Friends make a trip to Big Bend National Park and cross the river into Mexico for an unwanted adventure
James crawled on his belly, keeping his brown backpack as tight against his body as possible. He had moved this way so often today that small tears had formed on the front of his shirt, some of them bloody. He froze when he heard a slight scraping sound. He was two feet from a large Lechugilla plant--snake? He listened until he heard the sound again. It was farther away—to his left. He turned his head very slowly in an attempt to keep his own movement unnoticed, and scanned the area, realizing that he couldn’t see at all through his right eye. He wanted to reach up and feel it, but held still. This time he heard a grunt and saw a hint of movement on the other side of a cactus formation some thirty feet away and slightly behind him. He held his breath and tried to focus. Yes, he saw it again.
A ten-foot stretch of open space was all that remained in front of him before the rocks started. If he was where he hoped, with the Juarez Mountains in front of him, the river crossing would be to his left. If he was lucky, he could reach the other side and an American border patrol agent would spot him; if he was unlucky…
***
“Road trip!” Joel yelled as he jumped up from the poker game. His tee shirt read “Born to Run,” and it did appear that he had spent his eighteen years of life doing just that. Slim, with long, lean muscles, he was much tougher than he appeared. He rarely missed a day of five-mile runs, and his red-blond hair looked perpetually wind blown, revealing his freckled face. He wore horn-rimmed glasses like his idol, Buddy Holly, which gave him an overall appearance of nerd. He even wore a cap that said “WWBD.”
Shawn and James looked at him in amazement. Did he ever get tired? James wondered. Neither he nor Shawn were slouches. They did a little running themselves and went to the gym occasionally--usually when it was time to pay the monthly membership fee, always a good reminder to hit the weights.
The two of them came from the same small town and now shared an apartment in this small town of Alpine, Texas, while attending Sul Ross University. Joel was a home-town boy, the one who knew his way around. They had met in a government class last year and had become friends because of their mutual interest in hiking and camping.
Shawn threw down his cards, “Why not?” he said. “I’m sick of losing at Hold’em anyway. It’s got to be cheap though. If I wasn’t so close to broke I’d be home seeing my mama right now instead of spending time with you losers.”
“Yeah, right. Your mama.”
Turning to Joel, James asked, “Where'd you have in mind?”
“Big Bend. Pack your gear. I’ve got enough dough for gasoline, and we'll go raid my parent’s fridge on the way out. We can be there in time to pitch the tents and set up a camp. We’ll have to stop at park headquarters for a permit, but it’s cheap, and I’ll hit up my old man for a few bucks. He’ll probably ask to go along.” Seeing the look on their faces, he quickly added, “Oh, don’t look so worried; he knows the answer. It’s just his routine to ask.”
“I’ve gotta shower and wash my hair. If I have to spend my time with you two nerds, I wanna make sure my superior looks stand out,” Shawn said.
The other two laughed. “Okay, pretty boy,” James said. “You do need to look your best for the coyotes.”
Shawn was definitely the good-looking one of the three. He’d been voted “Most Handsome” in high school, and kept his brown hair in the latest style, even if it meant using every penny he had. He’d had the same girlfriend for the last two years, but his grades hadn’t rated him the same choices in higher education as hers had. She had earned a scholarship to UT in Austin, where she had recently met someone else. Shawn tried to act unconcerned, and even relieved, but his unhappiness showed. He didn’t lack for female attention at Sul Ross, but he did lack for money. His father had left the family when he was twelve years old, and his mother was still raising two other children with little financial help.
“Other than prettying up, how long will it take you to get your stuff together?” Joel asked.
“Our gear is always packed,” James told Joel. “Do we look like the type to clean everything and hang our backpacks out to air?” They looked around the messy apartment. “Good. Then if Shawn can find his hair dryer, we should be out of here in fifteen. One more game while we wait,” he said to James, more a statement than a question as he dealt the cards.
James also had a girlfriend--at least he thought he did. Since he had left for Alpine in August, her phone calls had become fewer and shorter. Of course, Ruth was a studier--that’s what he told himself. James himself was average. No one knew that better than he--average looks, average family, average grades, average dreams. He didn’t worry a lot about haircuts; his black ponytail might be unusual in this west Texas college world, but it still fit his lifestyle of casual, free-thinking openness.
It was the day after Thanksgiving. Neither Shawn nor James had been able to afford a trip home. With three days left before classes began again, penny poker was already getting boring. They reached into the coat closet of their small apartment on the way out the door to grab their backpacks and hiking boots.
It was a short drive to Joel’s house in an upper-middle class neighborhood. They had been there before, but only for a few minutes on their way to a party. Joel’s parents had made them feel welcome. His father was a professor at the college, and looked the part. It was a “Leave It To Beaver” family in James’ mind. But, he thought, Joel was more an ‘Eddie Haskell’ than a ‘Wally,’ and there was no little brother.
Joel backed his beige Jeep Sahara Unlimited into the drive and threw open the back. He pushed his code into the keypad and the garage door opened.
“Wow!” Shawn said. He and James both stared in amazement.
Joel laughed. “Immaculate, huh? Dad is a little compulsive, and I’m a disappointment to him in the neatness department.” He reached into a cabinet for his backpack and retrieved his hiking boots from the shelf below it. The next cabinet held a small fire pan and charcoal, which he handed to James. Then he pulled a cooler from another cabinet and reached into a freezer for a bag of ice.
Leaving it all at the door, they entered Joel’s house through the garage, slipped out of their shoes in the mud room, and entered the kitchen. Mrs. Callaway was in the kitchen, but she wasn’t wearing pearls, or even a dress for that matter--definitely not “the Beaver’s” mother. Leann Callaway wore a warm-up suit of red nylon, and her tennis shoes alone probably cost more than James’ entire shoe wardrobe. And the smell wasn’t cookies baking, just the subtle, earthy smell of expensive perfume. Joel hugged his mom.
“Hello, boys. What’s up?” she asked.
“Joel was winning all our pennies, so we decided it would be cheaper to go camping in Big Bend,” Shawn answered her.
“Yes? Well, I’ll put together some sandwiches. You’re all too skinny anyway.” She turned to the fridge and started pulling things out.
“Wow! Thanks, Mrs. Callaway.” Shawn said while giving her his best “Most Handsome” smile. And for the second time, James thought of Eddie Haskell.
“I’ll be right back,” Joel said, leaving the two standing in the kitchen.
His mother pulled open a special door on the huge refrigerator, displaying a cornucopia of drinks. “What’s your order, boys?”
“Coke’s good,” answered James, while looking steadily at the Tecate.
“Tecate sounds great,” Shawn answered with his usual self assurance.
“Want to change your mind?” Mrs. Callaway asked James with a smile. He nodded humbly, and she pulled an opener from a drawer, pulled slices of lime from a container, and handed them each one. “Have a seat,” she added.
Turning to another cabinet, she pulled out cookies, chips, and baggies.
“I’d like to tell you not to go to so much trouble, Mrs. Callaway, but…” Shawn shrugged his shoulders and smiled his best James Dean. She smiled back at him, but you got the feeling she knew his type.
“Can we at least help?” James asked her.
“No,” she replied. “Just enjoy your beer and don’t drink on the road, please. And be careful. Not just on the road. I don’t need to tell you boys about the dangers in the desert.”
“We’ll be fine,” he said. “We’re always careful.”
Joel returned to the kitchen with socks and a straw hat, his father right behind him. “See, Mom,” he said, showing her the hat. “I’m taking care of my pretty complexion.”
She laughed aloud and hugged him again. “Just be careful. You know things have changed. There's violence in a lot of border areas now.” She turned to the other boys. “Take care of each other,” she said as she left the room.
Mr. Callaway took the empty beer bottles from James and Shawn, and put them in a special recycling container that looked like a regular cabinet door. He picked up the bottles of water his wife had set out and headed for the garage door. The three boys each picked up drinks and food and followed.
“Looks like a feast,” Mr. Callaway said as he helped load the large and expensive looking thermal cooler. He and Joel each picked up a handle and walked to the back of the jeep and lifted it in. “You sure you don’t want more company?”
“Bye, Dad,” Joel said. "See you Sunday."
“You are one lucky sap,” Shawn said as they drove away to the sounds of Buddy Holly and The Crickets on a CD.
Joel joined in with his deep bass. “Well, that’ll be the day, when you say goodbye-yie, that’ll be the day, when you make me cry-yie.”
Shawn and James looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. Then James joined in and did his best to harmonize. “You say your gonna leave me. You know it’s a lie, cause that’ll be the day-yay-yay, that I die!”
***
The road out of Alpine was wide open--a two-lane highway into the flat Chihuahuan Desert. The jeep made its way around a small group of bicyclists, an easy thing to do considering there were no other vehicles in sight. James was mesmerized by the light reflecting off the spokes of the bicycles in the early afternoon sun. The helmets of some of the cyclists came to an aerodynamic point in back, like a horizontal drop of water, and made more alien-appearing by the water packs they carried on their backs with long, flexible straws coming around to their mouths. They were riding against a November wind that pushed their skin back on their faces in a grimace when they looked up at the passing car. Some waved, and then quickly lowered their heads to streamline their efforts.
Scrubland. Miles and miles of near nothingness. And yet it's beautiful, James thought. He remembered a Boy Scout trip to Big Bend when he was ten. He hadn't appreciated the desert on that trip. He had learned a few things, but remembered how badly he had wanted his own bed and refrigerator. It had never crossed his mind that he would need to know desert survival skills. Laughing to himself, he thought, there are more creature comforts in back of this jeep than in our apartment.
The park ranger at the station where they stopped asked more questions than usual. They picked a spot, and he reminded them of park rules. Joel purchased a bundle of wood and they loaded it onto the luggage rack. As they were strapping it down to leave, the ranger taped a sticker to the inside windshield with the date and campsite: November 23, 2007, site #6. “Boys, I’m advising you not to cross the border. It’s not open and there have been some problems recently. Watch out for rattlesnakes around the rocks and crevices. They’re looking for a warm place. Stay out of trouble, and stay safe.”
“Yes, sir,” Joel said. Can you tell us what’s going on?”
“There seems to be some drug trafficking activity in this area. Just be aware and careful who you communicate with.”
“We will.” Joel pulled out from the station after checking the map once again. “What do you guys think?” he asked. “I wonder how serious it really is. I wanted to cross over to Boquillas.”
“Let’s feel it out tomorrow after we set up camp and have a relaxing evening,” said Shawn. “I’m sure they’ll be patrolling more because of the smuggling and we could get into some trouble.”
“It used to be that they didn’t worry a lot about crossings. If you got in trouble, tough luck because you weren’t supposed to be crossing anyway. We’ll have to drive to the parking lot to take the hiking trail. It’s a good distance from the campsites. We can decide when we get to the river.”
***
The campsites were only half full, surprising for a fall holiday. They were set in a beautiful stand of cottonwoods, but also seemed to be a haven for mosquitos. They each quickly set up their tents close enough to the currently permitted fire ring to stay warm in the chilly desert nights. Billions of stars filled the black and purple sky, and the desert sounds seemed right, if wary; that is, until they started to doze, with bellies full of campfire hot dogs and contentment. James opened his eyes to see Joel already sitting up, listening.
“Was that a wolf?” Shawn asked. “It didn’t sound right.”
“No,” Joel answered. “It was someone making a wolf call, and another person doing the same in response. There aren’t many wolves around here, just an occasional Mexican grey. I’m betting it has something to do with the drug smuggling.”
“Let’s go look around,” James said.
They got up, grabbed flashlights, and pulled on jackets. Another camper popped up and looked around, but then gathered his things and went into his tent, shutting off his lantern.
“Don’t turn your flashlight on just yet,” Joel said.
They followed Joel, who navigated by starlight and his instinctive kinship to nature. As they got closer to the road, another howl arose from the desert, with an answering call that sounded much closer to the camp.
“I think it might be foolish to go on,” Joel said.
“You don’t have to convince me,” said Shawn. “Let’s check the area out tomorrow.” He turned around to head back to camp.
“To your right,” said Joel. “You might want to watch that cactus you almost ran into.”
“How the heck can you see that?” asked Shawn. “I’ll follow you.”
“We need to get that ice chest into a trash bag and spray a little insect repellent on our clothes. No use inviting trouble,” Joel said.
“What kind of trouble?” asked James.
“There are a few mountain lions in the area. I’d rather not invite them into camp with smells. And insect repellent might also ward off scorpions, spiders, fleas…”
“Enough!” Shawn interrupted. “Where’s that repellent?”
When James awoke, Joel was already stoking the campfire for coffee.
“Morning. How’d you sleep?” James asked him.
“Just like always,” Joel answered. “With the peace of an innocent soul.”
James smiled as he headed off to the compost toilet, and Shawn stepped out of his tent. “Hurry it up,” he called after James.
With the morning toilet rush over, they sat down on campstools and drank the dark brew of campfire coffee. “This is when the smell of bacon is the best smell in the world,” Shawn said.
“Yep, but we’ll be settling for fried bologna sandwiches,” said Joel. “Or rather, heated on a stick bologna sandwiches.”
“Second best smell,” said James.
In no hurry to get going, they hugged the campfire and enjoyed the scenery over a second pot of coffee. The few other campers began to emerge and head to the composter. An interesting assortment of people were joining the desert world. James counted eight: one middle aged couple who appeared moderately fit, two males who appeared college aged, and a couple with two young children. After a while the two males headed in their direction with their campstools.
“Mind some company?” the first asked.
“Come on over,” said Joel. “We can offer you a bologna sandwich.”
“Sounds great, and my name is Fred. This is Drew.”
They shook hands all around.
“Did you hear the wolves last night?” Fred asked.
“We heard something,” Shawn answered. “But Joel seems to think it wasn’t real wolves.”
“Oh, really? What then?”
“Human wolves,” said Joel. “Traffickers probably.”
“Wow. We were thinking of crossing the river,” said Drew. “Maybe it’s a mistake.”
“We’re going that way,” said James. “We thought we’d decide when we got there. Want to join us?”
“Yeah, thanks. More safety in numbers, anyway.”
“I’d like to get going soon,” said Joel. “How long before everyone can get ready? Let’s just each take food and water in our backpacks.”
“How’s fifteen minutes?” asked Fred.
“Sounds good to me,” said Shawn, and the rest nodded agreement.
It was still chilly as they left camp, backpacks bungeed with extras such as flashlights, blankets, and dry socks. Shawn carried a walking stick that he had purchased at the camp store. The parking area near the crossing was empty this early in the morning and at this time of year. They stayed on established trails to the river, seeing no other hikers. No one was in sight when they reached the crossing. There was a smell of impending rain in the air, and a slight breeze.
As soon as they were in sight of the river the ‘ferry’ started their way. It had been a dry summer and the flatbed boat reached them in ten seconds.
“Well, what do you think?” asked James, to no one in particular as he looked at a sign that said Crossing is illegal and at your own risk.
“Cuanto?” Joel asked.
“Ten dollars for all,” the ferry owner answered back in perfect English. “And the same for your return trip.”
Joel laughed and handed him a ten dollar bill. “Let’s go!” he said to the others. And in less than twenty seconds they were in Mexico.
***
“Beer never tasted this good,” Drew said. “How long was that walk from the river?”
“About a mile,” Joel answered. “Before the border shut down there were horses and burros to rent. Now it doesn’t seem like many people even live here. All of them made a living off of tourists, and there just haven’t been many.” As he was talking he noticed the bartender staring into the distance south and east of Boquillas. He looked that direction and saw a dust cloud. Dust devil? He wondered.
“Problemas tal vez,” the bartender mumbled.
“Por que?” asked James.
The bartender shrugged.
“Nosotros vamos?” James asked.
Another shrug as the bartender began placing clean glasses in a box.
James looked at Joel and asked, “What do you think?”
“Trouble is rare here,” he answered, “but this may be it. Let’s sit tight because if we head out, and they’re banditos, they’ll just chase us down anyway. Be ready to grab your backpack and slip it on if there are any signs of trouble.” Everyone pulled theirs closer.
“Seems like it might be worth a shot,” Fred said as he slipped his pack over his shoulders. “I’m not exactly a fighter.”
“Everyone needs to make their own decision fast,” Joel said.
Drew and Fred looked at each other, threw money down on the table, and headed down the dirt road at a good clip.
They had made the right decision. Nobody went after them, and the three riders arrived at the bar within a few minutes. They looked the part of banditos: filthy bandanas over their noses and mouths, long mustaches when they jerked the bandanas down, and yellow teeth with brown stains that they readily showed when they smiled their greetings and pulled up chairs between James, Joel, and Shawn. They ordered beers on their new American friends which the bartender hurried to serve and collect on, keeping his eyes averted.
“Habla Espanol?” the smallest of the three men asked.
“Muy poco,” Joel replied, “English?”
“Muy poco,” yellow teeth answered. The entire table wondered who was lying.
“Tienes dinero?” The third bandito asked while looking at each American.
James and Shawn both looked to Joel for translation, and when he told them what had been asked, they all quickly said “poco.”
Yellow teeth, seated to James’ left, slammed his elbow into James’ right eye. All six men stood up and pushed back chairs; the bartender disappeared to a small room in back of the bar. Joel, with his long reach and athletic strength, easily reached across the table and knocked yellow teeth off his feet by slamming a fist into his nose.
James kicked him and punched the short one who was reaching for a pistol in his waistband. Shawn grabbed the pistol and threw it as far as he could. Then Joel said, “Run!”
They all headed down the road toward the river, but shots were flying from the bar and they could see the third bandito shooting in their direction. “Spread out and zigzag!” Joel called. Shawn continued toward the river on the road, Joel went to the right trying to stoop low amongst the desert plants. James went left, but not before seeing Shawn look back at him with terror and pleading in his eyes. “Zigzag, Shawn! Make the river and run as fast as you can!”
The heat was stifling now with not a hint of a breeze. James wiped the sweat from his eyes and continued to run bent over. He thought about his mother and what she would feel if he was killed in Mexico. So unexpected. He shook it off as he heard another shot and then a scream. Oh, no, he thought. Please don’t let it be a kill shot. He kept going, and suddenly realized he had been running without seeing where he was going for so long, that when he looked up he did not know where he was. He heard yelling in the distance and hit the ground again. Too tired to move, he lay where he was and hoped.
***
He thought he had heard something and immediately thought of a rattlesnake. But he was finally able to focus and saw the unmistakable hair. “Shawn?” he whispered loudly. A moan was the reply. He belly crawled towards him, listening for any other sounds. The blood was the next thing he saw. He grabbed his water bottle and rinsed it off, finding a shoulder wound. Shawn stared at him as if he wasn’t sure it was really James.
“Is it bad?” he asked.
“No,” James replied. “And we need to get to the river. It can’t be far. Drink some of this water.” He helped Shawn to sit up. “And keep quiet.” He lifted up and looked around, seeing nothing but a cloud of dust in the distance.
“I think they’re gone,” he said. “Stay low, and let’s go.” He helped Shawn stand and they headed into the open space toward the river. He could see the crossing immediately and the ferry driver who sat facing the other side. The driver was very surprised to hear them coming up behind him. James pulled a ten dollar bill out of his pocket without speaking and the ferry man asked him, “Banditos?” James nodded yes. “Muy malo,” the man said as he helped Shawn onto the ferry.
“Have you seen our friend, the tall one with red hair?”
“No,” the man answered in English. “I am sorry.” He got them quickly to the American side.
They moved up the road hoping to run into someone to ask about Joel. No one was around and when they reached the jeep, there was no sign of Joel. No help was in sight and James could not get a signal on his cell phone.
“You’re going to have to wait here while I start hiking. Drink your water and stay in the shade. If Joel shows up, tell him I’ll be on the road.”
When James approached the campground, he saw a park ranger truck and waved it down. Drew and Fred had already been talking to him. James told his story and the ranger notified headquarters. They went back to Shawn and waited with him for an ambulance. The ranger began scanning the Mexico side with binoculars.
“I want to go look myself,” James said.
“I can’t let you do that,” said the ranger. “Mexican officials will be notified and they will look. You need to go with your friend in the ambulance and have someone pick you up from there. I’ll have someone break up your camp and hold your things at the main ranger station. This has to be out of your hands now. Write down his wife’s or parents’ names and address if you know it.”
And so the wait began.
And in James’ mind, the conversation with Joel’s parents. What will he tell them? “Did you try to help him?” they would ask.
They make you say it--scared, running, shots, bad guys, maybe dead, no, we shouldn’t have gone. I know we shouldn’t have gone.
Days passed without word from anyone. They had been able to catch a bus back to their apartment when Shawn was released and after a few days, took James’ car back to the main ranger station. Joel had not been found, and his parents refused to leave the campground.
They spent days sitting by the river, looking across. They watched the sky for circling buzzards. They rarely spoke, except to tell James and Shawn that they held no blame.
In mid December James and Shawn made a trip to sit with them. They were gone. They were reluctant to call Joel’s parents; the park ranger said that Joel had not been found. The rangers checked the river often, and air surveillance had found no sign of him in the mountains. There was nothing else that could be done, they said. Nothing.
Clearly a sad story that started out as a youthful adventure. Young people do tend to take risks that are unwarranted and these kinds of things do happen.
Although I've only been in Alpine once and never camped in the desert, your story brought back memories of many crossings to Progresso and Reynosa. As well as being stopped by US immigration returning from a view from Falcon Dam. Bologna sandwiches indeed! Reminds me of our lunches my grandmother made on our first trip west at picnic grounds.
Admiral Robert Sheppard and his starship, the Phoenix, are back for their latest interplanetary adventure. Mysteries, new alien civilizations, and danger await the intrepid Star Knight and his loyal allies.
James crawled on his belly, keeping his brown backpack as tight against his body as possible. He had moved this way so often today that small tears had formed on the front of his shirt, some of them bloody. He froze when he heard a slight scraping sound. He was two feet from a large Lechugilla plant--snake? He listened until he heard the sound again. It was farther away—to his left. He turned his head very slowly in an attempt to keep his own movement unnoticed, and scanned the area, realizing that he couldn’t see at all through his right eye. He wanted to reach up and feel it, but held still. This time he heard a grunt and saw a hint of movement on the other side of a cactus formation some thirty feet away and slightly behind him. He held his breath and tried to focus. Yes, he saw it again.
