In late December 2024, as I drove down the familiar, infinite road into Big Bend National Park, my memory traveled back to the distant afternoon when I first truly heard silence.

I was 20 years old and the sky was cosmic blue. We’d disobeyed the warning signs recommending entering only with a four-by-four vehicle and carefully drove down the rough roads leading into the most remote parts of the park. When we finally reached the trailhead, I stayed behind with our dog (dogs aren’t allowed on the trails) and my parents and sister went off on a hike. 

As their crunching footsteps faded, I became acutely aware of the profound silence around me. Suddenly even the sound of my breathing felt intrusive, so I held my breath to not interrupt the silence.

A hiker climbs up high for a view of the Chimneys trail. (Photo: Maria Vargas)

In regular life, our days are polluted by background noises we hardly notice. The humming of a refrigerator, murmur of the air conditioner, car engines, TVs, radios, washing machines, keyboard clicks. It’s rare to find ourselves in a place where the only sound is the whistle of the wind and buzz of a bee that sounds as loud as a lawnmower. 

Since that first trip to Big Bend in 2016, our family has spent every winter holiday here. We trade holiday shopping for camping under the stars, Christmas trees for cacti, and New Year’s fireworks for silence and the occasional coyote howl. The stillness of the desert captivated us, drawing us back again and again to share adventures, reconnect with ourselves, and reflect on the changes happening within and around us.

The Milky Way can be seen on a clear night in Big Bend. (Photo: Maria Vargas)

The Allure of Big Bend 

Big Bend National Park is like a book that never ends and changes every time you try to read it. It’s enchanted under a spell where the more familiar you think you are with it, the more you realize how little you actually know it and the more it surprises you. The Texas park sits on the border with Mexico and is larger than the state of Rhode Island and the country of Luxembourg. 

Looking over the Rio Grande River, which marks the Texas-Mexico border. (Photo: Maria Vargas)

The desert has unpredictable extreme moods. A quiet still day can turn into a windstorm that pelts sand at your tent all night long turning into a hurricane of winds that snap a tent pole so hard it hits your face while you sleep. Or a blue cloudless day can bring a hell-storm of lightning, hail, deafening thunder, and heavy rain that floods your tent in the middle of the night only to bring a perfect clear sunrise the next morning with no evidence of a storm. Shadeless days under the scorching sun turn into frigid nights shaking in sleeping bags.

The moon lights up another crisp, clear night in the park. (Photo: Maria Vargas)

The River’s Struggle

Big Bend’s ecosystems are extraordinary. The river habitat teems with cottonwood trees, fish, beavers, lush plants, and hot springs. It contrasts with the Chihuahuan desert which stretches bare and is dotted with cacti, creosote plants, and rattlesnakes. Towering in the distance are the Chisos Mountains which rise over 7,800 feet and are home to pine trees, oaks, black bears, and mountain lions. 

Big Bend National Park with views of the Santa Elena canyon in the distance. (Photo: Maria Vargas)

“The Rio Grande is one of the most endangered rivers in the world,” said Colt Wayne Keeney, a musician performing in the dusty backyard of a pizza joint in Lajitas. Before singing a ballad about the river, he educated the audience about its precarious state. 

Canoers paddle the Rio Grande. (Photo: Maria Vargas)

Despite eight visits to the park, I hadn’t realized how deeply extreme drought, water diversion, and rising temperatures have affected the Rio Grande’s ecosystems and the human communities that depend on it.

Maria and her family. (Photo: Maria Vargas)

Our Family’s Evolving Camping Journey 

Our family’s love for camping began in the early 2000s at Everglades National Park in Florida. Back then, we camped with an eight-person tent that took an hour to set up, inflatable air mattresses requiring an electric pump, and a green Coleman gas stove gifted by our grandparents. Sneakers sufficed for hikes, and sheets, blankets, and pillows came along for comfort. When we started visiting Big Bend, my sister and I claimed our own tent, but our setup remained largely the same.

Exploring some rock formations at Ernest Tinaja trail. (Photo: Maria Vargas)

Camping doesn’t require the fanciest gear to be enjoyable. Sometimes it’s best to start with what we have. Our family spent years camping that way. But as we extended our Big Bend trips, we slowly invested in gear that made camping easier. 

We still use that green Coleman stove, but we’ve upgraded to ultralight tents, insulated sleeping pads, and down sleeping bags. Hiking boots replaced sneakers, and hydration packs made carrying water effortless. These changes allowed us to tackle more challenging trails and learn safety measures like using satellite phones and Garmin devices. 

On our eighth visit, we finally arrived with a 4-by-4 vehicle ready for exploration.

Watching the sun set over a Big Bend mountain range. (Photo: Maria Vargas)

A Place for Reflection

“Our annual Big Bend holiday trip is like a reset button,” my mom said as she drank her freshly brewed coffee on our most recent trip, overlooking the desert with the aura of having been reborn into a carefree world. “I feel like we recharge our batteries here.”

In the desert’s stillness, no matter the year’s challenges, our family finds profound self-reflection and healing. Big Bend has become a home of sorts, grounding us during the transition between one year ending and another beginning. The park has seen every version of us, making it the perfect place for introspection and hopes for the future.

Watching the sun come up after a cold night is a family favorite. (Photo: Maria Vargas)

Changes Over Time

Revisiting a place repeatedly heightens your awareness of changes. Temperatures, for example, have become increasingly extreme. In December 2022, a cold snap dropped temperatures to 9 degrees, forcing us to seek shelter in Alpine, a town about an hour north of the park. By December 2024, heat exceeding 90 degrees prevented us from hiking one day. 

The Rio Grande’s water levels have also noticeably declined. Early visits saw us swimming in its strong currents, but last year, the water barely reached our knees, reduced to a near-stagnant trickle.

Steam rising from the Rio Grande River at dawn. (Photo: Maria Varas)

Big Bend: Our Constant Calibration

Our days at Big Bend revolve around exploring trails, sleeping under the Milky Way, and marveling at the fiery Sierra del Carmen at sunset. With no cell service, we disconnect from the world and reconnect with each other. 

Nights bring meaningful conversations under starlit skies, and we cook meals together on the Coleman stove. The days’ rhythms—waking with the sun, eating when hungry, and sleeping when drowsy—make clocks and calendars irrelevant. We appreciate water’s scarcity, cacti's shade, and the warmth of sunrise as it thaws out on a cold night. 

Horses are a unique challenge of Big Bend National park, as they are not a natural part of this ecosystem but were introduced centuries ago during settlement and as livestock. (Photo: Maria Vargas)

On this most recent trip, on Dec. 23, we eagerly left behind the traces of civilization, social media, and work stress, seeking the desert’s tranquility. We spent 11 days in the desert and watched 2024 transition into 2025. We wouldn’t have ended and started a year any different way.

A coyote ventures onto the road near Rio Grande Village. (Photo: Maria Vargas)

The park has become our calibration. Its volatile yet comforting nature helps us shed the stresses of city life. Big Bend’s vastness inspires awe, while its small, intricate details ground us.