HUECO TANKS STATE PARK IN TEXAS

Traveling is a constant learning experience. It is usually very laid back, but on occasion you will run into a situation where your mind had better be on full alert. Such was the case the morning we pulled into Hueco Tanks State Park on the eastern edge of El Paso, Texas. It is a small park with beautiful surroundings and thousands of pictographs adorning the nearby boulder formations. I went into the office to register for camping and it was filled with young college aged rock climbers waiting for permits. When the state park lady finally got to me, I found her very business like, organized and I could tell she had done this a million times by her spiel. I didn’t know anything about this park. It was just another of many Texas State Parks we had camped in. What I didn’t realize was the security involved because of the ancient art. I felt like I was back in the Marine Corp. Instructions were flying and you had better listen up. If I didn’t get them the first time I just knew she was going to tell me to get down and give her 50 pushups. I listened intently and I think I had it. I was told I had to see a short video before I drove into the campground. She said to stop at the next building and watch said video before going to my campsite. Okay, got it! I hope I had it. There were so many new state park rules I had never heard before I was afraid to fart. 

I pulled up to the next building and a guy came out the door and signaled me on to the campground. The gate was open and I went in. Before I could even park the rig, I had a campground host on me like ugly on an ape. He may have been a graduate of Campground Host School, but definitely not Valedictorian. I could tell by his body language he was upset. Luckily he had a radio in his hand and not a weapon. He told me I was supposed to have stopped for a video and I would have to go back. My simple little tourist brain had already figured that out. I then figured out the guy that waved me through must have been trying to point to a parking area where I wouldn't block the road with my rig while I watched the flick. The host lightened up a bit and allowed us to park the motorhome first, since the car was half unhooked and I was already causing a traffic jam worthy of a pictograph. 

Dutifully we got in the car right away and started back to the entrance for our video indoctrination. I was still a bit upset with the hosts attitude but Gaila was counseling me and suggesting I continue to be polite. While I was digesting her advise, I came to the campground gate and it was shut. I would normally get out and push the gate open, but to continue my spousal therapy I decided to go find the host and politely inquire about Hueco Tank State Park protocol when it came to closed gate policy. I knocked on the first RV I came to that said, “Host.” A very nice polite woman came to the door and answered my questions. “Yes, just push the gate open and close it behind you - it's not locked. It’s always supposed to be closed. Someone must have left it open when you arrived.” As I was walking back to my car I ran into my host friend, Judge Roy Bean, dragging his dust mop dog. Knowing my wife was watching me like a hawk I mustard every theatrical cell in my body and said a pleasant, “How ya doin’?”  At that he answered, “What’s your problem now?” Gaila was reading his lips through the car windshield and knew it was too late to keep a cork in me. I blew. By the time I was through dressing him down he and his fufu dog were turned around and heading back to their rig with their tails tucked between their legs. 

Yes, we did finally see the video and met host number two who may have been Valedictorian. It was his rig I had knocked on and his wife who was very polite. He was the kind of campground host we had come to expect and enjoy in all the state and national parks we visit. Gaila thinks my approach was all wrong, but I think I did host #1 a huge favor. I think I gave him an attitude adjustment that might go a long way in tweaking his Emily Post host etiquette.

We didn’t need any more aggravation. We just wanted to do a little hiking, which isn’t easy. Most trails require a guide to protect the pictographs. As we studied the maps, our cat Funny Face bailed. Great, that’s all I need. I was already on the host's scat list and now my pet was loose in the park and heading into the no hiking without a guide area. Gaila literally cut Funny Face off at the pass. I held the door open to the motorhome, determined to deny I had a cat if anyone asked. Gaila scared the schizophrenic little furball back into the rig and I was ready to pull up anchor and leave. Three law enforcement officers with glocks have already walked slowly past our rig peering in. I would not be surprised to find my picture on a poster at the entrance station. 

This park only allows a three day stay, instead of the usual 14, unless you get special compensation, for an additional three, from the Pope. In this case, the campground host. In our case, FAT CHANCE. 

You might think all this camping stuff is easy. Well, let me tell you, it takes a big set of Cojones, as the Mexicans say, to do this. We are the only other rig in the campground besides the two sites the hosts occupy.  They have scared all the other campers with less cojones away.
Never mess with an Irishman!