The last time we were at a hot springs, it was St. Patrick’s Day 2020 and COVID had just shut down Hot Springs National Park in Arkansas. A ginger bearded leprechaun in a kilt poured us a Guiness and played us a sad bagpipes tune explaining that the tourist season was over before it had begun and so was his ability to make rent. Little did he know about the COVID relief packages to come.
Big Bend has its own hot springs right on the bank of the Rio Grande. Fortunately they are on the U.S. side so they are American hot springs for Americans to use. As Americans, and hot Americans at that, we’ve been putting off a dip into 105 degree geothermal waters since it’s the same temperature as the air. If we were going to have a chance, it would have to be early morning in the coolest part of the day.
Rising before the sun, we did a 6 mile Como run in long sleeves and jackets. It’s painful to get up and out so early, but in a coveted 56 degrees it was worth every lost wink to see the desert under a full moon in the just before dawn light. We figured we would have the hot springs to ourselves as we came off the blacktop and onto the crushed gravel road that snaked down to an abandoned 1890’s health club resort.
Our worst nightmare came true as we had been beaten to the springs by a large hairy Texan who was super chatty about his sore sciatica. With the romance killed, we shifted gears and traded stories. Wouldn’t you know it, the dude was retired Army intel who had done a tour in the same brigade in Korea where our soldier is now. He was also a lifelong Texas resident who had good book suggestions and excellent camping advice while we were in the Lone Star State. It just goes to show, don’t let a hairy Harley Davidson beer belly stop you from striking up a conversation.
After a social soak, nothing is more relaxing than a series of kidney punches administered by a rocky road. Ranger Bill had warned us about the Old Ore road. We had driven the considerably less bumpy course to Grapevine Hills on the day we arrived and biked the mistake that was Dagger Flats. Still, we insisted on more bodily harm to cross the Ernst Tinaja hike off the Village side of the Big Bend list. The hike itself is amazing. The five miles of off-road it takes to get to the trailhead will take an hour of your time and three rounds with Rocky in the lower back.
It was high noon at the trailhead and hotter than the hot springs. Pressing out with a giant jug of raspberry crystal light and two rapidly warming tuna wraps, we were greeted by the slot canyon bees who were busy pollinating the flowering cacti and plants. It was gorgeous and terrifying; eventually painful as the bees left stinger greetings in Sheri’s hands as she swatted them away. The canyon was stunning having been finished in multiple layers of rose colored limestone by Canyon Designs of west Texas.
A tinaja is a spring which forms a pool in a limestone formation, in case you’re not up to speed on Spanish rock formations. At this tinaja, or large earthen jar, the stagnant water is home to slimy algae and colonies of bees. The steep stone walls provide natural amplification of their maddening buzzing. Rumor has it that if you mis-step and slide into the tinaja, the smooth steep walls make it impossible to climb out. Just something to think about while you rock scramble above it.
We rock scrambled as deep into the slot canyon as physics and old bodies would allow eventually reaching the sacred third tinaja. At that point, the remaining portion of the slot canyon was protected by an unscalable polished narrow flume. It signaled the perfect destination for lukewarm lemonade and tuna wraps. Catching our breath we had time to contemplate why we always seem to find ourselves with tuna for lunch, before heading back out into the heat for a return beating home.
In true happy hour form, we tried on a new brew – Love Street Blonde with chips and queso. We have become the longtime residents of the RV park which indicates that our time to leave is arriving quickly. Camped out under the trees, new arrivals check in with us when they pull in. Our newest neighbor was Marissa traveling in a vintage 1993 Winnebago Warrior that she recently scored on Ebay. She’s from “around” but has been living in Portland, OR for 11 years too long so she’s riding around the west, visiting people she knows to find her next vibe which she thinks might be Marfa. But it could be Moab or Durango – she’ll know when it feels right.
