The Colorado River: Day 3
When we left Jerry Craven and myself, we were camped on an island in the middle of the Colorado River, savoring cool beverages and the serenade of a hoot owl. We’ll continue the next morning, just before dawn…
Thursday, May 17th
We got up early and I made coffee while Jerry took some pictures. The mist on the river and the coming sun over the cliffs combined to extend last night’s almost mystical experience on our rocky island. Jerry tried casting a bit, but the bass had apparently eaten their fill yesterday evening.
We got packed up and headed downriver around 9:30 a.m. Not long after we got started, we startled a bald eagle up from a kill on the riverbank. The eagle gained height quickly with powerful and audible downbeats of its wings—something exquisite and totally unexpected. In our excitement, we almost dumped the canoe at a Class Two rapid. The boat bottomed out on a submerged rock, and as we swung broadside to the current, I leaped out into the rapids and dragged the canoe into an eddy where we could collect ourselves before continuing downriver.The entire morning consisted of one great blue heron sighting after another, with nesting colonies in the tops of giant cottonwoods on both banks and the croaking coughs of unhappy parents circling away from chicks left in gray thickly-woven nests. We were graced with the sight of a river otter paddling and diving his way downstream not far ahead of us. This was a particularly peaceful and beautiful part of the river, and we were sad to leave it.
After winding through limestone canyons full of wildlife and breathtaking stretches of wildflowers, we stopped for lunch at Flat Rock, a wide limestone slab that juts into the river at the FM 580 Bridge. We ate the last of the sandwich stuff and looked at the houses of Bend, Texas, stretching away from the river just below Flat Rock. Below Flat Rock, there were a series of private campgrounds and some isolated houses. NO TRESPASSING signs began to appear on both banks. The river, though, was still beautiful and the swifter current made the ride a bit more exciting.
Although the river had fallen another foot or so overnight, it was still running high enough so that the rapids in this section from Flat Rock to Colorado Bend State Park were actually hazardous in spots. We hit a Class Three at Barefoot Falls that occupied our full attention, to say the least. We took the leftmost channel, paddling hard to keep the current from throwing us into the submerged boulders just off the left bank. In the melee, we missed seeing the falls. But the current was swift enough at this point that we decided to hold off on fall-watching until we got to Gorman. We were not disappointed. The sight of Gorman Falls, formed at the point where Gorman Creek tumbles into the Colorado over a seventy-five foot limestone bluff, was worth the effort of getting down the river all by itself. The water splashed in clear rivulets across the limestone, and ferns and mosses grew on the slippery rocks among the falls and at its base. But caution was necessary here because of the submerged rocks on either side of the main channel.
After Gorman Falls, there were more signs of human habitation on the river. Big lovely houses, and small lovely ones as well, appeared on both banks as the river deepened from the emptying-in of a series of creeks and the current slowed. Boat docks abounded, and the yards sported upside-down canoes and johnboats. We had planned to camp for the night at Colorado Bend State Park. But despite careful watching, we saw no signs—at least, none visible from the river—announcing the park. We had been paddling by it for some time, apparently, when we hit a Class Three rapid that very nearly flipped us. The river was running swift and high as we rounded the big bend below Yancey Creek. We saw the rapid ahead of us, and instead of scouting, decided to shoot the lefthand channel—which turned out to be a mistake. As we scooted along, submerged rocks packed so close together that we couldn’t avoid them loomed suddenly ahead of us. They snagged the bottom of the boat, turning us on our side and dumping Jerry out of the canoe. He hit one of the rocks, badly bruising his right thigh. It was pure luck that he wasn’t hurt worse. We had taken the precaution of packing the boat extra tight, tying the gear to the snug-fitting cooler amidships. This turned out to be a wise precaution. Although Jerry’s cushion and one of the lifejackets went floating away downstream, the rest of the cargo stayed put. I hopped out of the canoe and—waistdeep in the strong current—righted the canoe and wrestled it into an eddy while Jerry got back in the boat. Then I carefully walked the boat through the rest of the rapids, wrapping the aftline around my waist and holding tight to the aft carrying handle. A group of young men were playing in the strong current below the rapid, and one of them caught our stuff and brought it out to us. He had to fight hard to get across the current that I was struggling with also. But he made it, and we got moving again once everything was stowed away. We saw a concrete boat ramp below the rapid and pulled up to it, thinking that we might finally have reached the top end of Colorado Bend State Park. To our surprise, the boat ramp was actually located at the bottom end of the park. There was no camping anywhere near the ramp. So to get to a campsite, we would have had to work the boat back upriver past the rapid. We thought about it long and hard, and decided to continue on downriver in hopes of finding another campsite—like we had the last two evenings.
But to our dismay, and extreme discomfort, we discovered that there were no good campsites between Colorado Bend State Park and Lake Buchanan. To make matters worse, once the river passed the park, the current slowed to a virtual stop as the river widened and merged into the top end of Lake Buchanan. So paddling was the only way to make progress. A stiff south wind was blowing up off the lake, making paddling more difficult. We passed big impressive houses, interspersed with ranches that ran both cattle and sheep. But both banks fairly bristled with posted NO TRESPASSING signs. Further complicating the picture, because of the recent rains, followed by the steady receding of the river in their wake, both banks—where they were not rocky and steep—were too muddy for comfortable camping.
Finally, as darkness was falling, Jerry and I pulled out on a muddy patch of grassy bank just below a fifty-foot cliff. We set up a muddy camp in the gathering dark, and munched on what we could scrounge out of the cooler. On the bright side, the aftermath of the sunset over the cliffs, reflected in the water, was lovely. And the stars came out thick and bright above the cliff as we did our best to minimize the effects of the mud on our boat and our gear.
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How lucky you were to sight an otter! I suspect there are thousands of Texans who don’t even know that otter habitat exists in Texas.
Jerry says the bruised leg was worth it, for the excitement of the event.
Next trip, bring some arnica gel along with the medicinal alcohol.
The stretch of the Colorado from 190 to the state park is on my short list of future trips. Your trip report is the best guide to this stretch that I’ve seen. Great job on the trip and report.