The cactus and ocotillo covered hillock, just beyond the new Border Patrol housing immediately to the northeast of our trailer site, just signalled the beginning of the end of the day as the sun’s shadow crept to its top and cloaked us all in evensong. Although the yellow of the fog-lights of the Patrol’s white and green pick-up still reflects the end of the day’s radiance, we know that the time of the evening’s voices and visitors is soon upon us. The javelinas will likely make their single file to the arroyo beside us, through our site. A raven may yet croak and a coyote may whine or howl. We are not likely to hear the slither of the serpents seeking their day’s sustenance.
The scanner radio programmed to eavesdrop on most all of the Park’s communication is wheezing to report that 427 is ending their day of patrolling the remote camp sites of the Chisos Mountains. The dispatcher will listen with acute attention and pass on information and requests until about 9pm, at which time Big Bend National Park will turn out the lights, set the thermostat so that it doesn’t drop below 60 in bedrooms, pull the covers up under its chin and drift off into another night’s sleep in paradise.
Meanwhile, it is almost 6pm CST and we are starting to do the dishes. We’ll listen to satellite radio for a while. Ron will write some. Jane will read while he writes. And before the big hand stands upright three more times, we too will peacefully sleep. ‘Nite all.