Nature delivers! (GuMo NP, Carlsbad Caverns NP)

Thursday, 3 November 2022, Carlsbad NM

The timing of this trip did not happen by accident. As I initially researched the parks, I found a review maintaining that when fall foliage breaks out, GuMo is the most beautiful spot in all of Texas. (From what I've observed of west Texas, that's a low bar to beat.) A phone call to the park established that my best chance for catching brilliant colors should occur the first week of November.

During the hour-long drive to McKittrick Canyon, my concerns grew. The flat land through which the highway passed had naught but monochromatic scrubby vegetation, and the highlands of the Guadalupe Mountains had the same color palette. The road to the canyon climbed a bit as it left the highway, but that put me into more high-desert terrain.

I began the hike with considerable skepticism. My feet took me over a knoll and down to the dry streambed of McKittrick Canyon, then along its northern bank.

The first mile passed with no hint of autumn... then I hit a spring where the water flowed a short distance before disappearing underground. The water supported a few trees, giving me the first taste of color, short-lived as it was.

The trail crossed the dry arroyo a few more times, and passed a few more points of color.

At the 2.4 mile mark, a short side trail leads to Pratt Cabin, designed by a noted Houston architect and composed of local limestone and pine. It is unoccupied, but rocking cha1rs on the porch invite you to sit for a spell.

From here, the trail leads another mile to the Grotto. THIS was the stretch that made the hike. Resplendent colors set in - maples and oaks fill the land with autumnal glory. I needn't have worried!

Now I could see why the park warned that trailhead parking would fill early on the weekends during color season. For that reason, I'd slotted this for mid-week, but I still shared the trail with crowds.

At the Grotto,

I looked forward to a picnic lunch. I recalled days in the 80s, when I would carry tins of deviled ham to spread on a roll for an easy meal. At the picnic table, I took out the can, removed the paper wrapping, and - wait. I thought they had pop-tops to make it easy to open! Oh, great.

Did I mention the crowds this trail attracted? Luckily, the second couple behind me had a Leatherman-type tool (call it an upscale Swiss army knife) they let me borrow to cut an opening in the can. Problem solved for the day.

But enough of my prattling on! The pictures are worth more than a thousand of my insufficient words...

As I hiked back down, I watched the faces of people heading up-canyon. Their smiles spread wide as they moved among the leaves, their eyes dancing with the colors - wait, is that a familiar face? "Matt! Diana! You survived the Chisos Mountains!" I greeted the German couple I had met in Big Bend three days earlier.

We chatted for a minute, and they relayed good news: "We were at Carlsbad Caverns yesterday, and the bats are still flying!" That surprised me - when I called the ranger there weeks ago, they said the bats would be gone by the time November dawned. Every year, as autumn tightens its grip on the weather, the vast majority of the bats migrate to Mexico for the winter.

I bade them farewell (and a happy flight home next week) as I moved down the trail. Soon I formulated a new plan: stop in to see the bat flight on my way back to town, instead of risking them leaving before tomorrow.

At the Caverns Visitor Center, I got the lowdown on the bat flight: the first batch fly around 5:30, followed by a second group 30 minutes later. For those sitting in the amphitheatre, no electronic devices are allowed: no cameras, camcorders, cellphones, or the like. The distraction of flashes, shutters, and autofocuses can disorient the bats at the critical point where they are circling to gain elevation out of the cave. One can apply for special permission to take pictures, but after their assurances that no bats would hang around for me, I didn't bother requesting an exemption.

While talking to the ranger, I asked about other options, trying to plan my last days. "I'll tour the cave tomorrow. Can you recommend a hike in the park I can take on Saturday?"

"I'd recommend that you take a hike in Guadalupe Mtns on Saturday. The Dog Canyon area on the northern edge is my favorite part of that park. It's remote, so you won't have to deal with crowds."

"So there's no good hike in this park?" I asked, surprised.

"Not right now, no. We had a flood event here this summer, and it damaged most of the trails, as well as the gravel-road scenic drive. So for now, your best bet is our neighbor park."

Fair enough. I thanked him, and after wandering through the book store, I headed down to the amphitheatre. At the predicted time, a whisper of bat wings announced the start of the flight. Circling around the cave openings, a cloud of bats slowly rose into the gloaming sky. A hush fell over the fifty-plus people in attendance for the five or so minutes they streamed out. They ascended as a cloud, then moved off to the river valleys for their nightly feast.

While impressive, this late display did not awe me. As we waited for round two, the ranger spoke about the flight. "Most of the migratory bats have already left - and many of the ones you've just seen won't return until next year. We can't tell for sure, but those were likely the migrating bats - the next flight will probably be of the bats who stay here year round."

"How many bats just flew out?" asked one visitor.

"it's hard to get an exact count, but I'd say between one and two thousand. Now if you were here during the summer, six- to eight-hundred thousand bats will fly each night. THAT is an impressive sight, worth coming back for!"

Ahh, well, that's for a different time, a different trip. The second flight featured fewer bats - maybe a thousand. Satisfied with officially checking off another park, I headed for 'home' as the sunset faded from the sky.