By George J. Altgelt

I have been on many a walkabout, but never on one like this. As far as I am concerned, you have not seen Texas until you have walked along the Southern Rim of the Chisos Mountains in Big Bend National Park and watched the sun fall off the side of creation. I recently undertook a two-day, overnight solo backpacking trip into the Chisos.
I write this story on the eve of another trek into the same Big Bend country to retrace my steps through the mountain trails. I am leaving at the break of dawn back into the part of Texas that is still almost as wild and pristine as when God first created it. I seldom like to do the same thing twice, but the Chisos Mountains keep calling me back.
Big Bend is the largest tract of publicly owned land in Texas. Encompassing over 1,200 square miles of the Chihuahuan Desert, Big Bend is a land of extremes. The hot and dry desert floor gives way to lush, green mountainous areas of considerably cooler temperatures. The desert floor receives less than 10 inches of rainfall per year and the mountainous regions approximately 18 inches. The Bend receives 80% of its yearly rainfall between June and August. The mountainous areas are called sky islands; their higher elevations attract more moisture and therefore more plant life, including lush grasses, piñon (pine), juniper, oak cloaks, and the Texas Madrone. An increased bounty of vegetation supports a greater wildlife population. Mountain lion, Mexican black bear, mule deer, and ring tail cats are but a few of the over 70 species of mammals that call the Big Bend's ecosystem home, along with almost as many species of reptiles and amphibians, 40 or more species of fish, and a large variety of insects and arthropods. Big Bend is one of the best birding locations in the United States with more than 450 different species identified within the park. Only about a hundred of those are residents, the majority of them only passing through along their migratory routes. It is the park's unique geographical location that makes it such a prime birding location; it is where the north meets the south.

I met a hiker along the way who said that he had wanted to come to Big Bend all of his life. He had been to the Tetons, he had seen Yellowstone, and had traversed Glacier, but had never been to the Bend. I asked him how this park compared to the other national treasures he had enjoyed. This non-Texan said that Glacier was his first choice, but that Big Bend was a close second. I asked what was his criteria for ranking the parks, and he said that it was the amount of biodiversity and the manner in which the parks had been managed. I couldn't agree with him more about Big Bend National Park, which was created in 1944 by the U.S. Department of the Interior and has been managed with the two-fold purpose of "preserving and protecting the natural and historic values" of the landscape. The conversation with this traveler ended with "go with God," and with God I went.

As all solo hikers should do I checked in with the Ranger's station at the Basin, acquired my backcountry pass, and then departed roughly around noon. My destination was the South Rim, campsite SW-4, a climb of approximately 5.5 miles. With 60 pounds of water and gear on my back, I was about four hours away from camp. I would have made better time had I not stopped so often to take photos, but I could not resist the sight of the Mexican jays, the spotted towhees (mountanus), the call of the canyon wren, and the flight of the hummingbirds. The eye pleasing panorama slowed me considerably. There are two ways to get to the South Rim -- by Pinnacles Trail or the Laguna Meadow Trail. Both have an elevation gain of 1,875 feet from the basin; however, the Laguna Meadow trail is much more gradual with far fewer switchbacks, so that was the route that I chose. I made it to the South Rim with time to spare and set up camp and prepared my evening meal. Once KP duties were completed and everything properly stored in the bear-proof box, I left camp for a short 100-yard hike to the edge of creation, the South Rim. I was instantly greeted by two mule deer -- their horns in velvet -- who looked up in a pause from their grazing to acknowledge my presence and then continue their supper. I found a seat and then proceeded to watch the evening's events with my feet hanging 2,500 feet over the desert floor.
Along the backside of the Chisos Mountains is the South Rim, the crown jewel of Big Bend. From the South Rim you can see the Río Grande (almost a vertical mile below and approximately 20 miles away), a shiny sliver of silver glis- -tening and winding along the desert floor. The Sierra del Carmen mountain range on the other side of the river is the breathtaking backdrop for this mixed scenery of Chihuahuan desert that is traversed by volcanic dikes, igneous formations, and the relentless erosion evidenced in the green belts that crisscross the desert basin and the imagination long thereafter. As I read in Big Bend: the Official National Park Handbook, this amazing vista begins with the "undulating foothills that fling themselves like breakers against the sheer rock cliffs," and extends as far as the eye can see. On a good day, such as the day I was witness to, the visibility was about 50 miles. Unfortunately, good visibility at the Bend is disappearing as a result of emissions spewed from American and other foreign corporations operating maquilas in Mexico's un-enforced environmental business climate. Fourteen-mile visibility is now a common atmospheric factor in the panorama of the Bend, whereas prior to NAFTA, it was unheard of. Fortunately for me it had just rained the day before, and the visibility was exceptional. The wet basin of the Chisos Mountains smelled of the perfume of pine and juniper. The wind crashing into the sheer rock of the South Rim carried with it the smell of the damp desert floor, and that, combined with the pine smell of the mountains was intoxicating. Coupled with the vista, it was inebriating.
The sunset before me was spun in a spiritual and fiery light, a light so fiercely orange that it altered the hues of the mountains and the desert into an almost Martian red landscape. Mountains cast shadows upon other mountains that soon were disappearing into a darkness that was quickly gaining momentum on the other side of the horizon. I watched the sun disappear behind a distant thunderstorm, and just as soon as it tucked beneath the Earth, the cool night mountain air was upon me -- so cold that I had to put on my weather shell and attach my convertible pants to my shorts. As if God himself had modified the weather with the flick of a switch, I was getting quite cold, my thermometer indicating 66°.
I was in bed right about the time the evening star made her nightly debut. Tuckered out from the days events, I drifted off to sleep in a state of prayer, pledging to God my service in whatever capacity he might need me in exchange for the health and safety of my wife and family -- one of the few ways a man can bridge the great distance between those that mean so much to him and the remoteness of the Bend.
I awoke several times throughout the night to the sounds of at least a handful of those 70 or so mammals that roam the park. I awoke early that morning, fixing my eyes and my soul to the place where I saw the sun go down in order to catch the sun coming up. The sunrise over the mountaintop was a feast for the eyes and the heart, but it was the light that it cast upon the landscape and the moisture suspended in the atmosphere that was incredible [cover photo].
After I made breakfast and broke camp I proceeded along my trip up the rim. My visibility was impeded as a result of the cloud tops that were colliding into the cliffs of the South Rim. Like a teakettle blowing steam, the clouds, still carrying the scent of moist desert air, encapsulated me. Like breath from an angel, I was kissed from head to toe in the same water vapor that provides part of the lifeblood to this area.
It was as if I was walking through the Garden of Eden -- mule deer did not run from me, birds flew from their perches to greet me. A Mexican jay actually sat down next to me and then flew to a branch right above me. Two pairs of peregrine falcons circled above so closely I could hear the flapping of their wings and I could see that their eyes are as solid black as the backside of the moon. With the sun tucked away under a dense blanket of clouds, hummingbirds flitted everywhere. The recent rains had provoked everything capable of producing a flower to bloom, and the hummers were not wasting a moment's time in drinking from their cups of nectar. Their constant chatter and comical chasing could not be ignored. One interesting thing about hummingbirds that I had never seen was that they would chase each other right off the sides of these cliffs, diving straight down until they completely disappeared from sight, only to shoot right back up like fighter jets in a dog fight. I witnessed the sight of thousands of ladybugs colonizing on prickly pear cactus and on the tips of lechugilla plants. This is the second time that I have seen this; the first time was on the top of Texas at Guadalupe National Park, where thousands of ladybugs covered the trunks of scrub brush at the very tip of Guadalupe Peak. If you look closely at the accompanying zoomed-in photo you can see that they are piggy-backed and will probably return to the same spot year after year.
As I walked along Boot Canyon, a blue-throated hummingbird flashed its bright blue chest at me as it bathed in the spring water. I paused for a moment to photograph the creature, which seemed oblivious to my presence. Once out of the canyon I passed Boot Rock [see photo] and then made my quick descent back to base camp.
When I ponder the vastness of our universe and my limited understanding of it, I cannot help but wonder "why," to the best of our common knowledge, was this diamond in the rough, this blue rock, created and then delivered to us for our use, enjoyment, and stewardship. The Book of Genesis expressly uses the word "stewardship" as a term of caring and not a word to be confused with the current en vogue practice of exploitation. The other "why" I pondered is why are we not taking better care of our only home, the planet Earth.
Despite budget cuts and our country's current administration's desire to sell off or consume every last natural resource, Big Bend is still a fine example of how some places are still so remote that progress will have to wait. God bless the fine men and women of the national park service who fight in more ways than are recognized to keep our national treasures wild, clean, and accessible.
My trek to the Rim was spent in almost a constant state of prayer and meditation. I reflected deeply on the convictions of my heart and my willingness to apply my study of the law to the common good. I was grateful for my safe passage and physical ability to make the trip. I counted my many blessings and at the top of the list is the woman who rests beside me as I write the lines of this story, my wife Rosy, who over the years has helped transform an unruly boy into a dedicated husband, a patriotic citizen, and a disciple of justice.
Big Bend serves as a reminder to all of those who have ever walked into her wilderness or gazed at her broad and varied landscape that we are blessed to live in Texas.

(George J. Altgelt is a second year student at St. Mary's University School of Law.)