Wrapping Up South Llano with a Couple Hikes and an Old Barn

 

Yesterday's hike was a slow, gentle meander as I zig-zagged back and forth over on the east side of the park, picking up a few trails I hadn't gotten to yet this trip.

A pleasant hike but scant on unique photos and not really one worthy of a blog-post of its own.

Dad was a lifelong outdoors man and Mom, while admittedly a city-girl before she met him, embraced the outdoor life too, so I've always known how important natural spaces are for my well-being, both physical and spiritual, but I didn't really know how important until after I retired and had time to sit back, pay attention, and reflect. And it's often the less dramatic of outdoors spaces that provide the most fertile healing environments. 

No extraordinary vistas, no peaks to scale, no cliffs to negotiate, just a nice gentle hike of the kind that creates a dichotomy of mind, at least my mind. On the one hand it's pretty much like meditation, moving meditation, where I'm in that coveted and peaceful now mindset of eastern philosophies. On the other hand my mind is free-form wandering, often coming up with brilliant and elegant solutions to the problems of society and the world or composing award winning blog posts. (Too bad I can never remember any of them when the hike is over - Though based on a review of some of my past posts maybe that's a good thing!)

Very satisfying, but as I said, not very blog-worthy.

Today is moving day. No room in the campground, so I'm headed back home.

Eventually.

But first, since there's no sense in wasting the day by getting on the road too early, a couple of hikes.

The first one is there down at the bottom of the map above, around the West Canyon, but I've got to keep an eye on the time since I need to get back and move The Van off its campsite by noon. (I set out pretty early and didn't want to disturb those campers keeping more reasonable hours by starting The Van and driving out of the camping loop past them.)

Much of the country has issues with too much deer population, and here is no exception, so while I'm not a hunter myself I do understand the management aspects of it. (Though I do object to the once-a-year citiot warriors that, in the name of proving their excess testosterone (Yes, that includes all genders) with guns and wall-hangings,  make hunting season more dangerous than it has to be.)

Some of the Texas State Parks have hunting blinds like this scattered about.

This time of year (November through the first part of January) selected parks will be closed on selected dates to all except those with hunting permits. There are both walk-in and drawn permits. Drawn permits often include a blind.

Most of these blinds are pretty crude. A plywood box with a door on the back-side and usually a raw-plank bench-seat that cuts across the door opening so you have to climb in over it.

This particular blind was pretty ritzy with a walk-in door and an actual chair inside.

After finishing up the West Canyon hike I moved The Van over to a day-use area so the campground host could rake the fire-pit, which I never used, before the next camper turns up to take up temporary residence, and set out on my second hike, which was to weave around the bottom lands down by the river.

This area is a favored roosting site for the Rio-Grand Turkey so for much of the year is only open during the middle of the day when the turkeys are off doing turkey stuff, so I usually don't hike much in here.

The habitat, and terrain, down here is quite a bit different than that found in the rest of the park.

Old trails down here sometimes disappear

as the river meanders around with each flood, once in a while eating away the ground that trails used to stand on,

and on occasion getting wild enough to abandon the old riverbed altogether, leaving behind oxbows, such as this one called Buck's Lake.

I tried sneaking up on that bench,

but I don't think I was very successful as the occupants of this nearby turtle-log were keeping a pretty close eye on me.

My final stop of the hike, and my stay, was this old barn.

Probably the oldest building left from the ranching days. Unfortunately, instead of interesting information about its history, the only signs around the barn were those warning about the illegality of digging for or carting off artifacts,

but I'm guessing this log barn predates the Buck family's purchase of the ranch in 1910.

I wish the park service would pay more attention to the history of these places, but this barn doesn't even rate a sentence let alone a chapter on the parks history page.

Oh, well, the sun is getting low and it's time for me to head down the road to a favored I-10 rest area for the night before making the final run to the house tomorrow.

So there you have it, another visit to one of the Texas State Parks. From here I can almost see a time when I'll be free to wander further afield again, but for now my next State Park reservation is lined up and waiting out there on the far side of the holidays and park hunting closures.

 

An Off-Trail Hike and More Animal Encounters

A portion of today's hike was off-trail and I debated over whether to include a map of my track or not.

Over the years I've seen too many good places ruined by publicity.

But it's not like I have that many readers, and this is one of those lightly used parks where off-trail hiking is not discouraged and anyone that studied the trail-map would notice this trail-challenged spot that just begged to be explored, so I'm throwing in the map anyway.

I had just barely gotten started when this lady, rather belligerently I thought as she stamped her foot at me, wanted to know what the hell I thought I was doing out here at this hour, and how dare I disturb her morning routine!

The next stop was the birdblind, because the sun had just cleared the horizon and was throwing that quality of light that only lasts for a few minutes, so why not?

All the birdblinds, there's four of them scattered around the north end of the park, have outside as well as inside viewing areas which is nice in these COVID times when some of us are even more suspicious of enclosed public spaces than usual.

Oh No Dude!  Don't you know how cold it is out here?

Then, after a wander down the nature trail re-reading all the info-plaques - you know, in case they put out a new one since yesterday - 

and a short detour to yet another windmill at what used to be the ranch's main livestock holding and processing area, I hit the steep climb up the East Ridge Trail towards - well - the East Ridge.

Years ago there used to be a faint two-track diverging north off of the East Ridge Trail that petered out within a half mile into a confused jumble of game-trails that themselves petered out.

Today that two-track has just about faded away into obscurity. In fact, even though I knew about where it was, and was looking for it, I missed it the first time and had to backtrack.

The plan, even if I didn't find where the old two-track intersected the trail, which I did the second time, was to strike out off-trail to the NNW anyway.

Now going off-trail, no matter how briefly, should never be a casual thing. Take the case of a woman hiking the Appalachian Trail in Maine 7 years ago. She stepped off the trail for a bio-break, she simply wanted a little privacy to pee, and the final entry in her journal shows she died of exposure/starvation about a month later. It was two years before her body was found a couple miles from the trail.

You would have to work really hard to get lost on the track-less ridge I was headed for, bounded, as it is, on three sides by steep, rocky slopes and the forth by established trails and fence-lines which are pretty much impossible to miss even in the dark, but even so, before I stepped off the trail I had a plan.

I was carrying three separate maps and a compass, my GPS was on and tracking me, and I had two extra sets of batteries for it in my pack, all of which is true even when I'm on established trails. (Yep, definitely overkill but I've been hiking by myself for decades now and I'm still here so I'll take overkill.) But those were all backups to my primary plan of keeping the steep slope off my left shoulder which guaranteed I would eventually circumnavigate the ridge and come back out on the established trail.

Which obviously I did.

Clearly not all of us feel this way, but I believe that, whether on-trail or off, hikers have a responsibility to take care of themselves as if there was no such thing as publicly funded or privately volunteered  Search and Rescue. When off-trail in rocky, spiky land that means slow and careful. Every potentially injurious footstep planned out. Which makes for some slow progress, but that suits my hiking style just fine since being here now is more important to me than getting there in a hurry.

That slow, deliberate progress is probably why I was able to unexpectedly walk up on this young doe and a big old lecherous buck.

I don't know if  the buck was the same one I saw one ridge to the west yesterday or another one, but in either case he was faster than my camera-draw, though I could hear him crashing and clacking through the trees for some time as he tried to navigate that big rack through the obstacles.

The north end of this ridge sits about 150 mostly vertical feet above the complex of buildings built during the ranching days that are now used by the park service.

The public entrance to the headquarters, the original front door of the main residence, is on the far side of the large building in the upper left. Why Walter Buck, a bachelor, needed such a large house I don't know - Maybe he "entertained" a lot?

As is the nature of these things, the original home, part of which is now used as the park's headquarters, has been added onto several times, as have many of the outbuildings as well.

I suppose it's the distance (I'm now 4 miles hiking distance from The Van) that determined that the brow of next ridge east, only a 1 mile hike from The Van, be designated as the scenic outlook

instead of this spot, but that's fine by me as it meant I would be interruption-free as I ate my lunch in a quiet place with a fine view.

There were at least three separate sounders, or groups, of feral hogs tucked into the landscape and feeding up on this ridge with me today,

and at one point, while I was standing there focused on staying out from between the members of one of those sounders, some of whom had gone right while others had gone left, with my proposed track right up the middle between them,

this guy snuck in out of nowhere and trundled across right in front of me! (Ironically, this is where, I took a startled half-step back and got a dozen or so prickly pear spines in my leg for my carelessness.)

When The Sister saw this photo she asked if the ratty old thing was Sasquatch, but no,

nothing quite that dramatic. Just  a porcupine heading for the safety of a nearby cedar,

to wait out my intrusion into his space.

After making it back to the established trails, rather than taking the short way back to The Van, I gave my already tired legs a 15 story stair-master workout by, probably for some macho-ingrained nonsensical reason, setting the goal of climbing the steep, as in really steep, road to the park's established scenic outlook in one shot without a break, (OK, one break.)

From there I dropped down the new trail, from the rocky heights

to the lush(er) bottom-lands, on the final leg back to The Van.

Yep, another successful expedition without killing myself! Which is a good day in anybody's book. 

The Kind of Guy He Was

OK, I'm interrupting my South Llano River State Park series this week because sometimes, especially after this past year, (OK, I've done my 7 day trial of 2021 and I'd like to return it now!) we need to be reminded that there is good out there as well as the ugly.

Two years ago last week The Wife's nephew lost his life while helping a victim of domestic abuse.

This, helping those in need, was not a one-off.

He had no affiliation with any organization, group, charity, or church, but, on his own, and despite his own personal challenges, he helped people. Opening his house (literally - and I use the word correctly here) and his perpetually threadbare wallet to do what he could for those society had often written off.

That's the kind of guy he was.

This is a voice-print of a line from a song he wrote. Its from a recording his sister made as he sang and accompanied himself on guitar. The original print is hanging in the home of his parents.

Last week a group of his friends, with no particular affiliation with any organization, group, charity, or church, assembled care-packages in his memory.

It was a modest effort but, thanks in part to a generous $500 contribution from a grade-school friend who has long lived out of state, donations exceeded their expectations by a factor of four, hitting the $1200 mark.

Partnering with his favorite pizza-parlor and the neighboring convenience store, these care-packages consisted of his favorite food, favorite non-alcoholic drink, and basics such as socks and underwear.

His friends then took it upon themselves to personally deliver these packages into the hands of the homeless in the area. 

That's the kind of friends he has. 

 

Dang! Who Left the Freezer Door Open?!

 When you're a morning person like me, up and ready to get at it at the first hint of daylight, you learn to check the time first lest it's just the full moon trying to trick you into getting up at 0327 in the morning. (Yep, done that more than once.) And that's why, since my only time-piece is my phone, it is always within lazy arm-reach when I'm sleeping.

And that proximity is also why, even though I was asleep, I heard it buzz the second morning of my stay at South Llano River State Park in early December.

Now it's not supposed to buzz like that since I don't set an alarm, nor allow any audible notifications, and it was set to airplane mode so there couldn't be any incoming calls, but buzz it did. So I snaked a reluctant arm out of my snug sleeping bag to see what the hell was going on.

Black screen and no response to my unlocking-fingerprint.

I pushed harder and finally got an anemic buzz out of the phone, accompanied by a very brief notification that the battery was too low to turn on before it went black again, (The first buzz I heard must have been when the phone shut itself off) which was weird since it was fully charged when I went to bed a few hours ago.

At least I think it was a few hours ago but now I don't have a clock to verify that.

I wasn't happy about it, but I unzipped my sleeping bag and left it's cuddle-worthy warmth for the shocking chill of The Van so I could plug the charging cord into the dang thing. After all, I am into the second half of my 6th decade so maybe I only thought it was charged last night and since this phone carries one of my two backup maps when out on the trail I wanted to make sure the battery was full and ready to go in the morning.

Now normally I like learning new things, like the fact that, even though I can't display it when I want to, my phone has a thermometer inside it so it knows when it's too cold (or hot) for battery charging. But frankly, as I stood there in the frigid air in my all-together trying to keep at least one foot up off the painfully bitter slab that is normally The Van's floor at all times while attempting to get that tiny little plug into that tiny little hole, I could have done without this particular learning experience.

Now I was not only cold but curious and checked The Van's thermometer, (27 degrees outside, 31 degrees inside. Humm, maybe that's why the fridge hasn't cycled on all night.) pulled aside the shade to check the eastern horizon, (Nope, no sign of the sun yet) then jumped back into my sleeping bag, taking the phone with me to warm it up above that too-cold threshold.

Eventually, when I once again risked extending my head beyond the warm coziness of my well-lofted cocoon far enough to peek out under the shade, the sun was sneaking up on the horizon and I could legitimately get up and get going. (Yep, now that the phone was warm it was also magically charged up and ready to go as well.)

It certainly wasn't any warmer when I climbed out of my sleeping bag this time, but a cup of hot oatmeal, two pair of socks, a base-layer, two shirts and a heavy jacket, two pair of nested gloves, a neck-gaiter to camouflage my turkey-wattle and hide my stubble, not to mention slip up over my nose to keep it from freezing blue and falling off, a thin skull-cap which fits nicely under my hat but also does a surprisingly good job of keeping my ears warm, and this southern-dweller was ready to hit the winter trail.

Not long after I set out, even before my blood had time to get properly circulating, I passed this thermometer hanging outside one of the bird-blinds.

Despite the claim of the name on it, I thought maybe the thermometer was reading a little low, but a half mile later I passed another bird-blind, and another thermometer, which was reading the same.

Ah well, it's a glorious day anyway so let's go hiking!

Yesterday I looped the eastern side of the park. Today the plan is to loop the western side. And like yesterday, today I'll do the loop clockwise. It's not what I normally do, go clockwise, and I don't have any real explanation for the change-up, but that's what I did.

Aww! Isn't the destructive little critter cute?!

Uh-oh!

It's highly unlikely that mom reciprocates and thinks that I'm cute too.

In fact, give her half a reason and she'll stomp my ass!

Finally!

One of the group, scattered along both sides of the trail and effectively, very effectively, blocking my progress, has spotted me.

With only a modicum of alarm, befitting my puny stature I suppose, the sounder (the official title of a group of feral hogs) moved off to the right, towards the creek-bed.

And none too soon either! It's awfully chilly this morning to be just standing around like this.

Soon I am in the vicinity of the Canyon Seep, POI #4, which isn't far from the apparently disused primitive camping area.

There are 4 different formats for GPS coordinates and my GPS always seems to be set on the wrong one,

so rather than fiddle around with it to change formats and actually zero in on the coordinates of the seep, I just left the trail behind and set off clambering up the creek-bed, one careful step at a time in the jumbled rocks and twisted remains of trees swept downstream, in an attempt to find it sans-technology.

In my mind I was equating this seep with Fern Cave in Caprock or The Grotto in Lost Maples. But if I did actually find the seep, it was a rather nondescript stain a few inches wide and maybe three feet long in the canyon wall that I didn't even bother taking a photo of.

So, somewhat deflated, I retraced my steps and continued on with my hike.

But the trail always gives back eventually and I came across this guy later near the western edge of the park. 

 And as an extra bonus, as I was finishing up the hike by cutting down the restricted access road behind the service area before making the final turn back into the campground, I came across this guy.

He-she is actually pretty dang big and at first I thought it was a coyote, but a closer look revealed that it was a rather elegant looking fox instead, albeit a big one.

So the day may have started out ridiculously cold, but by the time I closed it out with dinner back at The Van it turned out to be another great day on the trails.