Packing heat in the desert

The day before I arrived in Arizona back in 1998, a large number of illegal aliens were arrested trying to cross the desert near Organ Pipe National Park, which was exactly where I planned to go following a short visit with my father.  Because I was traveling alone and planning to camp, Dad told me terrible stories about what happens to women driving alone in the desert and pleaded with me not to venture anywhere near the border.  But that's where the spectacular scenery and wildflowers were supposed to be, so I stubbornly insisted on going.  Finally he said, "Well, if I can't change your mind, then you have to take my gun!" and he handed me his pistol.  After showing me how to use it, he said, "Have you got a belt?"  I looked puzzled and he exclaimed with exasperation, "Well, how the hell else are you going to carry it?"  Apparently in Arizona it is illegal to carry a concealed weapon but perfectly acceptable to walk around with one displayed in a holster on your hip.  After much arguing, I eventually consented to take the gun with me, stuffed it into my already overloaded camera backpack, and went out into the desert packing heat.  It didn't occur to me that I might have to use it.

Organ Pipe Cactus

(Click on photos for larger versions)

Antelope grazing

I had no problems at all in the fabulous Organ Pipe National Park even though I spent a lot of time right next to the border which had just a rickety barbed wire fence to mark it.  After a few days there, I proceeded to Big Bend National Park in Texas, situated right on the Rio Grande.  I had a lovely drive there seeing herds of antelope racing through the grasslands they shared with herds of cattle.

Big Bend is massive and I never saw a park ranger the whole time I was there.  After reading about a scenic canyon carved out by the river, I went there to explore and take photos.  There were three or four cars in the parking lot and a trail to follow along the edge of the canyon.  I hiked to the end where I saw a few people, then set up my tripod to take some photos.

While I was taking pictures, a young man, younger than me, approached me and tried to strike up a conversation.  I had no interest in talking with him, so I told him I was a professional photographer on assignment and had no time to chat.  He came back a couple of times, acting a bit odd, and I was not pleased to realize he was trying to pick me up.  Each time I told him I was too busy to talk and he would wander away.  While I was preoccupied with my camera, I failed to notice that the other people had left, leaving me alone in the canyon with this guy.  He eventually started back up the trail toward the parking lot, the only way out of the canyon, so when I finished taking pictures, I started hiking out too.  After a bit, I looked ahead and was concerned to see him waiting for me along the trail. I quickly set up my tripod and pretended to take pictures, and once again he walked out of view up the trail.  This happened a second time, so by now I was worried about his intentions.  I took the aforementioned pistol out of my backpack, put it in a fanny pack I was wearing in front, and left the zipper open for easy access.  After giving him a lot more time to leave, I started out again.  Just as I came around a turn, he popped out from behind a large boulder and said "How about we do lunch?"  It was 3:00 in the afternoon and there wasn't a restaurant for a couple of hundred miles.  I backed away from him with my hand on the gun inside the fanny pack and told him that my husband was meeting me in the parking lot.  This seemed to discourage him and he walked away yet again.  After waiting for what seemed like forever, I warily hiked out to the parking lot and was relieved to see he wasn't there.  I'm not a violent person, but I will defend myself from someone trying to harm me, so in an area where there were no other humans to help me, I was comforted knowing I had some way of protecting myself.  Still, I would have preferred to concentrate on shooting pictures instead of having to worry about shooting at him.