Natural Bridge Caverns Trail Run: Race #2

Jaunty. Months ago, right after I had recommitted to running a half-marathon trail race, a conversation with my long-distance running buddy led to the discovery of a race that began in a cave right here in Texas. For the adventurous spirit inside me it was a siren call too enchanting to resist, and I had signed up for it almost before I knew it. Of course, the fact that it was one week after my 54k (which happened to be my first race ever) was something that slipped by me in my enthusiasm. Would I still have signed up for both anyway? Yeah, probably. Would I have at least stopped to consider if that was a good idea? Meh, maybe. The thing is, I had been toying with the idea of running one race per month in 2020, and the 54k was in January, and the half-marathon cave run was in February, and we all know those are two different months. Realizing they were a week apart didn't dampen my excitement; if anything, attempting two races basically back to back was a challenge I was determined to overcome.

It was with no small amount of anticipation that Julia and I found ourselves in the wild country north of San Antonio at the beginning of February as we followed our fellow runners, descending single-file into a hole in the earth. We trailed along, strung out on the path as we turned our heads this way and that, trying to take in as many cave formations as possible. They began runners one at a time due to the cramped quarters, and we had a few minutes stopped in a small tunnel to chat and take in the fact that we were about to run a race through a cave. Julia and I made sure to take a picture together as we waited for our turn to begin, our excitement at this novel experience palpable.

Then it was our turn! Julia went first, for the sole purpose of me getting a picture of her beginning the race. I hadn't carried my phone for my last race, and I ended up regretting it because I would have loved more pictures. I learned this time around, and although it wasn't ideal to hold my phone in my hand the whole time I absolutely had easy access to take any picture I wanted! And yeah, I took a ton (it's me, come on). Most of my pictures I took while on the move, but there were several places where the formations or the scenery prompted me to stop in my tracks as I drank in everything around me. I absolutely squeaked with overwhelming excitement and joy after I was allowed to begin, running to catch up with Julia so we could experience this together. We ran past stalactites and stalagmites, past smooth flow-stone and fragile straws, along deep pits, and finally up steep switchbacks as we neared ground-level.

The transition from cave to sunrise air was shocking enough to prompt exclamations out of both of us; the caves in south Texas generally stay a consistent 70 degrees Fahrenheit, but a late winter Texan morning hovers right around 40. The difference was enough to see the condensation forming in the air in front of us through the doors at the surface, and as we passed through it we felt the drop in our bones. It didn't take long to forget about it, though, as we turned a corner and ran into the sunrise.

From the cave, the course looped through a great example of south-central Texas hill country, known for its rolling hills, little canyons, rocky trails, and (in the springtime) its wildflowers. We were a few weeks too early for flowers, unfortunately, but the crooked oak trees and little pastures more than made up for it. We ran up and down hills, along a dry creek bed, through tunnels of trees just waiting to burst into bloom, and across pastures that were already a green spring carpet beneath our feet. We had one major descent (not counting the cave) and I was able to let go and allow gravity to take the wheel. I've found I absolutely adore downhill running; I somehow know exactly how to place my feet to keep my legs under me, how to angle my body so I don't face-plant and skid in the dirt, and when I give it my all I feel like I'm flying. Of course, we went down so eventually had to go up, and I am significantly less adept at that. I power walk to the best of my ability, but holy cow do I suffer for it.

Even with a bit of walking, stopping to take pictures, and a near-constant flow of conversation, Julia and I managed to keep a steady pace throughout the 13.1 miles. As soon as we hit the pavement that signaled we were close to the finish line Julia asked how far I thought we had left to go, and I knew that was her way of asking if we could have it all out in the last few steps of the race. We saved it until we could see the bright red finish line arch at the bottom of a hill, next to the cave entrance where we had begun our race. Once we did, we sprinted, a giant grin on my face as I reflected that this was my first official half-marathon, that I had finished, that I had done it a week after an ultra-marathon, and that I felt like a million bucks even at the end of the run. Julia crossed the finish line less than four seconds before I did, and after catching our breath we set out to grab our finisher medals and snag some food as we came down from the exhilaration of finishing.

I absolutely did not take this race seriously. I was still somewhat recovering from my ultra-marathon (stupid knee) and I had plenty of time to complete the run, the course began in a cave then looped around a bit of privately-owned Texas hill country which meant there was plenty of scenery to gawk at, and I was running with one of my best friends whom I was determined to chat with the whole time. Despite my irreverence I somehow pulled off my best pace yet for that distance (asphalt and trail running combined!), finishing the half-marathon in under two and a half hours. Far from punishing my body with a bad race, running two races a week apart seemed to work out perfectly well for me, and I'd be lying if I said I'm not curious (or ambitious, or perhaps crazy) enough to try it again. I've got a bit of a break before my next race - I'm signed up for two more at the time of publishing - but I have every intention of hitting the trails between now and then just for fun, as well as a couple of non-running adventures planned. I have to say, it is certainly good to be back.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Close Encounters of the Armadillo Kind

A get away to South Llano River State Park in southwest Texas came with a cute little visitor in the form of a curious armadillo. I hadn't been at camp long after hiking a mile and a half from the trailhead to one of the five primitive sites in the park, and had thrown my gear all over the place as I set up for the night. One second I had my back to my picnic table, the next I turned around and found myself five feet from an armadillo who had come to investigate my stuff. Of course, I reached for my camera and managed to snap a few pictures of my visitor before it wandered off into the bushes, but I could hear it rustling around my camp for the rest of the night, and when I woke up in the morning there were freshly dug holes all around my tent. I hope it had a successful foraging night!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: A Siren Song

The pups and I came across this little spring tucked deep back in the trail network of Lost Maples Natural Area and we couldn't pass up the chance to soothe our tired paws. We hadn't left camp long before, but already we were footsore and panting from the mid-morning heat. The spring seeped from a little ledge, dripping down into a pool and filtering through the rocks under our feet to join with the seasonal river that carved the canyons and hills around us. Hill Country, especially the area closer to the arid deserts of west and south Texas, is a wild place that calls to me whenever I tire of the oppressive humidity of the piney woods that I call home. I haven't been back to the hills since my visit to Lost Maples, what with the holidays, buying a house, moving, and settling in (ya know, life) but I'm about ready to end my hiatus and head back. I need to get back on the road and get lost somewhere beautiful, if only for a weekend; I feel my well-being deteriorating the longer I stay in one place. This spring just might be calling my name, a siren song that is growing harder and harder for me to resist.

Getting Out of Lost Maples

Frazzled. I woke up in the backcountry at Lost Maples State Natural Area to Ghost standing over me, hackles raised, eyes fixed on some point outside our tent over my head, a low rumbling growl issuing from his chest. Pre-dawn diffused light filtered through the mesh upper three quarters of my tent, where I had left the rain fly off and had pretty much slept in the open. I don't think even the crickets were chirrping, but I wasn't focused on them; I went from dead asleep to wide awake in a matter of seconds, as soon as Ghost started growling. I sat up quickly, jostling Callie still snuggled in my sleeping bag and banging into Ghost because he was still standing over me, peering through the dim light into the forest around us. I caught a glimpse of something big and whitish, or maybe light tan, as it scampered away into the trees. We could hear the snapping of branches as it crashed away through the underbrush, and Ghost didn't stop growling until silence returned to our part of the forest.

At that point I was pretty much ready for the day, and slowly made my way out of the tent, still sore from hiking the day before. The dogs followed, staying close by my side as I moved around camp getting things torn down and ready to hike out. Coyotes howled somewhere in the hills, their direction impossible to discern due to the echoing canyons surrounding us. Before the sun had reached our side of the little valley we had camped in, we were on our way. Our trail followed a lush, green canyon that held on to the mists of the night before, this time of year laced with the yellows and reds of early autumn. We didn't hike fast, instead enjoying the morning stillness as we passed through.

After a spring, where Callie swam and Ghost waded, and a series of stream crossings, we came to our last steep uphill portion of the trail around the same time the sun was gaining height and heat in the sky above. The climb up was brutal; no shade, loose rocks that shifted underfoot with every step, and no clear "easy" way up. We just had to go for it. All three of us were panting as we reached the top and stopped at a bench that was clearly placed for our use. In the haze of exhaustion I didn't notice the ant hill near the bench, where Callie had decided to lay down. It wasn't good. Within seconds she was covered in giant ants with huge mandibles, crying and whining as she hopped from foot to foot, shaking her paws in an attempt to get them off. Her panic caused Ghost to panic, though he wasn't in the ants, and he tried to take off running and choked himself when the leash stopped him. I had swung Callie up into the air, away from the horde of ants now rising from the earth, and was swiping the little demons away from her paws and legs as fast as I could while almost losing my balance as Ghost tried to bolt.

I cradled Callie in my arms like a baby, trying to assess the damage the ants had done. Her paws were already swollen and hot to the touch, with raw spots and little cuts covering most of her pads. There was no way she could walk on them, and I wasn't about to make her, but we still had about three miles before we hit the trailhead and my car. I slung her over my shoulders and went to check on Ghost. Somehow he had managed to stay clear of the ants, or else they hadn't gotten him as bad, and he didn't complain as I checked out his paws. He seemed fine to me, and when we set out again, Callie still over my shoulders, Ghost walked with his usually peppy puppy self.

Those three miles were some of the longest I've ever hiked. I had to keep shifting Callie from shoulder to shoulder, to cradling her in my arms, to letting her rest on top of my pack. It was slow going, and as we started to near the trailhead and the dayhikers began filtering onto the trail I got a lot of weird looks and some offers of help. It was with a lot of relief when we finally hit the cement and spotted our car. I lay Callie on the front seat before doing anything else and she immediately began licking her poor paws. I left her to it and got my gear and Ghost settled in, before slamming my car door and blasting the A/C. Lost Maples had been pretty, and I would love to go back someday, but for the time being I was more than happy to leave. It had been an interesting trip, no doubt about that.

Is Two A Crowd?

Irked. When backpacking, it is very rare if things go the way you expect. You can have the most well-laid plans and they can all go to shit in the blink of an eye through no fault of your own, or all because of a decision you made. I had been itching to get out and backpack again in the middle of September, so one weekend I threw my gear in my car, grabbed Callie and Ghost, and hit the road. My destination was Lost Maples State Natural Area, deep within the Texas Hill Country and far enough south-west to be borderline desert. I had heard of Lost Maples before and had it on my list (literally) of places to visit, but hadn't gotten around to it yet. I figured the beginning of autumn would be a great time to visit a place with maple trees.

The roads to Lost Maples will have to be left to another post, but I absolutely loved them. So scenic, taking you between hill tops and down into river valley bottoms only to bring you right back up to far-reaching vistas. They were great! And once I reached Lost Maples, tucked way back in the hill country well out of cell phone signal, I couldn't wait to start walking trails like the roads I had just left. I picked up my permit, drove to the trailhead, and prepared for an overnight in the backcountry.

Now, remember, I had never taken Ghost backpacking before. We'd camped once, and hiked a little, but he had no experience with my full backpacking routine, or my gear. He was terrified of my trekking poles at first, though eventually he figured out he needed to walk on one side of me, not in front, and he would avoid them all together. Callie, I had expected to fall right back into the swing of routine, with her as seasoned as she is as my backpacking partner. What I had not expected were the issues I had with her right from the start. It was like she had forgotten how to walk on a leash; she was all over the trail, lagging behind then running ahead, weaving back and forth, tangling her leash with Ghost's and tripping me up at the same time. I couldn't help but get frustrated, wondering if she had lost her mind with the addition of the puppy.

The hike to our campsite for the night wasn't a fun one. I struggled with both dogs, trying to juggle them and my heavy pack overloaded with water and dog food in addition to my own gear. When we finally staggered into camp I tied the dogs off to a tree and sat on a rock, staring into space while rethinking my plan to backpack. Eventually my stubbornness won and I set about making camp, but I didn't spend a whole lot of time moving; all I wanted to do was sit down and read and forget about the day's hike.

As the afternoon melted into evening and the temperature dropped enough to allow me to not sweat while sitting still, Callie, Ghost, and I hung out around camp, watching the last light on the hills above us disappear. The air was so still, without a breeze to stir it or even an airplane high above, that we could hear the whirring of feathers as raven wings beat the evening sky on the way to their roosts. It was perfectly quiet, with only the crickets and night birds beginning their nightly serenades. When it was no longer possible to read without a headlamp we crawled into the tent and settled down with some semblance of normality. Callie came and snuggled up next to me in the sleeping bag and Ghost lay near my head, both of them immediately drifting off to sleep. At least they hadn't forgotten how to do that. I kept reminding myself "tomorrow is a new day" and began looking forward to finishing our loop hike, perhaps with a chance for the dogs to swim a little bit before we made it back to the car. With those final comforting thoughts I turned off my light and let the night take me away.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: A Dark Sky Park

Living in a city, and a city in East Texas at that, I tend to not see much of the night sky. Either there are too many lights, or the trees in the surrounding piney woods block out the moon and stars. With that in mind, when I found out South Llano River State Park had just been designated an International Dark Sky Park I knew I needed to check it out. My night in the backcountry of the park was dark and peaceful, but I only did a little stargazing right after the sun set, before I fell into the kind of deep sleep I can only get after hiking all day then snuggling up in my sleeping bag. I wasn't awake until the early hours of teh morning, but I slept beautifully!

Leave me a comment below and tell me about a Dark Sky Park you've visited. Did you see the Milky Way?

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Purple Ditches

Spring in Texas is beautiful (and early compared to Nebraska!) but specifically Spring in the Hill Country of central Texas blows me away. On my recent adventure in the hills my drive was lined with purple and red for hours. Bluebonnets and Indian Paintbrushes filled the ditches and lined every road, making the predominate color along the road purple. It was awesome! I stopped my car on the shoulder near a particularly thick patch of wildflowers and hopped out to take some pictures. I love Spring!

Leave me a comment below and tell me if you've ever seen the bluebonnet bloom in person?

What Do I Do When I Backpack?

Thoughtful. A lot of people I talk to about my travels all seem to have the same impression of my backpacking trips: I hike and hike and hike for miles until the sun sets and I pitch my tent where I stand. Fortunately for me, it's not quite like that. There has only been one overnight where we hiked until the sun went down and set up in the dark (sorry, Torrey!) and that was only because we had to wait for thunderstorms to clear off before we set out, and it was close to sunset when we started anyway.

The reality is, I've usually got a lot of down-time. On my backpacking adventure at South Llano River State Park, for example, yes Callie and I hiked for a few hours before heading to our campsite, but we still had several hours before sunset once we got there. What to do with that time? I always bring something to read, no matter where I go. It could be a magazine, or a novel, or a guide book, or maybe even a publication about the particular park I happen to be at. It could be anything.

I also always bring something to write in. I journal about all of my travels, so my journal is always in a pocket of my pack. I also tend to write my blog posts while on a trip, so I bring a notebook and at least two pens as well. This post is being hand written while sitting at a backcountry site in Copper Breaks State Park, and when I  go home I'll type it out (obviously) and post later. I used to write a lot of fiction as well, but I've focused more on my journaling lately. Occasionally I'll write a few lines of a story or poetry, but that doesn't happen often.

Of course, there's the simple fact that I'm out in nature and love photography, so I always take a ton of pictures. I'll come back from a weekend trip with a couple hundred photos to sort through. If Callie went with me, the majority of the pictures feature her. If not, you'll probably see mostly landscape vistas with a few selections of the local wildlife thrown in. If I have a human companion, they feature heavily in pictures too!

With the risk of sounding like a hipster hippy I have to admit that I really like just watching and listening to what is going on around me. Even while writing I catch myself looking up at a rustle of grass or the sway of a branch and just get lost in what my senses are telling me. I especially love the noises right as the sun dies, when the coyotes start to yip and howl and the night birds wake up to sing their songs. Crickets lull me to sleep, as does the breeze whispering through the trees. If I'm on the beach, I match my breathing to the rhythmic beat of the waves. The further removed from other people, the deeper I am in the backcountry, the louder the noises of nature become and the more I hear them.

I love watching the little birds flit between brances as they twitter away at each other. Following the squirrels as they bounce among the trees is a favorite pasttime. Tracking movements in the grasses as something scurries around always intrigues me, though I know if I were to get close enough to investigate, whatever was rustling around would be long gone. I got lucky at South Llano River State Park and observed an armadillo rooting around in the vegetation not far beyond my campsite, as I sat there watching the world go by, and a little hummingbird hovered in front of me, checking to see if I was a tasty treat before moving on.

Unless I stay up to see the stars, I go to bed with the sun and sleep soundly through the night. Night noises don't bother me, and I only sleep fitfully if there's a chance of rain and my fly is off. I wake up as the sky begins to brighten, enjoying the stillness that comes with dawn. Really though, dawn is still. Not quite silent, night birds are bedding down and day birds are waking up, but things just seem more muted at dawn. Even the sea breeze slows, though never goes away.

So what do I do when I backpack? I read, I write. I'll talk to my companion if I have one of course, but the people I travel with inherently know we're out there to enjoy just being present. Photography is a must, and so is watching the world around us. Taking it all in and just being there is what it's all about.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Bird Blinds

South Llano River State Park, deep in the heart of Texas Hill Country, is well known for its bird populations. Many birds, including the endangered Golden-Cheeked Warbler, call the hills and canyons near the river home, and the park does an excellent job keeping the birds in the spotlight. Numbered bird-watching blinds dot every trail, even way back out in the less-used parts of the park, and its up to luck and time of day to decide what birds you might see if you sit still and quiet enough. I was with Callie on my visit, and it was too much much to expect her to sit still long enough to possibly see rare and elusive birds; sure, she'd sit still while she cooled down, but once she recovered she would want to hit the trail again! Maybe next time I'll go back without her and see whatever I can see.

Leave me a comment below and tell me, are you a birder? Do you like birdwatching?

A Snapshot and The Scoop: The Overlook

Callie and I stood at the edge of the bluff, the South Llano River valley spread out below our feet. Thee hike here was short but incredibly steep, though there were plenty of shady spots to stop and catch our breath. Of course, knowing me, something had to go wrong on the shortest hike of the trip, and about halfway there I felt the telltale signs of an impending bloody nose. I stopped, dropped my pack, and blindly groped for my pack of tissues while keeping a hand to the bridge of my nose. I plopped down on the trail to wait it out, internally grateful no one was there to see it.

Leave me a comment below and tell me about the worst thing that's happened to you on a super-short trail. Help me feel a little less alone here!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Little Lizards!

I am so excited it's Spring! Spring means wildflowers, warmer temperatures, and the return of lizards! Ever since being introduced to wild lizards in the deserts of the Southwest as a child I've always had a fascination with them. I even have a lizard tattoo! This little guy was basking on the pavement not too far away from Callie and I, and only ran away after I had my fill of pictures. Look at how well he blends in to the rocks! Thanks little dude!

Leave me a comment below and tell me about your favorite part of Spring!

An Unnecessarily Loaded Pack

Tenacious. I need to train, I need to train, I need to train . . . The mantra going through my head as I put one foot in front of the other, bowing slightly under the unnecessary fully loaded backpack while walking unnecessary miles to my campsite for the night didn't make me feel better, but it kept me going. Callie and I had escaped to the Texas Hill Country in the middle of March, spring in Central Texas, and had spent the day getting to know South Llano River State Park. We had geared up for a backpacking trip, walking just over a mile and a half to the primitive camping sites in the middle of the park.

At least, it would have only been a mile and a half if I hadn't taken the scenic route. My reasoning had multiple purposes: see as much of the park as possible in the limited time available, take everything with because the trail loops around past the campsite, and besides, I really do need to train. I have a major backpacking trip coming up in May and it's gonna kick my ass if I don't get used to carrying a loaded pack. So, I need to train, I need to train, I need to train.

Really though, the hike was awesome. Hill Country is gorgeous, and with the spring wildflowers in bloom against the green grass and trees, it's perfect. Callie and I followed the trail around the base of the closest hill, then straightened out as the trail dove through a small canyon lined with oak trees. The trail climbed steeply once, taking us out of the canyon and spitting us out on a hilltop. There was zero shade up there, so I made Callie and I put one foot in front of the other to the rhythm of my mantra, puncturing each word with a step.

Callie was hot and tired, and I was trying not to be. Callie has figured out she can walk in my shadow and therefore be in constant shade, so she migrated around me with my shadow as the trail twisted adn turned. I wished I was as small as her. Finally the trail descended from the hilltop and we found shade and relief at the bottom in another canyon filled with trees. We caught the next leg of trail to our campsite, and I was stepping lighter knowing our walk was about to end for the night.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Morning on the River

The Texas Hill Country is a wonderful little region located in the heart of Texas that hides an amazing assortment of natural beauties, including the Colorado River canyon at Colorado Bend State Park. I spent twenty-four hours at this park, and only saw the river twice. I spent the most time on the bank the morning I left the park, watching the sun rise over the rim of the canyon to illuminate the greenish water of the river. Next time I go to this park I want to do so many things, and near the top of the list is renting a kayak to paddle up and down the river a ways. Anybody want to join me?

A Riverside Stroll

Primed. We finally arrived at South Llano River State Park, and Callie and I were itching to get out of the car. We had just spent six hours driving to the heart of Texas Hill Country, watching as the country side burst into color with the wildflowers that herald the coming of Spring. The ditches and shoulders on our way down had been carpeted with Bluebonnets, Indian Paintbrushes, and daisies so thick that I actually pulled over so I could take pictures. Hello, Texas Spring!

Then it was back in the car with mounting excitement as the state park drew closer. It was going to be a beautiful day and I couldn't wait to get out on a trail again. The first thing we did was drive straight to the river and gear up for a short walk. The trail took us right along the South Llano River, overlooking it in places so we could see it's greenish-blue water, the color I've come to associate with Hill Country waterways.

The trail and the river meander through a wide valley that is lined with bottomland hardwood forests of oaks, elm, and pecan. Buds were already swelling on the branches above us as the lush green grass underfoot gave off the scent of a mown lawn. Prickly Pears dotted the forest as well, though not on the trail as to be a nuisance to hikers.

We saw squirrels and turkeys, as well as other birds too numerous to count. We spooked a herd of whitetail deer and they darted actoss the path in front of us, pausing long enough to stamp their hooves and give disgusted snorts in our direction. A large oxbow lake sits not too far from the river, evidence of a past flood and a change in the flow of the main river. Families with their fishing poles dotted the banks, while other visitors basked in the rays of the spring sun.

Our loop ended all too soon, but it gave us a taste of the South Llano and a note to go back and float part of the river sometime. I want to get out on that water!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Cacti Galore

You all probably know by now that I love the moisture-loving fungi, mushrooms. On the drier side, though, there are the prickly plants known as cacti, and I love them just as much, if not more. Whenever I'm in an arid or semi-arid environment I always keep an eye out for the various cacti of the region, including the little barrel cacti pictured above. I even have a couple of cacti in pots at home, mostly because they're super easy to keep and care for. I especially look for the prickly pear cactus because their fruit is delicious, and whenever I get the chance to go back to the extreme southwest I intend to revisit the national park units named after cacti, Saguaro and Organ Pipe. For now, though, I'm content with seeing whatever is closer to home!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Callie on Things

Whenever I have the opportunity I tend to put Callie on things, whether that's a rock or a log, or something less natural. The dog has incredible balance and can jump better than anything her size, which I credit to her breed and her attitude. If it's something she wants to do, she'll figure out how to do it and nobody is going to stop her! Her proficiency at scrambling has earned her compliments from many hikers whenever they see her skip up a rock slide they had just huffed and puffed to complete, and she often leaves me in the dust only to turn around and wait for me at the top or bottom of whatever obstacle I happen to be having difficulties with. I can't sing her praises loud enough, and I'm surprised more often than I'd like to admit at how perfect she is as my adventure companion. My only wish is that I could take her more places with me!