100 and Under
Meditations of a Desert Trail Run
Big Bend National Park, Mule Ears Trail
Moving through the arid desert air, flowing easily up and down the hills, through arroyos, stepping up and down rocky ledges, following stone cairns as the trail disappears into a dry wash only to return up the other side. Considering briefly the mystery of how my feet somehow and without thought, land balanced on unstable earth, a surface covered in loose sand and rocks. For the moment, my ankles consisting of bones and soft tissue remain intact, allowing me to continue my desert muse. This befuddling mystery likely lies somewhere deep in the brain's ability to use all the senses without thought, letting the body flow naturally, working best when less focus is given to each task, instead, allowing sights, sounds, and smell to capture the inspiration around me.
The land, seemingly desolate, motionless, provides a dichotomy of sorts to its natural beauty. Not the spectacular views of the grand mountain summits of the west, but a view requiring more focus on details, an appreciation for the hardy life thriving in the desert environment. At first glance, little life can be seen, a place with little moisture providing a contradiction to its lushness, colorful with living foliage. Hues ranging from greens, purples, pinks, browns, and rust spatter the landscape in all directions. Sounds beyond the quiet buzz of silence were those of my shoes impacting with the slightly unspoiled earth, me breathing, and on one occasion, a small bird thrashing about in the thicket and the surprising sound of a light trickle of water near a moist desert spring.
Thoughts drift from being in this moment of time and space to a brain wandering through current events, seemingly unsolvable problems that become more clear, or conversations I should have had but lacked the words that I now find easily while in my aerobic stupor. Remembering to stay grounded in the presence of the run, bringing back the quiet surroundings, the beauty of the desert trail. At times I stop completely to take in the views from afar, seeing the landscapes of weathered rocks given names like “mule ears,” natural earthly structures used by those before me for directions, making it possible to subsist in this place. Drawing my vision closer to the land around me of cactus and scrub brush until I am looking again up close at the desert environment, the beautifully placed minuscule details in this dry barren land beneath me. All of it creating a peaceful feeling, a wasteland to some, but remarkable to me.
Later, I’ll learn the names to the colorful things to include prickly pear (greens, purples, pinks), the tall proud Spanish daggers with some standing over 16 feet, sotol, and others I don’t know by name, some with nasty thorns while others provided resources for ancient inhabitants. The scanty foliage creating obstacles to me as I flowed along the trail also provide slight cooling shade to venomous snakes, scorpions, and tarantulas, seemingly all the devil’s work yet a necessity for life to exist. The preferred startled view of a mountain lion, coyote, javelina, and bear would be welcomed, at a distance of course, but they never appear.
It is the continued lure of the trail itself though that brings the greatest threat. The hypnotic danger as you advance with the next turn, hill, summit, the prospect of a splendid view unseen that is just too close for me to stop my forward motion. The anticipation creating a numbness to the body’s fatigue, hydration, the time and distance needed to return safely, and more, the ability to make clear decisions of the day. This mindful meditative feeling is the drug of choice that fills my veins with the danger of not being aware, one that keeps me advancing in a mindful trance through this parched, banal, wasteland, forgoing thoughts of time and distance, safety, the limits of food and water, the true perils of the trail.
This run out past Mule Ears Springs, along Smokey Creek Trail was stunning, natures nectar for our souls, reminding me of these special places. Gorging the senses with as much quiet nature until my core was filled with the experience, one where stopping and turning back was the most unpleasant but necessary option. The trail gave and continued to give a consistent squeeze of the emotion, fervor for the soul.
The end.
“A man on foot, on horseback or on a bicycle will see more, feel more, enjoy more in one mile than the motorized tourists can in a hundred miles.”
― Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire
Authors note
This was written for our travel blog following a run my wife and I did while visiting Big Bend National Park last February. This, and all natural places need our protection to keep them beautiful. Please feel free to visit our travel blog for more adventures, www.travelswithtoohey.com.
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