Trial by Fire

There is nothing quite like your first day.  Your first day of school each year, your first paid vacation day, your first day on a new job, or, in our case we had our first solo day as Visitor Center Hosts in the Chisos Basin of Big Bend National Park.

We attended school for a week and received top notch training from a long line of some of the most knowledgeable people we have ever met.  Then there were two days of on-the-job training with our supervising ranger.  Once again, an inspiring level of knowledge and expertise with heaps of patience.  We were fired up and ready to go, confident that we had the tools and skill to get our visitor's questions answered and their permits written so they could embark on their Big Bend back country adventures.

We had one day off between our last day of OJT and our first solo day.  During that time we would ask each other questions as if we were visitors to see how we would do at fielding questions.  Many times we would not know the answer but from our training we knew where to look for the answer or who to call.  One thing we could not do was practice writing backcountry permits.  That one worried us the most, not because we thought we could not do it but because we did not have a good grasp of all the names of the trails, campgrounds and zones.  All those zone enter and exit possibilities over 1,200 square miles were a formidable challenge for us to assemble in our newbie brains.
 

Thursday came and it was time for us to do it for real, alone.  Our fallback guy/supervisor had deftly planned some long overdue vacation leave to begin the same day as our first day.  Whatever happened, good or bad was ours and ours alone.  Now do not misunderstand, we knew we were not doing heart transplants or something like that but we did want the people we helped to have a good experience and not get upset at us enough to start a riot or something.  That was enough pressure for us.

 

The Basin Visitor Center opens at 8:30 am.  With our anxiety about getting the registers open for the first time and logging in on the permit computer we decided to get to our station early so we would have all the time we needed to be sure everything was right.  The alarm went off at 5:15 am and by 6:30 we were ready for the day, had our lunch packed and were at headquarters checking out our government vehicle for the drive to the basin.  By 7:00 we were trying to crack the safe so we can open the registers.  By the time we finally turned the dial properly it felt like an episode of Mission Impossible.  The clock was ticking, sweat was forming on the brow, heart was beginning to pump a little harder but, success at last, now, just a little walk around the corner to the counter where we can count the money and open the register.  But wait, what’s this?

 

Through the filtered light of a sunrise that had not yet made its way into the basin we could see the white commercial-size bus sprawled across six parking spots.  A hiking club from Dallas had engaged a charter bus to drive 32 of them all night to get to the basin for a three-day weekend of backcountry camping.  Its cargo doors agape with people scurrying about like ants, picking out heavily laden backpacks.  And those ants had a trail of bodies that lead right up to the door of the visitor center.  We do not know how long they had been there but it was long enough that they were already looking anxious to get inside.   One person we learned when we went to open the door had actually written “I’m first in line” on a piece of paper and left it on the ground in front of the door.

 

Whoever wrote that note had not returned to assume their place in line by the time we unlocked the door.  But she came running when she saw the group start to compress forward as we got the deadbolts loose and the doors swung open.  Picking up her sign and frantically waiving it as she entered the visitor center, her amused hiking club mates allowed her to move to the first of the line for permits.

 

Cyndee had already sized up the situation and had made a decision on the division of duties.  She said; “John, you type faster.  You’re doing permits, I’ll do everything else.”  Marching orders received.  Let’s do this.

 

The sign lady exasperated and in a rush, started reciting a backcountry permit worksheet number.   “Uh, okay, but there are no worksheets to reference, when did you create this worksheet?”  “Yesterday, before we got on the bus to come here” was the reply.  “I’m sorry but the system resets itself every day at 6:00am, all worksheets unpermitted from the previous day are deleted.”  There was a brief moment of silence and then a groan arose from the 15 people standing in front of the counter.

 

“Okay everybody, we can get through this.  We will recreate your worksheets right here, issue your permits and get you on the trail as quickly as we can.”  We both looked at each other and held our breath, wondering how the hiking mob, I mean club, would take this.  To everybody’s credit everything proceeded in an orderly fashion, no rioting and setting cars on fire in the parking lot or anything like that.

 

Driver licenses were transcribed, itineraries were noted and alternate campsites were chosen because first choices were already occupied.  The keyboard on the El Campo computer was getting worked hard, paper had to be added to the printer and receipt tape had to be replaced on the fees register.   But in just under an hour a bus-load of campers with multi-night itineraries had permits in hand and were on their way.   Our first day was not the easing in we had hoped for but on the bright side we are no longer apprehensive about creating permits, pushing buttons on either of the registers or afraid of making a mistake.  We got very comfortable with making lots of mistakes, and fixing them.  Since we got all this out of our system in about the first two hours of our tour of duty we should be able to just relax and enjoy the next several months.  Somehow it is unlikely it will work that way.