Dispatch: West Texas
West Texas is a strange place. There’s not much out there, and yet, it remains one of my favorite places in the country.
One of the earliest memories that I think I have is of camping in the Davis Mountains of West Texas. The memories have been smoothed out over time with countless recallings and retellings, so I’m never quite sure what is actually mine.
I know my dad’s air mattress deflated in the middle of the first night, leaving him with a rock jabbing him in the middle of the back while I thrashed about in my sleeping bag.
I vaguely remember the short-lived terror of a hook-handed-man ghost story—complete with coat hanger prop—and the more visceral fear of rustling javelinas just beyond the firelight and the thin walls of the tent.
It’s funny, I don’t remember the actual star party itself, but I do recall the sense of wonder I felt gazing at millions of celestial bodies at the McDonald Observatory.
As a kid, my family went to Fort Davis State Park a number of times, but it had been nearly twenty years since I’d been there last.
So, in August, when friend and fellow photographer, Travis Hallmark, asked me if I wanted to get out of Austin for an extra-long weekend, I jumped at the chance.
It was more beautiful than I remembered, and the slow, quiet pace of life was a much appreciated break.
Back to style-related dispatches next time.
Big Bend and Marfa are fantastic places to visit. I never made it to the observatory the few times I’ve been in the area, perhaps next time.