<\/p>\n
00:00:01
\nSpeaker 1: By no means as well known as the Sonoran or Mohave Deserts. The Chihuahuan Desert nonetheless is responsible for giving at least a piece of Texas a claim to being Western. I’m Dan Flores, and this is the American West, Big Ben and the.<\/p>\n
00:00:39
\nSpeaker 2: Deserts of the West.<\/p>\n
00:00:42
\nSpeaker 1: It’s three am on a January first, and I’m about as far southward in North America as one can get and still be in the United States.<\/p>\n
00:00:52
\nSpeaker 2: Where would that be?<\/p>\n
00:00:53
\nSpeaker 1: Well, I’m somewhere outside the crumbling, rock, ruined dirt street town of Turtling, just west of famed Big Ben National Park. I’m in the midst of a thronging post New Year’s Eve, soare to be honest, and the party that never ends is holding forth this night at the refurbished old Terlingua bordello, basically in adobe cavity with a cement floor and tin roof topped off by a red signal light from a train crossing. This is New Year’s Eve in trans Pacas, Texas, with real old Texas Rangers in string ties, what appears to be a buffalo Bill Cody clone, someone else decked out as cactus ed abbey and someone else who may actually be free wheeling Franklin from the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers comic books. Everyone is two stepping alongside ut hippies from Austin River, runners out of Montana, Mexicans from across the nearby Rio Grand Park service rangers and partial uniform, a delicate new ager or two, a photographer from Texas Monthly magazine, and the cowboy flotsam from a slew of local bunkhouses.<\/p>\n
00:02:09
\nSpeaker 2: There are several truly.<\/p>\n
00:02:11
\nSpeaker 1: Beautiful women sipping freshly distilled satole and mescal, as a friend puts it, with true Texas elegance.<\/p>\n
00:02:20
\nSpeaker 2: Just a whole buttload of people.<\/p>\n
00:02:22
\nSpeaker 1: And there’s music, of course, guitars, banjos, a mandolin and accordion laying down rhythm.<\/p>\n
00:02:28
\nSpeaker 2: And it’s rollicking.<\/p>\n
00:02:29
\nSpeaker 1: Across the desert so joyously and distinctively regional that local coyote packs in every direction are joining in. It’s either too late or too early to think hard about such things. But having spent the past week backpacking the South Grim Trail and Big Ben’s Chisos Mountains, rafting the length of the Rio Granze, Santa Elena Canyon, and car camping in my jeep down fifty five four wheeler miles of.<\/p>\n
00:02:57
\nSpeaker 2: The river road.<\/p>\n
00:02:58
\nSpeaker 1: To me, the scene appears to be the purest expression of a Western soul you’re likely to find in Texas, at least since the Armadilla World Headquarters closed in Austin in the early nineteen eighties. Where else in Texas for such a thing, but way down here in the so called transpac Us, the downward plunging piece of this gigantic state that actually has enough public lands to qualify as a part of.<\/p>\n
00:03:29
\nSpeaker 2: The modern West.<\/p>\n
00:03:31
\nSpeaker 1: Why here for such a thing and nowhere else because of the enveloping desert. All who visit will agree this part of Texas is Western because of public lands. And these public lands exist because of this immense, mystical slice of America, that is the Chihuahuan Desert, which sprawls in every direction around us. The desert, of course, cause an animating effect here. All followed from a condition of desertness, This unlikely crowd is joined here tonight, drinking the deserts juices, ingesting its flesh, a goog at its dark sky, stars, enraptured with its stories, dancing to music inspired by rock and sun. Because the desert produced big Bend National Park and its state park sister Big Ben Ranch that left this part of Texas a wonderland open for human adventure. There are many kinds of landscape settings to celebrate in the West, from alpine lake shores to towering redwoods, from Pacific beaches with salt breezes to play badlands. But if one of the defining characteristics of the West is aridity, the deserts get us to that apotheosis Western effect sooner than any other ecologies. It’s maybe not an exaggeration to say that we are living in an age of a desert esthetic, even a desert chek. Some of us these days have grown up with romantic notions about suarro studded mountains bathed in neon sunsets, which may be an emerging landscape shorthand for the West in the eyes of the wider world.<\/p>\n
00:05:37
\nSpeaker 2: Of course, if a.<\/p>\n
00:05:38
\nSpeaker 1: Desert mystique does exist, it must be a recently acquired taste for its opposite. Revulsion and even fear at the desert’s barrenness and weather extremes can still flirt about the edges of the mind.<\/p>\n
00:05:54
\nSpeaker 2: Think about it.<\/p>\n
00:05:55
\nSpeaker 1: Remove the invention of air conditioning from the palm Las Vegas and Phoenix equations, and no more Palm Springs, Vegas or Phoenix.<\/p>\n
00:06:11
\nSpeaker 2: The desert I want.<\/p>\n
00:06:12
\nSpeaker 1: To talk about now is a specific one, the Chihuahuan Desert, which is the largest desert in North America, stretching a thousand miles from Mexico’s arts tourist town of San Luis de Poto Sea across six Mexican states before finally lapping across the Rio Grande to reach almost as far north as Albuquerque. Despite its vast size and penetration into the US, the Chihuahuan is the least known and understood of all the West deserts. The famous American desert cities Palm Springs, Vegas, Phoenix, Tucson are not here, hidden away in the far tip of Texas. Boat El Paso, which Texas clearly stole from New Mexico, is the only large American city in this desert. The Texas towns it harbors, Marathon, Marfa, Alpine, Presidio, Terlingua are interesting and eccentric, but barely known outside the state. In New Mexico, the only Chihuan desert towns of any size Carlsbad, Socorro, Las Cruces, Silver city, one with the unlikely name of Truth or Consequences, exists in the bottom of a Western state. Many Americans think you need a passport to visit so oddly, given its geographic sweep and the fact that it’s the only American desert that lies east of the Continental Divide, the Chihuahuan is not a famous Western desert except among Texans, which means there’s a story here. The Sonora Desert, which also reaches northward up from Mexico because of Tucson and especially Phoenix, a giant American city with professional and big time college sports teams and more golf courses than many entire states have, is far better known in America’s winters. Phoenix functions like a deep sink western version of Florida. The Sonora Desert gets press and media attention. The Sonora is the only American desert to possess the towering cactus that says Western desert to people everywhere. The giant soorro is not found in the West. Coal deserts like the scablands of eastern Washington, the sagebrush flats of the Wyoming Basin and the Great Basin are the Colorado Plateau giant souarros don’t even extend and into the Mohave Desert. This ultimate cactus is found only in the Sonoran. Despite similar unimpeachable hot desert qualifications and a shared border with the Sonoran, the Chihuahuan Desert likewise entirely lacks soarrows. One of the remarkable features of the ecotone where the Sonoran and Chiuahuan deserts meet, readily visible at a spot called Texas Pass on Interstate ten in southeastern Arizona, is the presence of sowaro cactus on the west side of the pass, but none to the east, where Chihuahuan species take hold. Like other deserts, the Chihuahuan does have a diagnostic plant species, though it’s called the agavi lechigea. In contrast to twenty five foot tall many limbs, sowaros letchigeas grow like clumps of sharp bananas, the clumps reaching maybe eighteen inches high. That, in fact, may explain something about the anonymity of the Chihuahuan desert compared to the West’s more famous ones. Travel to Phoenix and hike the Maricopa Trail or visit one of the units of Sooro National Park near Tucson, and you’re in a forest of souarros soaring up around you like cactus redwoods. Head west from Las Vegas into Red Rock Canyon State Park. Are east from Palm Springs, California to Joshua Tree National Park, both in the Mohave Desert, and you’re walking through a remarkable and impressive desert overstory of twenty foot tall Joshua trees that resemble yuck sprays perched on top of branched tree trunks.<\/p>\n
00:11:04
\nSpeaker 2: Go to the Chihuahuan Desert.<\/p>\n
00:11:06
\nSpeaker 1: And your characteristic plant is a banana plump succulent that doesn’t reach to your knees. Not so memorable, which may explain why as deserts go, the name Chihuahuan doesn’t trip neon lights in the larger American imagination. But if you take the time to learn and know and appreciate this American desert, it very likely is going to worm under your skin with a mystical desert infection. That virus light will lodge somewhere deep inside and never leave myself. I got infected by the Chihuahuan desert thirty years ago.<\/p>\n
00:11:44
\nSpeaker 2: It’s never given me up.<\/p>\n
00:11:53
\nSpeaker 1: We humans apparently have always been susceptible to desert power, although we didn’t in deserts. The desert was always out there on the margins, resisting us with its aridity, but compelling us with the strange music of its effects on life and topography. The desert is both presence and character in the sacred texts of the Western world, the Koran and the Bible. In the Bible, the desert is lodged like a knod in wood, as a sacred setting where Jesus of Nazareth tested himself. It’s the ultimate unconquerable wilderness, the antithesis of the Garden of Eden. Before the fall, rippling out of North Africa. Across the Mediterranean, sun and dry air and blue sky called, and painters and writers and mystics went. In the American West, a similar desert muse pulled Earnest Blumenshine and Nikolai Fetchen, Georgia and Andrew Dasberg to New Mexico’s Desert Ara a century ago an American West desert taxonomy. It was a naturalist named Forrest Shreve who first recognized a distinctive desert in the Southwest. He named the Chihuahuan, given the state of desert intoxication today, is pretty intriguing to burrow a bit and to what we thought of the Chihuahuan back then, back in the day. One really good way to get at that is through the eyes of American explorers, And there is one a man named Robert Hill, who penetrated the Chihuahuan desert by doing exactly what many.<\/p>\n
00:13:45
\nSpeaker 2: People do today.<\/p>\n
00:13:47
\nSpeaker 1: Well over a century ago, Hill passed along the far southern border of the United States by floating the great river, the Rio Grande, through the suite of spectacular canyons that carves into the country that in our time has become Big Band National Park. So far as man’s conception of time is concerned, the American Desert is, always has been, and always will be. So said Robert Hill to begin the article he wrote about his trip, which is not a bad opening line from a geologist. But Robert Hill was not ordinary, and neither was the desert he was writing about. A native of Tennessee, Hill had come to Texas as a young man, become fascinated with the study of geology, and ended up getting a degree in that field from Cornell University. Although he was briefly on the faculty of the University of Texas.<\/p>\n
00:14:51
\nSpeaker 2: By eighteen eighty five.<\/p>\n
00:14:53
\nSpeaker 1: Hill had gone to work for John Wesley Powell at the United States Geological Survey and on to a quite prestigious career as a geologist, eventually working on projects like the Panama Canal. As an example of the American mind caught in the crossfire of changing ideas about Western deserts, Hill’s account of this first official exploration of the Chihuahuan Desert is almost as perfect as a circle. In order to emulate what Powell had done on the Colorado River, Hill was dispatched by the Geological Survey to investigate frontier rumors that on its way from the Colorado Rockies to the salt flats of the Gulf of Mexico at its most southerly loop, the Rio Grande contained canyons as frightening as those of the Grand Canyon. The year was eighteen ninety nine. The reaction of Americans to deserts at the time was still pretty much revulsion. Desert country was the antithesis of the green, wet, lush landscapes old worlders had settled in the East, a promise of which had sent many of the first American settlers going west.<\/p>\n
00:16:14
\nSpeaker 2: To places like Oregon.<\/p>\n
00:16:17
\nSpeaker 1: Hills running the canyons of the Rio Grande appeared in the Century magazine years ago. At a book fair somewhere, I picked up a battered, surviving copy, then went to a bar and devoured hills account to the accompaniment of a couple of margaritas. The magazine’s eighteen ninety nine layout of Hill’s piece of exploring was pretty damn sensational, with seven half toned plates of downright beautiful drawings by legendary painter Thomas Moran, whose art of Yellowstone in the early eighteen seventies had almost guaranteed the creation of the world’s first national park.<\/p>\n
00:17:01
\nSpeaker 2: While a bar is not a bad.<\/p>\n
00:17:02
\nSpeaker 1: Place to sit back and lose yourself in Hell’s story, I’d now argue that maybe the best way to read this early Chihuahuan desert impression is to take it to Big Bend Park, hike far enough into the Chisos Mountains to find an alligator juniper for a backrest and a bit of shade. Then dig your feet into the ground for balance, because Hill’s account is about to carry you on America’s whiplashing perceptions about deserts a century ago. Hill’s party of six, loaded into three John boats, started their long journey into the unknown, as they put it, at the border town of Presidio on October fifth, eighteen ninety nine. Hill was not the first to descend these now famous canyons of the Texas Mexico border. During a low ebb in his career. In eighteen fifty five, that painter of Western Indians, George Catlin apparently floated through the Middle Rio Grands dramatic canyons. In eighteen eighty one, eighty two, Texas ranger Charles Neville ricocheted through Santa Alena Canyon on a winter adventure. Local James McMahon, whom Hill would hire as a guide, said he had been through the canyons three times, but in the eighteen fifties, the Mexican Boundary Survey had seen its boats destroyed in the Second Big Canyon Mariscom and had then pronounced all of the Middle Rio Grand canyons impassable. When Hill’s party arrived on the scene, the canyons were officially listed as NX. Lord Hill obviously felt the mystical pull of deserts with his essays opening line about timelessness, but he quickly reverted to the more general distaste Americans felt. Every aspect of the Big Bend Country landscape, configuration, rocks, and vegetation, he said, is weird and strange, and of a type unfamiliar to the inhabitants of civilized lands. The basins between the desert mountains were covered with what He’ll called a spiteful, repulsive vegetation. What was there were the cone shaped sprays of lechuguias and agavi’s, and sotoles and yuccas, some of the latter in near tree form. Cactus was everywhere, of course, prickly perils and barrel cactus, and many armed choyas of several sp pale green mesquite trees, and tens of thousands millions actually of fragrant creosote bushes made up the shrubs and have shrubs. The creosotes South American arrivals here from only a few thousand years before that, lent an intoxicating perfume to the desert. After rains, gnarled alligator junipers grew on mountains like the chisos uplift, and cottonwoods waved yellowing fall leaves right through the winter, and the arrival of spring flowers.<\/p>\n
00:20:39
\nSpeaker 2: How did Hill react to all this? All of it was repulsive.<\/p>\n
00:20:45
\nSpeaker 1: Okatillos with their showy red flowers, a plant now much admired in all the deserts of the Southwest. He’ll characterize those as like serpents rising from a Hindu juggler’s carpet. At the time they reached the first of the Big Band’s canyons, the Colorado, a stone labyrinth that was about to plunge the river through towering vertical slots without sun, Hill continued to be shocked by what he called mocking desert flora. But day by day experience with the desert began to soften him, so soon he could speak of coming to a valley which presents a beautiful panorama of desert form and color. The hills are of all sizes and shapes, dazzling white with vermilion foothills of red clay. He wrote when the brown current carried their boats at last into what he called the Grand Canyon, by which he met Santa Elena Canyon via a narrow.<\/p>\n
00:21:59
\nSpeaker 2: Vertical slit in the face of the escarpment.<\/p>\n
00:22:01
\nSpeaker 1: Hill concluded that the solemnity and beauty of the spectacle were overwhelming. These were the first references to beauty on the expiration.<\/p>\n
00:22:13
\nSpeaker 2: Even with his built in bias against.<\/p>\n
00:22:15
\nSpeaker 1: Deserts, Hill it turned out, was capable of being moved by the same scenes that thrill big band river runners in our time. Hill’s party portage the one major rapids in Santa Atlena, the famous rocks line that took them three days of misery, yet left them with an.<\/p>\n
00:22:34
\nSpeaker 2: Impression of unusual beauty.<\/p>\n
00:22:38
\nSpeaker 1: Hill said, particularly during the glorious moonlight, which is one of the characteristics of the desert. From the rim Rock, looking seventeen hundred feet down into Santa Alena, Hill couldn’t help himself. The view is grand, beyond all conception, he marveled. Exiting through the staircase formations at Santa Elena Canyon’s mouth, Hill’s party was now in what he called the Terlingo Desert, and without the verticality of the canyon to admire, he once more mustard classic desert revulsion. The Terlinguid Desert was one of the most bizarre pieces of landscape that can be imagined, he wrote, one of the hottest and most sterile regions conceivable again, though the compensation was vertical. Looming on the eastern horizon. Now were the Chisos Mountains, a group of white clad spirits rising from a base of misty, gray shadow and vegetation.<\/p>\n
00:23:47
\nSpeaker 2: Hill said.<\/p>\n
00:23:49
\nSpeaker 1: Dead ahead on the Rio Grande was Mariscol Canyon, whereas Hill put it, the river presented the appearance of apparently plunging into a seething hole without a visible outlet. Soon they were through Meriscol, though, floating past the hot springs and approaching the village of Bochias on the Mexican side of the river, a collection of what Hill called dirty adobe huts. Now they were approaching Bochias Canyon, which Hill thought better deserved the Appellachian brand than even Santa Elena, as it was a place, as he said, of remarkable forms of rock sculpture.<\/p>\n
00:24:33
\nSpeaker 2: The moon was full while we.<\/p>\n
00:24:35
\nSpeaker 1: Were in this canyon, he wrote, and the effects of its illuminations were indescribably beautiful. Language cannot describe the beauty of such nights. Exiting Bokias and their successful passage through water, big Band National Parks, great river canyons, Hill found the river now turning almost due north, a stretch of the Rio Grand, known as the Lower Canyons today, a marvelous descent along the Rio Grand National Wild and Scenic River. Hill wrote that this lower course is almost a continuous canyon to Del Rio, and from an esthetic point of view, is even more picturesque and beautiful than the portion of the river already described. In the clear air, they guessed the cliffs were five hundred feet high, an actual ascent proved them to be one thousand, six.<\/p>\n
00:25:37
\nSpeaker 2: Hundred and fifty feet.<\/p>\n
00:25:40
\nSpeaker 1: They found more hot springs and many forms, as Hill wrote, like the bad lands of Dakota. In their last run before the Devil River entered the Rio Grand, Hill was overcome by what he said were some of the most beautiful and picturesque effects, where the canyon walls were pure, purest white, which weathers into great curves. It had taken a full month of exposure to the desert, but eventually the words weird, repulsive, spiteful, bizarre, and sterile all disappeared from Robert Hill’s vocabulary. In that subtle and simple alteration in language, Hill had vaulted a gulf. The Chihuahuan Desert might remain a difficult place for Americans to imagine as home.<\/p>\n
00:26:33
\nSpeaker 2: But Hill’s experience.<\/p>\n
00:26:34
\nSpeaker 1: Showed that the desert was a place Americans could began to think about in an entirely new way. The Western deserts were not the East. They were not the Midwest or the South or Oregon. They were different from all those places, different even one from the other. But deserts possessed a magic of light and form that was powerful, one that couldn’t be denied. Deserts were capable of stirring the soul the Western desert to do something else in the form of national parks. They’ve offered up public lands possibilities to keep their magic alive and available. The Mojave Desert landed its major public lands feature Joshua Tree National Park, now a monstrous seven hundred and ninety five thousand acres, in nineteen thirty six. Six national parks, five of them in southern Utah, plus Grand Canyon National Park in Arizona, preserve the deserts of the Colorado Plateau. Great Basin National Park was established around an island mountain range of seventy seven thousand acres in nineteen eighty six. Oregon Pipe Cactus National Monument, established in nineteen thirty seven, was the initial large Sonoran Desert preserve a cactus faeryland of three hundred and thirty one thousand acres. Two units of Sowaro National Park, set aside in nineteen ninety four, offer up ninety two thousand acres of Sonoran Sowaro Mountains and basins bracketing Tucson. The Chihuahuan Desert, whose crowning expression lies in that southerly plunge of the US map known as the Big Bend Country, has inspired major set asides of public land.<\/p>\n
00:28:41
\nSpeaker 2: Too, But because the Chihuahuan is east.<\/p>\n
00:28:44
\nSpeaker 1: Of the Continental Divide, with a large part of its expanse in Texas, this desert has a different story.<\/p>\n
00:28:56
\nSpeaker 2: In neighboring New Mexico.<\/p>\n
00:28:58
\nSpeaker 1: Significant pieces of the Chihuahuan emerged as parks and national monuments fairly early. Eastern New Mexico’s Carlsbad Caverns National Park, set aside because of its almost one hundred and twenty limestone caves, opened as a park in nineteen thirty. The forty seven thousand acres of Carlsbad does preserve an impressive slice of desert landscape, though three quarters of.<\/p>\n
00:29:26
\nSpeaker 2: Which is now official wilderness.<\/p>\n
00:29:30
\nSpeaker 1: Westward in New Mexico White Sands National Park is one hundred and sixty thousand acres of rippling snow white gypsum, a fast dune field in the midst of the Chihuahuan. Originally established as a national monument in nineteen thirty three, White Sands National Park designation is recent twenty nineteen. The most typical and I think the most stunning Chihuahuan desert creation in New Mexico is also recent. The fast four hundred and ninety six thousand acres of Oregon Mountains Desert Peaks National Monument, half of which is official wilderness, is near Las Cruces in the south of the state. Its birth was in twenty fourteen. That leaves the huge sweep of the Chihuahuan across southwestern Texas to account for. And as I explained in episode twenty two of The American West, Texas has a history that left it almost entirely without federal land ownership. Not only did the state never experience the public lands creations that typify the West, Texas very consciously privatized virtually every foot of its territory, including even the deserts and mountains of the Big ben Country. Raised in the Deep South myself, and with the experience of living for almost a quarter century in Texas, I think I recognized Texas’s situation with respect to the modern West. Texas is the South’s West, like Georgia or the Carolinas. Texas removed all its native tribes from the state beyond the hundredth meridian. Texas possesses landscapes that are geologically and ecologically Western, but the southern roots of its citizenry made it difficult for Texas to think in terms of public values.<\/p>\n
00:31:40
\nSpeaker 2: When it came to land.<\/p>\n
00:31:43
\nSpeaker 1: Land was for owning, fencing, and keeping everybody else out, and therein.<\/p>\n
00:31:49
\nSpeaker 2: Is a problem.<\/p>\n
00:31:51
\nSpeaker 1: It’s not possible to overemphasize how necessary it is for people to be able to experience the landscapes of their place. There’s no route to becoming a native of place without it, no way to develop a sense of the fundamental world, the natural community of plants and animals of which you’re apart. For that, you have to have the full five cents experience of direct contact, which is why the Big Band of the Chihuahuan Desert is so important for all Westerners, for all Americans, but especially so for Texas. Here’s how Big Band changed Texas by every right. One of our revered Western heroes ought to be a federal official named Roger Toll, whose name adorns a mountain in Big Band National Park but is otherwise almost anonymous in Western history. Toll was a park serve man, an experienced superintendent who’d headed up Yellowstone, Rocky Mountain, and Mount Rinier National Parks. He was born in Denver, and with public lands out of the door, he’d climbed mountains fifty peaks in Rocky Mountain National Park alone. Meanwhile, in Texas in the nineteen thirties, there were a handful of national legislators who thought such a grand state shouldn’t be left out in the creation of crown jewel national parks. So Roger told journey to Texas and evaluated seven potential sites for national park or monument status. His conclusion was that if Texas were willing to acquire the lands, since at the time the National Park Service had no budget to.<\/p>\n
00:33:51
\nSpeaker 2: Buy private lands.<\/p>\n
00:33:53
\nSpeaker 1: There were at least three nationally important landscapes in the state, and the Davis Mountains also in the Transpacos, and a canyon called McKittrick in a range split between Texas and New Mexico known as the Guadalupe Mountains. All three were Chihuahuan desert landscapes in the only part of Texas with topography on the scale of the rest of the American West. In effect, Roger Toll had put his finger on three potential sacred places in the Texas Southwest, charmed particularly by Big Ben, which he thought one of the noted scenic spectacles of the United States. Toll, in nineteen thirty six was in the process of drawing up a map of possible Big Bend Park boundaries when he was tragically killed in a car accident near Deming, New Mexico. Building on tolls legacy, the Texas Democratic Convention made it part of their platform that, for reasons of lone Star pride, the states should seek at least one national park, and it was clear that Toll’s first pick was Big Ben and the canyons of the Rio Grande equally critical. Since this was during the Great Depression, creation of a Big Bend Park would serve as a federal bailout of pioneer ranchers whose cattle had devastated the fragile desert grasslands. In little more than three decades of grazing. Some of them were already letting their lands go back to the state in lieu of paying taxes. Then, the Texas bottom line set in the New Deal of the nineteen thirties represented a first rising tide of conservative distrust us of the federal government in the state. The National Park Service planners wanted a one point five million acre park, with unsold Texas school lands in the desert going for a penny an acre. Then, the total purchase price for that much of the big Band was a measly one and.<\/p>\n
00:36:21
\nSpeaker 2: A half million dollars.<\/p>\n
00:36:24
\nSpeaker 1: Yet the Texas legislature and Governor James Alread refused throughout the nineteen thirties to appropriate the money to acquire the land. A citizen’s effort to raise money for the National Park, like the ones that were at the very same time creating Acadia and Smoky Mountains National Parks in the East and Texas, netted the munificent sum of eighty three hundred and forty seven dollars. It required nearly a decade of President Franklin Roosevelt’s entreaties, but finally in nineteen forty seven, Texas transferred at least half the land the Park Service wanted seven hundred and eight thousand acres to.<\/p>\n
00:37:10
\nSpeaker 2: The federal government.<\/p>\n
00:37:12
\nSpeaker 1: Once park personnel evicted twenty five thousand cattle, eighteen thousand goats, eight thousand sheep, and one thousand horses.<\/p>\n
00:37:22
\nSpeaker 2: Big Bend today an.<\/p>\n
00:37:24
\nSpeaker 1: International Biosphere Reserve of eight hundred and one thousand acres, an International Dark Skies Park, and the most dramatic desert park in America, finally open to the public because of Big Band’s remoteness, Even today it struggles to attract visitors from other states. The park has been a game changer for Texans. It’s made tiny towns like Alpine and Marfa, Marathon and Terlingua destinations for artists, photographers, nature lovers of all kinds. Because access to the natural world does things like this, Big Bend and the Chihuahuan Desert inspired a cultural byproduct now known as Texas Regionalism, an arts movement begun by painters Jerry Bywaters, Alexander Hog, William Lester, and Otis Doser. They and the scores who followed them were entrance enough by the desert to create what they called an Art of the Southwest for the Southwest. The Big Band effect has been a thing for a while now. Once I sat sipping coffee at the mouth of Santa Elena Canyon at dawn on New Year’s Day and watched Texas music legend Butch Hancock rowe then Governor Ann Richardson out of the depths of the Gorge into the sunlight of the Turlingua Desert. The Big Band effect is very much alive in the present moment, somehow in one of the reddest of all Republican states, Texas, conservatives and liberals, ranchers and tree huggers stand in agreement. There absolutely should not be, cannot be a border wall built in Big Ben National Park. Big Band Park presently has no official wilderness designated, but former Big Band Superintendent Bob Krubenaker is presently leading a campaign to change that too, that Trio of Texas Chihuahuan Desert places Roger Toll had recommended in the nineteen.<\/p>\n
00:40:01
\nSpeaker 2: Well.<\/p>\n
00:40:02
\nSpeaker 1: Despite the grand Dark Sky astronomical events now held at the famed McDonald Observatory, the beautiful Davis Mountains and its crowning peak, Mount Livermore, the second highest in the state, has never become a national park, and unless widespread Texas hatred of federal projects somehow magically evaporates. That’s not likely ever to happen. When Lyndon Johnson was president, though, his wounded state pride about Texas’s lack of national parks set Interior Secretary of Stuart Yodall back to the Chihuahuan Desert. I was once lucky enough to breakfast with You’dahl and got to ask him about his reaction to Tull’s third choice. The Guadaloupe Mountains, a range of desert canyons and pinnacles lapping against the New Mexico border that make up eight of the ten highest peaks in Texas, including the highest one.<\/p>\n
00:41:12
\nSpeaker 2: That place just bowled me over.<\/p>\n
00:41:14
\nSpeaker 1: You’d all told me that transparent desert air al capitain looming like the prow of a ship and visible from one hundred miles away.<\/p>\n
00:41:24
\nSpeaker 2: And that canyon, what is it? McKittrick, My lord, what a paradise that place is.<\/p>\n
00:41:31
\nSpeaker 1: There was just no question in my mind it was a National park class landscape. By now, the National Park Service did have an acquisition budget, so McKittrick Canyon and the Guadaloupe Mountains became g Waterloopy Mountains National Park in nineteen sixty six. It’s eighty six thousand acres of Chihuahuan Desert open to the public in nineteen seven two, And in the words of the late Austin music icon Kinky Friedman, this Grand Chihuahuan Desert part continues to this day to offer the highest high in Texas. Dan.<\/p>\n
00:42:23
\nSpeaker 3: In this episode, you’re talking about deserts, and specifically the Chihuahua Desert. I’ll admit, as a child of the Midwest, I didn’t think of deserts as being Obviously everyone’s heard of the Sahara Desert, but growing up, I didn’t think about desert as being sort of discrete areas like the Rocky Mountains or the Cascades or the Appalachians.<\/p>\n
00:42:49
\nSpeaker 4: Yeah.<\/p>\n
00:42:50
\nSpeaker 3: I thought of deserts as just being sort of blank spaces on the map. Right, And you point in this the beginning of this you get into the different ways that humans like, the long relationship that humans have to deserts, sort of emotionally and intellectually and culturally. But I’ll admit I took a class maybe my third year of undergrad on the North American deserts, and what intrigued me about it was I wasn’t really aware that there were multiple deserts to think about and differences between different deserts. And here I’m just coming clean on my ignorance. But you obviously have had a long relationship with deserts as a resident of Texas and time in New Mexico and all that. You think very carefully about particularities between these different landscapes and vegetation and all that.<\/p>\n
00:43:48
\nSpeaker 1: Yeah, I’m something of a desert rat, I guess, and have been for a long time. I can even date it. I think my interest in deserts probably goes back to having started reading ed Abbey maybe in the early nineteen seventies, probably Desert Solitaire in particular, And at the time I was I mean, I was fascinated by Western landscapes, but it was the rocky mountains that really intrigued me, and I had most of my trips to the west. I was still living in Louisiana at the time early seventies. Actually I was in Texas in graduate school then when I was reading ed Abbey for the first time, and I was very much in mountains, and all my trips west, you know, were to the high fourteen footers of Colorado, or to the wind River Range in Wyoming or the Snowy Range outside Laramie or something like that. So I spent most of my time thinking and driving around looking at mountains. But Abby kind of made me start paying attention to deserts. And then I ended up just by virtue of where my university postings were, sort of being stuck in a part of the American West that was more inclined to be arid and desert like, and you know, became fascinated with it all.<\/p>\n
00:45:26
\nSpeaker 4: Yeah, you.<\/p>\n
00:45:28
\nSpeaker 3: In this episode you talk a lot about individual sort of conversion.<\/p>\n
00:45:34
\nSpeaker 4: I guess is a good a good word for it.<\/p>\n
00:45:36
\nSpeaker 3: You describe Hill, Yeah, Robert Hill, Robert Hill, going down the Rio Grande, and he begins by describing the desert in these terms of sort of mild horror and maybe discussed right. And over time you recognize that he or you observe that he changes his description of the desert and he sort of begins to appreciate it. But it strikes me again and again throughout this that there’s people have to be convinced of the desert’s beauty and utility. I mean not utility is the right word, but it’s beauty and its values. Yeah, I think that’s exactly right. The desert is not a place, particularly for people out of the Western Europe Eastern American experience.<\/p>\n
00:46:28
\nSpeaker 1: The desert is something you have to develop a taste for because it doesn’t come naturally, I don’t think, and you know, as I indicated a few minutes ago, it didn’t really necessarily come naturally for me either. I mean, a kid coming out of Louisiana, a desert seemed to be absolutely the antipode, the farthest difference from the kind of world that I grew up in, and that in itself, I think was intriguing to me. I was probably fascinated with deserts in the very beginning, because wow, this is such a base reversal from the kind of world that I grew up to. But I do think it’s the desert mystique and fascination and it’s very real. A lot of people very much experience it and are compelled by it, but it’s something that you come to and you know, I also I mentioned in this script that one of the things that makes it possible to regard the desert as being this mystical kind of place is modern technology, because without it without air conditioning. As we all know, everyone who has ever spent any time in Phoenix, for example, knows very well if air conditioning did not exist, Phoenix would not exist. It’s a technological revolution in the twentieth century with air conditioning and automobile in particular, that makes the desert, makes it possible for the desert to sort of put out its kind of magical hold over people.<\/p>\n
00:48:10
\nSpeaker 3: Yeah, if you’re riding a horse through that country and you’re worried about your horse’s next drink of water, it’s hard to appreciate the aesthetics of this land, it’s.<\/p>\n
00:48:19
\nSpeaker 2: Hard to appreciate it. So it’s a part of the West.<\/p>\n
00:48:22
\nSpeaker 1: I think that, you know, maybe just like warm clothing makes it possible to enjoy the rocky mountains in the winter, air conditioning makes it possible to enjoy the deserts, and automobiles too, And so a lot of the appreciation for deserts, a lot of the great books that have been written about deserts are twentieth century things, and not since.<\/p>\n
00:48:49
\nSpeaker 3: In this episode, you also tell a story not only of sort of an individual conversion, but also broader cultural and institutionalsion to appreciating the deserts in terms of talking in terms of the creation of national parks that preserve these landscapes. And I wonder if you can talk a little bit about the relationship between individual experience and those larger institutional transformations, because there’s certainly a connection there, although it’s probably not as neatly.<\/p>\n
00:49:27
\nSpeaker 4: Mapped as you might imagine.<\/p>\n
00:49:29
\nSpeaker 1: Well, as I say in this particular episode, I lived in Texas for two decades. My first university job was there. And one of the things about Texas that I’ve talked about before and these podcasts is that it’s a hard thing to decide whether Texas is a part of the West, because, for one thing, half or more Texas seems to ecologically belong to the.<\/p>\n
00:50:05
\nSpeaker 2: South rather than West.<\/p>\n
00:50:06
\nSpeaker 1: But there is a western third or so of Texas that is geographically, ecologically, geologically Western, and so it fulfills that kind of, you know, that necessity of being a part of the West. But the thing that distinguishes the modern West, of course, is the public lands phenomenon. This is what really makes the whole what the whole wheel spent around the axle of the modern West is having the public lands and all the issues that go with managing public lands, and.<\/p>\n
00:50:40
\nSpeaker 2: Texas, because of its particular.<\/p>\n
00:50:41
\nSpeaker 1: History, didn’t get to have that and didn’t attempt to have that. In fact, it sort of deliberately moved away from it. But the Chihuahuan Desert provided the opportunity in the form of now too pretty significant national parks Big Ben National Park, which is the one I talk about primarily in this episode, but also Guadalupe Mountains National Park, which is a much more recent one. They’re both national parks in the state of Texas in the Chihuahuan Desert or Transpacus part of the state, and they have really, in a way become of outsized importance, I think to people in Texas in particular, because it’s the one part of the state where you really have the landscape open for adventure. And in my own personal experience in Texas in the two decades that I lived there, I mean I did my best in the part I lived up in the high plains country and ended up exploring a lot of the canyon country there, almost all of which was under private fence and no trespassing signs, And there were two state parks there which I explored minutely and also did an awful lot of trespassing, and occasionally would ask some rancher if I could explore a canyon on his property. But mostly I just kind of trespassed in order to explore that part of the world. But when I wanted to actually experience something of the public lands state of Texas, the place to go was always the Big Bend and out to Big Bend National Park and Guadalupe Mountains National Park. And I mean, I’ve got a buddy in Austin. I just got a text from a couple of days ago who told me that he’s getting a knee surgery done on one of his knees because it’s been He and I climbed Guadaloupe Peak, the highest peak in Texas in that park, about thirty or thirty five years ago, and he hasn’t been up since then, and he’s getting his knee fixed so he can go up to the top of Guadaloupe Peak again. So it’s that kind of that kind of thing that these public lands do, even for state like Texas, which has so little of it. Nonetheless, Texans, I think have a disproportionate kind of pride in this part of the state.<\/p>\n
00:53:11
\nSpeaker 2: Uh, and with good reason. It seems to me. Yeah.<\/p>\n
00:53:14
\nSpeaker 4: And it’s it’s interesting too.<\/p>\n
00:53:17
\nSpeaker 3: That the Big Bend has become such a flashpoint in the headlines recently, uh, with the idea of a border wall and the opposition to it. You know, you read you read some of these articles, and they’re talking to you know, local sheriffs and folks who are very conservative, but this is a line in the sand for them because of how much they value those those parks.<\/p>\n
00:53:46
\nSpeaker 2: That’s exactly it.<\/p>\n
00:53:47
\nSpeaker 1: And and it’s so that it brings what we were just talking about up to the very present moment. I mean, Texas is perfectly content with a border wall to be on the outside of the park, even in the transpac Us. They’re willing to have it be up around Presidio and so forth, but not in the park, no way. And so it’s one of those things that’s linked to a kind of a pride of state and a pride in this public lands national park there that no matter which side of the political fence you’re on, you’re against there being a border wall and Big.<\/p>\n
00:54:26
\nSpeaker 2: Band National Park.<\/p>\n
00:54:28
\nSpeaker 1: And that’s a you know that probably says volumes about the importance of this place to the state.<\/p>\n
00:54:34
\nSpeaker 3: Yeah, and for those of us who love public lands and part it’s very encouraging to see.<\/p>\n
00:54:40
\nSpeaker 2: That, very encouraging to see that. Absolutely, Thanks Dan, Yeah, that rental<\/p>\n<\/div>\n