Gone Around the Bend - Colorado Bend that is

I briefly escaped coronatine for two half-days, a full day, and two nights at Colorado Bend State Park last week.

Given that the oppressively hot August climate around here is not that conducive to a whole lot of out-door physicality my pace was glacially slow, but I still managed to get in about 20 miles of foot-stomping, or at least foot-shuffling, but at the price of about 20 gallons of sweat, some seriously sticky clothes, and a little bit of funk.

(I tried reading Patrick Taylor's "Alone on Purpose" during this trip, the third in his trilogy, this one covering the winter, the cold, snowy winter, he spent by himself in the wilds of the Frank Church Wilderness in the mountains of Idaho - Jeremiah Johnson territory - but it didn't do much, as in diddly-squat, to cool me down.)

So why put myself through that?

Well a couple of reasons, but the big one has to do with that number circled there on my phone in the Duolingo Spanish language course.

I'm too cheap to spring for the cost of the off-line, add-free version of their course, so I have to have a data signal to complete a lesson - and see the advertisement at the end of that lesson - (My marketing daughter would be so proud!) and that circled number is my current "streak". Yep, 152 consecutive days since I was last out of cell service for more than 24 hours. And that's just sad! (But on the plus side, now my streak-count is back to zero!)

Nope, not a trail, but in this heat walking up that stream-bed flowing with cold water right from the spring so clear you can't see it sure was an attractive thought!

This park is not what you would call close to the house, so by the time I got there that first day it was well into HOT, but still too early to just head on down to my pre-reserved campsite, (The only kind allowed right now. No drive-ins permitted. Not even for day-use. Instead you have to go on-line, make your reservation, if there's a slot available, and print out your window-pass before heading out.) so I turned into the Gorman Falls trailhead instead.

Not that I had any intention of hiking down to Gorman Falls. That place is way too popular for my taste even in normal times, unless I can get there around dawn, which wasn't happening today.

But I had to share the first leg of the Gorman Falls trail to get to the start of the Gorman Spring trail which is where I was really headed.

I suppose I could have hiked the service road down to the Spring trailhead instead, bypassing whoever was on that first segment of trail, but one of the goals today was to see just what it was like to be hiking around others in these corona-times.

It wasn't horrible, only slightly worse than hiking with others in normal times. I would hike along until I heard people coming, then pull my mask up, get well off the trail, carefully since there's a lot of stickery things out here, and let them pass. (Other than the mask, and how far off the trail I went, this is my normal routine anyways.) Some wore masks in this state where it's finally mandated now that our governor was forced to pull his head out of Trump's ass by the horrendous numbers, (It's an election year after all) some did not. In both cases I just stood back for a while after they passed and let their potentially viral-laden respired droplets and vapor dissipate in the wind before continuing on until the next encounter.

I had the Gorman Spring trail to myself and when I got to the spring itself, where this pump was put into place 100 years ago to service the Lemon's Ranch on the ridge above, I was tempted to plop my ass down right there for a late lunch.

But this is the end of the trail, and its main attraction, and if someone else did come along I'd be right in the way, so I moved back down the trail to a spot where I could climb up and away from the trail on a few limestone ledges and chow-down in peace.

One other (mask wearing) person did eventually come up the trail, but only after I had finished lolly-gagging around and was headed back out anyway.

I didn't take any campground photos, but since I was unable to get my preferred slot in site 45, I had picked site 44 instead since I knew it also wasn't shaded, an important solar consideration when the fridge is running almost constantly in an attempt to stay ahead of the heat.

It's not that site 45 was taken, it's that the park is only allowing camping on even numbered sites to force a little more distancing.

The next morning my target was to make a loop out of the Spicewood Canyon & Springs trails and I was up early enough to disturb the neighbors,

which was too bad, but I was chasing the man in the moon down the river in an attempt to stay ahead

of evil Mr. Sun who was intent on running me down from behind.

Even though I didn't allow myself time to pause and worry about becoming kitty-poop

the inexorable sun caught me anyway and thus began the day-long process of it trying to burn a hole in my hat.

Oh, by the way, until this corona thing settles down I will not be packing out other people's trash, so, to all the slobs out there - CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELVES DAMMIT!

Spicewood creek is mostly a series of pools as it steps down the limestone ledges in it's run towards the Colorado River, and as you might imagine those pools are pretty popular this time of year.

But I foolishly wasn't thinking about that in the people-free early morning when I turned right onto the canyon trail to make my usual counter-clockwise circuit.

This decision had me climbing up along that rim on the left before dropping down into the canyon below where you can just see a couple bright glimpses of the creek as it heads towards the river which is flowing from left to right just below that far ridge in the center.

Maybe that sun burned through my hat a little because choosing to turn right and head up along the ridge first put me down there on the creek later in the day when the hoards had finished their coffee, gotten the kids organized, and headed out to do some soaking in the cold water.

Note to self: Hey dummy! Next time do the loop clockwise and stay away from the herd!

After stopping by camp long enough to restock my water-bladder I slowly wandered north along the river for a few miles peep-toming some of the private residences perched over there along the eastern shore and giving my mobile paint-set a workout, because that seemed a better way to spend the rest of the afternoon than hanging around camp panting like a dog that's been chasing cars all day.

 

I prepped The Van the night before so that last morning I was able to slip away from camp early and move several miles up to the west end of the park, but that damn sun was relentless and there it was, waiting for me! I'd get a restraining order, but can't seem to find the proper jurisdiction to file in.

The river and bluffs, the creeks and canyons, may be sexier, but the rolling heights up here away from the river (the only place where I never ran into a single person) are the true heart of this land.

This is where the early human inhabitants harvested grains and other staples, along with the occasional  larger animal that provided meat and tools and clothing.

This is where later inhabitants harvested cedar and raised livestock, creating economies and communities where none existed before.

That horizontal mark there is actually a short piece of a trail created by thousands and thousands of ant-feet as they industriously, and constantly, move back and forth from here to there. Here was the nest. I never was able to figure out what there was.

And this was where I slowly circled on my last hike of the trip, attempting to tease the rich history of this place up out of the ground and the abandoned fence-lines.

My Hiking Stick had a Blowout!

I've been using hiking sticks ever since I tried to fall off an Alaskan cliff back in the 80's.

I started with a hickory stick I cut right there on the spot of that minor incident (Did you know the sound of rocks falling down a cliff-face draws in eagles hoping for fresh meat?!) and have gone through a few other versions since, first singles, then I moved on, not only in dottering age, but to the even greater stability of a pair of cliff-hugging sticks.

My current sticks are a rather pricey ($60) set of Foxelli carbon-fiber trekking poles. Yes, that was a lot of money but fortunately they have performed very well and the pain of opening my wallet has faded so I am happy with them, but at the time I bought them in early 2017 I expressed some concern about the durability of the rubber(?) tips.



Well somewhere in the late fall of 2019, up in the Guadalupe Mountains, one of the sticks started to tick when it hit the ground. The only way to shut it up was to turn the stick so the tip landed just right. Which was a bit of a pain in the ass and would only last just so long before the tick started up again. Sort of the equivalent of a slow leak in a tire I guess.

Two weeks and two mountain ranges later, somewhere in the Dragoons, I had a bonafide blowout on my hands as one of the rubber tips completely failed




and no amount of twisting the stick could prevent exposing the aggressive tungsten-carbide tip - which is actually what I'm supposed to be hiking on by the way.

These tungsten-carbide tips, besides being very hard and durable, grip even the smoothest, slickest rock at ridiculously acute angles with amazing tenacity, making them well suited to the job, but they also make a lot of racket, clicking loudly every time they hit the ground, and loud is just not in my nature.

I've had a couple shit-your-pants bear encounters but still just can't bring myself to make a racket on the trail.

 - - Slow learner I guess - -



But enough about me and my shortcomings.

The sticks came with a variety of tips, which they should at that price, all but one of which have remained in the equally unused carry-bag since the day they were delivered.

After all, I left snow-country 40 years ago, so what do I need with those big snow baskets? And those so-called asphalt tips, those things in the top left, are heavy, clumsy looking, and apparently something to be avoided, at least by me. And I suppose one day I might conceivably find a use for the sand/mud baskets on the bottom left, but that hasn't happened so far.

The other tips, the ones actually on the sticks up there, are actually called storage and transportation tips, but obviously I've been abusing them as hiking tips.



With past sticks, when I've worn out a tip I've trolled through pharmacies until I found a replacement cane-tip that I could epoxy on in its place, but apparently I'm not the only one using storage tips on these Foxelli's for actual hiking because I was able to buy a couple sets of exact replacements online. (~$8)



So now I'm all set for round two.



In fact I've already got more than a few (quiet) miles on the new tips, which clearly could benefit from being rotated a quarter-turn every now and then - if I can remember.

But if I can't I have a spare set waiting in the wings for round three.



And one final note, as long as we're on the subject.

When I first got these sticks I expressed some concern about the durability of the molded cork hand-grips and speculated that I might have to eventually wrap them with grip-tape.

Well as you can see, they've held up very well so far. A little staining from who knows how many hours of sweaty palms and a chip here and there, but still going strong.

A New Hike! And Posted Almost Real-Time!

OK, when I sit back and examine that post title it's sorta pathetic really to get so excited about something so mundane.

After all, I'm talking about a day-hike in a so-so location, not an epic adventure in a once-in-a-lifetime venue.

But through my personal corona-lens, it was a big deal!

Usually for me isolation is not an issue, in fact it's the norm, to the point where I never really thought much about it before except maybe when people used to remind me that I hadn't attended a single company Christmas party in the 31 years I was there. But sitting here in these strange times for the past half-year, tucked into my disease-fighting little fortress watching others dealing with the unusual situation through my on-line portal-to-the-big-bad-world, I've begun to question myself.

After all, while I'm hunkered down here behind the locked gate, suspiciously paranoid about every potential stranger-encounter, I've been watching one side of my family complain about masks and mandates and lost freedoms while going to back-yard BBQ's or on group camping trips, and posting group photos that are distinctly non-social-distancing approved. And even the more cautious side of the family have continued to get on with life by going, albeit fully masked, to work every day and playing in the golf-league once a week then afterwards gathering out in the parking-lot in a well-distanced circle for some 2020 style socializing. Cripes! Even Mom, probably the most isolated of us all in her community which has handled these times exceptionally well which we're so thankful for, had the community computer guy come into her apartment last week (First time anyone other than her as been through the door since February) to resolve some of the problems that have virtually shut down her ability to use said device. (Mom is kinda hard on technology. I keep telling her to stop stabbing the computer with her knitting needles but I don't think she listens. . .)

This has all made me do some serious questioning about myself and my fears, not so much my isolationist lifestyle, which I'm perfectly comfortable with - most the time -, but whether or not I'm still capable of going out in public at all after these last few months. On top of that there are a couple of family events screaming towards me over the next few months and, even if they don't happen, I may have completely lost confidence in my ability to go forth into the world.




So the other day I got on-line, used my Texas State Park pass to reserve and print a day-pass, (Can't do this at the park on the day like the good-ol-days since the office is closed)  and yesterday (July 22) drove The Van over there with mask at the ready and took a proper hike.

But don't let the GPS track of my 5+ mile hike there in that image above fool you.




This park, Bastrop State Park, is small and within constant ear-shot of the busy highway there along it's southern edge.

Oh, and now-days the town of Bastrop lurking there just to the west is just an overcrowded suburb of the cancerous sprawl that used to be "keep it weird" Austin so the number of trucks grinding up that hill over there is - well - a lot!

The only thing going for this location is that I didn't have to leave the house in the wee-hours to get there by the 0800 opening time since a sunrise departure would do just fine, and it had day-pass slots available at relatively short notice.

My preferred destination, Pedernales Falls State Park, requires leaving the house really early to make a day-trip of it, but has about 4 times as many trail miles, all well away from any developed spaces. But snagging one of the limited number of day-passes there on short notice proved to be problematic.




So, on this experimental foray out into the world, here I am parked in an overflow lot on the outer reaches of the Bastrop State Park trail system.

Not that the other lots were full, far from it, I just figured few would be interested in this small lot at the bitter end of the half-mile Post Oak Spur - or Grey Trail depending on which map you are looking at - and that's my kinda place, regardless of the times.





























As you can see, it was a pretty overcast day, which is bad for photographs but for late July in Central Texas where, even without direct sun, it's in the high 90's - low 100's with humidity's to match, clouds-be-good! So I wasn't complaining.

It's been 9 years since the Bastrop Complex fire went through the area, including most of the State Park, (The campgrounds in this park still haven't been reopened.)



and even longer since I've been here myself.



The 34,000 acre fire took out over 1600 homes and businesses as well as much of the park's stand of "Lost Pines", a more drought-tolerant variant of the Loblolly Pine so prevalent in East Texas.



But like it always does, the earth heals itself, and though there are still plenty of leftovers from the fire, such as some trails closed off for restoration work,




there are some nicely recovered areas as well.



One unexpected thing the fire did was to expose a number of CCC projects that had been lost over the years under the vegetation. Most of these were fire-rings but there were also a few of these

elaborate drinking fountains built with the native sandstone and fed with a network of pipes crisscrossing the park.



Also built in the CCC era with the same stone, but never lost, was this shelter built on an overlook.



And given the temperature this nearby thermometer was shamelessly broadcasting as I neared the last third of my planned hike,



the cooler environment, easily 10 degrees cooler, under the shelter was a welcome break.

So, was my excursion a success?

Well, yes and no. . .

Bastrop State Park was certainly not my first choice of destinations, but I've met few hikes that were total busts so the hike part was, while not in the great category, fine in and of itself.

As far as getting myself back out in the world, I'm not sure just how much this day-trip pushed that agenda forward.

I drove from driveway to parking-spot to driveway with no stops in between. Talked to absolutely no-one all day. The closest I came to any person-to-person interaction was the un-masked dog-walker so embarrassed - or pissed off, I couldn't tell which - about being caught with the dog off-leash she went by where I had tucked myself well off-trail (With my mask on for the first and only time during the day) without even making eye-contact let alone small-talk.

Other than that I had the park, or at least my part of it, all to myself.

Which, on one hand, is a pretty typical day for me even back in "normal" times. On the other hand, I'm not sure this expedition did a whole lot to help me gain my go-out-into-the-world confidence back either.




One last little oddity before I go.

Along the half-mile Post Oak Trail - and only along that trail - for some reason every single burned stump had a rock-cairn stacked on top of it. I can't figure out why, and why only there. It doesn't seem to serve any restoration purpose and if it was rambunctious kids, well families and twenty-somethings are far more likely to park at one of the two main trailheads, and I saw nothing like this near either of those.

Oh - and I explained that self-contained water-brush, that thingy down in the bottom left, and the watercolor field-sketch kit I put together in another post. It's just that I've gotten posts out of order here and that one isn't scheduled for a while yet.

Running down the Numbers

I'm one of those people that likes to keep track of things. It's probably the engineer side of me. (And yes, I'm aware that it borders on being a disease.)

I keep spreadsheets for electrical usage and costs, monthly rainfall totals, water usage, (Yes, we are on a well but 10 years ago the county forced us to register our private wells. They haven't done anything with that register yet but I don't trust most people let alone government entities, so we installed a certified water meter of our own and have been keeping track ever since.) and a couple of other things I keep track of are The Van costs as well as trip costs.



That means I have a spreadsheet detailing  all the maintenance expenditures for The Van as well as each and every fuel-fill from mile 471, when I took possession of her, through to the latest fill-up at 82053 miles.



I also keep a separate spreadsheet covering the salient points of each camping trip I take in The Van.

During my Guadalupe Mountains National Park - Coronado National Forest trip I drove just under 2200 miles (That's about a 1000 miles less than one of my Michigan reunion trips) and spent just over $400 dollars all told. (I don't count food because I would have spent the same money on it at home.)

As is usually the case, the majority of that cost (>$300) was for fuel which would have been worse if I had been traveling in a "real" RV rather than The Van, which racked up a trip average of  20.83 MPG. (All-time average is 20.12)

The next biggest chunk was the $92.50 I spent on the 12 paid campsites I stayed in with the most expensive ($10 per night) being at Bonita Canyon in the Chiricahua National Monument and the least expensive, not counting the free boondock sites, were a number of $5 per night Forest Service campsites.

(If I was a RV park and resort traveler, figuring a modest average of $36 per night for a hook-up site, my trip-cost would have been jacked up to about $830 with site-cost taking the lead for largest chunk.)




In addition to my 10 gallon potable water tank I also carry 4 gallons of Berkey-filtered rainwater for drinking.

I start each trip with a full complement of water on board (This includes an additional 6 liters spread between my backpack and the four 0.7 liter water bottles I carry in The Van.)

On this particular trip I went through all four gallons of filtered water plus most of an additional gallon of bottled water I purchased along the way.





I also added 4 gallons of water to my 10 gallon potable tank during the trip. (Of course the tank was full when I started.)

For this, in addition to the traditional pressure "hose-fill" which I very rarely use, I have a gravity-fill in the form of a tube tucked up under the sink with a funnel cut down to fit tightly into its end. By the time I need to add water to this tank I've typicality emptied at least two of my filtered-water jugs and I use those to haul water for the tank.

Hauling water two-by-two allows me to carry a balanced load from wherever the potable spigot is back to The Van. (I once worked a job where we spent our days visiting various customer sites with heavy tool-bags and one of my coworkers screwed up his back by always carrying the bag in the same hand, creating an unbalanced load.)

By the time I got home I was down to about a third of a tank (potable water) and one partial jug of filtered water. (I always keep the backpack filled so it's ready to go as well as the four .7 liter bottles because, in addition to being my daily "drinkers", they also act as my emergency reserve, so all that stuff was still full when I got home.) So for the trip I went through about 5 gallons of filtered water and about 11 gallons of potable water.

Oh, and I didn't dump the 10 gallon grey-water tank until I got back home, at which point it was about 2/3rds full. (In addition to washing me and the dishes I use potable water for cooking and making tea so not all of the 10 gallons of potable water goes down the drain into the grey-water tank.)



I plugged into shore-power exactly - well - zero times.

Which isn't unusual. This trip I never stayed anywhere that I could plug in, but even when I do, I usually don't bother. The last time I stayed on a "hookup" site and actually hooked up was back in November of 2016. It was a Texas State Park with no choices other than hookup sites, and since it was cold and I had to pay for the electric whether I used it or not, I plugged in to take advantage of my small electric space-heater to take the chill out of The Van in the morning.

Even with a few shady (As in lack of direct sun, not shady as in sketchy neighborhood. . .) campsites thrown in to make things interesting, the 21 day trip was entirely solar supported.





As for the toilet - I never touched it.

My dedicated pee-bottle, (Eewww! Of course it's dedicated!) tucked in there on the right, got a workout, but all other business was conducted at available campground or public toilets, so my little portable toilet came back as clean and dry as when it left.


So there's my numbers for the Guadalupe Mountains/Colorado National Forest trip.

Not that anyone but me really cares. . .