Black Gap WMA, TX
I set out to erase a memory last weekend - it’s not the first time – repeating a trip taken before, rinsing to remove the bad taste left in my mouth, one laundry cycle after another.

But this one did the trick, and I replaced a mediocre memory with one of magic. One of silk rolling deep across the Rio Grande, smooth and soft and supple as it does.
We arrive at Fish Camp 5-6 with plenty of time to spare, but the road in was long, slow and tedious, and as a result I decide to make this a night of relaxation and not of riding. A familiar yet old adobe ranch house stands on the hill, or what’s left of it, a smattering of graffiti on one wall – why we must always mark our territory I will never understand. It’s a place I’ve been to before.

Below camp, the water runs free, churning and swirling through the riffles of the Rio Grande. The tailings of Mexican livestock litter the ground. This is their watering hole and we are only visitors. But we are here to get dirty and dirty we get. Dusty boots, muddy dogs, fingernails – let’s not talk about the jeans I’m wearing. The land is leaving her mark on us and she is not shy.
After dinner, and before sunset – which comes way too early these days – I circle the pen and make effort to right a leaning post. The horse spooks, a dog is stepped on, a foot is broken. An unplanned exit, a wrong turn, a sand trap exposed, and a truck sunken. I wish I could say it’s the first time. It is not.
But in the deep, black folds of the night a cow bellows; a Mexican burro calls from across the Rio.
They know not of this boundary we call a river. They know not of what country they live, nor of the names of the mountains or mesas. These words are man-born, designed to give us direction. Designed to give us a sense of ownership, where we have none. The cattle and the burro know only that the ground is rocky, the grass is sparse, and the river is life.
And it is this knowing – or unknowing - that leaves us humans wanting. That leaves us searching for meaning.

I’m happiest when I spend my nights around campfires, hidden in the spotted hills of the desert. In complete control and complete surrender. But there is no campfire tonight so instead I spend my night watching the Milky way pour itself into the Rio Grande and planning my escape.
There will be an escape.
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