Our National Parks Dream Vacation

Chapter 20 of my work-in-progress camping memoir

Sunset in Arches National Park, July 2019. Photo by Sarah Styf

I started working on a camping memoir five years ago but abandoned it after a year of detailed work because the time just wasn’t right. Now I am ready to get back to the work I started and turn it into a true memoir of the first 21 years of marriage and parenting. If you want to get regular updates on this project, please consider upgrading to a paid subscription.

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After the summer trip to Iowa, Jeff and I decided it was time to plan our dream camping vacation. For me, that dream included visiting Mesa Verde and Arches National Park, and so I started plotting out the best route that would allow us to visit as many national parks as possible between Houston and Moab, Utah in the allotted time Jeff had given me: two weeks.

After months of drafting plans, handing them to Jeff, and him paring down the plans to something more reasonable, we could not wait to start our summer 2019 national parks adventure.

We traveled across Texas, spending our first night in South Llano State Park where the kids swam and played in the comfortably cool knee-high rapids of the river, letting the water sweep them to the boundaries we had set and then fighting those same rapids to get back to where they had started. Jeff and I stood in the rushing water and then worked our way to a rock island so we could watch the activity from there.

We spent our second night still in Texas, the sand dunes of Monahans Sandhills State Park rising behind our campsite. Our kids couldn’t get enough of the sand, regardless of the dry heat and biting flies. They attempted to build sand castles that fell apart as soon as they were formed and then later eagerly climbed from one dune top to the next, JT and Bella bounding behind them after we took off their leashes so that they too, could enjoy the cooling sand between their toes.

The next day we enjoyed a much shorter drive across the New Mexico border to Brantley Lake State Park, our basecamp for exploring Guadalupe Mountains and Carlsbad Caverns.

Lydia had been begging to visit Guadalupe Mountains National Park since our Christmas Break trip to Davis Mountains State Park the previous December. A combination of fourth grade Texas state history and learning about islands in the sky from a park ranger in Davis Mountains convinced her that seeing the tallest point in Texas needed to be on her wish list for the immediate future. I had had vague memories of driving through the park when I was in high school while on a youth ministry travel team, the only evidence of our stop a group picture in front of El Capitan, so I was eager to actually spend time in the park.

We spent at least two hours at the visitor center, both kids looking through the displays and completing enough activities to earn their first Junior Ranger badge of the trip. We hiked the Piney Trail, a short nature trail just behind the visitor center, stopping to visit the preserved ruins of a Butterfield Trail stagecoach station; the Butterfield stagecoaches began carrying mail through the mountains on the nation’s first transcontinental mail route in the late 1800s. By the time we returned to the visitor center to buy a couple magnets, a t-shirt, and to make sure that we had our passport stamps, we were all ready for a picnic lunch.

We drove a couple miles down the road to the second picnic area, which the rangers had recommended if we wanted a good view of El Capitan, Guadalupe Peak (the highest point in Texas at 8751 feet) right behind it. Energized by a food break that was cut short by an annoying swarm of flies, we headed back north towards the Frijole Ranch Trailhead with plans to hike the moderate 2.3-mile Smith Spring Trail so we could see a small waterfall in the middle of the desert.

At least, that was the plan.

Everyone fully equipped with a filled water bottle, hat, sunglasses, and I signed the trail register and we started on our way. It was hot (probably around 95 degrees by the time we started) and both kids were excitedly rushing ahead of us, but we were still on the trail. Then everything went completely off of the rails.

The Smith Springs Trail crosses a rocky creek bed which is not marked on the map. When we got to the creek bed, we didn’t pay attention to the trail that clearly continued on the other side. Instead, we looked to our left in what appeared to be a clearly marked rocky trail and headed up. For the next thirty minutes, we climbed, ducked under branches, and looked for the clearest route on the rocky path while I kept a close lookout for rattlesnakes and mountain lions.

Eventually, we got to what appeared to be the top—climbing I don’t know how many vertical feet in the process—I climbed out of the creek bed to see if there were any other visible trails, and we decided it was time to turn around. When we finally returned to where we had left the trail, we looked to the right—the path we had left—and to the left—the path we were supposed to take—and felt a little more than silly about the whole situation. Hot and dehydrated, we eventually decided to turn around, never making it to the waterfall, but thankfully that we had returned safely without any encounter with deadlier desert wildlife in the park, despite the fair amount of mountain lion scat that we saw on the trail.

As much as we enjoyed the Guadalupe Mountains, it would pale in comparison to the next day’s explorations of Carlsbad National Park.

Ethan, who had woken up the day before complaining about not wanting to leave the campground so we could drive to Guadalupe, woke up insisting that we leave immediately for Carlsbad Caverns. We repeatedly reminded him that our tour wasn’t until 1:30, but it took a lot of distraction to keep him from getting into the truck so he could drive himself.

After a short detour around road construction, we arrived at the national park with just enough time to get down the elevator for our tour. Our first tour of the day was the ranger-led King’s Palace Tour. While we only went 0.75 miles in one and a half hours, the advantages of a ranger-led tour are the ability to learn the history of the cave, exploration, and the science behind what is still happening in the cave. The kids could ask questions, we were able to take a slower pace, and ranger-led tours are the only times visitors can experience cave darkness with the assurance that the lights are going to turn back on.

Cave darkness. For those who have never experienced it, it can be frightening to have all lights turned off and to not even be able to see your hand in front of you. All the other senses suddenly wake up and every sound in the cave is amplified. I remember a tour guide at Mammoth talking about the amount of time it takes for someone to actually go crazy if they are stuck in a cave without any kind of lighting. It doesn’t take a few weeks; it happens in a matter of days. Once you have experienced cave darkness it is easy to understand how someone could easily lose their mind, lost in a cave without the ability to see anything, every other sense suddenly more attuned to the sounds, smells, and touch around them. Our guide told us about one particular blind man who had taught himself to use echolocation, just like bats, proving that people can learn to use their other senses and adapt. Suddenly the stories in comic books didn’t seem so impossible.

At the end of the tour we had a choice; we could go to the left and climb out of the cave through the Natural Entrance or we could head back towards the elevators. Our son needed to run to the bathroom, so we headed back to the elevators and up to the top so the kids could go to the bathroom and get sworn in as Junior Rangers, their second badge of the trip. While they were getting sworn in, we heard the announcement that the Natural Entrance was going to be closing in ten minutes. We rushed the kids and ranger through the process and then ran to the Natural Entrance so we could climb down into the cave for a self-guided tour.

The pungent aroma of bat guano grew the closer we got to the entrance and the further we walked down the winding pathway lining the gaping hole in the ground that had been discovered for exploration near the end of the nineteenth century. The further we walked, the more awed we were by the vastness of the entrance, thankful that we had opted to climb down from the top instead of the other way around. After climbing down several hundred feet we looked back up to see the dim natural light still coming from the Natural Entrance, pondering what it must have been like to be one of the first to climb into the cave with no lights in front of us and only light behind us. We walked past the Bat Room, the depths from which the seasonally roosting bats emerge every night. Through the entire trail, we were introduced to an ever-changing world of natural wonders. Within 45 minutes we had descended 750 feet and walked 1.25 miles, meeting up with the Big Room Route at the other end of the cave.

Not to be prevented from doing “all the things,” we continued on the 1.25-mile self-guided Big Room Route. There we found nearly every kind of cave formation, large and small, high and low. The Big Room is 8.2 acres of nature at its finest, and while we were all hungry and ready to stop climbing by the time we saw the sign for the elevators (three miles of cave hiking is a different experience altogether), we were fully satisfied with everything that we had seen.

We ended our evening by heading down to the bat amphitheater from which we would be able to watch the bats emerge from the Natural Entrance for their nightly feed. As with our experience watching the Mexican Freetail Bats the previous summer in Austin, we watched in awe as the black cloud of bats rose out of the cave and disappeared into the night. After ten minutes of watching them fly off into the distance, we were ready to take our tired crew home so we could relieve our dogs and get to bed before getting back on the road to head north.

I knew that our family would enjoy the caves, but I had no idea the impact the stop would have on all of us. It took me awhile to figure out the difference between our two favorite cave explorations. Mammoth is magnificent; Carlsbad is stunning. What makes Mammoth unique is the long human history of the cave; what makes Carlsbad unique is that it shows in elaborate detail the awesomeness of creation underground. And neither were experiences we would ever forget.

After two days touring the Carlsbad region, it was time to head north. We pulled out of Brantley Lake State Park without ever seeing or talking to a New Mexico park ranger. We would wonder if they even existed, but we did see state park vehicles driving around, so we had to assume that they were working around the parks and not in the actual visitor center or in the campground.

We watched the Chihuahuan Desert transform to the Sangre de Cristo Mountains the closer we got to Santa Fe, where we would be making our first non-state park stop of the trip. We pulled into the Santa Fe KOA, dropped the kids off at the playground, checked in, and were parked and completely set up within thirty minutes. We took the dogs to the small campground dog run and the kids found the game room, keeping themselves entertained until we decided it was time to load back up and head out for a couple hours.

Since no one in our family had ever been to Santa Fe, we headed downtown, deciding that an evening of eating out and walking around the city center was a good way to spend our single night stop. After our second night of New Mexican cuisine, we were definitely convinced of one thing: New-Mex and Tex-Mex might be related, but they are both unique cuisines. While I enjoyed my two New Mexican dinners, I definitely prefer the Tex-Mex at home in Houston, but the sopapilla that accompanied my meal was more than a little appreciated by everyone but our son.

The next morning, we got back on the road and continued to head north, the mountains changing to desert and, as we got closer to Colorado, back to mountains again. As we neared Colorado, we pointed out the snow-capped mountains, which had more summer snow on them than I have ever seen before. Our kids, who saw the Smokies before they were old enough to remember, who had driven through the Ozark mountains multiple times, and who had just seen the Guadalupe Mountains in the middle of the west Texas and southern New Mexico desert, gaped in awe at the majestic mountain ranges of the American West. For the first time ever, they were seeing the mountain range that their mom had fallen in love with when I was eleven.

Jeff piloted our way through the foothills and mountains, testing the limits of both truck and camper, before we pulled into the KOA with plenty of time for the kids to get out and play at the playground, for us to easily set up, and for the dogs to get a chance to try the campgrounds three-acre dog park.

Before we settled in for the night, we took the short drive the Mesa Verde Visitor Center so we could purchase our tickets for tours over the next couple days. Because we got there the night before, we were able to easily book two separate tours, get information on the park, and pick up Junior Ranger books so the kids could start on them whenever they were ready. We then sent the kids tobed with the warning that we would have to get back up earlier than usual to make it to our scheduled tours.

And I wasn’t missing our tours.

I don’t ever remember not loving history. My interests in specific periods and parts of the world may have changed over the years, but I’ve always been fascinated by the past, by the stories of triumphs and failures, by the changes that can be seen when looking at clothing and architecture over the years, by the lessons to be learned by studying the lives of people from all cultures and eras.

And ever since high school, when I learned that a place existed in the United States where I could see the architectural feats of people who lived 800 years ago, I had wanted to see the cliff dwellings of Mesa Verde for myself.

For nearly 20 years, before I even knew that I would want to camp my way across the country to do so, I frequently mentioned my dream to my poor boyfriend, then husband, who always responded with an indication of “someday.”

I finally decided that “someday” was the summer of 2019.

When I woke up the next morning, I excitedly filled water bottles, the extra jugs, packed lunches, and waited for the rest of the family to be ready to leave the campsite. We headed straight to the park, gave the ranger at the gate our park pass, and started our slow climb into the mountains, weaving back and forth on the switchbacks. We drove past views of snow-capped mountains, valleys, and rocky cliffs. Jeff tried his hardest to keep his eyes on the road while the rest of us oohed and awed at the magical views on each side of the truck.

As we got closer to the Cliff Palace Loop where we would take both of our tours, we passed marker after marker reporting the date of various forest fires, giving us a chance to show our kids the effects of forest fires and the slow, natural regrowth that comes after the ash clears away. For weeks we had been telling them that fires in the parks were a no-go and we could finally show them why. The remnants of devastation was a sobering reminder that the beauty of the high desert is subject to a delicate balance that can be disrupted by both nature and human carelessness.

We pulled into the parking lot where we would meet our ranger and the large group taking the Balcony House tour. Both of the tours we were taking had been determined by the National Park Service to be strenuous and we listened as the ranger discussed the 32-foot ladder we would be climbing and the narrow tunnels we would have to crawl through to get from one point to the next (one of them 12-feet long and the narrowest point being 18-inches). We gathered our water bottles, my backpack, and camera, and then followed the ranger and our group down a set of stairs that took us to the 32-foot ladder to the first room.

I spent much of our time at the Balcony House marveling at the up-close view of 800-year-old craftmanship. The dry climate perfectly preserved the wood beams, still functioning in keeping some structures together. The indigenous people who occupied the area had created an engineering masterpiece, but we had to get up close so that we could actually see it. Bricks were made to fit all the way to the natural ceiling, the dwellings went back further than the naked eye can see, and they figured out how to manage heating and cooling as well as how to access enough potable water for all tribal members to have access for drinking, household use, and farming.

After a picnic lunch, we met up with our group for what would be the highlight of our Mesa Verde visit: Cliff Palace.