A DRIVE WITH A VIEW

The next morning, a hankering for some savory chilaquiles verde calls me to Lupita’s Place, at the edge of town. A sign on the wall urges me to “Count the Memories Not the Calories.” I’m all in.

Tastily sated, we move back into town to the Stone Village Market (adjacent to a motor court that dates to 1935), which serves as a gathering spot all day long.
Two men in black cowboy hats and dark jackets stand outside by their cars, sipping coffee and jawing good-naturedly.

The market deli offers tasty breakfast burritos, made-to-order sandwiches, meat by the pound, oversized cookies and soups of the day — today, savory potato jalapeño. Stone Village provides quality meals on those days when restaurants in town may be on limited hours (because of the dearth of Fort Davis rental housing, most of its service workers commute the 30 minutes or so from Alpine). Unfortunately, it doesn’t sell ice, so we swing by the more grocer-hardware-centric Porter’s, which dates to 1945. It offers a wide selection of campsite goods (including ice).

We venture out on a 75-mile scenic route that begins just past the Fort Davis National Historic Site, proceeding toward the McDonald Observatory.

Three deer show themselves just before the cutoff for the Fort Davis Riding Stables. About 30 minutes in, the two main white structures of the University of Texas at Austin observatory (one of the world’s leading astronomical research centers) pop into view from their perches atop Mount Locke and Mount Fowlkes.

Our two-hour-plus loop drive provides plenty of inspiring scenery along stretches of brown, pinched highway. Sawtooth Mountain steals the show, rising in jagged formation to an elevation of 7,686 feet above sea level. Its shallow, rocky soil provides a home to scrub brush and grasses that give Sawtooth, on private land protected by a 2016 conservation easement, a rich patina.   

Back on the edge of town on this breezy afternoon, the flag at the Fort Davis National Historic Site snaps to attention. Intermittent recorded bugle music from outdoor speakers bounces awkwardly on the wind.

The mountains, fort and town derive their name from Jefferson Davis, who ordered construction of the fort while serving pre-Confederacy as U.S. secretary of war. While many of the original structures are in ruin, several buildings are restored and outfitted with 1880s-era furniture. As we approach an officer’s quarters, Barbara Curry greets us pleasantly from the porch.

The retired professor has been a gradual resident of Fort Davis. Several years ago, she sold her house in Richardson, bought an RV and began volunteering at parks throughout Texas. At first, Curry volunteered at the fort about a month at a time. She was smitten. Now, she spends six months or more volunteering here. “It’s my happy place.”

We check into the Indian Lodge, probably one of the greatest accomplishments of the Depression-era Civilian Conservation Corps works program in Texas. While the lodge is closed until 2024, the park’s more than 90 campsites remain open, and it is operating a full schedule of activities.

Charles Ewing, interpretive ranger for the park, oversees hiking tours and history/nature talks.

“A lot of people tell us this is their favorite park in the state,” Ewing says. “People, especially those from other states, are awestruck by the unexpected beauty of the terrain, which is how I felt when I first came here.”

The East Texas native attended the University of Texas at Austin in the 1990s and hung around the Hill Country for 20 years working as a schoolteacher. He began regular camping trips here during his early Austin years. During subsequent trips, he and his partner purchased an old adobe in need of work, renovating it during several summer visits before making a permanent leap.

“For me, this place represents a bit of the old frontier,” he says. “You kind of feel like you are on the edge of civilization out here because you are so remote. Most evenings we just sit on our porch and just watch and listen. You don’t get that feeling in the city.”

Ewing singles out Keesey Canyon Overlook, near the first turnout driving up Skyline Drive, as his favorite spot here. Keesey and Limpia creeks have cut drainage reliefs of 500 to 600 feet into the park’s canyon walls, exposing rocks from volcanic activity from up to 30 million years ago. He calls a bench vista about a 15-minute walk from the turnout “the best view in the house.”

Ewing suggests leveling gear if you are hauling a trailer or driving an RV, because many campsites are uneven. The park no longer allows hammocks hung from its drought-stressed trees. Campers who want to see wildlife may see mule deer and javelinas, he says.  

THE SNOWMAN IN THE MOON

As darkness approaches, we make our way to the McDonald Observatory for a Star Party (reservations required).

Although a waxing gibbous moon brightens the night, the view from the concrete benches at the outdoor observatory amphitheater is mesmerizing. Moonlight bounces off the stone seating and mixes with red safe lights, making for an otherworldly atmosphere.

Five telescopes offer a view of tonight’s magnified celestial moving feast, focusing on the moon, Saturn, Jupiter, an old star cluster and a newly formed star cluster. The moon-gazing is fascinating, focusing on “snowman” moon craters, a series of five aligned craters of graduated size. (The largest crater, where the uncrewed Surveyor 3 landed in 1967, is 95 miles across). The craters do conjure a snowman image.

At another station, a vivid Saturn almost looks like an animated cartoon. At the Jupiter station, I watch a moon emerge from the shadow of the planet, a black dot framed by three other bright white moons.

We return in the darkness without having to dodge any wandering javelinas, although we do pass a band of raccoon eyes reflected eerily in our headlights.

Our last morning in town, we drive to the end of the winding 2.2-mile Skyline Drive (also built by CCC), where we find two other parties standing transfixed near the edge of a canyon.

On a ledge across the way, six tan aoudads — also known as Barbary sheep — perch on an outcropping. (The North African aoudads, introduced to Texas in the 1950s as exotic game, have long horns that curl back into a crescent shape.) We gaze up at them, and they stare right back. The staredown continues for a bit, with the humans blinking first, moving on.

A short distance away, a mile-long trail from an awesome overlook leads down to the historic fort below. The climb back up is steep and littered with loose rocks, so hikers might consider getting dropped off at the top and picked up at the bottom if others in the group are amenable.

On our way back along Skyline Drive, we drive past Ewing’s favorite overlook.

Sure, it’s a darn good one, but I figure he has his vista and I have mine.