I looked at my watch as we drifted around a bend in the river. It was 8:30 a.m. and the sun was already getting hot. By noon the temperature would reach over 100 degrees. My husband took a reading on his light meter; it was still too early to take good pictures. We were about to enter the main stream of the Rio Grande having launched our yellow rubber raft at the village of Lajitas which rests on the banks of a branch of the Rio Grande where the river forks about a mile above the main stream of the river. Rowing had been slow and tedious up to that point and we were relieved to find the main stream of the river both deeper and swifter, thus making our task easier, for we had seven or eight miles of rowing yet before reaching the canyon proper where we expected the water to become very swift.
Included in our party were my husband, Bob, our two younger children, Walter (14) and Diana (10), a friend of Walter’s, Pete McKaughan (13) and myself. The dry atmosphere of the Big Bend was most welcome, as we had driven over 600 miles from the low coastal plains where Houston is located, and we were indeed feasting our eyes upon the beautiful hills and mountains that surrounded us in this vast semi-desert land.
When I was five years old, I had had my first glimpse of Santa Elena Canyon. I had never seen a hill that was higher than a few hundred feet, and I remember standing at the base of the 1500-foot cliffs which parted to allow the Rio Grande River to flow through on its way to the Gulf of Mexico, feeling very small and insignificant. I was to have this same feeling come over me today as we floated on the yellow rubber raft beneath their awesome heights.
I have visited the Big Bend area many times since that first visit in 1931, each time wishing I could discover the secrets that lay behind those cliffs at the park entrance to Santa Elena Canyon. Through the years I have heard many exciting tales of unsuspecting adventurers and fishermen who had been marooned in the canyon by high water. Some were said to have been smashed to death on the rocks, or drowned in the surging currents which trapped the innocent victims who had been foolish enough to enter the canyon during the so-called rainy season, when rains even 100 miles to the north could cause a flash flood twelve hours later in the canyon, despite clear skies over the park.
We had decided to take the raft trip down the river during the Easter holiday weekend. It had been a hasty decision and by the time we called the park, we found there were no sleeping accommodations available. We threw our sleeping bags into the car along with a portable charcoal grill and some food and hoped that my husband’s uncle who lives near Terlingua would allow us to camp on his property. We had been unable to contact him by telephone.
The most important thing had been taken care of, the reservation of a rubber raft and an experienced guide who would take us through the canyon. This had been assured by telephone call to Pepper’s Motel, Terlingua, Texas. The motel lies in the hills between the ghost town of Terlingua (there is a Post Office by that name in the vicinity also) and Lajitas, which are both on the immediate west side of Big Bend Park. Rafts are launched from Lajitas, a small community consisting mainly of a general store and garage.
After a night under the brilliant West Texas stars at Uncle Joe’s place, we picked up the raft and our Spanish speaking guide at Pepper’s Motel and drove on to Lajitas, a distance of about twelve miles, where the raft was pumped up and checked for leaks. While waiting we looked over the merchandise for sale in the General Store. Among hundreds of items there were kerosene lanterns, ropes, halters, western hats and boots, dishes, cooking pots, and an unbelievable assortment of canned goods. It appeared to be the gathering place for residents from miles around who did their shopping and gossiping there.
Finally, when we were told the raft was ready, we eagerly piled in, carrying our plastic-wrapped lunches, suntan lotion, thermos of coffee, cold drinks, and cameras. We began rowing slowly downstream. After covering several miles, we began to notice occasional abandoned campfires where others had camped and wished we had had the foresight to bring along our camping gear in order to take a more leisurely trip and camp overnight in the wilderness. It is safe to do so in the early spring which is the dry season.
Fresh deer and antelope track, and other unidentified animal tracks led down to the water, but the only animals we saw were some Mexican ponies grazing on the lush green banks. A fish occasionally broke the calm surface of the river and sometimes we would see a turtle slide noiselessly off a rock into the water.
When the water was shallow and the boat seemed to be scraping bottom the children would hop out and gleefully push us along, cooling off in the process. The sun became hotter. Still no canyon walls were in sight. Pancho, our guide, kept up his pace, making us ashamed if we didn’t row too, for we each had an oar. Our muscles were beginning to ache, and it became an effort to keep rowing steadily. “How much farther, Pancho, until we reach the canyon?” somebody asked him in Spanish. Without losing a stroke, he shrugged, “Oh, maybe two more miles.”
Walter insisted, “It’s twelve o’clock, and I’m starved!” The others joined in, “Hey, let’s find a shady spot on the bank and eat and rest awhile.”
Pancho shook his head and firmly stated that we must not stop to eat. “It takes too much time. Even now it will be almost dark when we get out of the canyon.” He made it clear that he didn’t want to be caught in the canyon after dark. We drifted along with the current and shared lunch with him. The river was calm but flowed steadily. After sandwiches, we picked up the oars again with renewed vigor and were happy to note that the water was getting much swifter.
Suddenly Pancho guided the raft to a sand bar saying, “Check everything again to be sure it will not get wet, because the river, she gets very angry now.” He made sure the life jackets were all tied securely, then jumped back onto the raft as he pushed off shouting, “Vamanos! Now the fun begins!” We went sailing off rapidly towards the deep canyon not far in the distance. Very quickly we were surrounded by tall cliffs several thousand feet high. When we looked behind to see where we had been, we seemed to have been closed off from the world behind.
Suddenly, Pancho shouted, “Get ready! Hold on! Quick, get your oars ready and PUSH against the rocks. HARD!” What Spanish we didn’t understand was translated into meaningful gestures by Pancho. These were real rapids alright. One after another; we barely recovered from one crisis when another rapid would come rushing upon us, or we were upon it. Often the current carried us reeling straight towards a solid wall which would seem impossible to bypass, but we always did at the very last minute with great effort! We had to paddle frantically, then push together with our combined strength against the rocks to keep from smashing head on into it. Time after time water surged into our boat. We were tossed about with some of us falling off the rafts into the water or into the boat. To row a rubber raft, one is more comfortable, and the raft more easily navigated, riding on the inflated sides. If one sits on the floor of the raft there is always the danger of dragging over sharp protruding rocks, as well as the likelihood of ripping the bottom.
Soon we had either lost our hats we brought along for the sun or drenched them into uselessness. The cool shadows from the sheer cliffs protected us from the hot sun now. Everything and everybody were soaked to the skin (except for the things that were securely wrapped in plastic). We tried to scoop water out of the boat with our thermos cups, and shortly lost one of those when we hit a rapid unexpectedly. Whenever someone wanted to use his camera, it meant digging quickly into the heavy plastic, snapping the picture, and securing it back into the plastic before the next rapid appeared out of nowhere and we would go whirling around, sometimes ending up backwards, heading rapidly towards another huge boulder, feeling foolish and helpless, until somehow, with Pancho’s help and finesse, we would slide safely by.
Gradually, our ears and eyes learned to detect the approaching rapid in the increasing currents and whirlpools that lay ahead. Then someone would shout the warning, “O.K. Get ready now. Kick it in the tail!” and off we would go, sometimes spinning crazily. It was like being on a wild roller coaster ride.
Finally, we heard a loud roar. Pancho told us, “There is only one more dangerous place. We must row very fast to get across it. Then we will have to get out and carry the boat over the Rock Fall beyond.”
He manipulated the raft over towards a sand bar saying he wanted to walk downstream a ways. He wanted us to see what we had to navigate before we actually did it. We followed him over the rocks walking towards the difficult rapid which we could hear by the loud roar ahead. It seemed that this was the famous Rock Fall we had heard about where in ancient times rocks had broken loose from the overhanging cliffs, nearly blocking the river at this point. The entire river appeared to flow under one huge boulder with only a small portion of water being diverted around the boulder on the other side. He explained that we had to row past this gigantic boulder or be stuck there like a magnet due to the swift underwater current. If we could get across, then we would get out of the raft on the other side and portage our supplies further downstream. As we got closer, we saw two men with a canoe trying to get across. One man was in the canoe and the other was on the bank near us with a rope in his hand, one end was tied to the canoe. It seemed that the canoe was caught in the current and was lodged, as Pancho said, like a magnet. The man on the bank pulled the canoe back to shore again and got in with his companion. He had been with him the first time and when the canoe was stuck, he swam back to the bank. This time they rowed very hard and with supreme effort and a yell of triumph as they rowed past the boulder. They waved goodbye to us and sailed through the two-foot channel on the other side.
We returned to our raft. The water picked up the raft and as our speed increased, we surged into the swift stream and felt ourselves being pulled strongly towards the huge boulder by the suction. As we came closer and closer to the boulder, we wordlessly rowed with terrific group effort. Just when it seemed we wouldn’t make it, the river seemed to release its hold on us at the last minute and allowed us to speed on across the river where we thankfully climbed out onto the rocky bank. The water swirled hungrily around our legs as we struggled to portage our supplies over the slippery rocks. It felt good to be on solid rock again, exhilarated with the glorious feeling of success. We barely noticed the weight and awkwardness of our supplies in the struggle over the uneven rocks to rejoin “our” river a few hundred feet below. Six or seven buzzards floated lazily on the air currents hundreds of feet above us. In the solitude of the canyon we could well have been the only humans on Earth at that moment.
From this point on, the river was deep and swift enough to keep our raft floating smoothly and rapidly. Rowing now consisted mainly of steering, and we had time at last to relax and enjoy the scenery. We never tired of looking at the sheer beauty of the gigantic cliffs hanging languidly above the Rio Grande, each of us craning our necks in all directions. Silence enveloped us. The only sounds were the steady dipping of oars and water rushing past the rocks along the bank and chatter about the scenery. We discovered that we all had blisters on the palms of our hands.
Someone remarked again how much more fun it would be to spend the night in the canyon on another trip so as not to be so rushed. There appeared to be many exciting places to explore. Several caves tucked under the cliffs in accessible places, many unusual plants that would be interesting to identify with a guidebook, and the same with rocks. There were deep crevices and long sand bars, all waiting to be enjoyed by those having the time to spend.
The children suddenly realized they were hungry again and passed out the remaining food; a box of soggy ginger snaps. We peeled two oranges and shared the sections, then measured out the last of the coffee. Our lips were dry, and our bodies sunburned. Our arms ached from the unaccustomed exercise. The end of the canyon would soon be in sight. Daylight was going fast.
Then the air became much cooler, a breeze came up and quickly turned into a strong wind. We rounded another bend in the river and the blast hit us full force. Just when we were most fatigued and sure the most difficult part of the trip was behind us; our raft had suddenly come to a standstill! We had to fight choppy waves to keep from being pushed back into the canyon by the force of the wind and waves. But we were elated to finally see the familiar entrance to the Santa Elena Canyon from the park side, our final destination, three quarters of a mile ahead.
Light conversation and carefree laughter ceased. Our efforts were united in mass against the wind. Everyone rowed in unison. It was the hardest we had worked all day, the Rock Fall included. For every two feet gained, we were forced back one. It was like being on a treadmill. The sun had disappeared completely. There were several inches of water on the floor of the raft where our bare feet rested. Our teeth were chattering, and we were shivering from the cold. It was unbelievable that we could be this cold after the long hot day that had just passed. The temperature must have dropped forty degrees.
But we got there! At last we were close enough to see a ranger’s hat. As we came closer, we saw that the ranger was talking to my husband’s uncle, Joe Moss, with whom we had made arrangements to be picked up. Joe wave happily when he recognized us.
Wearily, but happily, we dragged the raft upon the sandy bank. Our legs were shaky and bodies so fatigued and cold that we could barely walk.
“You broke a record!” Joe and the Park ranger shouted together.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“The ranger here said you couldn’t possibly get out of the Canyon until late…at least not before nine or ten tonight since you left Lajitas as late as you did this morning.”
“Yes, we were just about to start this bonfire,” the Park ranger said.
We noticed the sticks and logs stacked neatly in a pile on the soft sand. The ranger proceeded to finish making the fire, saying, “Well, I may as well build it anyway. We have to wait until the other parties are out of there. You know that everyone going through the canyon is required to register with the Park authorities beforehand, and we have to account for them if they don’t come out,” he said.
We noticed that several other people were gathering around us.
“Did you notice a man and a young boy?” one asked. Someone else wanted to know if we had seen five college students. “Did you see three men fishing anywhere?” someone wanted to know. Yes, we had seen them all, way back before we had even entered the canyon proper. We had certainly not been aware that any of them were going through the canyon, too, but thought they were boating or exploring above the canyon. We had waved to them as we had passed and exchanged a few words, but that was all, and it had been well before noon. None of them appeared to have guides.
The ranger looked resigned to his job. “No one ever believes that it takes all day and then some, at top raft speed, whatever that is, to get through although they are told this when they register. Nineteen miles by raft is a long way, even without obstacles and with this wind, as high as it is and the water low in many places, well…” He didn’t finish but lit the bonfire to which we all huddled up and warmed our chilled bodies.
As the flames leaped up into the darkness, quiet settled over all of us. The others who were waiting gathered around the fire’s welcome warmth. “How can one get around the Rock Fall in the dark and without a guide?” we wanted to know.
“True, it’s difficult anytime. The guides of course know that high in the rocks above in some deep protected crevices the park keeps canned milk and other emergency food supplies for those unfortunate enough to lose their rafts or boats. It happens oftener than you’d think. We have to rescue a few parties every year or so. Of course, no one is supposed to enter the canyon during the rainy season, but sometimes the weather plays tricks and then we have a real problem getting them out.”
“The Mexicans don’t call it the Rio Bravo for nothing!” Joe added.
“That’s right. This Rio Grande trip is not for the novice. At least inexperienced parties should certainly have a guide,” said the ranger.
“Well, I’d better take this bunch of drowned rats back to their campsite,” Joe said.
After saying goodbye, we picked up our soggy belongings and followed Uncle Joe to the car which was another half mile away. While our guide and Uncle Joe deflated the raft, the rest of us collapsed gratefully onto the soft car seats. My arms seemed as useless as jelly, and I couldn’t even clinch my fists. We drove the thirty-odd miles back to Pepper’s Motel to drop off our guide and the raft, then on to Lajitas where we had left the car. The children slept the whole way. A full moon was rising over the Chisos Mountains. I couldn’t help but think how beautiful it must be in Santa Elena Canyon under the full moon. We drove back to our camp on Joe’s land and gratefully ate the frijoles, steak and potato salad that he and his wife, Edna, had prepared for us.
Later, as we lay on the hard ground in our warm sleeping bags in the cold, tremendous silence of the Big Bend, Bob said, “You know something, Edith? We ought to try Marascal Canyon next, then Boquillas. And maybe someday, we can do the whole darn river, or at least the part that flows through the Park. It will only take a week to do it.”
“Well, maybe….” I answered sleepily. Two coyotes howled on a hill somewhere. The moon was shining so brightly in my face that I turned my back to it. All I could think of was how good and warm the dry Earth felt right then.