The rivers in the Texas hill country are aquamarine and lined with the most beautiful, tall, white, cypress trees that stretch both up to the sky and down into the riverbeds. The trees’ roots – almost as long and as big as the trees themselves – twist and sprawl to create the river’s banks. They are home to fish below and birds above, and they create an enchanting, magical atmosphere. Central Texas, unlike the majority of the flat state, is rolling with mountains of various sizes and a number of rivers that give rise to aquifers and springs. The terrain and climate are perfect for farms, vineyards, and ranches of all kinds.
While I visited in February, the ground and air were dry. The days vacillated between 45-80 degrees, and the nights between 20-65, and there was no dewfall. The ground is covered with dry clay, dirt, and gravel, and most of the vegetation is thick brush and cactus intermixed with cedars, junipers, and live oak. The mountainous areas are covered with boulders – round, square, orange, and gray. The skies were always clear.
I spent almost the whole month of February in Texas because I visited my oldest sister and my oldest son. Also, because Texas is huge. I went to several hill country state parks, and they were all beautiful – so very different from the Alabama terrain and vegetation I’m used to. Coyotes, armadillos, deer, and rabbits visited our campsites, keeping Ella on high alert. Prickly pear, yucca, walking stick, and pincushion cacti taught Ella lessons she had no idea she needed to learn.
I also learned some lessons during my travels through the hill country.
Guadalupe River State Park
Lesson: Everyone does it differently
The Guadalupe River cuts through a canyon leaving a striated cliff of orange, tan, yellow, and slate colored rock. The cliff is dotted with small holes where birds nest and is topped with giant, sprawling prickly pears. Armadillos were bold, coming within one foot of Ella on her leash, daring her.
While the river and gorge were beautiful, what caught my attention most was how differently people camp. The campground was filled, and families enjoyed their stay in many different ways:
- Long, luxurious, pop-up and pop-out RVs towing vehicles behind.
- Renovated buses that could rival the finest RVs.
- Fifth-wheels attached to massive pickup trucks.
- Teardrop trailers that provided just enough room to be comfortable.
- Rooftop tent campers, like Yours Truly.
- Tent campers in Jeeps with canoes, kayaks, and bikes mounted all around.
- Self-contained vans where the camper never had to exit the vehicle.
- Car campers who slept in their backseats and cooked out of the trunks.
The campsites were just as varied:
- Some put down outdoor rugs, put out flags, tablecloths, plants, welcome signs proclaiming they were Happy Campers! or Livin’ La Vida Loca!
- Some set up separate screen gazebos for cooking, dining, and socializing. String lights and music were the usual fare here.
- Some brought golfcarts, bicycles, gators, skiffs, all the means for a full family adventure.
- Others kept a low profile. Nothing extra, no frills. Serious business. The park was a place to stay for the night, nothing more.
One thing that was common across the board, is that everyone was legitimately on the move. Whether they had TV and air conditioning or were sleeping on the ground in the elements, everyone was away from the brick-and-mortar structure of home with the intent of enjoying the outdoors.
It was fun to see, and I felt like part of a community of folks all doing the same thing but each in our own way. We would meet and talk to each other real friendly-like, exchanging stories and information about where we’ve been and where we’re going, then go back to doing our own thing.
Pedernales Falls State Park
Lesson: Not all waterfalls are the same
The falls at Pedernales River were not like any I had seen. Compared to other parks, the topography was similar, the flora and fauna were similar, the river was similar, but the falls were unique. Rather than water falling from a much higher point to a much lower point, these falls were tiered pools, like natural locks that filled eroded rock basins and overflowed into the next tier, one after another, until it finally spilled into the full, wide river at the bottom.
The tiers were wide rock shelves of different types of rock, and it was easy to see that during rains this waterfall would be formidable. We climbed down to the flats, and Ella drank from one of the pools.
The purpose of the waterfall is to move water that is up there to down here. Gravity does its part, water seeks its own level, and all that. The great part is, it doesn’t really matter how it’s done or what it looks like, just that it moves in the right direction. Somehow this comforts me. I sure don’t always get things done the way others do, but by golly, I gitter done.
Enchanted Rock Natural Area
Lesson: A big start doesn’t mean diddly squat
The surroundings at Enchanted Rock were magnificent, and Ella and I had a super sweet spot at the base of the mountains. I was only able to hike the Loop Trail with her, but I was OK with that. It was long and afforded a wonderful view of the park from all directions.
We started off with a bang. The cactus were beautiful, the wintering trees were loaded with mosses and lichens, and the boulders were enormous and came in every size and shape.
As the trail continued after a mile or so, the view was far less spectacular. The vegetation was sparse and monotonous, the mountains and rock formations were so far in the distance it was difficult to see them, and it was hot. So hot. The trail was red, dusty dirt, the grasses were short and gray, and the few trees we passed were bare.
I had expected that since the beginning of the walk was so spectacular that it would be that way for the full five miles. Not so. Finally coming to the realization that the next few miles would be exactly the same as the past barren mile, we halted our walk and turned around. We trudged through another mile of hot, dusty desert before coming back to the beautiful variety of enchanting rocks that headed the trail.
While perseverance is usually the best course of action in life, it’s also important to know when to cut your losses. Things that start with promise and potential don’t always stay that way. Read the signs and respond wisely. I was so happy when we turned around! I knew we were putting that dry, dusty, hot, bare path behind us.
Colorado Bend State Park
Lesson: Sometimes a difficult journey is just not worth it
We headed to Gorman Falls at Colorado Bend on the recommendation of a blogger who offered the advice that it was a much more difficult trail than advertised, so beware. Sounded great to me!
Sure enough, the trail was very rocky and got more difficult the closer it got to the falls. Some parts of it were cut directly into rock, and we had to take very sure-footed steps over and around rock-points poking up out of the ground. It was fun and exciting.
Our blood pumping with the changes in elevation, we could finally hear the falls, and it was musical. There is something about the sound of running water in nature, especially when the air is hot and dry, and you have worked up a good thirst. The next leg of the trail was down a rock face that had grown slippery with the volume of hikers sliding down it over time.
There were handrails installed to help hikers keep their balance and to keep from falling. This was more than moderately difficult, without a doubt. My legs were shaking with fatigue, my breath was short, and my heart was pounding. Ella was lurching and making her own way, so I was trying to balance her momentum with my need to stay upright and hang onto the guard rail. I felt victorious when we made it to the bottom!
The falls were sad. There hadn’t been much rain so there was only a trickle, and the cliff face was really just a wall of dirt and mud. Not even pretty. The river at the bottom was just as unimpressive. Ella and I drank some water we had brought with us, turned around and headed back.
The climb up was not quite as arduous as going down. My muscles ached more, and my heart pounded harder, but I wasn’t nearly as prone to being sucked to the ground by gravity like a magnet.
The hike was good for its own sake. No regrets there. But it was in no way worth the view of that sad, little waterfall. Sometimes a difficult journey is just a journey for its own sake. What’s at the end is so not worth it.
Longhorn Cavern State Park
Lesson: History is underrated OR You’re work may be unappreciated, but it’s important
The Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) was a group of volunteer young men in the 1930’s who took on the task of developing, improving, and enhancing many of the parks we now enjoy. Before the war, these fellas were like scouts who cut trails, graded areas for campsites, and cleared out caves. To the outdoorsperson, they are veritable heroes. The program ended when the war began, and the majority of the men were drafted.
Longhorn Cavern Park is a historic park that showcases the work of the CCC. Ella and I were not able to go into the cavern, but we did tour the architecture which included outdoor patios, an administrative building, and a lookout tower.
This park is nowhere near as beautiful as the others we have visited and so is easy to overlook, but it is probably more important. The work of the CCC was used all over the US to create some of the best-known National Parks and state parks that are widely used today. These men, all aged 18-25, unemployed, and unmarried, literally paved the way for our enjoyment of the nation’s most beautiful natural resources. Little is known of them individually today.
Sometimes your work will be unappreciated, taken for granted, even unnoticed. That doesn’t make it unimportant. In fact, history being what it is, most of us don’t think about the work done by those who have gone before. The right to vote, our way of life, access to resources, and our individual liberties are things we take for granted every day. Historical figures have sweated and bled so we might fully enjoy those things without a thought. History is truly underrated.
Garner State Park
Lesson: Believe you can achieve the unattainable, but respect your limits
The Rio Frio runs through Garner State Park and is used for all sorts of water sports. It is one of those aquamarine paradises lined with magnificent cypress trees whose roots twist and sprawl into the riverbanks. It’s beautiful.
Crazily enough, while on my way here, the GPS guided me through several ranches on a farm road. It was a dirt road that wove through a patchwork of ranches whose boundaries could be identified by their cattle grates and open gates. The cattle were loose, grazing and crossing the road in front of me. It was unexpected but totally added to the magic of getting to the park.
Ella and I were some of the only campers at the park, which is huge and full during the summer months. It is a real family-friendly park, with many options for outdoor activities. For us, the trail by the river was our choice. For me, the scenery was amazing and peaceful. For Ella, the squirrels were a constant challenge and thrill.
One particular squirrel delighted in taunting Ella. It followed us from tree to tree and screeched at Ella from the lowest branches. Once Ella caught sight of it, she tried to chase it up the tree. She was certain she could catch it, and to be fair, she got pretty far up the trunk, hanging on by her claws. She wouldn’t give up. When the squirrel jumped to another tree, Ella tried to climb that one too. It was delightfully endearing to watch her do her utmost to scale her way up that thick trunk. She was relentless.
Alas, no matter how much she believed she could make it, and no matter how much effort she put into the process, she would never be able to climb that tree. It was her primary goal to catch that squirrel, but she just wasn’t equipped for success. And that’s ok.
What she did instead was target a different squirrel on the ground. The only limits she has there are the ones I put on her. But that’s another lesson for another day.