As a passionate kayaker for twenty years, I have observed that as we mature in our paddling life, we risk becoming a little sloppy when it comes to planning visits to remote and primitive sections of alluring waterways. Such is the case for two well-seasoned mariners, when it came to engaging in a long-awaited three-day kayaking adventure on the Colorado River. This being a trip originally scheduled by me and a good friend over a year ago.
Habitually, we tend to look most closely at the environmental conditions to be encountered on a kayaking trek. This keenly draws our focus to the weather forecast for the duration of one’s trip and the results, good or bad, to the waters with which we have selected to explore. For no one truly relishes a long weekend in drenching rain, freezing temperatures, lightning, flood waters or heart-stopping rapids created when levels dropped due to a drought.
Having a familiarity with this central Texas stream, as gained during a solo trip from Austin to Matagorda Beach almost 12 years ago, I was tasked with selecting a worthy course. So, I quickly set our sights on traversing the mysteriously misnamed Colorado River of Texas (it is green, not red) from Webberville to Smithville and we both began preparing in earnest for this water-fueled relaxation.
Gear and charts were readied. Meals planned and grocery lists drafted. Boats and accessories inspected and loaded.
Then a snarling bit of truth raised its ugly head. There was not enough flow in the river to ensure we could enjoy the landscape and waterscape from the seats of our dependable Eskimo-inspired watercraft. In fact, the level had dropped to the point this outing would resemble a hike in a water-carved canyon, versus a pleasant paddling activity.
So, we postponed this liquid-dependent event and petitioned heaven above for abundant rain!
Our prayers were soon answered. The water sustainably rose and so did our hope for a less uncertain experience. Therefore, to take advantage of more congenial waterway conditions, we promptly rebooted our plans and set them for February.
As wizened old paddle dogs, we fondly favor time in the Great Outdoors when the weather is cool and dry, especially for our kayak-facilitated camping. We find it far more comfortable than sweltering in Texas’ merciless heat and humidity.
But no one warned us to expect the bone-chilling Big Freeze that forced us to postpone once again. Yet I must admit, it crossed my mind that this would have allowed me to load my boat with my favorite dessert…Blue Bell ice cream.
Disheartened by our spate of bad luck, and with the two of us facing conflicting obligations long into our tomorrows, we reset our sights on early-December 2021 dates. But after considering the complex shuttling necessities involved in the initial Point ‘A’ (Webberville) to Point ‘B’ (Smithville) route, I convinced my accommodating wife to take us, our kayaks, gear, and supplies to the newly designated put-in at the Altair Bridge. We would then take out +/- 60 river miles downstream at the Bay City boat ramp, a breezy 10-minute drive from home for my ever-cheery spouse.
Donna Younger
But this is where we found out the stars and planets were horrifically misaligned. Unkind circumstances ‘still’ prevailed!
We get to the public boat ramp near Altair only to discover that the bridge is in the process of being replaced and humungous construction equipment on barges made the ramp rudely inaccessible.
Through tear-fogged eyes, we consulted maps, both virtual and hardcopy, in hopes of staying the course regarding our anxiously awaited paddling pursuit. It soon became obvious, with our demanding shuttling requirements and mutual time/distance constraints, that moving the put-in northwestward to Columbus was not a viable option. So, we cast our hopes to the southeast and chose to check out the bridge on the outskirts of Glen Flora as a prospective launch site.
Sadly, we found it unsuitable due to an incredibly long and rugged pathway down to the water’s edge. Thus, if we were to salvage our mini expedition, the reality sank in that we would need to shorten our river romp to one night/two days beginning at a ramp just south of Wharton and extricating ourselves at the Bay City Bridge.
Wharton Launch Site
On the Water, Finally!
Loaded up and happy to finally be on the river, we robustly paddled into an exceedingly mean headwind until we arrived at the LCRA dam near Lane City. But, lo and behold, another bemusing surprise awaited us there.
LCRA Dam at Lane City
In the past, I had made four unconstrained portages around this water retention feature. But none since Hurricane Harvey. The unexpected headache we soon discovered upon dismounting from our water horses was that this river management organization had made major alterations downstream at the previously ‘beachy and peachy’ (portage-friendly) re-launch spot. It is presumed that pragmatic changes were needed to prevent dam-threatening erosion?
On foot, we scouted father down river to determine if there was a satisfactory alternative to making a reentry and escaping the perceived perils of a put-back-in at the steep concrete-mat apron sited uncomfortably close to the roiling overflow of the dam. Regrettably, none was found.
Fortunately, the calm demeanor and analytical mind of my companion, Phil, led us to attempt a potentially treacherous maneuver that would allow us to continue.
We repacked our respective vessels and tied 20’ lengths of rope to both the bow and stern of each sturdy craft. We slid my kayak down the sharply sloping embankment and into the river without incident. But Phil opted instead for a 4-foot air drop from a nearby location. With my inept assistance, Phil’s boat suffered a capsize as it clumsily plopped into the water. Unphased, he lifted the bow of the upside-down boat, emptied water from its cockpit and righted it. I then pulled on the stern line bringing it close to a small, semi-slippery, foot hold. Swiftly getting into my scarred blue steed, I slid beside him to steady his kayak while he likewise regained his seat.
Below the Dam, Finally!
With a few hours of daylight left, we joyfully paddled until we happened upon an inviting sandbar. There we landed, set up camp and prepared our evening meal as we watched the sun slowly set and the moon gloriously rise.
Campsite
Dinner
But Holy Stiff Back Batman!! There was one last bit of misery to be faced! You see, my previously trustworthy air-filled sleeping pad decided to spring a leak resulting in a hardcore night’s rest for me.
We arrived at our terminal destination and were dutifully retrieved by my child bride just before dark. But, as we unloaded our yaks, we pondered the hard lessons we had learned. And we mutually determined that these should serve as a friendly warning to all web-fingered friends of the paddle! Their core theme being, “Never Assume Anything!”
Conducting a pre-trip check of both standard, as well easily glossed over, details is prudently advised. The latter might include, but is not limited to, earnest reflection regarding the following facets of trip planning:
- Accessibility to both your put-in and take-out destinations (hey, you never know if they are useable or not?)
- Potential hazards and/or hinderances along your plotted route (initiate a search for unpublicized changes)
- A Plan ‘B’ and/or emergency management/exit strategy (if we had not gotten past the dam, would we, and/or our kayaks and paraphernalia, ever have gotten back home?)
- Verifying that important, especially essential, equipment is in functional condition (i.e., mattresses, stoves, headlamps, tent, etc.)
- And, oh! Kayaking with the right companion(s) that can be a reassuring part of the solution to problems encountered in the field (thankfully, I did)