November 2 Basaseachic to Alpine (El Dia de los Muertos)

In the morning I found we were camped at over 8,000 feet in the coldest November I have ever experienced. I looked at the dashboard clock inside the Trooper and found it was not yet 6:00am. No roosters were heard on this hellish morning, but I was up and searching for a glimpse of sunlight. I found a trail along a creek leading to the top of the falls. In the early morning mist I couldn't see the valley below. I was shivering uncontrollably and the wind sporadically pushed at my back, making me afraid to walk to the edge. I crawled the last ten feet. Water poured over the side to an ice-cold pool 100 stories below. As I tried to photograph an unusual corkscrew formation sculpted by the water, my captures were almost lost to oblivion when the frozen, brittle strap on the camera broke. I went back to the tent to roust Michael and Brenda. They were alive, but too cold to move. By 10:00am I remember the darkroom thermometer I kept in the Trooper and learned the sad truth -- it was 20 degrees Fahrenheit. I finally got my sleepy passengers up at 11:00am by starting the car. Once it warmed up, I drove around the grounds and found a local family opening up a food stand. I left some frozen Cocas on the hood to thaw. Michael and Brenda ran to the edge of the great water fall for a quick look. Then we drove around to the other side of the deep gorge to find a spectacular paoramic view of the the ribbon of frigid water and sheer cliffs. We happened upon a group of local families going to a mountainside cemetery, with arms wrapped around bundles of flowers and steaming covered bowls of food. We were tempted to spy on this local observance of the second day of El Dia de los Muertos celebration, All Souls' Day. Though our curiosity was great, we had to return to the U.S. where nothing is more sacred than our jobs. So, we left the edge of the Earth behind us and headed east toward the Rio Grande. During the many long drives, we wore the oxide off of the Scorchers, Chili Peppers and some Texas honkytonk favorites, so we pulled off the highway to buy some new music. Local kids recommended some popular musica Mexicana from boxes full of cassettes they were selling. Grupo Liberacion provided the soundtrack for our return to the U.S. We made it by nightfall and followed the boundary east toward Big Bend, searching for a place to camp. Because of the crowded Terlingua Chili Cookoff, we were spared from another night of pitching a tent in the cold wind on the high plains. Passing through Lajitas, we found many of the cookoff competitors had taken refuge from the early winter storm in area motels. We made another in a series of long, seemingly endless, and fearful drives through vast darkness. Any neon sign would be our savior. Several hours later, we registered for the last vacant room in Alpine. NEXT PAGE