– A Visit to Davis Mountains State Park.

It was the night of a full moon when I arrived at Davis Mountains State Park, the kind of evening you hope will unfold into a masterpiece—especially with a camera in hand. But nature had other plans. Thunderstorms had rolled in ahead of me, a rare and welcome sight in a region scorched by prolonged drought. The desert had been bone dry for months, yet now, water was falling from the sky again. Life was waking up.

It was the kind of night you hope to share with someone. But some journeys begin quietly, with only a sense that you were meant to be there.

A Lodge Built to Endure

Checking into Indian Lodge, I was immediately taken aback by its quiet charm. This white adobe-style hotel, tucked into the folds of the state park, was built by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s. With handcrafted woodwork and peaceful patios, it felt like stepping into a forgotten world—timeless, quiet, and deeply calming. It was the perfect place to stay and use as a homebase.

Skyline Drive and the Waiting Storm

Two hours before sunset, I packed my gear and drove to the top of Skyline Drive. Hiking is always an option, but with the thunderstorms in the area, I opted for speed and shelter. The first overlook on the drive offers a panoramic view in every direction—a great place to watch the drama unfold. Off to the west, storms gathered and grew. They weren’t moving fast, and that was part of the magic. Lightning bolts flared to the ground miles away, and for over half an hour, I stood in dry wind, watching the dark towers of rain just barely hold their distance.

In most places, the storm would have swept through. But here, the mountains toyed with it. Updrafts and ridgelines stalled the downpour, ripping the clouds apart, only to let them reform again. Finally, the gusts picked up hard. It was obvious the storm was going to make good on its promise.

Finding Shelter on the Mountain

Rather than press my luck, I drove east about a mile along the same ridge to the stone Lookout Shelter—another CCC creation built nearly a century ago. Think of it as a large, rustic stone room open on one side, like a window carved into the face of the mountain.

As I looked back toward where I had been standing, I saw it vanish into a wall of rain. My timing had been just right. Inside the shelter, I was dry, even comfortable. The storm roared around me, lightning flashing behind sheets of water, but I had peace. A literal shelter from the storm.

The shelter wasn’t extravagant. Just solid. Open. It wasn’t made to keep the world out—it was made to offer a place to pause, even if only for a while. And in that moment, it was exactly what I needed.

I stayed and watched the weather move on. The storm, even as it soaked the desert, felt strangely personal. I’d come looking for moonlight, but found something deeper: a moment of quiet strength in the midst of chaos. I never saw the moonrise, but the experience didn’t need it. What I got instead was a living picture of protection, provision, and patience.

A Base for Exploration

From that base at Davis Mountains State Park, I spent the next few days exploring the area. It’s easy to treat the park as a launching point—whether you’re after dark skies, historic places, small town character, or the wide wilds of far West Texas. The campground is excellent, especially for those chasing sunrise and sunset light. And for anyone seeking comfort, Indian Lodge is a standout.

A short drive away, Fort Davis National Historic Site offers a chance to walk where frontier soldiers once guarded the San Antonio–El Paso road. A bit farther, McDonald Observatory lets you peer into the universe, especially during their famous star parties. To the south lies Marfa, a quirky art town famous for mysterious lights that dance across the desert floor—best seen from the official Marfa Lights Viewing Area just outside town. Alpine offers charm, color, and the most murals you’ll ever find in a Texas small town. Each has its own flavor, and all are worth visiting.

Big Bend Ranch State Park and Big Bend National Park are both within striking distance for day trips or overnights. These lands offer some of the most remote and visually staggering terrain in Texas. Balmorhea State Park, to the north, gives you the chance to swim in a massive, spring-fed pool—an oasis in every sense of the word.

Windows and What They Reveal

The next evening, I decided to head over to the Marfa Lights Viewing Area. The rains had cleared the skies, removing the usual haze that often hangs over the desert. I wasn’t expecting to see the famed lights—I just wanted to go, to look. And sure enough, no lights showed that night. But something else did.

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, streaks of gold lit up the west. About fifty people stood nearby, eyes on the sky. One of the viewing structures caught my attention—not because of what it was, but because of how it framed the sunset. In that moment, the sky was perfectly captured inside the open rectangle. I raised my camera and took the shot, unaware at first of how much meaning would land in that simple frame.

The night before, I had stood in the stone lookout shelter — also a window —protected from the onslaught of rain. I’d hoped for a moonrise, but got thunder instead. This night, I came hoping for mysterious lights. I got none. But both nights offered something more honest. Each time, what I received was a vision through a window. Not the thing I set out to capture—but maybe the thing I needed to see.

📍 Interested in exploring Texas’ natural beauty?
Check out our articles on Texas State Parks — every time we visit, we share captivating stories and stunning highlights from these incredible places!

Moments Before Change

I can’t remember another time where I was so drawn to images framed by windows. It wasn’t intentional. It simply happened, again and again. And maybe that repetition meant something. Windows are thresholds. Not quite outside, not quite in. Windows hold you there for a moment – They’re the pause before movement, the breath before the step. They speak to potential, to change, and to the quiet courage it takes to look beyond where you are—and consider what’s waiting.

To someone else, they may just be openings in walls or gaps in stone. But sometimes, they’re more. Sometimes they remind you that even if a storm arrives—or doesn’t—you’re not left without shelter. Sometimes they hold the light that was meant for you, even when the moment doesn’t come the way you thought it would.

And maybe—just maybe—they’re not only for looking out. Maybe they’re invitations too, meant for someone who might one day look back in.

Letting the Land Speak

That’s what this trip became. Not just a chance to photograph a beautiful part of Texas, but an opportunity to be still in it—to let it say what it had to say. Out here, storms pause. Light reframes itself. Mountains both reveal and obscure. And sometimes, a window shows up exactly when you need it to, giving you just enough view to believe in something again.

Whether you come for the stars or the silence, whether you’re chasing answers or just a little beauty, give yourself time here. Time to hike, to sit still, to see what’s framed in front of you. Because sometimes, the best views aren’t the ones you planned. They’re the ones that arrive quietly and stay with you—long after the shutter clicks.

Author: Tim Maxwell