Lost in Alaska: Orbiting the Chisos Mountains

The Chisos Mountains are the candelabra of the Chihuahuan Desert. Emerging from the center of Big Bend, the Chisos are the only mountain range in the U.S. to be contained entirely within a national park boundary.

From Terlingua, the nearest town situated outside the west gate of the park, the mountains frequently look like a shadow, a hazy apparition. Distinct peaks and ridges of varying height adding shape to the specter. When the sun hangs high they're like the shiny surface of a lake you could skip a stone off of. But from within, they are rugged mountains containing desert flora that changes with elevation. They are inhabited by dozens of different types of fauna adapted for desert life from 4000 feet to the top of Emery Peak, the pinnacle of the park, at 7832 feet.

After stopping at the Panther Junction visitor center to apply for our backcountry use permit and reserve the two campgrounds we'd need, we started our hike from the Chisos Basin trailhead. A complete circumnavigation of the mountains is possible by connecting a series of trails to make a loop approximately thirty miles long.

The Pinnacles Trail climbs almost immediately from the parking lot in a series of switchbacks through scrub, forest, and meadow-like grassy fields. With each bend in the trail or opening in the trees, bluffs and crags jut at the skyline. The park brochures describe this hike as strenuous. There is a significant amount of climbing in the first five miles, especially if you take the side trail and go for the summit of Emery Peak. Trails on the north side of the Chisos see a lot of action from the lodge and visitor center at Chisos Basin.

The first night we camped at Juniper Canyon. This was a designated campsite with signage to show specifically where to pitch our tent. There was only room for one hiking party and we had to reserve this site ahead of time. The site came equipped with a bear-proof container. This campsite, as the name implies, is buried in a dense grove of evergreens. That night, while journaling in the tent, we heard a loud commotion maybe less than a hundred feet away. I shined my headlamp into the dark forest and spotted a set of eyes looking back at me. A sierra del carmen white-tailed deer came walking through, an ungulate only found in the Chisos. While tracking the deer with the beam of light I heard the snort of a hog and discovered the deer being followed by a javalina--a piglike animal, actually more closely related to the hippopotamus, also called the collared peccary, weighting around 65lbs. It seemed we'd camped in a popular area. The deer flanked back around a few minutes later, but otherwise all we heard the rest of the night was the wind, blowing through these upper elevations like a rushing creek, in an otherwise dry desert.

From our first campsite the trail descends gradually over about six miles, down Juniper Canyon, cutting through the southern rim of the central Chisos mountains. At lower elevations the terrain is no longer forested and varies from waist-high shrub and grass to ankle-high scrub that rubs and cuts and abrades as you brush up against it, leaving prickers in your socks.

The Juniper Canyon Trail reaches a three-way junction with the Dodson Trail and the Glenn Spring Road. There is a large storage container here, which a lot of people use to pre-position water. We opted not to make the long drive around and were told by rangers we could likely find water in a spring at Fresno Creek. But in the desert this could be a gamble.

As we walked the Dodson Trail I wished I had a horse or mule. Twice in my life I've ridden a horse and twice was given a beast of an animal that hated me. Still, I wished I had a horse because the Dodson Trail continuously climbs and descends and meanders through dozens of dry arroyos, over short ridges then back down rocky draws. We were crossing through the foothills of the Chisos.

The trail becomes more primitive than Juniper Canyon and the Pinnacles, and we had to watch closely for the pink and red and brown rock cairns marking the way. In some of the arroyos it appeared as if the trail went off in multiple directions. Ocotillo and various kinds of paddle cactus grew everywhere. I looked for rattlesnake but saw only holes in the gravely soil. I imagined dozens of them sleeping in dens a few feet away, beneath the larger boulders.

After the junction with Elephant Tusk Trail we arrived at a vista looking due west out over Goat Mountain, Burro Mesa, and the Ross Maxwell Scenic Drive. Homer Wilson Ranch was down there too. It was a couple hours before sunset. The walking was easy for us, downhill. Traveling uphill, in the opposite direction, we passed an elderly hiker with two middle aged men. I guessed the oldest man to be in his mid-70's. His left hand was damp with blood. Maybe he brushed against something sharp along the trail. Out here, everything was sharp. His partners each carried two, one-gallon milk jugs full of water. Their gear was several generations old. Canvas packs with aluminum framed exoskeletons. They didn't carry anything that appeared lightweight or nylon. Their clothing wasn't breathable or quick drying. They were all huffing and puffing and as common trail courtesy for climbing hikers, Gretchen and I stepped to the side and let them pass. For a moment, we became one party and enjoyed the vista. We chatted briefly about the trail conditions and the comfortable, mild-December temperatures. They described having a few more miles to hike and planned to camp somewhere in the first wash near Smoky Creek. I wished them a Merry Christmas and we all continued hiking our paths. I thought about the blood drying on the man's hands and I thought about it being there for days, him unwilling to waste the water. I thought about his health and I thought about dying in the desert, alone, because I wouldn't want to inconvenience others.

We camped the second night in a sandy creek bed within eyesight of a stone building at the ranch. There were at least three other parties sleeping out in this zone and tents can be pitched anywhere as long as they're out of sight of the trail.We heard some chatter after sunset, but backpackers usually go to bed early.

The third morning, our last day on the Outer Mountain Loop, we hiked up Blue Creek Canyon. I didn't take many photographs. It was chilly and we walked to keep warm. I wore a fleece cap and kept my hands in my pockets. The trail reminded me of a canyon outlaws would use for cover and escape, concealing themselves behind gendarmes and short buttresses of red volcanic tuff. In the upper reaches of the canyon the trail rose steeply again. Ocotillo grew thinner at higher elevations, then not at all. Though the pines were stunted, we were back in the forest and made several switchbacks before cresting a saddle and reaching Laguna Meadows beneath Emery Peak. On the western flanks of the blocky mountain we found frequently traveled trails and made quick time. The inner loop around Emery Peak and the Chisos would be a good day hike. In fact, the trail became a lot busier than we'd seen the previous days. Hikers carried small packs. Children skipped along. There are even restrooms at one of the designated backcountry camp sites.

Just a couple miles from the parking lot I heard a rustling uphill from the trail. I saw a dark impression moving from limb to limb, but it was mostly obscured by brush. I tried to track its movement, but eventually what I thought was a bobcat disappeared from sight.