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 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!

Backpacking Windmill

Undaunted. "Can I take a picture of you and your dog?" There was nobody else on the trail, so she couldn't have been talking to anyone beside me. Also, there was the small detail of Callie slung across my shoulders between the back of my head and the top of my pack, where I had put her at the beginning of the hike. We were on our way to the Windmill backcountry camping area, and just minutes before Callie had gotten into a fight with a cactus, and lost. She had been trying to avoid walking on the rocky trail, prefering to walk right along the edge in the softer grass. Unfortunately for her, a prickly pear cactus lay in her way, and instead of going around it she tried to go through it. Doing so didn't work out too well for her. There was no place for me to sit down to pull the tiny spines out of her legs without getting stuck myself, so I pulled what I could and threw her over my shoulders until we hit camp, about a mile later.

As I was unable to turn my head due to the dog against my neck and the heavy pack strapped to my back, I turned my whole body to see who was talking to me. A girl, probably just beginning her college years, was standing a few feet from me, her phone raised hopefully and a smile on her face. I acquiesced, with the condition that she took a picture of Callie and I with my camera as well. I had to get proof that I was carrying the little white dog so people back at home would believe me! After the photo-op was over, I took my leave, the girl trailing behind me further and further. I was headed to a backcountry campsite, yes, but I knew it would be "crowded." All of the campsites, both established and backcountry, were reserved, and I'd had a difficult time securing one for myself.

I should have known that everybody would be out on a gorgeous weekend, and that a state park so close to two major Texas cities would be booked up. I had stopped at the ranger station first thing when I arrived at the park that morning, hoping to get a backpacking permit near the river. At 10am, though, the ranger informed me that everything was full. I left disappointed, resolving to hike all day then head out of the park to find somewhere close by to camp. I checked back in at the ranger station just before leaving the park on the off chance that someone had cancelled their reservation and totally lucked out, there was a backcountry permit open!

I don't usually like using the word "luck", especially not when it comes to something I've worked to achieve. I am not lucky to have a great job working with animals, I've worked since the age of eleven through volunteering and getting jobs in animal-related fields to reach where I am. I dislike people dismissing years of hard work and ambition as "luck". I am also not lucky to get to travel to the places I go, or do the things I do. I intentionally save my money, negotiate more vacation time, and plan my travels to get the most out of them. Nothing I do comes easy, and certainly not with luck. There are, however, a few rare instances where something happens purely with luck, and I'm not above admitting that. It was straight up lucky that someone had cancelled their backcountry camping permit for the night that I needed one, when I had not had the foresight to reserve a permit myself.

We finally reached the backcountry camping area after what felt like miles, though it was only just over one full mile. I walked through the tents spread out across the top of the hill, looking for a secluded spot where I didn't have to look out of my tent door and see someone else's. The first thing I did was sit down on a clear spot and pluck cactus spines out of my dog. When I had her squared away and resting I set my tent up, rain fly off, and made dinner. We ate as the sun sank below the horizon, and crawled into the tent shortly after. Callie curled up and fell asleep immediately, and I journaled while the stars bloomed overhead and the coyotes yipped across the hills.

Of course, I didn't think about the humidity. Sleeping with the fly off in a tent that is mostly mesh is amazing when it's a clear night and the stars and moon are bright. Unfortunately, though, forgetting about the Texas humidity was a huge mistake. I woke up around 4am to what felt like a spotlight in my eyes, though it was really only the nearly full moon, and when I reached up to pull the hood of my bag over my eyes my had came back soaked. That woke me up properly, and I realized that everything I touched was covered in a fine layer of dew. As there was absolutely nothing I could do about it then, and the inside of my sleeping bag was still dry, I zipped my bag up higher and went back to sleep, resigning to being wet when we headed back to the car.

I was up with the sun, opening my eyes to a clear and still morning in which everything shimmered with dew. There were a few clouds on the horizon, but I didn't pay them any attention as I slowly gathered my gear and started packing. Suddenly, though, a wind blew up out of nowhere, blowing in a fog so dense I couldn't see the trail not even thirty feet away. As it got darker and darker, the early morning seeming to change it's mind and roll back to night, I began to worry about being caught in a thunderstorm with no shelter and started frantically packing my tent and belongings while Callie paced and shivered nearby. Just as quickly as it blew in, though, the wind blew the fog away and by the time I had cleared the ground of my belongings and leashed Callie up to hike out, the sun had broken through and everything sparkled in the dawn. With one last glance around, we hiked out in sunshine.

What I'm listening to: Take Me by Obsidia Feat. CoMa

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Birds of Scavenging

Vultures, or buzzards down here in Texas, can have a pretty morbid reputation as scavengers. I personally think they're fascinating birds, and always enjoy watching them soar in spirals on thermals above the earth, searching for their next meal. There were a pair of vultures perched above a tinaja on my recent hiking adventure in Colorado Bend State Park, and I made sure to point my camera their way for more than a few minutes while they hung around the waterhole. I managed to catch this one right as it took flight, spreading it's enormous wings before it dropped low to a cliff closer to the edge of the water. It was too hot to sit and watch them for as long as I wanted, but I enjoyed the chance I had.

When the Adventure Dog Has Enough of the Adventuring

Concerned. I thought I was prepared for the heat, after all, I would rather be hot than cold at any given time. To my discomfort and slight embarrassment, however, I was not, despite wearing shorts and a tank top, carrying a full gallon of water, and thinking I was good to go. It was mid-February and hiking season in Texas was in full swing when Callie and I took a weekend trip to Colorado Bend State Park, deep within the Hill Country west of Austin. I wanted to hike as much as I physically could while keeping in mind that the sun still goes down early even if it feels like summer. I had no idea it would be so difficult.

We struck out for Gorman Falls, a 70 foot waterfall next to the Colorado River, then proceeded to a series of connecting trails to create a loop that showcases the best views and secrets of the park. It was a clear and sunny day, with the forecast calling for temperatures at or exceeding 90 degrees. In February! My heart was jumping for joy, knowing I was going to get a little bit of summer during the "winter" months down here in Texas. I had filled my pack with lots of water for both the dog and I, plenty of snacks, and my ever-present camera.

Only a couple miles in though, Callie and I were already trying to find a shady spot to rest. I guzzled water, and made sure Callie kept hydrated by tossing kernels of her food into her collapsible bowl of water every time we stopped. After what felt like a hundred miles we made it to the tinaja, a bowl-like depression in the side of a canyon that was created by erosion and seep springs, then filled with rain water to form a clear, plant-filled pool in the parched hills. Unfortuately, it was high-noon and there was next to no shade, so we didn't linger long. Both Callie and I were desperate to find a cooler place to sit.

Pretty soon, we were forced to stop every mile or so, constantly sucking down water and trying to bring our body temperatures down. I've never worried about heatstroke with Callie before, but it became a real concern on this hike. She couldn't stop panting, and though I knew she was drinking water every mile and I kept dumping some on her to help her cool down, I was beside myself. We were miles away from the nearest road, and at our farthest point some five miles away from our car and air conditioning. Resting for more than ten minutes at a time made it harder for both of us to keep putting one foot in front of the other, though I knew we had no choice but to finish the loop.

Finally, about six miles in to our nine mile loop, Callie had enough. She plopped down in a pool of shade on the trail and wouldn't go any more. I was right there with her; I was sore, had a headache from the heat, sunburned, and both of us were limping. Callie just didn't want to walk any more, and I was breaking in a new pair of shoes, which left me with massive blisters (and yes, I should have known better). After a rest I stood up and Callie just looked at me and I tried to coax her to continue. When she refused, I resigned myself to the fact that I would be carrying her for the remainder of the hike. I stooped, draped her over my shoulder, and continued on. I carried that little dog the rest of the way, slung over my shoulders like part of my pack, until I was within sight of my car. She panted in my ear the whole time, though I felt her heart rate and her panting slow and I became less worried about heatstroke. For the first time ever on one of our adventures Callie had had enough, and quite honestly, so had I.

What I'm listening to: Outside the Box by Obsidia

A Snapshot and The Scoop: A Terraced Waterfall

Gorman Falls, a 70 foot terraced waterfall flowing from a spring of the same name into the Colorado River is located at Colorado Bend State Park west of Austin, Texas. The falls create their own terraces with deposits of travertine, a mineral that wells up from the earth mixed with spring water. These particular falls are stunning, and though the trees were bare and the vibrance of the moss covering everything was only just hinted at, I could imagine how green and lush the cliff face is during summer. This is one Texas state park that has made it onto my favorites list, and I have every intention of going back in a few months to see how dramatic the landscape is during the spring and summer months. It's a relatively short drive (about four and a half hours) from my house, meaning it's an easy weekend trip. Also, there's a spelunking tour if you reserve before hand! Anybody interested in going with me next time?

The Canyon and The Spring

Peaceful. Last Autumn's leaves still carpeted the trail, even as Spring's green ferns burst into life along the creek bed, and buds on the trees promised a change of seasons was on the way. Though it was only the middle of February, it didn't feel like it. Callie and I ran away to the Hill Country of central Texas last weekend, and we couldn't have picked a better time to go. It was a warm, clear, and sunny day, and we were only a few miles into a long nine mile loop across Colorado Bend State Park, along the Texan Colorado River west of Austin. We were one of only a couple of groups of hikers on the spur to Gorman Spring along a canyon of the same name, hiking to see the spring that gives life to a terraced 70 foot waterfall that splashes down into the river below.

The short spur along a gorgeous canyon that looks like it is usually full of green during the summer was an easy walk beside the creek rushing to plummet over the edge of the river canyon. We had to cross the creek twice, with me going over the convienently placed rocks and Callie plunging into the cool depths of the stream without thinking twice. The dog loves water, and I really ought to get her a life jacket... Anyway, there was only one other couple some ways behind us and the loudest sounds were the bubbling creek and the bird songs. It was perfect.

Small butterflies fluttered around the wet earth next to the water and deep red buds peppered the bare trees above our heads, signaling that spring might be just around the next bend in the trail. Bright green moss already colored the creek bed rocks, giving firm places for bigger plants such as ferns to take root and extend their curls. In no time it seemed, Callie and I reached the end of the trail and Gorman Spring itself.

A large circular pool of water lay before us, with no indication that water rushed up from its depths to feed the creek except the lack of any other water source. It looked like any other crystal clear forest pool with a nearly still surface, though I knew that to be false. Callie wanted to go for a swim so bad, but out of regard to the signs asking hikers to keep themselves and their pets out of the water, she remained on leash and dry land. I did let her get out on a log overreaching the pool where she could sniff the water to her heart's content. Too soon, the other hikers caught up with us, and we left them to have the spring to themselves. We continued on, with many more miles to put under our feet before we were done for the day.

What I'm listening to: Our Demons by The Glitch Mob