My Adventure In Pinto Canyon

     Many visitors to Big Bend never hear about, much less go down into, wild and impressive Pinto Canyon. And I daresay many of those who do hear about it do not attempt the trip because of the notorious rugged remoteness of the Pinto Canyon Road. Four-wheel drive is recommended, and if you get stuck or break down you can be in deep do-do. It is hot, arid and lonesome down there, there are precious few passers by and zero cell phone service.

     So I wanted to go. Besides, driving along the bottom of a canyon is low road traveling.

     I asked my friend and cousin-in-law, Alpine resident Tom Shortt, for advice, and invited him to come along with me. A long-time surveyor, Tom has passed through the canyon a number of times, usually in a pickup truck but once in a sedan, not his first choice. He said my Chevy van should make it okay. Just fill up with gas and bring plenty of water..... and lunch.

     So off we went. Pinto Canyon lies southwest or Marfa between the rugged Chinati (sheh NAH tee) Mountains and the southern end of the Sierra Vieja (vee AY hah). It is about 20 miles long and has an intermittent creek that flows to the Rio grande. Departing Marfa we traveled comfortably for 32 miles along a somewhat narrow but nicely paved road across the high Marfa Plateau ranch country. The plateau and pavement both ended at the rim of Pinto Canyon. From there it would be 28 miles of dirt road until we next struck pavement in the tiny burg of Ruidosa (rue ih DOSE ah) on the Rio Grande.

TOM SHORTT AT PINTO CANYON - My friend and Big Bend guide Tom Shortt stands at the north rim of Pinto Canyon, where the good paved road from Marfa turns into a rough dirt road that descends into the canyon. The most distant horizon of hazy mountains are across the Rio Grande in Chihuahua, Mexico. BELOW: The notoriously rough Pinto Canyon Roads snakes down into the canyon. The mountains in the distance are the Chinati Mountains; the highest, left of center, is Chinati Peak, 7,728 ft.

WATER! - In Pinto Canyon beneath Chinati Peak, these

cottonwood trees, seen with their new spring leaves, are

standing by a dry creek awaiting the springtime freshet,

which will not come this year due to a two-year drought

and lack of snow in the mountains. It may be more likely

these trees are drawing water from a sub creek, which is

a creek that runs through the gravel underneath the dry

creek bed on the surface. Or.... this may be a good place

to dig a well. A cottonwood is no cactus. They need lots

of water and can suck up 200 gals. of it per day. Their

presence is a sign water is near at hand.

     We descended into the canyon. The road was indeed rough. Strewn with ruts, potholes and grapefruit size rocks, and washboardy almost all the way. It was winding with many blind corners, and in places it ran along steep mountainsides where there were sharp drop-offs from the edge and no guardrails. It was extremely dusty; traveling 10 mph raised huge clouds. Down at the bottom the winding road and winding Pinto Creek criss-cross each other several times, providing a variety of low water crossing scenarios. Some were sandy or gravelly, or a combination. Some were more hard ledge. One was wet and muddy, enough so that I made a running start at it in order to ensure rolling through the mud instead of getting bogged down.

PINTO CREEK - I shot this out the window of my van while

parked athwart a low water crossing on Pinto Creek. I liked

the scene because the wide, rocky and ledgy dry creek bed

surrounded by mountains reminded me of the Swift River in

Maine. It would be a dead ringer if only it had water in it -

clean, golden, rippling water - and if only the hills were

covered with maple and fir trees, and if only the air was

heavy with the spicy scent fallen fir needles, and if, if, if......

Sometimes the slightest or even unlikeliest sights in strange

places will provoke strong and good memories of my native

state to pop into mind. 

     One crossing, I am certain, would have ended the trip if my van had not been equipped with posi-traction. This particular crossing had a vertical length of ledge on the opposite "shore" about twice as high as a ordinary street-side curb. It was probably seven inches tall and sharply squared off on top. In addition, the road on the opposite side rose very steeply for about 30 ft. immediately after the ledge. The ledge was too high and its top front edge too sharply squared off to take a running start at it, as the resulting impact would have surely busted up my tires, wheels and/or front end. The only choice was to slowly push the front wheels up and over. Trouble was, my rear wheels were in the sand and gravel of the dry creek bed, where they could easily spin and bury themselves. But the posi-traction worked beautifully! As I carefully fed the engine gas, I could hear the power wheel just begin to slip in the gravel on one side of the van, then the on the other side and then back again as the posi-traction instantaneously directed and redirected the drive power to the wheel that was not spinning. In the less than five seconds it took to push my front wheels up over the ledge, I believe the rear power wheel switched sides every half second. It was amazing. Posi-traction was a $150 option when I bought the van. Best money I ever spent.

     To give the road its due, it is way wide enough for two vehicles to meet and pass each other without anyone getting scraped by brush on the passenger side. Not that there is a crying need for such accommodation down there. In over two hours in the canyon, we met only one oncoming vehicle. About the only exception to the boulevard wide road was at the creek crossings, where it was strictly one vehicle at a time. And also in fairness to the road, it never made me really anxious, except at a couple of the creek crossings. Indeed, it is a walk in the park compared to some of the mountain roads in Virginia that wind one-lane wide for miles along mountain sides with steep drop-offs. Meeting and getting by oncoming vehicles there can be a dangerous, nerve racking event. Mostly, as far as driving it is concerned, the Pinto Canyon road turned out to be more tedious than scary because you cannot go more that 5-10 mph with shaking your vehicle apart.

     But that's okay, because the wild scenery is so fascinating and the scant signs of human habitation so compelling that a body wouldn't want to exceed walking speed anyway.

     Did I say human habitation? Yes. Strung out through the canyon are small areas of human activity, past or present. Basically, the whole place, wild as it looks, is ranch land. Darned poor ranch land I would judge. Mostly brush, very little grass. It must take a lot acreage to support just one cow/calf unit, and I did not see a single cattle on the entire trip. They must be really spread out looking for food. We passed by a corral which appeared to be a cattle loading site. We also passed by two ghost ranch steads, one of which was adobe and crumbling. There is a house where the artist Donald Judd got away from the hubbub of Marfa. He must have had really jumpy nerves if tiny Marfa bothered him. Per his request, he was buried in the canyon, but animals dug him. His bones were found scattered near his grave, and folks buried him again. Animals dug him up again. He was buried again. Pieces of him were found repeatedly in the yard of a nearby homestead. The owner reportedly found one of the bones in his yard - again - and complained to his wife, "Damn it! Donald's back again." Also, there is an abandoned mine, but Tom, off his game for once, could not remember what was mined there. The most interesting thing to me was a rough and ready airstrip up on top of 100 ft. high, sloping, whaleback ridge. Depending on the wind direction - an orange wind sock appeared to be the only ground control - the pilot had to land or take off from the runway going either up or down hill. The hardy pilot owns the ranch down there. He lives only 45 miles away in Marfa, but he flies down into the canyon to his ranch each morning, landing on that sloping dirt runway, and flies up out of it each evening. It that doesn't testify to the roughness of the road, I don't know what would.

WILD BURROS - We came across this group of wild burros

near Candelaria. Wild burros are common in the Rio Grande

Valley, and in some areas are a problem. In Big Bend Ranch

State Park they have become so destructive of habitat that

Texas Parks & Wildlife has resorted to shooting them after

unsuccessful attempts to trap them alive. Now the virulently

radical animal rights group, the Humane Society of the

United States has talked TPW into letting them solve the

problem. It will be interesting to see what comes of that.

     After a couple hours or so we rose up out of the canyon to a hilltop where we had a vast view of the Rio Grande Valley. We could see up and down it for miles. The valley is several miles wide here, and the river is invisible. In the wide area between mountain ranges on both the U.S. and Mexican sides, the land is fairly flat and full of man-high brush, or taller. The Rio Grande in this area is what they call a "braided" river, meaning it flows across the flats in various channels that criss-cross each other and also form new channels. But we could not see it, even when we stood virtually on the shore. Quite possibly there was no water in it. If there was a little water in it, it was hidden by the brush out on the flats where it flows.

     We came to paved road again in Ruidosa. Seventeen miles upstream from Ruidosa is Candelaria (can deh LAIR ree ah), which is literally the end of the road in this part of Texas, and a place I never thought I would ever see. People had always told me there was hardly anything in Ruidosa, and nothing at all in Candelaria, but to me it appeared to be the other way around. Ruidosa appeared almost a ghost town. There were fewer than a couple dozen buildings strung out along the highway, most of which were in good repair, but not a soul around. Candelaria appeared to be a somewhat larger town, and there were a few people moving about. But it was a sad looking place. Remote and sun drenched, with old adobes, mobile homes and shacks making up the biggest part of the residential inventory. There was one well-to-do place with a wall around it. Tom said it was an old country store that had gone out of business and eventually been bought by a lawyer who fixed it up as a getaway home.

ADOBE ARCHES - The sacred Heart of Jesus Catholic Church in Ruidosa is considered a significant structure in Texas because of its large, round adobe arches, reputedly the largest such arches in Texas. It was built in 1914 when about 300 people lived in Ruidosa, but it fell into disuse and ruin as the town slowly became a near ghost town of only 50 inhabitants or so. Because of the church's architectural significance, in recent years various citizens groups have picked away at preserving and restoring the building. I found the church interesting because if gave me a good opportunity to study adobe construction. The top photo shows the front and side of the church. The nearest corner of the building is all new reconstruction. The second photo is a closeup of that reconstruction, in which the mud and straw composition of the brick can be seen. Each brick was about 12"x24", but different sizes were used. The same stuff they use to make the bricks is used for mortar. The bottom photo shows the rear of the church and gives a good view of one of the three arches that make the church significant. In the foreground are newly made adobe bricks drying and hardening in the sun. For being made of nothing more than mud and straw, they are surprisingly heavy and sturdy feeling when you pick them up. Across the street is the town cantina, which, from looking in the windows, has been closed a long time. The bar, back bar, tables and chairs are still in there, all very dusty and forlorn.

     A mile or so away across the river from Candelaria I could see a fair sized village in Mexico. I studied it with my binoculars and was surprised to see shining white painted buildings, nice cars and everything looking spiffy and prosperous. Usually when you look at towns across the border, they look poor and dumpy. I remarked to Tom how unusually nice the village looked. He said it probably means just one thing: drug money. Okay. Time to go home to Alpine.

LUNCH BREAK - Using my van for shade, Tom and I stopped in Ruidosa to lunch on sandwiches purchased before we departed Alpine. We parked in front of a closed store, which was right next door to the Sacred Heart Church ruins. The store, closed for many years, is owned by a friend of Tom's who gave up trying to make a go of things in Ruidosa and moved to Alpine. Tom, whose college field trips, summer jobs, surveying work and whatnot have brought him into this remote area many times over the years remembers not only when the store was open but also when the cannibalized Ford behind him was "a whole truck." 

     On the way home we poked around for awhile in Presidio (pop. 4,426), which sits down on the Rio Grande across from the much larger Mexican city of Ojinaga (oh in NAH gah). Presidio is the largest town in Presidio County and also the hottest town in Texas. The high temperature in July averages 101 degrees, compared to 89 degrees in Marfa, which is only about 65 north but about 3,000 ft. higher. Presidio summer temperatures over 110 degrees are not unusual. It is the only port of entry between El Paso and Del Rio, and it is therefore a fairly busy little town with a big Border Patrol presence. Remote, hot, flat, sandy, nearly treeless, bereft of cultural attractions and with unpleasant looking desert in every direction, it is not an attractive place. Also, it has an disconcerting, foreign (Mexican) feel about it. On top of all that, it now finds itself effectively on a dead end road. It used to be town residents and other West Texans would cross the border into adjacent Ojinaga for inexpensive shopping, prescription medicines and restaurants, as well as - of all things - dentists, who charge about one-fifth as much as American dentists. Nowadays however, that road, while still open legally, is blocked by healthy fear of the lawlessness and violence now prevalent along the Mexican side of the border. Scarcely anyone in his right mind goes there anymore. I visited Presidio a couple years ago. I didn't like it then, and I didn't like it this time. Little known fact, though: Presidio and Ojinaga are considered the oldest towns in North America. They are located where the big Rio Concho river flows out of Mexico into the Rio Grande, and it is believed there were settled Indian communities there as long ago as 10,000 years. It is quite certain the area was under cultivation since 1200 AD. When Spaniards explored the area in the 1500s, they found permanent Indian dwellings there.

     On the way home we stopped in the ghost town of Shafter (pop. 57). Shafter was once a thriving silver mining town. The ruins of the processing mill are prominent in the middle of town. Some of the people who live there work in Presidio. Shafter is in the foot hills of the Chinati Mountains and supposedly much cooler. Just recently, with silver going for more than $30 an ounce, it is apparently profitable to mine it again, and a major operation has just started up just outside the ghost town. Will it bring Shafter back to life. It might help, but with better highways and faster cars miners might commute from other, livelier towns.

SHAFTER CEMETERY - On our way home, we stopped to look at the ghost town of Shafter and spent time in this large cemetery. The white crosses were new and it appeared that the rocks piled on each grave had been neatly  re-piled recently. However, almost none of the graves were marked. The size of the cemetery - look at all the tiny crosses receding into the background - is an indication of how many people used to live in Shafter, and possibly how dangerous silver mining was in those days. Tom, strolling above, and I both enjoy history and examining the nature of our surroundings, and we contentedly spent an hour or so exploring this cemetery and taking pictures. Major money is now being invested to resume silver mining in Shafter. The large new milling facility is located to the left on the side hill in the background, just out of the photo. For several months, the campground where I am staying has had 15-20 sites rented by RVs belonging to pole line workers (and their families) from Houston, who are installing enormous, metal poles across the desert to bring power to the mine. Look carefully and some of the poles can be seen along the crest of the hills.

     It is great having Tom along on these little journeys. Having lived in Alpine since he was 10-years-old and worked much of his adult life as a surveyor, there isn't much he doesn't know about the area. He knows the names of all the mountains and what they are made of, who owns all the land and what they use if for, not to mention who used to own the land and what they used it for. In the middle of nowhere he can tell me we are crossing from Smith ranch to the Jones ranch, or that a dry gully is really a creek. He has been in and out of all the little towns and knows where to eat and the locations of many little known points of interest and curiosities. For instance, on this day he had me stop at a lonely, wind swept but well kept hispanic cemetery in the middle of nowhere south of Ruidosa, and there he showed me a tombstone with Hebrew as well as Spanish writing on it. A Mexican Jew was buried there. Didn't know there were Mexican Jews. He points up things I would have never have found on my own, making my explorations far more interesting than would otherwise be the case.