33 Mile New Year's Hike in Big Bend’s Remote Wilderness
A backpacking trip that took us from 2024 into 2025
As the earth completed its orbit around the sun, our legs carried us deep into the remote mountainous desert at Big Bend National Park. A dry wind caked our faces with dust, and the sun-dried layers of sweat became wrinkles of salt. We started our three-day backpacking adventure on the final day of the year, and by the time we finished, a new year had begun.
A New Adventure
We arrived at Big Bend on December 23rd and had been camping with my sister and parents for the past week. Our tradition (this was our 8th annual trip) is setting up a home camp at the base of Nugent Mountain, far from any other humans and closer to the stars. Each day we wake up with the sun, make coffee, hike some trails, eat, look at the stars, and sleep. We dig 6-inch holes in the ground to do our business and water some cacti (if you know what I mean). We love being out there with nothing but coyotes, javelinas, and ocotillo plants to keep us company.
But my sister and I are always thirsty for extra adventures, so she proposed a 3-day, 30-mile backpacking trip to celebrate New Year’s. Her boyfriend and his dad had already done this Outer Mountain Loop route a few years ago and had struggled so much with it that they decided they must do it again and recover a piece of themselves they’d lost. This time my sister and I joined the team.
So, on the last day of the year, my parents stayed at Nugent Mountain while our little crew went off into the desert abyss seeking Type-II fun.
How Big Is Big Bend?
Big Bend National Park is like a book that never ends and that changes every time you try to read it. It sits on the border with Mexico and is larger than the state of Rhode Island and the country of Luxembourg. Driving from the park entrance down to the Rio Grande takes two hours, and another hour from the Rio to the Chisos Mountains (where our hike started).
The ecosystems are extraordinary. The river habitat thrives with cottonwood trees, fish, beavers, lush plants, and hot springs. The Chihuahuan desert stretches bare, dotted with cacti, creosote plants, and rattlesnakes. Towering above, the Chisos Mountains rise over 7,800 feet, filled with pine trees, oaks, black bears, and mountain lions.
Because the park is so remote, our only communication was a Garmin Inreach satellite device for emergencies. On our route, we’d only come close to a road once, near Homer Wilson Ranch at around mile 20. Otherwise, given an emergency, our only option would be to call a helicopter.
The Longest Day
Our last day of the year was a long one. We woke before dawn and, under the light of the stars, prepared our backpacks. Each of us carried two heavy gallons of water, three days' worth of food, a tent, a sleeping bag, a sleeping pad, a pocketknife, a headlamp, toilet paper, and more. But those were the most important items, listed in order of heaviness. We estimate each pack weighed about 33-35 pounds (15-16 kilograms).
Nearly toppling under the weight, we huddled by the trailhead to say goodbye to my parents. In a last-minute attempt to lighten my load, I pulled out a sweatshirt and left it with my mom, hoping I wouldn’t regret the decision when the sun went down.
Adventure Starts
The first steps were the hardest. But after a few minutes, the adrenaline numbed some of the heaviness of the pack during the switchback-ridden trail. As we climbed toward the highest peak in the park, my backpack dug deeper and deeper into my hip creating a bruise. Around noon we munched on lunch while sitting on some rocks and I yelled at some irresponsible hikers for flying a drone in a National Park.
Perhaps the yelling sparked my bitterness, as everything went downhill from there— literally and figuratively. For the next five hours, sharp pain stabbed my knees with every step as we descended the mountain. The heavy load and loose rocks aggravated my already bad knees, and my growing negative thoughts weighed me down further. My pace slowed, and I fell behind.
Irritated and hungry, I stretched out my hand, placing it between the sun and the horizon to estimate how much daylight remained—30 minutes. We had long passed the 10-mile mark but still hadn’t found a spot to camp. Hunger gnawed at me as I realized I’d eaten most of my snacks, and it was only the first day. To make matters worse, a sudden bolt of pain shot through my lower stomach, forcing me to stop. Cramps.
The sky, however, didn’t seem to share my pain and it burst into a New Year’s celebration with sparks of bright colors. Contrasted against the setting sun, I caught a glimpse of the others. Their silhouettes frozen along the horizon could only mean they’d found a spot to camp.
As fast as humanly possible, I stuffed ramen down my throat along with some ibuprofen, then put up my tent for the night with shaking hands. Thank the heavens I’d packed those bags of instant hand-warmers and I ripped a bag open and put them on my stomach.
In a grouchy mood, I lay alone in my tent mumbling, “Why am I doing this? I’ve done enough physically and mentally difficult challenges like microfracturing my forearms with Shaolin training, swimming 10 miles straight, and running 31 miles. I don’t need to do yet another feat like this. About the time I DNF’d (Did Not Finish),” I thought.
I clung to the comforting illusion that tomorrow would be my chance to quit. It was the only day we’d pass near a road. I could send a message to my parents on the satellite phone and, by this time tomorrow, be back at their camp, sipping hot chocolate and reading 100 Years of Solitude.
Day 2
My eyes flickered open but all I saw was darkness. The sun hadn’t risen yet, and when I unzipped my tent, a blanket of stars dotted the sky. For a brief moment, I forgot my aches and complaints—until reality set back in. All I had to do was hike a few more miles to reach the road and call for a rescue. I decided to let the others enjoy their coffee in peace before telling them that I was quitting.
However, as soon as I poured water into my instant coffee, I realized I was wrong. We wouldn’t be passing near the road today. It wasn’t until mile 20, which was on day three because that’s where we were picking up the extra water we’d cached.
Fate decided for me. Unless I wanted to call a helicopter, I had to keep going. I kept my mouth shut and drank my coffee in full splendor of sunrise. Sometimes the only way through is through.
The second day spared me of horrible descents and gifted me steep climbs. While the others excelled on downhills and passed me like sprinting billy goats, they became slow on the uphills and I sped past them.
We spent the whole day trading spots. If it was a climb, I'd go first. If it was a descent, my sister led the way. Our focus was so intense that none of us even realized we had entered a new year.
By mid-morning, we’d left behind the trees and the world around us morphed into barren desert. An unforgiving sun colored our faces bronze as pools of sweat collected on our backs leaving an imprint of crusted salt.
After 11 miles, nightfall approached, and we still hadn’t found a place to camp. The land was full of cacti, creek beds, and uneven terrain. Finally just as the moon rose, we found a clearing after 12 miles. A suspicion grew inside me—that the route would be longer than the expected 30 miles.
Exhausted and "hangry," we built our tents in silence, and then someone shared a dark chocolate raspberry bar that tasted like a corner of heaven. The mix of chocolate and hot ramen lifted our spirits, and we began laughing when we hadn't realized until then that today was the first day of the new year.
Day 3
Crunching sounds woke me up around 6 am in the bitter cold. Someone or something was rummaging around our camp. I thought it was a bear until I heard the sound of the gas burner and heard the word, coffee. That was enough to get the rest of us out of our cozy cocoons and into the cold of the morning. Turns out we were almost out of water and I was running low on food.
To my good fortune, the others had brought extra snacks because they had (thankfully) been skeptical of my food-packing abilities and packed extra, knowing this might happen. To all of our good fortunes, we pooled enough water for coffee, oatmeal, and to survive the one-mile hike to the road, where we’d reach the water cache.
A water cache is a large metal box where hikers can take extra reserves of water before their hike, so they can retrieve it during the hike if needed. The park also keeps a few gallons of emergency water. It’s incredible how quickly water becomes the number one currency—the most important resource. Equally striking is how quickly we take it for granted once we have easy access to it.
When we reached the water cache, we found the gallons we’d stashed before the trip, and a kind stranger had added motivational stickers to our jugs. “Keep up the hard work.” and “Love yourself and doors will open,” they read.
If anyone wanted to quit, this was the last chance as it was the closest we’d be to a road. But all four of us loaded our packs with water again and kept going despite knowing this third and final day might be the toughest.
The trail took us through one final stretch of desert, a miserable 3-mile stretch through a rocky creek bed where our feet felt like cement blocks, a 4-mile climb back up the mountains, and a final 2-mile descent toward Chisos basin.
The closer we got to the finish, the less I wanted it to end. I began to appreciate those days when all that mattered was keeping our feet moving. We shared snacks, ate dinner together, and had “meow” time (like cats “showering” with wet wipes in our tents before bed). I’d miss how light our minds felt, free from work, social media, and responsibilities. I’d miss the awe at the landscapes around us—admiring every dot in the evening sky, smiling at shooting stars, and reflecting on every sunrise and sunset. I’d even miss admiring our own two feet for carrying us toward mile 33.
Why Do We Do This?
During the last mile, I was reminded of the question I asked myself on the first day when things felt hard— “Why am I doing this?”
In my past athletic endeavors, I’ve always prepared an answer to this question because I know it’s the very first thing we all ask ourselves when things get hard during a challenge like this. Difficult times are when we must dig deep and find answers within ourselves. But before this trip, I had forgotten.
For me, it’s for a few reasons, but mostly because, in just a few days or hours, experiences like this take us through an entire spectrum of emotions. Overcoming physical and mental obstacles often builds more confidence and forces us to dig deep. I find they help us feel better equipped to handle life’s unexpected and inevitable challenges ahead.
They remind us that while we are individuals, we are all connected and our collective health and well-being are intertwined. The things that matter most in life are often the ones we take for granted— water, shelter, food, safety, light, warmth, and each other.
Within every challenge lies a hidden seed of growth.
Nothing felt better than emerging from the trail and taking off our backpacks in celebration. We were grateful to have finished the 3-day, 33-mile traverse and end with high spirits. Immediately we sprinted to the visitor center store to stuff our faces with ice cream and much-earned Coca-Cola.
I was reminded once again of the Shaolin hardening experience from a few years ago where the master told us if we said yes to the challenge, we wouldn’t be allowed to quit and would have to endure the pain for 11 minutes. Once you’re in it, there is no quitting a situation like this one. While in life there will be times when the responsible thing is to quit, there will also be many times when our only option is to face something head-on and not give up— on ourselves and on each other.
The Celebration
That evening, we drove an hour to Lajitas, a ghost town on the other edge of the park, and wolfed down three pizzas. After that, we drove another hour and a half to the hot springs where we soaked ourselves in mineral-rich natural hot springs on the edge of the Rio Grande under the night sky. What a way to end the year and start the next.
Wishing everyone a peaceful, healthy, happy, and adventure-filled 2025.
thanks for sharing this adventure. I would love to that some day as well, it would definitely get me out of my comfort zone !