Inks Lake: Bigger and Better

Inks Lake: Bigger and Better

When I decide to camp at a Texas State Park I have a couple of different approaches–either I obsess over every little detail, poring over reviews and photos and trail maps and trying to pick out the perfect campsite and all the must-see hikes before making my reservation, or I go in completely blind and just hope for the best.

I went into Inks Lake State Park completely blind. I only made my reservation because I intended to visit Longhorn Cavern State Park on the way back from South Llano River, and needed somewhere to stay for the night (Longhorn doesn’t allow camping). Inks Lake was just up the road.

There’s something magical about just showing up at a new park and plunging in, discovering all its charms organically–like unwrapping a gift. And Inks Lake was the gift that kept on giving.

The first thing I noticed was the sheer size of the place. Inks Lake State Park has somewhere around 200 campsites (and another 20-something cabins), and it felt, as I got lost circling through overlapping camping loops, as if every single one of them was occupied for the weekend. It felt chaotic at first, but after a while I could see that it was just another summer day for the park and its busy rangers, and I got the hang of the loops. There was litter, yes–not surprising on a weekend in summer–but the bathhouse in my camping area was immaculate (and plenty large).

After getting settled in a couple of times (I accidentally pitched my hammock at a neighbor’s site) I went exploring along the lake till I found the Devil’s Waterhole, a busy swimming area cradled by tall bluffs of stone dotted with clusters of people sitting and looking at the water or jumping in it.

I climbed to the top of a bluff and was delighted to see one of my favorite outdoor environments: a whole bunch of rocks and water. A creek wound through a field of stone–everything from pebbles to boulders–and pockets of rich green grass and mounds of shrubs. It was a wet day, completely overcast and not-exactly-but-yeah-kinda raining; the greens in the grass and shrubs were vibrant; the rocks, however, were slick as hell.

I managed to slip and slide down to the river without falling on my butt more than once. I poked along the river and tried to capture, in photographic form, the bliss I feel when I’m in a place like that. There were fewer people here, and I met a cool dog that was much more sure-footed than I. I could have stayed there for hours, but I was dying to see what else Inks Lake had in store for me.

The Trails at Inks Lake State Park

I tackled the Devil’s Backbone nature trail first, a narrow path about a mile long that explored woods and prairies and rocks–mostly in a flat way, but fairly steep in a few places. There were some lovely cliff-top views of the lake, and at the end of the trail was the nicest bird blind I’ve ever seen. I’m not even sure “blind” is the right word for it–it was more like a cabin, with multiple rows of wooden seating facing large glass windows on one side. Beyond the windows lay a garden full of bird feeders and bird-friendly plants and the birds that loved them; I sat for a while and played with my long lens.

I later walked the Valley Spring Creek trail. It was an easy, wooded trail that I briefly lost when it came to a creek running beneath a road. I hung out under the bridge awhile, snapping pictures of bugs and angry cliff swallows, then found my trail on the other side of the creek and kept going. The sun started to come out.

After that I did the first part of the Lake trail on my way to another hike on the map. The Lake trail was well-worn and an easy walk for the most part, occasionally vanishing completely where the ground had turned to stone slab and the trail signs turned into painted green dots on the slab.

The Pecan Flats trail did not start off as anything special–a few nice boulders, some yellow wildflowers, pretty but similar to what I’d already seen. It ducked into the woods for a little while, where there were a lot of cedar trees and a lot of cedar mulch around them–the smell was amazing!–but then the trail stepped back into the sunlight and into some of the most stunning natural beauty Texas has to offer.

The sky was blue, with only a few puffs of cloud scattered around it, and that morning’s drizzle had been replaced by steady wind. The sun was out in full force, and it was hot–even the wind was hot. But as I walked into all that open beauty I got actual chills up and down my arms.

Imagine a million golden wildflowers; now imagine a million more, bowing in rippling soft waves like the ocean. They carpet the hills and valleys like shag, broken up only by clumps of boulders and naked black trees and cacti and my thin, rambling trail.

The landscape was bathed in wind and sunlight, open and wild and unspoiled–only when I got to higher points on the trail could I see civilization in the distance. The blackened trees (I assume from a recent controlled burn) stood in beautiful stark contrast against the waves of golden yellow. I was in love.

The whole rest of trail was that way, like walking through a living postcard. I saw one other person out there–twice, because I looped around and did part of the trail again–but was otherwise alone with nature.

I hit two smaller trails on my way back (The Upper and Lower Fisherman’s trails). They were perfectly nice, with several good lake vistas (and fishing spots) but at this point I was exhausted. I left the Woodland trail for another trip. I’m dying to know if it’s as nice as Pecan Flats.

Inks Lake State Park is now one of my favorite Texas State Parks. And it has a certain quality–something about the size, I guess, and the way it positively hums with activity around the lake–that makes me want to revisit with a bunch of friends and stay multiple nights. Solo camping is great, but wild and wonderful Inks Lake begs to be shared with everyone.

Active Wildlife, Lazy River at South Llano

Active Wildlife, Lazy River at South Llano

One of the things I love most about traveling around Texas is seeing the incredible diversity of geography and vegetation. This state has it all: desert grasslands, coastal plains, marshes, pine forests, plateaus, mountains, valleys–everything beautiful in its own way.

So I thoroughly enjoyed the long, lonely drive to South Llano State Park, if only to experience the rugged beauty that is Texas Hill Country. I’ve still got a lot of the state left to see, but this part of Texas is currently my winner for Most Beautiful.

It helps that, apparently, my timing was extra good–it was hot as hell in late June when I arrived, but I was told that there’d been a lot of rain in the area so everything outdoors was much greener than it normally is at that time of year. There was a nice breeze on the day I arrived (another perfectly-timed force of nature, as a fellow camper told me there’d been no wind at all the day before), and the following day there was a bit of rain in the morning and some very welcome cloud cover in the afternoon.

But South Llano State Park has more going for it than beautiful vistas. This very clean park has a large network of hiking trails, a wonderfully cool and clear river to float down and a whole lot of active and visible wildlife. The headquarters building is in a cute old house with a porch swing and a wishing well in the front yard, only adding to the park’s already considerable country charm.

The Trails at South Llano

I did not get a chance to explore all the trails at South Llano–I was not camping alone, so I coordinated my activities with other people and didn’t spend 100% of my time hiking and taking photos as I usually do on these trips.

But even if I had been on my own I’m not sure I would have hit every trail. While there were some shorter and flatter trails near the camping areas, several in the backcountry were much longer and went up and down some fairly steep terrain, and were only accessible from other long, steep trails. I like a challenging hike, but add in the blistering summer heat and I was worn out faster than usual. If I go back to South Llano during the summer I’ll probably bring more supplies on my hike and take a rest and a meal along the way.

My camping companion and I tackled the West Canyon Loop trail together. It was a great two-person trail–very wide–with some rocky areas and a mix of shade and sun, and at least one very steep part. We found a patch of touch-me-nots growing along the road (see the video below) and kept spotting pretty rocks that we’d have to pick up and examine closer (my childhood self would have been in heaven!) It was a very straight-forward trail–no chance of getting lost–with some lovely vegetation and scenic views, especially when we got up a little higher.

Of the rest of the longer southern trails we only did short stretches of the Golden-Cheeked Warbler (which has since been renamed the Mid-Canyon trail) and the Fawn. We stopped to admire an old-fashioned windmill then made our way back towards camp.

I later hiked up the short-but-steep Overlook trail by myself. This one was a bit of a disappointment–much of the trail was paved road, and I don’t think the scenic view at the top was interesting enough to make the steep hike worth it. However I did enjoy seeing multiple cairns that other hikers had left behind–the abundance of small rocks scattered everywhere must be hard to resist. I understand rock stacking is controversial, but the carefully-balanced piles did make for some fun photos (see below).

A Nighttime Park Ranger Program

I’ve never before taken advantage of the many park ranger programs provided at Texas State Parks, but in South Llano my friend and I went to an after-dark tour. It was fun wrapping our flashlights in red cellophane (red light is less disruptive to both the wildlife and human night vision) and tramping through the dark with a group of excited campers.

I had assumed we’d be looking for hidden wildlife, but this tour was actually an exploration of the “five senses” with group activities that included trying to identify all the night noises we could hear by the river, making wintergreen mints spark in our mouths and pretending to be frogs. I was a little bummed not to be stalking night critters, but it was a pretty cute activity–though probably a lot more fun for children.

Wildlife at South Llano

South Llano has the advantage of being close to a couple of bat caves, so one evening a couple friends and I joined a tour to visit the Devil’s Sinkhole, where huge numbers of bats are known to swarm out of at sundown. Unfortunately we weren’t visiting at the best time of year, so we had to content ourselves with a handful of bats and the impressively-large cave opening (60 feet wide in places!) and our tour guides’ wealth of information.

Coming back from the cave, though, we saw quite a bit of nocturnal wildlife in the park: multiple raccoons, hogs, armadillos, mule deer, white-tailed deer and so many jack rabbits. I tend to conk out early when I camp, but seeing how many animals come out after dark has made me reconsider my bedtime schedule.

During the day we saw a lot of bugs and lizards, and there were multiple bird blinds–I was especially impressed with the Acorn Blind near the camping area, which featured a variety of feeders and a little burbling fountain (most park blinds I’ve visited before this haven’t put in so much effort). I visited this blind early in the morning on my last day and got a lot of great pictures of hummingbirds and squirrels, and a couple of bad shots of the legendary painted bunting.

The River at South Llano

You can’t visit South Llano without floating down the river! After a sweaty morning of hiking steep hills in the oppressive heat, nothing sounded better than a leisurely swim. Tubes were available to rent at Headquarters, and if you have two cars (or one car and a non-swimmer) you can get between the start and end points of the floating area without having to do a lot of additional walking.

The river was cool, clear and delightfully lazy. Here and there it would speed up and get a little bumpy, but there were no falls or anything difficult to get over. The float took a bit over an hour each time (we went twice) and was the ideal way to relax in such a beautiful but sweltering environment.

Last Thoughts

South Llano was a wonderful and truly unique state park. The park rangers and hosts were lovely people, the park itself very clean and almost completely litter-free with a lot of great features and activities for its visitors–and there were quite a lot of them there, especially on the river. This leads to my one complaint: the bathrooms were a little run-down and much too small for the number of guests (there were long queues for the two showers on the women’s side every evening.)

But it was absolutely worth the long, lonely drive to enjoy such a great park and all its amenities in one of the most beautiful parts of Texas.

Review: Hennessy Hammock Tents

Review: Hennessy Hammock Tents

I’ve used two different Hennessy hammock tents in my state park travels, and I want to tell you about them! I link to Hennessy’s site below, but I’m not affiliated with the company and don’t get paid for clicks.

First: I’m not a born camper. I went on a few bring-the-whole-family Boy Scout camping trips as a kid, and a handful of times as an adult where mistakes were made (extreme overpacking, sunburning all day or freezing all night, frantically rattling one of those stupid shake flashlights in the dark trying to see what was making all that creepy noise, and so forth.) I’ve always been more of an inside gal.

But then I started volunteering and working at my local state park and fell head over heels for the great outdoors. I wanted to hike, I wanted to camp, and I wanted to do it right.

Currently I’m solidly a car camper, but I hope to eventually go full roughin’ it and replace all my bulky gear with titanium stuff sacks and Band-Aids cut in half.

The first thing I replaced was my tent. It’s not a terrible tent (I think, I used it once), but like many tents it requires pitching, and when you’re done setting it up it’s still on the ground, which is also where you’re expected to sleep. My feet love the ground, but my back hates it!

So I replaced it with a Hennessy hammock tent. I started with “The Scout” because I’m apparently no taller than the average Boy Scout and, most importantly, it was only a hundred bucks, which was my upper spending limit for things I know absolutely nothing about.

I used it for the first time at Lake Tawakoni State Park. Set-up was easy–I tied each end to a tree, then rolled up the snake skins and staked down two side lines. The weather forecast was grim so I put up the rainfly, crossed my fingers and mentally prepared myself for a midnight crawl into the back of the Sube.

But, I was happily surprised. The inside stayed dry (other than a little condensation on the surface of my reflecting pad) and at a very cozy temperature, and the built-in mosquito netting kept out visitors. The sound of heavy rain (along with the fact that I’d spent all day hiking) lulled me to sleep almost instantly. It was a restless sleep–the close sides cocooned around me felt strange enough to affect my dreams and I kept half waking up convinced raccoons were crawling into the hammock and snuggling up against me for warmth. Weird, but cozy! But I still woke up early and feeling refreshed.

I didn’t get the hammock set-up 100% right this first time–I didn’t compensate for how far apart my trees were and hung it just a bit too low, meaning a few times my butt went bump in the night.

Hennessy hammock tent hanging at Martin Creek Lake State Park in Texas
The Scout hammock tent hanging at Martin Creek Lake State Park. Notice how it’s not hanging very flat, because the trees I selected to hold it were too close together.

The second time I used the Scout (at Martin Creek) I had the opposite problem–my trees were too close together, meaning the hammock was more banana-shaped than usual and all my bedding and I were in a jumbled up in a heap in the middle, and thrashing around only made it worse (I also couldn’t get the rainfly over it aligned correctly). While setting up I tried, instead of finding a better pair of trees, to compensate by pulling the side lines out extra hard, and one of them detached completely (although it was easy enough to tie back on.) Live and learn.

On my third use of the hammock tent (at Atlanta State Park) I finally got it right. Well-spaced trees and plenty of height, rainfly perfectly aligned so that I only needed two stakes total for both hammock and fly.

More importantly, I figured out how to successfully get inside the darn thing. I don’t know if this applies to all hammock tents, but in my Hennessy Scout Hammock once you’re lying down you’re committed to the microstate of your bedding–trying to scoot the pad around or spread out the sleeping bag or adjust the blanket around you just increases the entropy.

The key seemed to be this: lay everything out where you want it and unzip your sleeping bag, then sit down in the middle-ish (a little closer towards the side where your head will be) then in one fluid motion pivot on your butt and tuck your legs in the bag and lay back. If the pad or anything else is in the wrong place get out and try again. I’m a pretty active sleeper who switches frequently from lying on my back to either side, but as long as I got orientated in the beginning the rest of the night was…mostly fine. Sometimes I’d wake up shivering and find that the pad had migrated to somewhere around my head.

Sound like a pain in the butt? I finally thought so, too, and decided not long after to upgrade to a new Hennessy hammock altogether. Hennessy had apparently anticipated me and came out with the 4Season Expedition Zip right around this time. This one has a sleeve on the bottom for the pad (it comes with a thin one but you could stuff anything you want in there). This makes so much more sense than trying to keep a pad inside the hammock itself from sliding around, and it’s also more convenient than tying on an underquilt. The pad prevents heat loss in the winter and mosquitoes can’t bite through it.

With my Expedition I still fidget with the bedding a little when I first climb in, but it was completely worth the money to not have to worry about the wandering pad. It’s also a little longer than the Scout–I haven’t gotten any taller, but the extra room is nice.

I also opted to get one of their larger rainflies. While the smaller fly kept the hammock itself perfectly dry I wanted something that stuck out a little more so I could sit a chair and some other gear beneath it, and now I no longer need to bring a tarp for extra shelter.

Conclusion: even if it seems a little crazy and awkward to use at first, hammock sleeping is superior to snoozing on the ground. Once I’d get settled I’d feel so comfortable and relaxed (and there’s a very slight swaying motion that I find incredibly soothing). Upgrading to the slightly superior design took away any qualms I might have had in recommending a hammock tent. Hammock tents are great, and everyone should try them!

Mother Neff: A Hidden Gem

Mother Neff: A Hidden Gem

Near the end of June I decided to make one last camping trip before giving up for the summer. My original goal was to spend a couple of nights at South Llano, but as it was a good 6 hours from my house I wanted stretch the drive out over a few days and work in a couple of more park visits.

This is how I came to stay at Mother Neff State Park–it just happened to be about halfway between me and South Llano. I didn’t know anyone who’d camped there and didn’t know anything about it. From the registration website I could see that it was a small park with a mere 20 camping sites, and that about half of the park was closed down and inaccessible (due to flood damage, I learned later.)

I expected to have a good time–because I have a good time at all Texas state parks–but I was surprised at just how much Mother Neff charmed me from the moment I pulled up. The headquarters building was practically brand new–all white stone and warm wood and high ceilings with a design influenced by the historic structures of the area, and lush beds of wildflowers and native plants hugging the entrance. I’ve since learned that this new building is part of a larger reconstruction effort that hopes to reduce the impact of flooding, which is apparently a real problem for this park.

I left HQ to set up camp and the campsites were absolutely pristine and nestled among clumps of short trees, each one edged in white rocks and carpeted in fine gravel that had been raked smooth like a zen garden. My site in particular (number 14) was even nicer than my neighbors’ as it was set back in a little cove of greenery that kept my gear and my picnic table and everything else in the shade, and had two small trees near the front that appeared to have been planted for the sole purpose of hanging my hammock.

A thoughtfully-placed trail near my site cut through the camping loop and gave me easy access to the bathrooms and a little lending library with a shelf full of of William Johnstone. The bathhouse itself was as clean and new as the headquarters–I didn’t see a single cobweb up in the rafters–with a lot of hooks, shelves and benches inside, which park camping has taught me to really appreciate.

The Trails at Mother Neff State Park

After settling in I hit the trails, starting on the north side with the Pond trail and the Prairie Loop. These trails were flat and dry and hard-packed, weaving through lush fields of wildflowers–purple horsemint, red firewheel, yellow sunflowers and more–and everywhere clumps of pale green cacti. It was the hottest part of the day and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but a near-constant wind made the sun bearable. I walked to the end of the short Pond trail, a thousand grasshoppers buzzing into the air around me with every step, until I reached the little smudge of a pond at the end and the small blind overlooking it, although it was too hot to sit inside. I turned back and turned off onto the connecting loop trail, appreciating how different the prairie landscape was from my own piney woods back home–here the trees were all short and fat and mostly evergreen, bobbing in little clumps along the wildflower sea. It was so, so hot, so windy, and very beautiful.

I returned to camp for a water break in the shade then headed for the rest of the trails that lay south of the camping loop. These wooded trails were more like what I’m used to back home–narrow and steep in places with lots of shade but no wind. I climbed the CCC-built stone tower (an old water storage tank and lookout tower with a staircase wrapping around the outside) and made my way down to the Tonkawa Cave, which was a pretty if not especially deep depression in a wall of stone, where I rested a while again and tried to take pictures of birds.

On the way back from the cave I took the Bluff trail, which was almost as rocky as the cave, then turned off to visit the CCC-built wash pond–a small but enjoyable pond in the woods that was much prettier than the mudhole back in the prairie area–where you can sit on a bench and really soak in the still and muffled beauty of the woods.

Spiders and Snakes, Oh My!

I saw more than one sign in the park warning about snakes. I hoped this meant I might see one and, sure enough, on the way back out of the woods on the Wash Pond trail I nearly stepped on a small diamondback rattler stretched out in the middle of the path. I spent a few exciting moments trying to switch camera lenses without moving or scaring it off and managed to get one decent head shot. A nice change from the water moccasins and copperheads back home!

I saw deer in the woods and rabbits near my campsite, but my favorite Mother Neff critters were definitely the daddy long-legs. I spotted two large clumps of them hanging off the low ceiling of the cave and spent a lot of time trying to photograph them without banging my head into the rock too many times. I thought that was a pretty good find until I was headed back on the Bluff trail and stumbled upon an enormous colony of the things–seriously, there must have been a million or three–all bobbing and dancing on the shady side of a boulder alongside the trail. I had no idea they’d gather in such large numbers like that–very cool!

After an early dinner I ventured back into the wildflower fields, this time to get a closer look at the large bell I’d noticed on my way back on the Pond trail. This was yet another CCC relic from the 30s–sturdy and intact, unlike a lot of CCC artifacts I’ve visited at Texas state parks–and was probably used to call the workers for meals or to alert them to emergency situations.

A Little History on Mother Neff State Park

Mother Neff State Park was created by Governor Pat Morris Neff in the early 1920s and named for his mother Isabella, who donated the land. Isabella was originally from Virginia but traveled to Texas with her husband in the 1850s via carriage–a trip that took them 52 days, as they did not do any driving on Sundays.

It was one of the first Texas state parks (but not the first, which is apparently a pretty persistent myth) but the history of the land goes back even further–the Tonkawa Cave, for example, is named for the Native American tribe that used it for shelter in the 1800s, and the general area is thought to have been inhabited by the Clovis people almost 10,000 years ago.

Flooding is a real issue, and has closed the park (or sections of it) down more than once. More information on the history of Mother Neff can be found here and here.

The loveliness of Mother Neff State Park makes me wonder about all the other little Texas state parks I’ve overlooked–sure, I’m looking forward to, for example, Palo Duro Canyon and Dinosaur Valley and Colorado Bend after hearing so many people talk about these places–but there are so many more parks in Texas. What other hidden treasures are waiting for me?