scrubby plains in shades of greige, and into the wilds of West Texas we go where I accidentally order beef at Burrito Express. But when in West Texas, right?

The landscape starts to look all Death Valley, and we arrive at the park entry – a lonely booth in an expansive desert dotted with scraggles of spikey plants whose tall withered stalks are the only hint of wetter seasons past. Finally, almost an hour later, we arrive at the visitor center where we make last minute gear decisions waiting for the other car to arrive. Johanna decides to wear her Bedrock sandals; Jared to leave the puffy jacket in the car (though I gently remind him it could very well be in the low 30s at night). I toss two small oranges in my pack, stick with my original plan of carrying out a scant 3 liters of water (I have capacity for four as well as recent reports confirm running water at Boots and Juniper springs, and that Fresno Creek is streaming right across the trail).

It’s nearing 3pm and the others underestimated the grand distance between the entry and the visitor’s center, so I head to the permit office to gather some intel. Which turns into the most hilarious conversation I’ve ever had with a ranger:

ME:  Hi, I’m part of a group planning to hike the Outer Mountain Loop?
Ranger: Did you know that trail is ALMOST THIRTY MILES!!!!??
ME: Um, yes. So, which sites are still available?
Ranger: Can your group fit in three tents?
ME: Um… we have tarps?
Ranger: WHAT ABOUT THE TARANTULAS!!!!???
ME: We can fit in three tents.
Ranger: I’m assuming this is for tomorrow?
ME: We are hoping to hike in a few miles tonight.
Ranger: Do you know what time the SUN SETS???!!!
ME: 6pm?

And on it goes, until I get the permits booked (pro-tip: have the license plate number + car make/color at the ready), and the others arrive just in time for the official ranger spiel, where we are instructed, in complete seriousness – by a National Park Ranger – to be sure we “sleep with our food!!!” (in the lowland portion only, be sure to use bear boxes in the Chisos, friends). To be fair, the grilling was a job being done properly by someone with experience in a park where multiple people have died this year on the very trail we would be hiking. So be kind, and play along.

Permit secured, we drive over to Homer Wilson Ranch to cache water in a bear box provided for exactly this purpose. We’ll hike past here in two days, and the cache will save us from what would otherwise be a massive water carry, even in this “wet” season.

We weave our way up into the Chisos basin, a kind of mountain island that springs up out of the plains into a rugged high desert home to bears and also a gift shop. We take photos of our tiny packs all in a row and then, finally, head down the trail.

The sun sets behind us, distant ridges turning from brown to orange to blue visible through a massive “window” crack in the basin’s walls. Our group accordions out along the trail, as a new group is wont to do when working out an uphill pace. The moment I decide to keep up with the guys, we power up a bunch of switchbacks and right past our actual campsite (due to a misreading of PI-3 as P-13 oops). Lesson learned.

The warmth has gone with the sun and suddenly it is winter up here above 6,000 feet. I plop my gear down on a flat spot by a tree, quickly down a pot full of soupy beans and kale so very thankful for my stove, and jump into bed with hands so cold cowboy camping seems much more reasonable than fumbling with a tent in front of a crowd. But also, the stars. How had I forgotten about the stars?