by margaret hundley parker

Explore the Great Outdoors — Texas Style

We loaded Lizzie's pickup and headed out to Hill Country. After an hour or so driving along the winding roads, singing along to Tammy Wynette, we arrived at the lodge in darkness. We went straight to the restaurant. The menu was surprising; although we were out here in the "wild," the food was very sophisticated. We ordered after eavesdropping on the table next to us - a couple in search of the perfect crab cake wondered out loud if the search was over. In Texas? Lizzie agreed the crab cakes were fabulous. I enjoyed Portobello mushroom pasta. The food was Texas with a touch of Europe. It's a dry county, so there's no booze on the menu, but you're welcome to bring your own stash.

After dinner we had to find our cabin in the dark. Although the nice young man at the desk had given us a map, it meant nothing in the velvety black. We got a bit lost. There we were, with our full bellies, the perfect meal for night animals. I heard a critter shuffling around the leaves, but neither one of us could tell what it was. A few squeals later, we found our cabin. We collapsed into the comfy beds with the homemade quilts and soft pillows, and left the windows open so we could hear the wind blow.

When I got up the next morning, I was surprised at how different everything looked in the daylight. Instead of man-eating beasts, green trees and a view of the lake surrounded us. A roadrunner stood defiantly near me. I realized the Canyon Room where we'd had dinner was in sight, and that we'd walked around in circles the night before. The monster we'd heard was probably a little armadillo.

That morning was unexpectedly cold. I'd forgotten a golden rule of travel: always bring an extra layer. Although the waterfall and kayaks awaited us, my flimsy shorts and tee shirt were insufficient. Kayaking would have to wait. Instead, Lizzie and I decided to embark upon the Vanishing Texas River Cruise, a slow moving boat with an enclosed bottom deck. We huddled inside, peeking out the windows at great blue herons, egrets, and mountain goats perched on the rocks surrounding the lake.

After the cruise, the sun began to burn through the fog, so Lizzie and I joined a few other guests on a hike with one of the park naturalists. We winded our way through trails blanketed on all sides with colorful prickly pear cacti, wine cups, Texas bluebonnets, Indian blanket, and prairie cone flowers. It was an explosion of color. By the time we got back to our cabin, we were officially warm enough to jump in the pool. The pool was like a pond, round and nestled in limestone. We had it to ourselves this time, but as the weekend began and the weather warmed up, it would be filled with laughing children.

Later, we went on an Endangered Species tour. We met up with travelers from Ohio and Houston who had come specifically to see the black-capped vireo and the golden-cheeked warbler. Eagles only come through here in the winter, but Canyon of the Black-Capped Vireo just doesn't have the same ring to it. In May, we were lucky enough to see both tiny songbirds. The males perched proudly on the treetops, hoping to find a chick. One fellow birder also spotted a rattlesnake slithering off in the tall grasses. I'd forgotten another rule of travel: always bring long pants for hikes.

When traveling anywhere, all the senses are heightened. We notice smells, sounds, tastes, and sights that are different from our everyday experience. Standing out on the trails, it was the quiet that let us hear the chirp of a four-inch bird. Right now as I write this from my apartment, I hear a jackhammer. There could be a golden-cheeked warbler peeping on my shoulder and I'd never know it.

At night, it was the absence of light that let us see another world. A young woman lit up the sky with fire dancing. We watched the vibrant patterns and listened to the whoosh of the flames. Another night we went to a "Star Party" at the Eagle Eye Observatory run by the Austin Astronomical Society. We hopped on a hay ride out to the middle of a field, dotted with red lights. Were we there to be sacrificed? Whew, no. There were children and adults, all out to peer through the 16" Ealing and the 12.5" Harlan Smith telescopes. If that means nothing to you, let me just say that I looked in one and saw the rings of Saturn. Lizzie saw a double star, and neither one of us knew what to make of that.

The morning of our last day, the sun had come out to stay. It was time to kayak. We walked down the rocky path to Lake Buchanan Adventures, then we were let loose on the lake (with a guide). I was hot, so I set out for the waterfall, took a deep breath, and went under. Soon everyone in our group was getting doused. We paddled by a few fishing boats, and Lizzie and I tried to be quiet so we wouldn't scare the fish but it soon became obvious that catching fish was not important. As we headed back to shore, guys from a fishing boat turned up Johnny Cash's "Ring of Fire." I was far enough away from everyone that I sang along, quietly missing all the notes.

Finally, Lizzie and I had to return to our lives. We left our rustic cabin and drove back to Austin. I needed to stay one night to try and mitigate the shock of returning to sensory overload. We shopped and relaxed for a day. Too soon I was flying back, listening to a child scream on the airplane the entire way home. I already missed the quiet.

(photos provided by LCRA)