SOMEWHERE IN THE LOWER BIG BEND:

We had started our trek on the west side of Grapevine Hills, drifting north and zig-zagging to and fro as we made our way along. Though most look out across here and see nothing but harsh, barren terrain, in reality some of the oddest, most intriguing sights around can be found in this general area.

You just need to know where to look, and how.

As usual I was on the scout for tinajas and springs, especially reliable ones. Just upstream from where we started, there are a couple of tinajas that hold water fairly well. They are also not easily negotiated, mostly tucked in crevices within other crevices in a desert floor turned inside out. Last time through they barely had any water at all, and I wouldn’t bet on either as far as quality.

Easing our way down I scouted one spot after another and found tinajas aplenty. Trouble was none contained a visible drop, the best of the lot had some moist mud and been heavily used by the local wildlife. After about two miles of such, a decent breeze began flittering up the developing canyon.

Suddenly I stopped like a bird dog on point and muttered “I smell water.”

Now I’ve been accused of being a bit driven on such matters, a trait carried over since childhood. But finding things is part of the joy, especially needful things. Or as one Ozona rancher once exclaimed; “Ben, you’re from that Big Bend Country. You people can smell a rain three days away!”

But I was smelling water now, and by the scent fairly close.

Rounding the corner, a scene from a John Ford western spread out before us. The dry wash tumbled off a wide rim to where it continued on some forty feet below. Down canyon one could see across the Tornillo Basin and all the way to Dagger Mountain. It was one of those magical moments where one feels incredibly blessed in seeing such wild, desert-encouched natural beauty.

Julie and I walked the rim searching about, it was dry as a dinosaur’s fossil. The breeze lifted up again along the edge, cool and inviting. The water was at the bottom of the pour off.

It took us a good half hour to figure a go around to get there, looping around hills and through other washes to bring us about. As you can tell from the photographs, the result was well worth the extra time and effort.
The water was seeping through solid rock in several spots, bringing verdant greenery so vivid in contrast to the grays and browns of the surrounding earth. Two stood out among the others, one where an embedded small bowl collected the precious liquid. Whether owing to natural erosion or done by the hand of some ancient, one will never know.

The other was not only a seep, but a spigot of water pouring forth. Dipping a cupped hand into it, I took a swallow or two. It was good water, cool and fresh without being brackish or tasting of gyp. Yep, you can definitely put this one down as being a reliable spring. A spring not marked on any map, or mentioned by any written word I know of.

And we looked at each other and grinned, each thinking the same thing…

God bless to all,
Ben

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