Palo Pinto Mountains State Park, Texas
- Apr 13
- 5 min read
Cheers to Texas' newest state park, Palo Pinto Mountains! Ten equestrian sites and 16 miles of multi-use trails through rolling cross-timbers and open views.
(Ridden Dec of '20, published in the Sept '22 HTA Horse Trails of America Trail Journal)
A self-proclaimed expert “Googler,” in the spring of 2020 I came across an invitation to ride the up-and-coming Palo Pinto Mountains State Park. A ride advertised by Partners of the Park, in what will eventually be the first new Texas state park in over a decade. I couldn’t have salivated more if I was Pavlov’s dog. This was an unknown, a chance to ride an unofficial compilation that would eventually become official.
For two years I carried a state park brochure tucked snugly in the dashboard of my truck like a good luck charm, highlighting those allowing horses and dreaming. In September of 2020 I finally went - a month on the road chasing my goal of riding all I could.
My time on a horse was short compared to some, and always with a group. Surrounded by the comradery of equestrians who knew more than me. A community willing to assist if needed, and they did. Many of my first rides took place within this safety net - helping me learn horses which in turn helped me learn myself.
My fellow riders were there when I took my first fall on an old asphalt road from the back of a borrowed mare. They helped when I took my first horse to Bandera, only 2 ½ years old, nosing him up against the back of a wagon so he couldn’t run from what was surely monsters at every turn. When I didn’t know how to slow my second horse down, they helped again. We rode backwards thru much of that trail ride, it seemed to fix the problem.
But in 2020, COVID reared its ugly head and for a minute we were scared to be together, even in those wide-open spaces. State parks closed their doors, trail rides were canceled, businesses shut down. Many horses and trailers sat idle.
For me, COVID was simply another nail in my otherwise crumbling life and when the state parks reopened, I jumped. Excitement built as I mapped my route and in one month, horse, dog, and I had ridden and camped at fourteen different locations across Texas, New Mexico, and southern Colorado.
You get used to being alone. After that month on the road, I was different. My horse was different. He and the dog were my herd now and I theirs. Slowly, in many ways, they replaced the family I knew before. A family in transition.
In a lot of ways it was easier to be with my animals during that time. Riding alone there is no one to catch you if you fall, but there is also no one to drop you. No one to tell you how to park and where, no one to fall back on, and no one to blame except yourself when things go wrong.
The Palo Pinto ride was delayed twice during that year, but I stayed in touch and eventually it took. Still natural and raw, the only excursions allowed were those orchestrated by the Partners of Palo Pinto Mountains. I joined immediately.
You can’t throw a quarter northwest of Dallas, Texas without hitting a well-groomed lake or park but drive 75 miles west and you’ll see nature at its finest. The unopened state park sits just south of Possum Kingdom Lake and includes close to 5,000 acres of plateaus, vistas, canyons, and creeks. An undeveloped sanctuary easily a day trip from the DFW metroplex.
But riding with others felt new to me now, something I’d done a million times in my prior life. So, true to typical fashion, I pulled in and found parking in relative isolation. Enough to require a stroll through the prairie grass to check in and socialize, and a place of retreat if needed, back to my herd.
A low, cuesta-like range of hills, the ridge of Palo Pinto Mountains extends fifteen miles across north Texas. This is Cross Timbers region, an area of Texas known as a barrier to travel back in the day. The live oak, honey mesquite, and juniper is dense here. Difficult to penetrate and easy to go astray, even for those who’ve been here before.
Keeping to myself that first night, I set up camp against an orange sky fading into dark. We woke to an icy blanket of frost coating the field. Grass crunched underfoot, only rays of light could penetrate its crisp demeanor.
The group was mostly women that weekend, quiet at first; even so I was welcomed. Only one man among us, an old cowboy ponying a new ride. Down a dappled trail we rode that day, railroad in the distance, part of the long-standing Texas and Pacific no doubt. A view reminiscent of the old west as we traveled horseback beside it.
Our lead had covered ground here many times and confidently guided us along an unmarked trail to the perfect lookout. There, I sat in awe of these ladies, many of whom lived and breathed horses their entire life. Me, a newbie, riding only these last 20 years. I was flattered just to be asked how I tied my wild rag or where I found my hat.
As the conversation around me continued, my shoulders slowly dropped, my smile surfaced. In quiet I rode, scarf tucked and face lifted, breathing in the smell of cedar.
There was one rodeo on the trail that day, but it was a repeater; twice the cowboy’s pony fell behind and ended up with lead rope under tail. His horses circled desperate and confused, the riders nearby jumped in and did what riders do – they helped - resulting in only one unplanned dismount the entire day.
Around the campfire as dusk settled, the park Superintendent arrived with a guitar and a voice. The milky way spread her wings above like a welcome mat to his singing. His wife accompanied in perfect tune, bouncing and soothing the babies in her lap. Bonded together over their love for this land they were, it was clear. Wisps of smoke floated into the stars, the fire burned, and I melted with it. I admit, I had trouble walking away that night.
I have always felt more at peace with nature than people. In commune with her voice, feeling her beauty even with eyes shut. And surprisingly, by acknowledging this truth my community has grown and me with it.
As I made my way from Palo Pinto to Fort Richardson, and then Lake Arrowhead the next day, it occurred to me that from the first whisper of solitude in my ear, I'd been searching for this. Having taken care of my own mind and well-being, I was finally ready to be part of the whole - the interconnectedness of others.
On this ride I showed up as a new self, one I slowly tempted from the nest, and my solitary journey turned into laid-back comradery. I was never alone after all.
As always, thanks for riding along.
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