I hoped to have a fresh canoe trip to share, but 2021 is a lot like 2020. Many of my outdoor adventures were put off for one reason or another. The weather added to the calamity of post-2020 life. The San Antonio River flooded Goliad State Park both times I planned to recon that river and a hurricane blew close enough to Sea Rim State Park to keep me homebound for that reservation. When I came across some old notes I hesitated. Then thought, "I may as well."
So, if you can bear a rerun, here goes.
When our oldest son surprised us with some leave time in April 2017 Dottie and I scrambled to celebrate. We took him out to eat downtown and made plans for an overnight river trip on the Colorado. The weather forecast was good and the river was running a little higher than normal. It wouldn't get much better than this.
For this trip I wanted to camp on the sandbar I had scouted out the year before. The plan was to make an overnight camping trip of the twenty mile Columbus - Altair run. The take out was the LCRA Altair boat ramp.
We launched into a fantastic spring day from Beason's Crossing Park in Columbus, Texas.
Distance muted the I-10 noise. The sounds of insects and birds, water on the canoe paddles and wind rustling the tree leaves ushered us into a another domain. Under a big sky clear of structures the vertical cottonwood and sycamore trees made irregular right angles with the horizontal sandbars and bluffs that lay in imperfect parallels to the river. It was easy to feel the metropolis was distant and inconsequential.
Before very long we reached the outcropping of limestone on the east bank. We call them the moonrocks. When the river is running at a lower stage a narrow sandbar emerges across from these features. For this trip that sandbar was submerged.
The river was on a small rise, staged 13.82 at Columbus, 11.32 at Altair. Nowadays the Colorado at Columbus generally runs between 9 and 10. The extra current and pleasant weather combined for a generally pleasant and easy outdoor experience.
The winds were blustery and occasionally at our backs. From time to time the banks sheltered us. There were however, long stretches where the wind channeled up the riverbed and bore down on us as a direct headwind. The extra river current helped, but we still had to push through these parts. There was no "just drifting down the stream."
At this higher stage the river was running over many of the gravel bars and sandbars we had lined a few years prior. Canoeing over those sandbars, instead of getting out and lining them helped us make good time.
There was a concern. I figured the midway sandbar we had camped on before might be underwater. That sandbar had been a nice campsite. Should it be uninhabitable I hoped we had time to reach the sandbars further down.
We reached the midway sandbar by 2:30 and, most of it was underwater. (For reference to a previous trip see the link, https://www.theurbanfrontier.net/post/return-to-tate-bend-2-14-2014-~or~-a-ripple-in-time-part-1.) The top part of the sandbar was above water but overgrown with cockleburs and bermudagrass. Cole and I assessed the place. We decided that we could camp there but there were better campsites downstream. It was a gamble, but I hedged that bet with several observations. With the higher river level we were making excellent time. Besides, with Cole's improved strength and stamina I figured we could jetsam the overnight option and make the twenty mile trip in a day. As the trip progressed I relaxed. Now and again Cole fished from the bow of the canoe.
I suspect the dams, ever increasing water use and consequential long term, low water level/volume allowed the river to partially fill with sand. Now and again the Colorado rises enough to reset the channel, but I doubt the infrequent higher volumes are enough to maintain a clear riverbed. A river is ever changing though, isn't it?
The Colorado is not what it was, but what remains is worth canoeing. Canoe camping on a river is a different experience from car camping in the various state parks.
By 4:00 we reached the big island. This is roughly twelve miles from Beason's. We stopped to talk to some canoers who were camped there. For this trip the big island was better for camping than the midway sandbar. I had an ace to play though. From the recon trip my brother and I made the year before, I knew there was an even better campsite two miles down. From the looks of the island I was confident the high dunes of the Upper Tate Bend would be habitable. (For the recon the year before see the link https://www.theurbanfrontier.net/post/not-every-day-trip-is-easy-~or~-no-free-rides-3-5-short-version)
An hour later we landed on the prettiest and most remote sandbar of the trip.
We took a moment to enjoy the grandeur of the place.
The Upper Tate Bend was national park beautiful. We set up a high camp and brought the canoe up to it. The effort of scouting this place the year before was well invested.
Camping high above the river is a practice from my youth. I have seen storms blow in and rivers unexpectedly rise.
After pitching the tent Cole dug a fire pit. We gathered dead, dry sycamore and cottonwood for a fire. It was a terrific campfire. Though not large, the fire's light and flame were of high intensity. We skewered hot dogs on sticks we found. Cole said it before I did, "That's the best hotdog I've had in a long time."
I slept soundly, waking at 7:30. I was taking pictures with my phone when it shut itself off. The phone would not power up. It had plenty of battery, so I don't know what happened. In that moment I realized my mind was the loudest thing out there. So I watched the river slide by, musing at its silent power.
Cole was up by 9:00. I fired up the Coleman stove and cooked some water. Then we drank some of the world's best coffee: instant. We ate some breakfast. Everything tastes better outdoors. While breaking camp the fire reignited. We quelled it with sand and the shovel.
My phone was an electronic brick until it turned itself back on at the bridge, so I have no pictures of the trip from the morning on. On the water by 11:15 we made the bridge by 12:45. Six miles in an hour and a half. Nearly an hour early, we took our time had portaging and organize the gear.
My gorgeous bride, Dottie, met us there with a big smile and three excited cubs who scampered all over the sand and concrete take-out.
Thanks for reading!
MSM
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