Waiting for the Last Gasp – Adam Overland

I’m about 300 feet from Mexico in Big Bend National Park, right on the Rio Grande. Tomorrow I might fish, but if I catch something, I’m not sure how to tell if it’s a Mexican fish or an American fish, and if it is a Mexican fish, do I have to throw it back? Is a fish a fish? It’s more than a philosophical question. Are migrants who’ve walked sometimes thousands of miles in search of food, shelter, and safety for their families people, too? Do we have to throw them back? 

The other night I was thinking how everything is traces, tentacles. Everything in this world is touching everything else if you look closely enough. I’d had a little weed though.

I left Monahans in early afternoon after a few hours of work and a hot shower, because I’m not sure that’s an option here. There’s no electricity but there are bathrooms (and possibly showers, I just haven’t checked).

150 miles from Big Bend the desert has a layer of brown tufts that look like they used to be plants. 50 miles later the plants begin to green up, sporadic clumps like lint on a sweater landscape, these little bushes dot the desert. I pass the Pecos River and a sign says “Six Shooter Draw,” and later, another reads “Dagger Flat Road.” I saw a hand-painted sign a while back: “Mini donkeys for sale.” 

This feels like the start of the wild west, and the violence and wildness that it once was still lingers. In Big Bend proper now, the plants turn to yucca, agave, and paddle cacti—huge green spiky leaves, tens of thousands of these cacti as far as you can see mingle with plants I don’t know the names of yet, but I’ll find out when the sun is up. 

As the sun gets low, I’m following the single road into Big Bend, which is encroached upon by little rugged plants that run all the way up to the border of the asphalt, looking like they want the road back, and if we blink, they’ll take it. 

As the sun sets I set up camp. It’s a full house: a hundred campers or more, packed into a small space in one of the largest parks in the nation. In the campground, a coyote is looking for food scraps or a small, unattended dog. A few miles from here there are hot springs, and tomorrow I’ll hike in for a soak. Tonight I have two cans of Coors Light and an open sky.