Opportunity calls — The Lower Canyons of the Rio Grande - Part 1
November 2024
Well, it all started with a Facebook post, Jim and Mary, two friends from Anchorage, were seeking beta for a river trip on the Lower Canyons of the Rio Grande. This trip has been on my list for literally decades. Since I had just finished up ten days on the San Juan with all my river gear at hand with me in Albuquerque, I simply had to inquire. Sure enough, they were happy to have someone share the shuttle costs. A trip was born, my kind of trip, with most of the planning already accomplished. I am solid on the river but planning has never been my forte’. We were to rent canoes, put in at La Linda and float 83 miles to Dryden. Bridget filled up the roster and magnanimously outfitted us with 4 x IK’s so we didn’t have to spend the money renting hard shell canoes. Turned out the IK’s were just right for us.
So, Bridget and I left Albuquerque late in the day on our way to Big Bend National Park where we were to meet up with Jim and Mary. Bridget just had to introduce me to the hot springs in Truth or Consequences, NM so we stayed at the Pelican Spa. Loved it, steaming hot water piped into a cement tank surrounded by vibrant primary colors. Funkadelic.
My private hot spring spa at the Pelican
Did I mention funky …? This was my room for the night.
I really like road trips and the drive down to Big Bend was effortless as the panorama of southeast NM and west Texas unfolded. To be completely honest I had major preconceptions of “Texas” and had no idea there be mountains.
The Chisos in Big Bend National Park, elevation 7800'.
We spent the night in the campground at Rio Grande Village organizing gear and rigging boats. Borrowed boats always take a bit to sort out properly and it took the better part of a long hot day to do so. In the morning we piled into Jim’s truck (it was jam packed full) and drove over to Desert Sports in Terlingua to meet our shuttle driver. The driver took us to the put in at La Linda crossing. To complete the shuttle, the driver would use Jim’s truck to retrieve us at the takeout.
I guess it used to be that you could cross the bridge at La Linda into Mexico and hang out at the local watering hole. Life is not so simple now and the bridge is awash in border signs and barbed wire barriers.
Rigging boats at the put-in below the bridge.
River put-ins are fascinating. One arrives with hopes, fears, fantasies and expectations of what the river will be. All at once these thoughts butt hard up against reality, as it may be. The saying goes that one cannot dip twice into the same river. I like to think one cannot encounter a river for the first time more than once.
The Rio Grande, at its low but sufficient late fall (November) water level, was smaller and muddier than my mind allowed. The banks crowded with an invasive cane. The sun hotter and wind drier. Reality, bliss ... must get out of my head and onto the water.
Our first look at the canyons to come.
Of course we got a late start, immediately hit some decent upriver headwinds, and got our first taste of how the invasive cane had colonized the banks, channelized the flow and obscured all the sand bars. A first campsite was our priority and the river gods delivered. Of note is that the entire river right bank is Mexico and officially forbidden. Don’t ask don’t tell on a river trip? We were diligent and purposefully brought out passports along, just in case.
The late afternoon sun surely painted the canyons in dramatic colors.
Also of note is that cows are ubiquitous and simply a fact of life in the open spaces of the southwest. Avoiding cow patties while pitching a tent is an immediately acquired river skill.
A morning mayfly hatch.
I’ve a cognitive dissonance about desert rivers. I never picture them as being as full of life as they are. The paucity of water elsewhere concentrates life into this fecund corridor. We awoke to a massive mayfly hatch covering our boats, there were turtles basking on every rock and log, and tracks galore along the river.
Bridget was at home here. She would crash in her bag on her boat. We did hit some severe weather later on when she would join me in my Hilleberg Keron 3-person tent.
Cracked mud.
River patterns and textures always catch my eye. My photo album from pretty much every river I’ve ever paddled is going to find a similar cracked mud photo. Of course they all have their own features, color and pattern. The mud on the Rio Grande seemed thicker, deeper, stickier and crustier than most. Much more so than on the San Juan, which is known for being a quagmire. Some day I should put together an artsy album of all the cracked mud photos I’ve taken and make it a coffee table book or sell prints like Ansel Adams and Edward Weston.
Sunrise from the tent. Notice the crocs? Best river shoes ever.
We quickly established our river pattern. Early mornings were the rule as the days were actually quite short and we couldn’t burn daylight with lazy lounging. Paddle for several hours and then a lunch break. The channelized cane really did make it difficult to get off the river. We observed that the cane broke mostly where side canyons joined us and the periodic flash floods would keep some of the confluence swept clean of cane.
Bedrock bank.
I am neither an archeologist nor an anthropologist but find evidence of ancient cultures life affirming. Humans throughout time have had similar sensibilities. It is common to find a setting appealing or a path one of least resistance, only to discover we are following in ancient footsteps. This prominent bedrock lunch stop had several 8" diameter holes ground deep into the stone. Mortars, where past cultures would grind their corn.
Red eared slider.
There were turtles everywhere, though they were skittish, and slid off their perch well in advance. I managed to catch this one but you can tell it is still a grainy magnification of a smartphone photo. Some day I’ll get my Hasselblad with a long lens.
This is called the Lower Canyons for a good reason. The entire 83 miles is lined with walls like this. Every side canyon beckoned to be explored.
Track
I am a tracker but was far out of my experience base here. The sand held myriad mysteries. Scorpion? Beetle? Little rodent?
Scene from a fish camp.
The guide books spoke often of Fish Camps along the river comprising the solitary references to contemporary occupation. We hiked up to one and it is easy to imagine why that location was selected. I never did look up what species of fish are found here.
A wee bit O’ grass
Campsites were challenging at times. The cane obscured the banks, the side canyons far between. We would acknowledge it was time to camp and then search along until we encountered something suitable, a practice familiar to all paddlers. This one was a small sand bar, with a channel behind it and just enough grass for our 2 tents and Bridget’s bed. No long exploration possible from here.
Long light of fall on a canyon wall.
Sacred Datura
Sacred Datura is such an engaging flower. The seasons are weird here. This was November but the flowers were blooming as if it were spring. We theorized that being post rainy season and not so brutally hot as the summer months, the weather was just right for flowering.
The Rio Grande is not a big river in the Lower Canyons. I didn’t get many action pictures of the rapids, but be warned, while only class III, they are not to be trifled with. At our water level they were mostly one or two move passages with some hard draw strokes thrown in to stay off the wall at the bottom. Any lower and we would have been dragging and broaching. Much higher and I’ve heard the wave trains can get monstrous and very pushy. While the IK’s were a bit tedious into a headwind on flatwater, they were also quite forgiving in the rapids. I’m not a purist and while I adore solo canoe paddling, find IK’s reassuring from a safety standpoint. A swamped canoe is a major hazard and can be difficult to recover. An overturned IK becomes a life raft.
November 2024
Well, it all started with a Facebook post, Jim and Mary, two friends from Anchorage, were seeking beta for a river trip on the Lower Canyons of the Rio Grande. This trip has been on my list for literally decades. Since I had just finished up ten days on the San Juan with all my river gear at hand with me in Albuquerque, I simply had to inquire. Sure enough, they were happy to have someone share the shuttle costs. A trip was born, my kind of trip, with most of the planning already accomplished. I am solid on the river but planning has never been my forte’. We were to rent canoes, put in at La Linda and float 83 miles to Dryden. Bridget filled up the roster and magnanimously outfitted us with 4 x IK’s so we didn’t have to spend the money renting hard shell canoes. Turned out the IK’s were just right for us.
So, Bridget and I left Albuquerque late in the day on our way to Big Bend National Park where we were to meet up with Jim and Mary. Bridget just had to introduce me to the hot springs in Truth or Consequences, NM so we stayed at the Pelican Spa. Loved it, steaming hot water piped into a cement tank surrounded by vibrant primary colors. Funkadelic.
My private hot spring spa at the Pelican
Did I mention funky …? This was my room for the night.
I really like road trips and the drive down to Big Bend was effortless as the panorama of southeast NM and west Texas unfolded. To be completely honest I had major preconceptions of “Texas” and had no idea there be mountains.
The Chisos in Big Bend National Park, elevation 7800'.
We spent the night in the campground at Rio Grande Village organizing gear and rigging boats. Borrowed boats always take a bit to sort out properly and it took the better part of a long hot day to do so. In the morning we piled into Jim’s truck (it was jam packed full) and drove over to Desert Sports in Terlingua to meet our shuttle driver. The driver took us to the put in at La Linda crossing. To complete the shuttle, the driver would use Jim’s truck to retrieve us at the takeout.
I guess it used to be that you could cross the bridge at La Linda into Mexico and hang out at the local watering hole. Life is not so simple now and the bridge is awash in border signs and barbed wire barriers.
Rigging boats at the put-in below the bridge.
River put-ins are fascinating. One arrives with hopes, fears, fantasies and expectations of what the river will be. All at once these thoughts butt hard up against reality, as it may be. The saying goes that one cannot dip twice into the same river. I like to think one cannot encounter a river for the first time more than once.
The Rio Grande, at its low but sufficient late fall (November) water level, was smaller and muddier than my mind allowed. The banks crowded with an invasive cane. The sun hotter and wind drier. Reality, bliss ... must get out of my head and onto the water.
Our first look at the canyons to come.
Of course we got a late start, immediately hit some decent upriver headwinds, and got our first taste of how the invasive cane had colonized the banks, channelized the flow and obscured all the sand bars. A first campsite was our priority and the river gods delivered. Of note is that the entire river right bank is Mexico and officially forbidden. Don’t ask don’t tell on a river trip? We were diligent and purposefully brought out passports along, just in case.
The late afternoon sun surely painted the canyons in dramatic colors.
Also of note is that cows are ubiquitous and simply a fact of life in the open spaces of the southwest. Avoiding cow patties while pitching a tent is an immediately acquired river skill.
A morning mayfly hatch.
I’ve a cognitive dissonance about desert rivers. I never picture them as being as full of life as they are. The paucity of water elsewhere concentrates life into this fecund corridor. We awoke to a massive mayfly hatch covering our boats, there were turtles basking on every rock and log, and tracks galore along the river.
Bridget was at home here. She would crash in her bag on her boat. We did hit some severe weather later on when she would join me in my Hilleberg Keron 3-person tent.
Cracked mud.
River patterns and textures always catch my eye. My photo album from pretty much every river I’ve ever paddled is going to find a similar cracked mud photo. Of course they all have their own features, color and pattern. The mud on the Rio Grande seemed thicker, deeper, stickier and crustier than most. Much more so than on the San Juan, which is known for being a quagmire. Some day I should put together an artsy album of all the cracked mud photos I’ve taken and make it a coffee table book or sell prints like Ansel Adams and Edward Weston.
Sunrise from the tent. Notice the crocs? Best river shoes ever.
We quickly established our river pattern. Early mornings were the rule as the days were actually quite short and we couldn’t burn daylight with lazy lounging. Paddle for several hours and then a lunch break. The channelized cane really did make it difficult to get off the river. We observed that the cane broke mostly where side canyons joined us and the periodic flash floods would keep some of the confluence swept clean of cane.
Bedrock bank.
I am neither an archeologist nor an anthropologist but find evidence of ancient cultures life affirming. Humans throughout time have had similar sensibilities. It is common to find a setting appealing or a path one of least resistance, only to discover we are following in ancient footsteps. This prominent bedrock lunch stop had several 8" diameter holes ground deep into the stone. Mortars, where past cultures would grind their corn.
Red eared slider.
There were turtles everywhere, though they were skittish, and slid off their perch well in advance. I managed to catch this one but you can tell it is still a grainy magnification of a smartphone photo. Some day I’ll get my Hasselblad with a long lens.
This is called the Lower Canyons for a good reason. The entire 83 miles is lined with walls like this. Every side canyon beckoned to be explored.
Track
I am a tracker but was far out of my experience base here. The sand held myriad mysteries. Scorpion? Beetle? Little rodent?
Scene from a fish camp.
The guide books spoke often of Fish Camps along the river comprising the solitary references to contemporary occupation. We hiked up to one and it is easy to imagine why that location was selected. I never did look up what species of fish are found here.
A wee bit O’ grass
Campsites were challenging at times. The cane obscured the banks, the side canyons far between. We would acknowledge it was time to camp and then search along until we encountered something suitable, a practice familiar to all paddlers. This one was a small sand bar, with a channel behind it and just enough grass for our 2 tents and Bridget’s bed. No long exploration possible from here.
Long light of fall on a canyon wall.
Sacred Datura
Sacred Datura is such an engaging flower. The seasons are weird here. This was November but the flowers were blooming as if it were spring. We theorized that being post rainy season and not so brutally hot as the summer months, the weather was just right for flowering.
The Rio Grande is not a big river in the Lower Canyons. I didn’t get many action pictures of the rapids, but be warned, while only class III, they are not to be trifled with. At our water level they were mostly one or two move passages with some hard draw strokes thrown in to stay off the wall at the bottom. Any lower and we would have been dragging and broaching. Much higher and I’ve heard the wave trains can get monstrous and very pushy. While the IK’s were a bit tedious into a headwind on flatwater, they were also quite forgiving in the rapids. I’m not a purist and while I adore solo canoe paddling, find IK’s reassuring from a safety standpoint. A swamped canoe is a major hazard and can be difficult to recover. An overturned IK becomes a life raft.
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