Return To The Trans-pecos
Prickly Pear Blossom and attending insects
Prickly Poppy (Argemone)
Chapter 1: The Devil's River
Our first day is to be spent on a scouting mission prior to making camp. West of Loma Alta, there's a small green splotch on the map, labeled Devil's River State Natural Area. We want to check out this area as a possible herping area and campsite. It's a remote and isolated area, and a river runs through it, so we're interested in seeing this green splotch. It's on the way to where we want to go, so why not?
The only way in to this Natural Area is a bumpy, twenty two mile stretch of dusty gravel road. Anyone traveling behind us would be engulfed in a dust cloud. The scenery was to our liking - low rolling hills covered with clumps of mesquite and sage, lechugilla and ocotillo. A Roadrunner emerged from a clump of screwbean mesquite and ducked back in at our approach. Every so often we would see a Scissor-tailed Flycatcher or a Mockingbird perched upon a shrub top or a utility pole.
Reaching the ranger station at mid-day, we found it locked and deserted. We decided to drive on down towards the river, but after a half mile or so, a locked gate barred us from going any further. We parked and prepared to walk down the road a ways in search of the river. It was just after noon and hot, a shock to to bodies used to a cool central Illinois spring. We were all very tired from the long drive down, but at the same time excited to be back in Texas, exploring unknown territory. Prickly pear, ocotillo, and yuccas were in bloom, and the air was buzzing with bees and beetles, flies and hummingbirds as they moved from blossom to blossom.
Walking down the road we find a dry wash around the first bend, and we wonder just how far the river is. Many of the surrounding hills are cut away, revealing layers of Cretaceous limestone. A walk to the top of a steep hill reveals the the river's not around the next bend either. We're really feeling the heat now, and the effects of being awake for most of the past twenty four hours, so we elect to stick around the vehicle, take pictures and birdwatch.
Shortly thereafter we hear an engine, and a decrepit old passenger van pulling a canoe trailer came into view and stopped at the gate. The driver is a canoe trip outfitter, and he unlocks the gate and drives through, stopping to say howdy. The Devil's River, it turns out, is about a mile down the road, and the driver offers us a ride down if we want. We pile into the back of the van and meet the driver's son, a polite and very serious teenager. "Y'all are herpetologists?" he asks. He fills in the bumpy ride with anecdotes of snakes and lizards seen at various places by him and his father.