IN: 1, 2, 5 & 6
OUT: 3, 4
This mission could also be called “the Mission that never happened”. You see, it’s difficult to synchronize the schedules of six guys with busy lives, work schedules, families, soccer tournament, performances and the likes. A few weeks going into the trip, four of us were locked, loaded and practically drooling at plans to spend two nights on the river and run the section between Colorado Bend State Park and Black Rock Park (near Buchanan Dam). And then, something happened…
We had planned to get together a few weeks before departure at the Draught House to organize for the trip. Just before our evening of planning, a few of the guys learned of conflicts in the schedule that would likely prevent them from being able to go. We decided to meet anyway over a few beers to discuss and – voilà! – the brilliant idea was born to leave a night early (Thursday) so we could be back in time for the guys’ commitments. This turned out to be a most fortuitous change, as we managed to completely avoid bad weather which rolled in Saturday night. Had we run the river as planned, we would have likely been caught out on Lake Buchanan in a major storm. Sometimes, conflicts are opportunities.
CAMP: THURSDAY EVENING/NIGHT
We left work early Thursday, dropped vehicle number one at Black Rock Park near Lake Buchanan Dam and had a quick dinner of Sonic. We made it to Colorado Bend State Park within an hour of darkness and were able to load Tinkerbell (a name given to our Old Town XL due to her delicate size!) and paddle three-quarters mile down the river to a nice camping spot on the banks. Pitching camp partially in the dark, a fire was made and out came the beer and spirits. The skies were clear and a nice breeze kept all bugs of nuisance off of us. It was perfect. Around the campfire, we spoke about the river, the delicate balance of nature and man’s desire to turn everything concrete, the solar system and beyond, alien life, politics and even God. It was a memorable night with good friends.
Just prior to breaking camp, we made a sweep of the area to pick up other people’s garbage. Our overall assessment of this entire stretch of river was that it was relatively clean compared to the downstream, but (especially with recent heavy rains) we found man’s unsightly signature of plastic bottles, styrofoam containers and cans more than we would have liked to. For Christ sake (and the sake of future generations) folks, clean up your shit! We have but one beautiful planet. Let’s make sure it lasts and stays clean. 
BREAKING CAMP: FRIDAY MORNING
We broke camp early and headed out with full bellies and wide eyes. The cliffs in this stretch of the river replaced the usual riverbanks we had become accustomed to. We saw wild mountain goats scampering acrobatically three or four stories above the river, wild turkeys in flight so awkward, falcon, buzzards, longhorns, a stray farm pig mucking around at the river’s edge, spawning carp and our friend – the gar. The swollen river provided extra speed for our laden canoe. 2 pm and 10 miles or so came quickly and we found ourselves in the most beautiful of places.
PARADISE: FALLS CREEK FALLS
The picture doesn’t even do it justice. Paradise in our own backyard. Texas. A right hand turn off the river, where the water from Falls Creek poured over the cliffs. The pool of fresh, clear, cool water flowed gently into the river. Marking the entrance to this pool was a monolithic rock formation like one would see on the cover of some exotic travel magazine. It turns out that this structure is called “Ceremonial Rock” as four ceremonial knives from ancient Indian tribes were discovered within the rock. What appeared to be a pristine manicured field became a fairytale spot for a picnic. 
We had an incredible lunch. I had been charged with this meal. A few nights earlier, ground bison was fried up in a pan with peppers, onion and seasoning. I vacuum sealed the meal and froze it for the trip. Thawed and heated on 2’s little backpacking stove, it gave off an amazing aroma. Opening small bags of fritos by cutting a slit lengthwise on the side, the warmed chili was poured over the contents as a Texas-style frito pie. Mmm mmm good. We also had olives, cheese and slices of cured sausage on crackers, a Malbec and fuit for desert.
At a time, then, when we should have been lying in the grass and digesting our lunches and the scenery, we decided instead to swim in gar-infested waters to the falls. I’ve read that these falls never run dry — that despite all the droughts, there is always some flow. The water was cool and fresh. In the video, we’re geared up not due to the fear of drowning, but concern about gar bites (later I read that gar don’t attack humans, but we weren’t about to become the first). It was one of those perfect moments, spent with friends on the river, which will remain on the highlight reel of my memory.
The dip was refreshing and we pushed off to finish the remaining 8 miles to Garrett Island, smack dab in the middle of Lake Buchanan. The recent heavy rains, coupled with the narrowing river as we approached Lake Buchanan made for some fast water. It was like the river had cut a new, fresh, 15 foot wide channel for several miles that gave this segment a feel of being on a runaway Bamboo Shoot ride from Astroworld (anyone remember that ride?). We hit 9 mph on that stretch, which was about double our speed on still water. It was exciting and made time pass quickly.
Entering Lake Buchanan from the north we passed by some muddied guys with fishing poles. Their truck was backed down towards the water. One of them was knee-deep in the river and hoisted the largest catfish I’ve ever seen with my own eyes (not on television). It must have been three and a half feet long and about as wide as a german shepherd. Needless to say, the gentleman was quite proud of his catch.
Lake paddling is always tedious to me. It feels like crossing a bay. Trying to cut straight for Garrett Island, we found ourselves further and further from shore for awhile. With the near-vistas gone, my eyes focused on how dry the Lake was. There were boathouses and docks up on land, despite once proudly floating on the lake. A 22-or-so foot sailboat was lying on it’s side on the rocky, dried shore — seemingly abandoned. I would have liked to have paddled to shore to inspect further, but at this point we were fairly tired and wanted to get to Garrett and be able to pitch camp before dark. With a an hour to ninety minutes or so left of daylight, we found a spot on the windward side of Garrett. In fact, I think we decided that Garrett Island was no longer the oval-shaped , football-field sized island as seen on our early 2015 Google Satellite Map. The drought had left it an elongated peninsula now accessible by landlubbers to four-wheel around it’s sandy shore.
We built camp mindful of where the jeep trail ended near the water’s edge. It would be rotten luck not to think about this and be run over in the middle of the night as we slept in our tents by some drunken group of boys coming out to four-wheel and impress their girls. The island gifted much deadwood and, with it, I built a large fire behind some large shrubs. In doing so, I’d hide the fire somewhat from anyone who might come and try to tell us we were camping illegally (and I don’t think we were). Also, the bushes provided a bit of wind break and protection. 1 made a dinner of German wurst, wrapped in a tortilla and smothered in grilled onions and apples. Oh, then there was barbecue sauce. Delicious, it was — we each helped ourselves to an extra sausage. There was more beer, story time around the fire, and stargazing. We capped off the evening with a quarter mile hike up to the top of Garrett Island, the original part which would have still been above water when Lake Buchanan was full (I’m thinking it was about 50% full during our trip). The stars were so bright. One of us saw a shooting star (I missed it of course). I conveniently had packed and chilled a small bottle of Moet and Chandon. The cork was popped, poured into makeshift champagneware (a plastic water bottle cut in half makes a more traditional small, barrel-shaped cup while the other half – with bottle cap attached – makes a nice little cup with a stem) and a toast was made to the brotherhood, another successful mission and many more to come. We headed back to camp, made sure the fire was a bed of well-protected embers and called it a night after demonstrating that hot embers can melt an aluminum can.
We awoke early the next morning to winds and dark clouds, made some quick coffee and had a few protein bars before breaking camp, loading up and setting off for the final 8 or so miles to the southwest side of Lake Buchanan, just near the dam. The paddle was uneventful, save for some chop, wind and light drizzle. At that point, I was looking forward to just finishing, taking a hot shower, playing car shuffle and hitting the road for Austin.
We found the take out at Black Rock Park just past 8 miles into our morning paddle and just under three hours after setting out. It was a great “mission”, great overnighter with the guys and reaffirmation of how much I love nature and the outdoors. We had not even finished yet and were already talking about next possible options. The Colorado River Odyssey will continue…stay tuned.
Don (5)
Afterthought: The recent flooding in Texas was devastating and a reminder of not only how powerful and unpredictable nature can be, but how fragile life is. One second you’re sleeping next to a beautiful whispering river and the next moment, she’s carried you away and you’re gone. The current death toll in Texas due to recent flooding is at 24. Speaking for the guys, our hearts go out to the families who lost loved ones or their homes and property. This mission of ours occurred a few days after the first heavy rains and the weekend before the biggest of the storms. We hope to be able to get out on the river soon and be able to somehow either contribute to the clean up and recovery of this great resource or to those who share her. -5