Today, the East Trail, or Aw! Dad!!

After yesterday's ambitious hike on the West Trail,

this morning I set out, with surprisingly few aches and pains, with the nearly as ambitious intent of doing the East Trail.

Smart? Not sure about that.

Fun?  Yep!



At least this hike only had one steep up and one steep down to it,



and when I hit the river after coming down a few steps through the trees from my campsite it was clear that yesterdays cloudy-grey had been replaced by more upbeat lighting.



A mile and a half from the campsite I got to the official trail-head

and was raring to go.






But first an obligatory stop



at the world famous - - OK, locally renowned - - Alright dang it! Somewhat interesting - - Monkey Rock.



Not long after reaching the site of Primitive Camp A, about a mile from the trailhead, the trail crosses back and forth over a tributary of the Sabinal river three times in quick succession.

While I was lollygagging slowly along between the first and second crossings I noticed some movement far up on the cliffs above me.

Can you see it up there?



That's a Barbary Sheep, otherwise known here in Texas as an Aoudad. (Yep, pronounced Aw! Dad!!) 

Looks cute eh?

Well that dude, or dudet, is anywhere from 100 to 300 pounds, depending on whether it's a  dudet or dude, with a head harder than mine (And The Wife will tell you how hard that is!) and isn't afraid to use it!

Introduced from North Africa because they are tough enough to survive in this habitat, they are particularly adept at rock-hopping and are pretty dang shy so seeing one, or two in my case, was a real gift.



There were two of them up there, that I could see anyway, and when they realized I was looking they got a bit hinky despite being a long ways away, and decided to clear out.

In the process, unlike his companion on the high ledge, the one on the low ledge has just failed to make the leap up and is shaking off the stars before successfully making it on the second try, then, after a little, slightly frantic, milling around, they both disappeared from sight.

A little while later, just before the trail starts the steep climb up to the ridge above, is a popular spot called the Grotto. For those interested in more civilized activities, using this as a turn-around point makes for a nice out-and-back stroll,

Today the bench had just recently been reset into concrete but I'm sure it's cured by now and the tape removed.

Here the creek has undercut the limestone cliff on the other side and water seeping down through the rock is, in addition to supporting a thriving Maiden-hair Fern colony, leaching out the carbonate and depositing it at the base of the cliff as Travertine, though at this location where the process is due to ambiant temperature water instead of heated water, it is more properly called Tufta. Both are a very soft form of limestone that will eventually, the key word being eventually, harden enough to form a lightweight, porous rock.

In the meantime a single foot-step into fresh Travertine or Tufta can destroy hundreds of years of a natural process.



Up on top of the ridge, chewed on prickly pear with their needles shining in the sun



share space with delicate



little flowers.

OK, not a great shot but that weird thing poking in from the left to give scale to the photo is my gloved fingertip. (Did I mention that, though sunny, it's a nippy day?)

Also running down the spine of this ridge is a Bandera Coop high-voltage electric transmission line.



They were clearly up here three years ago replacing some of the poles,

but others have been here since at least 1979.



A side excursion along a diverging finger of the ridge resulted in this shot of the park's maintenance facility down in the valley.

Eventually I'll need to hike on past those buildings to get back to the campsite which is further down the river around that bend,



but first it's back to the main trail which will take me along the top of that ridge over there



so I can descend along that diagonal slash in the center-left to eventually get back down to the ponds, which you might be able to just see there under the arrow, which I passed by on yesterday's hike.



but first - again - there's yet another side excursion, this time to Primitive Camp B which I have all to myself and where I kick back for a late lunch




and some reading. (I couldn't resist this photo of a reflected image of my camera superimposed on the text about the protagonist's reflected image.)



Though the overhead view frequently distracted me from my book. . .

But eventually it was time to move on.



When the four people down there on this section of trail which is that diagonal slash from a few photos ago, an older couple with a younger couple on their heels, and I mean right on their heels, went by me (They passed me up because of my naturally slow pace, not because I was worn out and making frequent stops to rest.  Honest!!) I assumed they were all together. But once at the bottom they split up and went different ways so I figured out that they weren't really together-together, they just hiked that way.

It's a good thing that young couple wasn't dogging me like that because I would have been seriously annoyed!



The reward at the bottom of the decent



was the ponds.



From there it was another mile and three-quarters back to The Van patiently waiting at the campsite as the sun began making it's inevitable drop to the western horizon, a sure sign that dinner-time was coming up, and we already know I don't want to miss that!

The West Trail; Too Ambitious for an Old Fart?

Snaking through the hollows and over the ridges of Lost Maples are a number of trails, and over my 5 day stay I managed to hike all of them. And without killing myself!

The bulk of the trails,the East (green) and West (blue) are laid out in a couple of loops that share a central spine (purple).

My first day here I jumped in with both feet - so to speak - and tackled the West Trail. I even threw in the West Loop (yellow) in for good  measure.  (Umm, was it really good, or just egotistical foolishness?)

From my campsite, down there in the lower-left corner, most everything about this park is uphill, until it's downhill. (Yeah, I know, that statement is about as nonsensically necessary as telling someone I'm standing right in front of that I'm here. But really, it sounded better in my head than it looks on paper, and since I've already written it, it stays. . .)

For this hike the initial climb is along along the gradual tilt of Can Creek, then up the steep scramble to the ridge circled by the West Loop Trail. Of course now I had to get back down off that ridge by a different, but equally scrambly route, only to, after a short reprieve along the lower reaches of Mystic Canyon, where the trail gets sketchy at times as it shares the limited space with Mystic Creek, head sharply uphill again to the ridge near Primitive Camp E, and finally back down until I stumbled wearily back into camp.

 But first, back to the beginning.

By the time I got to the joint trailhead this morning I had already hiked the better part of a mile to get from the campground, past the maintenance area, across the Sabinal River and finally to the Overflow Parking area that doubles as trailhead parking near where Can Creek flows into the river.

Not far from the trailhead, if you look very closely at the cliffs to the southwest

you just might spot this. A Redtail Hawk nest precariously tucked well out of the reach of predators.

Like Eagles, Redtails mate for life and also nest every year in the same spot, adding to the nest each season. This being late winter there was no nesting activity going on today.

Next stop was the point where the two legs of the West trail split up (or come back together depending on where in the hike you are). Today I took the branch to the right and will return on the branch to the left.

And if that straight line over to the right in the photo looks suspiciously like a curb, you're right.

Just across the other side of Can Creek you can make out a two-track climbing back up out of the creek. Prior to the mid 1970's this was a working ranch and under that arrow, on a bench above the creek,

sits what used to be the ranch-house and some outbuildings. Today it's used as the Park Superintendent's house.

After hiking along Can Creek for a bit the East Trail peels off and goes its own way right about were the Pools are located. These, the pools, are only one mile from the trailhead parking and are a very popular spot.

So popular that much of area along the accessible north side of the pools, to the right in the photo, is roped off right now to allow it to rest and restore itself. Primitive Camp C used to be here but I kinda doubt that it will ever be reopened again, even after the area has recovered.

Fishing is a popular activity here (In Texas you don't need a license to bank-fish if you are standing on State Park land.) but the Sabinal River and Can Creek are one of the last refuges of the highly endangered Guadalupe Bass so all fishing is catch and release only.

Eventually I made it beyond the pools to where the West Loop Trail leaves (and returns to) the West Trail.

The temptation to skip adding this additional 2.5 miles to my hike was strong, but I resisted the lure of common-sense (not as difficult as I, and especially my mother, would sometimes hope) and forged on anyway.

In the past this elaborate concrete-filled steel pipe anchored one end of a fence-crossing over the upper reaches of Can Creek. That fence marked a boundary between two ranches, and later between the State Park and a ranch.

In 2009 the State bought that 600 acres on the other side and added it to the park,

 though they haven't yet gotten around to updating the signs, nor have they added a new trail through the area. Admittedly, it is a bit rugged up in there. (giving into temptation, a few years ago I did a little bushwacking back in there.)

This fence, however, along the west side of the West Loop, does mark a current park boundary, and the mid-point of my perhaps ill-advised little side excursion. It also meant I was nearing the location of primitive camp H. Which meant lunch break!

As I was hiking up Mystic Canyon after coming back down off the West Loop Trail I found this laying on the ground.

To some this might look like nothing more than a bit of Spanish Moss gone astray, but to a modelrailroader the foliage possibilities are downright titillating!  But, like National Parks, everything here in a State Park is protected, so I put it back where I found it and walked away, though there might have been a longing backwards glance or two. . .

As I was coming down off the ridge where Primitive Camp E sits I came across this trail marker.

Seeing as how that's a  nearly vertical 25 foot rock wall back there behind the marker I'm not entirely sure it's necessary - - -

I eventually closed the loop and ended up back at the trailhead parking area.

Since I still had the better part of a mile to go before I would get back to The Van I used the excuse of the adjacent bird blind and this cabin to linger here for a bit.

Since there is nothing on the web-site history page, and no informative info-plaque to be found, I have to assume that this was once used by the ranch foreman or some other worker(s).

These blocks the walls are made of are larger than bricks but smaller than cinder-blocks, so I poked around a bit

and found this spot where a gas pipe, a later addition, had been crammed through the wall. Now I could see that these blocks are made of clay, like bricks, but are hollow like cinder-blocks. When I was wandering around Venezuela back in the '80's-90's these were a very common building material but not one I've seen much of here in the US.

I sure wish they'd post more of the historical info for those of us that are curious about that stuff. . .

But for now, I've already hiked nearly 9 miles, burning up a healthy chunk of the day at my usual snail's pace, and still have some hiking left to go before I get back to The Van and can finally put a nice big dinner into action. (After all, no sense in risking burning off too much of this hard-earned fat!)

Lost (Maples) in Texas

Texas has some place-names that are a little out there, like a Looneyville, a Jot 'Em Down, a Needmore, and a Bug Tussle.  But then Texas is a big place so there's plenty of room for oddities like Nimrod, Cheapside, and Ding Dong.

And with all that space it's no surprise a few things got lost. There's even a couple websites like LostTexasRoads and Lost-Texas that are trying to un-lost lost Texas stuff.

Apparently there's also a few lost trees wandering around the state, like the lost pines that, instead of hanging out around East Texas with the rest of their brethren, can be found huddling together, scared and traumatized by the Bastrop County Complex Fire but still there, near the fringes of the Hill Country in the Bastrop State Park, and the lost maples setting up homestead in the hollows of the Sabinal River in - well, Lost Maples State Natural Area.



Which is where I am now. ( This trip was actually taken in late February 2020, just before coronatine shut everything down)

This photo was taken on my last trip here in late fall some six years ago.

As you might imagine, during fall color season this park, despite being somewhat remote, is highly popular. In fact, it's not at all unusual for the park to reach it's capacity of 250 day-use vehicles by mid morning and start turning arrivals away.

You could always plan your trip for a couple weeks after peak season, as I did back in 2014, and still get some decent color without the hoards, but if you insist on peak color, and can abide the crowds, the State Park system now has a "Save The Day Pass" that can hold a spot open for you. These can be purchased up to 30 days prior to your trip, but remember, you will be competing with all the other people that want to visit at the same time and, reservation or not, the number of passes is limited by the number of parking places. (You can make campsite reservations up to 6 months prior, but expect the same rush on sites during peak color)

View of the park's maintenance facilities tucked into the valley alongside the Sabinal River. The campground is out of sight around the corner to the left.

Now I enjoy peak color season as much as the next guy, but not enough to willingly put up with the crowds,

Yep, the outside temp was 27 this morning and overnight a healthy layer of frost had built up on the inside, between the window-covers and the windshield.

so a crisp trip in February was, once you factor in the crowd-cringe element, easily as enjoyable.




Don't get me wrong, it seems that there is rarely a time when this park is empty. (Well, except maybe for that Christmas day back in 1983 when a freeze and ice-storm locked most the state down and we had the place to ourselves, not even a ranger around to take our entry fee.)

Many of these rigs in here were just over-nighters, which I find a little surprising since it's not like this place is on the way to anywhere,



but even mid-week the 30 water/electric sites were about 60% full every night I was there, and don't count on driving in without a reservation on a weekend, even in the off-season, and finding a place unless you are headed for one of the underutilized back-country hike-in sites.



Anytime you get more than a few people together there's probably going to be some numbnuts among them, such as these people in a motorhome that cost more than our house who insisted on leaving the "hey, look at me, aren't I cool" under-chassis lights on all night, (Which, if we are brutally honest about it, are really "please look at me because I'm so insecure I can't stand not being paid attention to" lights) completely ignoring the fact that



this park, located at the cross-hairs in the map above, normally sits just out of reach of the star-gaze killing glow of San Antonio and Austin at a refreshing 3 on the Bortle Dark-Sky Scale, (The bright greys at the city centers are a 9 on the Bortle Scale) has a dark-sky designation.



To stay here on a generously sized water/electric site (Unlike some parks in the system, there are no less expensive hook-up free drive-in sites at this park, besides, my house batteries are definitely past their "use-by date" so I didn't mind running the fridge off the park's electric.) with sheltered table, and a shower with flush toilets, costs $20 per night (Plus $6 per day per person entry without a Park Pass)

Oh yeah, don't count on a cell signal here, even from the ridge-tops. Several years ago I had to drive 60 miles round-trip to check in on The Wife who, though she claimed she was getting better, was pretty sick when I left the house.



Of course the main draw here, at least for me, is the 20 some miles of trails, which I'll touch on a little in the next few posts.

Is Comfort Overrated? Or is it Underappreciated?

So, regarding the advisability of going on my latest camping trip.

This was as I was preparing to set out on a mid-day hike the first day I got to Colorado Bend State Park.

Was I comfortable camping with no hookups during the hottest month of a Central Texas summer where afternoon temps hit triple-digits with humidity up in the uncomfortable range, and morning temps are still high and the air even thicker?

Oh hell no!

But then again I'm not an idiot so I didn't expect to be comfortable. (Here's the point where some of you out there are thinking "Oh yeah, he's an idiot!")

So why did I do it?

Well first, it's hiking and camping. Duh!

This was just before sunrise the next day

But another reason is that, in my opinion anyway, many of us spend far too much time bowing before the throne of comfort.

It's an evolutionary thing, the drive to seek out comfort. After all, the guy (And I'm using the northeastern "youse guys" here which covers all sexes.) that seeks the comfort of a warm cave is more likely to survive, at least to breeding age where this trait can then be passed on, than the guy who walks face-first into the blizzard while laughing.

Evolution has served us hominoids well for about 2 million years, getting us through challenging times when branches of the family, (actually scientifically classified as the superfamily of Hominidae) those that didn't go extinct anyway, are estimated to have numbered as little as a few hundred during the worst of times.

But frankly some of those evolutionary traits haven't been doing us homo-sapiens any favors for the last 20,000 years. Things like  a propensity to violence, (The guy with the biggest stick and a willingness to use it survives.) bigotry (The guy that fears those that look different or don't share the same beliefs is more likely to survive than the guy that walks up to strangers with open arms - see propensity to violence -) and greed. (The guy with the most stuff is more likely to survive the winter.)

Like all evolutionary traits, the desire to seek out comfort is hard to shut off on short notice, (Our latest, "civilized" 20,000 years is about 1% of our 2 million years of evolution, so yeah, that's short notice.) and today, with technology and economic circumstances making comfort so readily attainable for many of us, that's not necessarily a good thing.

This has resulted in people that are literally incapable of functioning outside the "comfort zone" long enough to carry on a two-sentence conversation before having to stumble, completely debilitated, back into the AC in order to function.

I think a good part of this is because they have suckled at the teat of comfort for so long their zone of tolerance, that area either side of comfortable in which they can still function effectively, has shrunk away to nothing. I've seen first-hand how life-limiting this can be and would prefer to avoid it myself.

After all, unless you occasionally gnaw on over-cooked flank-steak you can't truly appreciate the exquisiteness of  a perfectly prepared filet mignon. If you haven't frozen your toes for hours in the slush of an early spring you'll miss out on the true joy of a hot drink warming your insides while a hot fire toasts the outside. Unless you spend time sweltering in triple-digits you'll miss out on the orgasmic quality of a rain-cooled 85 degree breeze.

Too much of most anything, including comfort, results in over-familiarity, under-appreciation, and a flat life. A life lived close to either side of the median, well away from the painful lows, but also the exhilarating highs. And when you think about it, they don't write biographies about those that have lived flat lives.

Not that I want a biography written about me, but I do think I owe it to myself, my parents, and the rest of my ancestors that gave me this gift of life, to live a rich one that covers the full spectrum of the experience.

Bad cameramanship here as my phone is actually showing 1908 (7:08 PM)

So back to the original questions:

Is comfort overrated? Only those who have too much of it might think so.

Is comfort underappreciated? Again, only by those that have too much of it.