The Brazos River: Day 4
We left Jerry and myself sitting beside a bonfire and sipping cool intoxicants beneath a carpet of bright stars. Jerry might even have been telling a fish story or two. We’ll pick up just after sunrise, with Jerry back on the riverbank starting our last day on the river by trying to catch the biggest bass in the Brazos.
Friday, May 23rd
We woke early, to the sound of a turkey serenade from the far side of the alluvial plain. Jerry took this to be a good omen, since our Colorado River trip also started on Day 4 with a turkey serenade, and immediately headed down to the riverbank to try and catch a trophy fish. What follows may be thought by some to be merely a fish story. However, having witnessed these events myself, I am able to vouch for their absolute veracity.
As I was alternately striking camp and drinking coffee, I heard a strange gurgling/choking noise from the direction of the river. I looked over to see Jerry’s fishing rod literally bent in half, and Jerry charging into the river to relieve the tension on his line. Naturally, I paused in my camp-striking and gave myself wholly over to coffee-drinking and spectatorship. I watched Jerry fight the fish he’d hooked, masterfully playing the big striper up close enough so that Jerry could scoop him out of the water. It was one hell of a fish, the biggest striper I’ve ever seen caught without the aid of a boat and fishfinder. I watched Jerry catch hold of the fish and start to remove the hook, which apparently was on the verge of coming out of the fish’s cavern of a mouth. But just as the hook came free, I saw the striper give a giant tailflop . . . and splash back into the river at Jerry’s feet. Again, for those to whom Jerry may have already told this story, I must testify to its complete veracity. But the story isn’t over. Rather than quitting (as I would’ve done, quite probably never to fish again), Jerry shrugged off his loss, and soon caught a strapping big catfish that we filleted and pan-fried with garlic and onions for a delicious last-day-on-the-river breakfast.
After breakfast, we loaded up the canoe and headed downriver toward the take-out point. There were signs of habitation on both banks; cows and fences to begin, then later houses and finally cars on a highway we couldn’t quite see but could hear quite plainly. We hit the Highway 180 Bridge a little after 11 a.m., and took the canoe out of the water.
There was a giant dead gar lying swollen on the bank that lent a pungent aroma to the entire take-out process. We loaded up Jerry’s truck with a bit more alacrity than we might otherwise have done, and headed into the town of Palo Pinto to eat a barbeque lunch. We both had brisket sandwiches that were tender and delicious. After lunch, we drove back up to the Highway 16 Bridge, traded out our gear, and switched the canoe to the Xterra. Then we said our goodbyes and headed off in separate directions.
All in all, it was a fine trip. The Brazos was a bit too low for easy canoeing, and the south wind made paddling a necessity for a sizeable chunk of our time on the river. But the scenery was lovely, and the company was excellent. They’ve named that stretch of river “The John Graves Scenic Waterway.” It seems appropriate. I hope to be able to say hello to that bit of West Texas again.
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