Galveston Island State Park by Kayak

     500 years before my first kayaking experience at Galveston Island, a people called the Karankawas, who paddled these waters in their own dugout canoes, encountered a shipwrecked Spaniard by the name of Cabeza de Vaca. De Vaca provided the first written description of native Texas inhabitants, including these nomadic fisherman, who hunted and fought with long cedar bows and were also known as "the wrestlers" for their grappling competitions. Although De Vaca would go on to interact with many tribes and eventually lobby against their exploitation, later Europeans would not be so civil. The French-American pirate Jean Lafitte finally devastated the Karankawas in 1819 when his small army kidnapped one of their women and then crushed those who retaliated with cannon fire at an area less than 5 miles from the State Park.

   Although humans have fished and paddled the shore and bays around the island for centuries, I still felt like an explorer as I searched the sprawling bay for unsuspecting redfish and speckled trout among the seagrass. The Galveston Island State Park paddling trail is divided into 3 smaller trails that wind through adjacent sections of the bay, and are only divided by muddy masses of marshland. The trails aren't distinct paths (or maybe they are and I was bad at finding them) but rather seem like suggestions on how to navigate the mostly open water.

Seagrass (pictured terribly above) is the natural habitat of baby shrimp and other small creatures that are scientifically classified as "bait"

   My kayaking buddy, Jadd, and I arrived at the park around 8:30 am, and picked out one of the 3 kayak launches to start from. Since we ended up wasting so much time fighting heavy wind and current trying to find the best spots, I've included the park map and our eventual path. We launched at Como Lake, intending to follow the first part of the Dana Cove trail and then jump over to the Oak Bayou Trail. But as soon as we were on the water and I tossed my first live shrimp into the channel east of the trail, my line tightened as my shrimp shot under the kayak. "Fish On!" I taunted, but Jadd was already hooked up as well. I landed a beautiful speckled trout to start the morning, but I could tell it was an inch or two short of the limit and tossed it back. Jadd had similar luck with two undersize reds, but the wind kept sweeping us back to the bank so we decided to get back to the trail. Again, I was reminded that I really need to start bringing an anchor for the times when I find a good fishing spot...

The actual trails are marked with lines and numbers, I marked our path in green. The fishing spot is marked with the appropriate internationally recognized symbol.

   Unfortunately for us, we spent the rest of the day attempting to follow the coastline, but getting disoriented between masses of grass. The water was shallow, maybe 1-2 feet deep in most places, and the abundance of seagrass on the bottom was promising, but we had a hard enough time just fighting the current and the wind, let alone finding any fish. Eventually, Jadd had had enough, and I spotted him dragging his kayak into the mud (I wonder why this gave me deja vu). Pointing out "tire tracks", he suggested we leave our kayaks, walk back to the car and pick them up, since we had obviously gotten lost on our way to the second kayak launch. It quickly became clear though, that this was not a road at all, and that we'd have to drag our yaks quite a ways to get back to the parking lot. Maybe it's a good thing these trips never go too smoothly, or else they'd get boring.

Jadd pouting

Discovered a new species, which I shall call "rattlesnake grass"

  We finally saw the parking lot and kayak launch where we should have ended up, and got back in our yaks to cross a small section of water to get there. From there, we left the kayaks in the bushes, hiked back about 1/3 of a mile to the car, and came back to pick them up. We still had some shrimp, so we tried our original spot one more time. Sure enough, the fish were still biting, but after struggling to catch one fish, we realized the wind was way too strong by now and without anchors, we'd have to call it a day.

Can you spot the snake?

How about now?

How about now? No? Please see a doctor.

   All in all, Galveston Island State Park seems like a cool place, even though the paddling trail proper didn't have much in the way of diverse scenery to offer. There are certainly fish to be caught nearby, and the rest of the park appears to offer decent birdwatching and hiking serenity. There are camping sites too, but I'd only recommend them if your idea of camping is pitching a tent in a grassy glorified parking lot next to an RV.

Jadd beaming with pride with his non-even-close-to-the-legal-limit redfish

    As per the last time I drove by Clear Lake, I stopped back in at El Lagos Coffee Shop on the way back, and also discovered a new hole-in-the-wall worth a recommendation. Stompy's burger shop in Seabrook definitely hit the spot after an arduous day of paddling against the wind with their unique burgers, quality beef, good fries, and a choice of wheat buns. (That's 4/5 on my burger joint list, the 5th being huge burgers. These were merely decent sized).

Just about 56 trails to go!

Sharkathon by Kayak

     On a windy October day in 2013, a husky man with a reddish-blond beard paddled his kayak hard to overcome crashing waves, determined to deliver his cargo. He was 150 yards away from the beach; just another couple hundred yards and he could throw the chunk of fish, skewered on a giant hook and hanging haphazardly off the back of his vessel, into the water. But the next wave hit him unexpectedly hard, knocking him into the surf, and as his kayak flew backwards, the plastic-coated metal line flailed, wrapping around his neck. The sudden jerk of another wave compounded his situation, jabbing the tip of the great hook into his neck before burying it past the barb. Only sheer luck and the help of nearby fishermen saved his life, but rather than being airlifted to safety, he doggedly drove himself to Corpus Christi, had the hook removed at a hospital, and drove back to continue fishing in the biggest tournament of the year. For some people, Sharkathon is life. 

Sharkathon 2014

 

       Each fall, hundreds of anglers head to Padre Island National Seashore (also known as PINS) to compete in the largest shark fishing tournament in Texas. The following was supposed to be an epic account of my weekend at PINS, where I observe the beautiful wildlife, kayak-surf through killer waves, and battle massive sharks by rod and reel to win the $20,000 grand prize. Super fun tips along the way would explain the ins and outs of shark fishing from the beach, and how anyone can do it, providing an intriguing and educational read... Maybe next year.

Welcome to PINS

     While waiting in line to check in for Sharkathon on Friday morning, I overheard two sun-baked contestants with several missing teeth discussing last year's tournament. They spoke of the angler in the story above, who found himself wearing a rusty necklace after flipping his kayak in the surf. I looked out uneasily at the crashing white-capped waves and felt my stomach doing gymnastics. 

Passing some typical Sharkathon constituents....

     My job at Sharkathon has always been to kayak the baits out, often fighting heavy currents and pounding waves. The further out you can drop off a bait, the greater your chances of landing a prize shark. The key is to get past the sandbars, thin areas where the water is suddenly shallow, that divide the water into deeper and deeper guts. Sandbars can be identified by the breaking waves, or "breakers" that crash over them, with the first sandbar being pretty subtle and close to the shore, depending on the tide, and the second and third being further out and marked by larger waves. Beyond the breakers lies the promised land, where the sea is generally calmer and deeper, and large sharks roam.

    It took over 3 hours of driving, over rolling mounds of sand and wild grasses, to reach the 55-mile marker, beyond which the "road" appeared impassable. We had hoped to make it 60 miles to the rocky jetty that marks the endpoint of PINS and also protects the last mile or so from some of the seaweed, a shark fisherman's worst nightmare. But at least the spot we picked to camp and fish at was mostly weed-free, as opposed to the rest of the water we had passed on our way, although the waves appeared rougher here than they had been near the entrance...

"Do a Barrel Roll!"

 

    Over the next day and a half, I only made one successful run at dropping a bait. The following video summarizes every other attempt:

           Oh yeah, I finally got a GoPro to record video while paddling! It really doesn't capture the brutality of the waves, as on this particular trip, the problem had more to do with the power and number of waves as opposed to sheer height. (Frequency and Wavelength vs Amplitude if I remember physics class correctly)

Shark Bait #1

    At one point, the waves knocked my kayak into my friend's forehead while he steadied the vessel for me to jump in, opening a slit above his left eyebrow. It bled for quite a while, and I regretted not bringing sutures and Lidocaine with me from work like I had been considering. It could have been fun to do some wilderness first aid. Oh well, bandages and Neosporin would have to do. I had also been tossed into the water about ten times by now, and seaweed had crept in to tangle our line, so we knew our fishing spot had become obsolete.

Notice the two bird species. To the left, a flock of pelicans, aka a "pod". To the right, A Flock of Seagulls flies (so far away)

   Fed up with the conditions, we moved to the 60 mile marker on Saturday morning, day two of the tournament. The drive was rough, but we finally made it onto a large sandy platform right by the jetty. Unfortunately, the waves looked almost as violent here, but there was no seaweed, so we gave it a shot. The only other group that had made it this far still had their kayak tied atop their SUV, choosing instead to cast baits out as far as they could and catch whatever the first gut would offer between crashing waves. They looked on in disbelief and shook their heads as I began to paddle out, surviving the first set of breakers thanks to my friend giving me a good push.

Shark Bait #2, Skipjack (or Ladyfish, I can't tell the difference)

     Bait Drop Soup

 

     I paddled forward and aimed for a weak spot, where a large wave appeared split into two parts. The kayak bounced over with a thump before another wave smashed my face, but the vessel held steady. I was past the second sandbar, but the third loomed ahead. And beyond that, I could see that the waves were capped with white all the way to the horizon. There would be no calmness after the breakers.

    As the next set of waves pounded me, blinding my eyes with a salty spray, I wondered what my last thoughts would be if a hook skewered my neck. The kayak rocked sideways, but I got lucky with the timing and missed the worst of the wave. I was out about 300 yards from the beach now- far enough to catch a good shark. I continued forward, but panicked when 3 consecutive waves towered like mountains ahead. There was no going through, and I was seconds from getting thrown into the water. My brother could see this, and garbled something through the walkie-talke, but I already knew what to do. I yanked at the line, hurriedly dumping it all, followed by the weight, and finally, the fresh skipjack into the churning water just before a huge wave punched my kayak sideways and sent me somersaulting through the surf.

The sea rages

   When I got back, we celebrated our only successful bait drop and began to wait and hope a shark would join our party soon. I knew that in these conditions, it was a drop like this that could win the tournament, and wished that we had used a more durable bait, like a stingray. Sure enough, the skipjack got chewed up, probably by a pup shark that missed the hook, and only lasted an hour. By that time, it had started raining, the wind had picked up, and kayaking was no longer possible at all. The tide had also risen, and we began to worry that the sandy cliff we were parked on would collapse overnight if the weather became stormier.

     Survival Mode

     The wind nearly picked up our tent that night, so we crammed into the truck for shelter from the rain. Not only could we no longer fish, we couldn't even drive home early. We had driven too far and now we were stuck, and there was no way of knowing when the beach would become passable again. I couldn't believe we were stranded; what if we were stuck here for days? What if the tide roared up to the sand dunes in a storm surge, swallowing the truck, with us inside? 

Kayaking Tip #6: eat lots of fiber so you can stay regular while camping in the wilderness with no amenities....actually, no, cancel that tip

    I prepared to reprimand my friends, since I had voted to head home much earlier, but they were already ahead of me. "What kind of idiots do something like this?" my brother asked rhetorically. We all came to the realization that the kinds of people whose lives revolve around Sharkathon each year are probably not the kinds of people we wanted to emulate. There was a vast, wild world out there to explore, and I'd be happy to huddle in a tent, pounded by rain, if I was traversing a new country, backpacking through a mountain range, or floating hundreds of miles down a river. That was the whole point of starting a kayaking blog, to try new things, not get stranded in the same place with the same people, catching the same fish...

Proof that my team and I have actually caught sharks on previous trips. *Colors removed to indicate throwback nature of picture

      With no phone signal, and only enough gas to drive back, we wondered how to pass the time in the dark cabin of the truck. I snatched a bag of chips from my friend, "This is now a SURVIVAL situation, stop eating!" Sleep didn't come easy, and I remembered my waterproof journal, picking it up in hopes of writing something creative or doodling a fun comic.

Dear Diary Journal,

    Morning finally came. The rain had stopped and the tide was low enough to expose drivable sand, but waves smashed through the water harder than ever, and the surf was now brown with sand after the evening storm. Zooming past the 55 mile marker, we were relieved of our morbid ideas about dying at Sharkathon, and swore blood oaths never to come back. Well, until next year anyways, as long as the weather forecasts weren't awful again and we could build a safety latch to hold the hook inside the kayak. Twenty grand is twenty grand after all.


     For now though, I think I'd like to head inland to explore the next paddling trail. There are actually 58 left to go, since the TPWD added another one just the other day. Freshwater ho!
   

Armand Bayou (Mud Lake) by Kayak

  In 1970, an armed robbery tragically ended the life of Armand Yrmategui, a tireless defender of Houston-area wetlands. It's a good thing everyone called him Armand, because the body of water then-known as Middle Bayou was named in his honor, and Yrmetegui Bayou Nature Center would have caused all sorts of spelling anxiety for the elementary school children who go there on field trips.

   The TPWD Paddling Trails are split into two groups, inland and coastal. After the last two kayaking trips, I really missed the saltwater and actually catching fish, so I decided to explore a coastal trail. Armand Bayou starts as brackish where it connects to Clear Lake before transforming to freshwater upstream by the Nature Center. Interestingly enough, this means that in certain areas you can target largemouth bass and redfish at the same time! Even more intriguing is the possibility of being mauled by a bull shark while an alligator is still in mid-death-roll after flipping your kayak.

  While most trails have distinct starting and ending points, Armand Bayou Paddling Trail is more of a branching system that encompasses a lake, so for today, I only explored the saltier portion named Mud Lake, just above Clear Lake. My objective was to catch some redfish, the golden creatures that have decorated the cover of so many Texas fishing and outdoor magazines. Unfortunately, I didn't begin my mission until around 8:30, since no bait shops in Clear Lake open before 8am. This is the grievous equivalent of a stock broker on Wall Street waking up at noon!

A goofy bird under the bridge. Snowy Egret, actually. Easily identified by its clown shoes.

    Armed with a bucket full of live shrimp, I launched out of Clear Lake Park, right by the bridge that separates the lake from Armand Bayou. I have distinct memories of this park from many childhood family picnics. Although we were quite successful at crabbing, I never once saw anyone catch a fish in this seemingly desolate lake. For the uninitiated, crabbing is the ingenious redneck activity of throwing a perfectly good chicken drumstick off a dock, and slowly retrieving it, along with a clinging, palm-sized crab, inside of which you may find about a quarter ounce of meat if you break the claws just right and save all the stringy white shreds.

   After maneuvering my kayak under the bridge, I realized that the difference between this area and Clear Lake, at least the part by the park, is the existence of cover and structure to fish around. Tall grass lined the bank, and some kind of floating plant littered the water beyond that. I believe these clumps of floating life are water hyacinth, an invasive and destructive species, but I could be wrong. A log jutted out of the plants, and a dark blue, hipster-looking bird wearing a mohawk loitered confidently atop it. It glided off before I could snap a blurry picture, but based on my research, I believe it was a Belted Kingfisher. Pretty cool, although I'll have to come back to view the rest of Armand Bayou's famous wildlife, including some very unique-looking birds called roseate spoonbills and even nesting alligators in a branch named Horsepen Bayou.

Mud Lake, Armand Bayou. How many egrets can you spot?

   As I drifted parallel to the grass, I used my fancy bass rod to attempt to entice fish with a brownish soft plastic lure attached to a small spinning spoon. I had a good feeling about this setup when I bought it at the store, but my fisherman's intuition has never gotten me very far when it comes to using artificials. With my cheaper rod, I threw in a live shrimp and let it soak. Skilled fisherman call this technique "cheating".

   Within a few minutes, my live shrimp was hit, and line was zipping off  the Walmart rod as the culprit made an attempt to escape. It didn't put up too much of a fight, and I scowled at the sight of my first catch. It was a hardhead catfish, basically the worst fish ever. They are slimy, have sharp spines armed with a painful toxin, make disgusting croaking sounds, eat more garbage than mullet, and steal any live bait you may put on your hook. In fact, among my regular fishing buddies, hardheads count as negative points when competing for daily fish counts. 

Why

     Soon after, my rod went off again, except this time, the fish weaved and fought like it valued it's own life, so it couldn't possibly be a hardhead. Almost losing it in a clump of plants, I swung the fish into my kayak and smiled as I recognized my target species. Rarely do I analyze a new spot and catch the fish I am seeking, so even though it was a dinky 12-inch red, I was pleased that my score was back to zero. I released the fish, since it was well beneath the legal limit, and gave up on artificials, switching out my plastic lure for a shrimp under a floating cork, so I could keep an eye on it while holding the other rod which was rigged with a second, free-lined shrimp. 

That golden sheen

   While unhooking another hardhead, I saw my orange and green cork shoot under the water while the line let out a satisfying zzzzzzzzz. Cursing the catfish's mother in 3 languages, I threw it overboard and grabbed my second rod, reeling fast to catch up with the fish. I let it tire out a bit while fighting it steadily to the yak, keeping the pressure up in order to avoid losing the fish. "Yes!", I said to no one as I saw the golden sheen of it's tail swiping the surface. I knew it was a redfish just from a flash, since it's color contrasts starkly with that of a hardhead's gray with copper highlights, the exact tint of a rusty bucket used to contain human waste and vomit in a medieval torture chamber.

The safe way to hold a catfish is under the arms (fins) like a baby. A disgusting, croaking, slimy, baby that you must immediately hurl to the bottom of a bayou.

   As I netted the fish and scooped it into my boat, I stopped holding my breath to celebrate. I opened my tackle box to take out my stringer, preparing to keep the fish fresh for later consumption. As an afterthought, I decided to measure it to make sure it was legal. I didn't have my tape, so I used the tackle box as a guide, only to realize the impressive looking fish was still undersize....by about 3 inches. In Texas, redfish must be between 20-28 inches to keep, which seems pretty oppressive, but I guess there is a science of conservation and such behind it. I reluctantly slipped the fish back into the water and fished for a bit longer before deciding to try another spot.

Looked big enough to me. Damn

   I reached mile marker number 2 soon, and stopped near some more grass. I had trouble fishing without any structure to tie my kayak to, and made a note to bring an anchor next time. I didn't make much more of an attempt to explore Mud Lake, as it seemed pretty bland to me, so next time I will start at the Nature Center and try to catch bass, as well as a glimpse of a gator or spoonbill.

There's always a spider, somehow

  On my way back to the launch point, I stopped at my first fishing spot. Deciding to finish strong by fishing a shrimp on both rods simultaneously, I realized my cheap rod had disappeared, probably while I tried to anchor myself in a mess of floating plants and grass. Oh well.

"You're gonna get hop ons"

   I let a stranded lizard perch on my shoulder while I caught one more seemingly nice redfish, but again, it came up a bit short. At this point, I decided to do one good deed for the day and take the lizard back with me, since he may have gotten stuck on the clump of hyacinth and I'm not sure if normal lizards can walk on water. It was nice having a paddling buddy, even though he had no haiku-writing skills whatsoever.

Fishing buddies. He looks like a Thomas.

    Most of my remaining shrimp were dead by now, so I decided to call it a day. If I come back to this spot again, at least I'll know where to look for reds (west side of Mud Bay along the grass, just a few hundred yards after the bridge) , although I would try to get shrimp the night before and fish at dawn for a chance at larger fish. On the way back, I saw a large pink canoe, rowed by a pink-clad army of girls, and led by a woman wearing a pink tracksuit and barking orders while they counted loudly in military fashion. I'm not sure what was going on here, but my guess is that this was the most hardcore group of girl scouts in Texas earning their rowing badge the hard way.

   While loading everything back into my car, I realized that Thomas was gone. You just look away from your lizard for a few minutes and.....I hope he reached safety, but after losing my rod and my fishing buddy, I needed a pick-me-up, so I met some friends at a nearby coffee shop. If you are ever in Clear Lake, definitely check out El Lago Coffee and Antiques. 

Some actually useful antiques

   It is basically an older couple's house that they have transformed into a tiny cafe/antique shop. I don't really believe in antiques, especially in this case, since it was basically a permanent garage sale with useless and obscure junk. But the man roasts the beans in his backyard, where you can enjoy the aroma while dining on homemade cranberry scones. The coffee is also excellent, especially the Red Cloud variety, which they import from Guatemala. After a mostly sleepless night, I was worried about driving home, so I ordered a cappuccino to keep me awake. The espresso was so strong, though, that I have been fired up all day, and wrote this whole post in one sitting, without any breaks or even punctuation between sentences! That's what editing is for, anyway. So although this paragraph has nothing to do with paddling trails, I want to promote this cafe in case anyone wants to take after the Belted Kingfisher and be anti-establishment instead of going to Starbucks.

An "antique" book I kind of wanted for my coffee table. But no price was listed and I figured it would be very outdated anyway. Also, I don't have a coffee table.

The next post should be action-packed, although it also has nothing to do with paddling trails, but everything to do with the most intense shark fishing tournament in Texas. Just 57 1/2 trails to go!

Zedler Mill by Kayak

    On a sweltering central Texas afternoon in 1989, Lee Wheelis moistened his mouth nervously with a piece of watermelon as the crowd held it's breath. In one smooth motion, he took a giant step to the line, threw back his arms, tilted his head to the sky, and launched a smooth black projectile off his rolled tongue and into the air. It landed and skipped forward down the Spitway with unbelievable tenacity, as if possessed by unseen forces. 68 feet, 9 and 1/8 inches away from where Wheelis stood, the judges made an announcement that caused the audience to fall, weeping, to their knees. The world record was broken.

Texas by Kayak Continues

     For this second entry in my chronicle of Texas's paddling trails, I took to Austin where I met up with my friend Angie, who has been a fan of the blog since way back when it began two weeks ago. Our original plan was to kayak the trail at Lady Bird Lake, but we decided against it out of anticipation of the weekend crowds. The next closest trail was 40 miles south, in a place I had never heard of. Once serving as a railroad and oil town, this small city named Luling is now known for it's watermelon festival and associated seed-spitting contest. And on a sleepy stretch of the San Marcos River, the Zedler Mill acts as a reminder of the community's history as well as a quaint picnic area and the namesake for Texas' very first inland paddling trail.

    At 8am, we arrived in front of the mill, where we met Donald, our guide for the day. The jovial, mustachioed, grayish-blond haired man heartily welcomed us and waited patiently while we grabbed our gear and snacks and loaded them into his truck. "I like your car! Does it do everything they say it does?", he asked about my black Subaru Outback. "Thanks, oh yeah, definitely!", I replied, muttering to Angie that the all-wheel drive has sure proved itself useful in the rugged mountain village of Houston.

My legendary Subaru at the picnic area behind Zedler Mill. Also, one of the many oil rigs that garnish the city of Luling

    I didn't bring my own kayak this time, as it was far more convenient to rent a couple from Donald, who works for the city park department. On the way to our drop-off point, Donald waved at an oncoming car, "Hey, Shirley!"Apparently, Luling is one of those eerie, Animal Crossing-esque places where all the townsfolk know each other by name. Six miles later, we were at the put-in and as I rigged up our fishing rods and Angie secured her ukelele to make sure it would stay dry, Donald went over the river conditions. Although it was generally a mild trail, he warned us that some ladies had recently reported a fallen tree causing a serious obstacle to new paddlers somewhere along the way. I promised we'd give him our own report when he picked us up back at the mill, and then we were off.

At the put-in for the 6-mile Zedler Mill Paddling Trail

   Around one of the first bends, we encountered an almost completely submerged tree in our path. Our kayaks bumped over it with ease, and we joked that maybe it was the nightmarish obstacle Donald had spoken of. I imagined British women in Victorian dresses sipping tea on a kayak and squealing about spilled drops as their boats knocked against the wood. We laughed and made impressions of them sobbing, "How DREADFUL!".

Heading under the arches (not the golden ones, God forbid)

   The first mile or so passed uneventfully, and the current was too strong to easily fish in, so we pretty much drifted through. But we soon reached the foreshadowed fallen tree, and this time our path was truly blocked. It only took a short portage to navigate around it, but we did have to wade calf-deep in mud that reeked of decomposition. The Victorian ladies would have surely died by now. 

"How high do you think I can climb up that tree?" A little higher, honestly, but I was still pretty impressed.

   The Legend of Zedler: Ukelele of Time

 

A piece of moss dances in the flow
Of golden chords plucked
Under the shade of lazy branches
-My haiku of the day

 Although we ran into several more light rapids, we didn't have to get out of our kayaks again for the rest of the trip, but a couple miles in, we did stop for some natural inspiration. After my last expedition, I felt pressured to produce more paddling haiku, so with our vessels tied to a log and a shady tree to rehydrate under, I got out my notebook. Angie offered to enhance the atmosphere with some ukelele melodies, including a surprise cover of one of my favorite songs, Eddie Vedder's Rise. We also took the chance to fish, although this proved completely fruitless, as is usual for me. In fact, the only fish I saw the whole day was a lonely gar sulking by the bank.

♪♫ " Such is the way of the world, you can never know " ♪♬

  

 Even though I had brought waterproof notebooks this time (Jadd's sacrificed haiku book from last time had imparted a valuable lesson), we didn't come up with many cool nature poems, or any awesome wildlife sketches. I guess you can't force these things. But interestingly enough, two of the only haiku we did write described the same moment, like photographs of the same scene from different angles.

Deep in Thought

Melodies floating downstream
Echoes follow paddles rowing
Moments in memories
-Angie H.

Bearish or Bullish?

   As we continued down the trail, I realized I couldn't name any of the trees or birds we came across, and that I would need to learn to identify the native Texan flora and fauna in order to continue writing about the state's natural beauty effectively. I did recognize the hollow knock of a woodpecker at one point, which I was almost proud of. Suddenly, Angie gasped as a large, dark mammal emerged from behind the willow or oak or cypress or something tree in front of us. What she had identified as a bear for a split-second was actually a black cow, and I would have surely made the same mistake if I hadn't seen cows along the San Marcos on a previous paddling trip.

Fun fact: A group of bears is called a "sloth" or a "sleuth"

   Cows are a mundane sight along Texas roads, but encountering them on the river, minding their day-to-day business, almost feels like a wildlife viewing experience. In our case, it was even more interesting since some of the cattle had waded into the water to escape the mid-day heat, and showed no sign of shying away from us. We passed close enough to touch them with our paddles and continued on our way.

Next time I'll bring a bigger fishing rod.

Trail Mix and Spiders

Eight legs dance on water
Majestic beauty, graceful, floating
Smash
-Angie H.

   Although we didn't encounter the same variety of fish and other wildlife as I had at Buffalo Bayou, one thing remained the same: spiders were everywhere. At one point, a spider nearly the size of my hand crept off a log and onto my yak. Intrigued, I took this opportunity to calmly reach for my camera (phone). I raised it to just the right angle, artfully framed the wondrous creature in my mind....and proceeded to jab at the side of my kayak repeatedly, wildly dunking my phone in the water until the thing was gone. Are there are just tons of spiders on all trees on all rivers in all the world? Only by paddling further and further from home will I be able to establish or debunk this so-far apparently universal truth.
    

 

A grotesquely fuzzy creature. Also, a caterpillar that fell from a tree.

   When we thought we had covered enough distance, we stopped for lunch under another something tree. My new Camelbak was still full, so I made a formal note to make fun of Jadd for his now-infamous mishandling of our water supply on the last paddling trip. Earlier that morning, Angie had suggested we each prepare some custom-made trail mix, so we now munched on two bags of haphazardly assorted nuts and fruits, one of which tasted much better than the other (the one Angie made), which brings me to....


KAYAKING TIP #5: Homemade Trail Mix Recipe: 

• 2 parts cashews
• 1  part Craisins
• 1 part hazelnuts
• 1 part semi-sweet chocolate chips (slightly melted by the sun)

A beautiful place to not catch any fish

  It's a good thing we stopped for lunch on the river when we did, because around the next bend, we recognized the familiar Zedler Mill, and realized the six miles were already over. Donald had seen us and was waiting in his truck. He seemed extremely thankful and surprised as we helped him carry the kayaks up the bank and gave him a report on the river conditions. I guess most people don't have the common courtesy to drag their equipment a few yards or to carry waterproof notebooks around to take notes.

 

Kayak renter-outer, possible mayor, and all-around nice guy, Donald Something. I guess I could have just asked him for a picture.

 
Although this trail didn't present nearly as much of a challenge as traversing 26 miles across an entire metroplex, I definitely recommend it for a peaceful but fun weekend paddle. The trail can be done in 4-5 hours at a very leisurely pace, leaving you with enough time to dine at Luling's "world-famous" BBQ pit (just not on Sundays) or cool off with some locally grown watermelon. As we drove back to Austin, passing an oil rig painted like an orca whale, I wondered out loud if kindly old Donald was the mayor of Luling. If he wasn't, Angie and I both agree that he should be.













   

Buffalo Bayou by Kayak

Origins of Texas by Kayak

 

     It may be traitorous to bash my own hometown, but I have never been a fan of Houston. Don't get me wrong, for the average person, life is great. An abundance of fast food restaurants guarantees that you can get a diabetes-size soft drink and a fried biscuit-thing on your way to a sedentary job at a petroleum company. There, you will be safe from the suffocating heat and humidity, while the money you save due to the reasonable cost of living ensures that you will be able to afford your triple bypass surgery at the largest medical center in the country. (Okay, bashing over). 

       Honestly though, there are plenty of active and outdoorsy Houstonians, but our opportunities are limited. And while I would love to at least run on the city's mediocre jogging trails or learn Jiu-Jitsu at a local MMA gym, a series of serious knee injuries have sliced my options even thinner. Luckily, just as I was losing hope of finding adventure in the Bayou City, a friend told me about the 26-mile paddling trail along the city's namesake (nick-namesake?).
 
    After doing some research, I was intrigued to learn that the Buffalo Bayou Paddling Trail is just one of 60 such trails scattered all over the state, which has inspired me to explore as many of them as possible and document them in a blog. I've been wanting to start some kind of writing project for some time, so although I can't give expert advice on kayaking, fishing, or flora and fauna identification,  I hope the stories of my awful decisions will provide entertainment and education for fellow adventurers.

"Due to the length of the trail, it is too long to paddle in one day"

    As soon as I read the above warning, I knew I wanted to paddle the trail in one day. My previous kayaking experience includes dropping baits 500 yards offshore while fishing from the beach. This can be extremely difficult when dragging multiple football-fields worth of line against heavy current and over 6 foot-plus waves. So kayaking downstream must be really easy, right?

Bayou Begins

A white crane steps into the creek

Suburban cyclists

An aroma of marijuana

    - Bayou Haiku

   While bayou paddling is certainly easier than battling ocean waves on a rough day, there are plenty of challenges if you plan on floating the whole trail, as we soon found out. My friend Jadd and I unloaded our kayaks shortly after sunrise at Access Point 1 on Highway 6, where many cyclists were unloading their bikes and zipping past the dam that marks the beginning of the trail. They seemed to be a serene bunch, especially judging from the scent of cannabis in the air, and our spirits were also high as we unloaded our yaks and dragged them down the grassy bank.

The dam

26 miles to go

     Once in the water, we immediately passed under the Highway 6 bridge where we could see the welcoming green and wooded canopy shading the bayou on the other side. But just seconds into our expedition, we hit an obstacle. Literally. The concrete on the exit side of the bridge declined sharply and created a choke point over which water rushed violently. I didn't see the rock in the middle until my kayak was wedged into it, barred from going forwards or backwards by the strong current and solid stone. Jadd was already ahead, but couldn't safely come back to help me, and the water was way too fast for me to step out of my kayak, despite the shallow depth. I knew I had to push off to the side, and I also knew I would likely flip sideways in the process.

Seconds before impact

 KAYAKING TIP #1: Always be prepared for a tumble by securing everything down or attaching floats to your gear.

You should always be prepared to flip over while kayaking, but I wasn't. Although my phone is waterproof, neither it nor the rest of my gear were secured. After paddling in futility for a few minutes, I braced myself, scooted to the front of the yak, and kicked off the rock with my foot, propelling my kayak backwards and to the left. The vessel tilted heavily but held steady as I plunged one end of the paddle into the water, and seconds later, I was in the clear. Maybe there is a bit of outdoor excitement to be experienced in Houston after all!

KAYAKING TIP #2: A shorter kayak is slower but much more stable.

A Word About the Boat

 

    My kayak is a Malibu Mini-X, great because it's only nine feet long but still has the rod holders and storage compartments that make it a fishing kayak. Most others are 12 foot plus and, although fast, are much easier to flip, not to mention harder to store and throw on top of your car. If you aren't into fishing, the classic Frenzy by Ocean Kayak is another great nine-foot kayak that will handle very rough conditions without flipping over. The only downside to both of these is that they will slow you down on a long trip...

Hello, Houston

The Path Less Paddled

Fallen trees guard the bayou
An orange kayak paddle
A limbo beneath spiders
-Bayou Haiku

    We cruised under the trees peacefully for a few minutes before encountering more obstacles. Apparently, nobody really paddles this part of the trail, as fallen trees blocked our path very often in the first mile or two. Jadd and I learned to define each barrier as either a "jump" or a "limbo". When the tree or branch hung at least a foot over the water, we would lay on our backs and pull ourselves under, which gave us great views of all kinds of spiders and a face full of bark, dirt, and webs every time. The limbo method is not for arachnophobes. 

Face to face

   The "jump" method is much more fun. Enough momentum turns a half-submerged tree into a ramp and propels your kayak over the barrier to the other side. It's not Wave Race 64, you won't "get air", but it's still pretty satisfying. Many times we could only get halfway across, and had to pull our torsos onto other branches while kicking our yaks forward, all while keeping the vessels from rolling over. I don't think I ever had to get out and portage my kayak to the side, although the parks and wildlife department grandmotherly recommends this method on their website.

    We also encountered several more choke points that could be considered "rapids". I'm not familiar with the classification levels, but I'm pretty sure none of them would be anywhere near extreme. Still, even relatively mild rapids can be dangerous if you hit a hidden rock and flip out of your kayak. They can also be pretty exhilarating.

A Word on Reading and Writing 

 

My haikus are getting wet!!

- Jadd K.

     Navigating these obstacles reminded me of a book I read recently, The River of Doubt. This true and harrowing story of Theodore Roosevelt's expedition down an unexplored tributary of the Amazon probably provided subconscious motivation for my kayaking quest, and also put things in perspective. The minor inconvenience of hitting a rock could have splintered a canoe and caused weeks of setbacks a century ago, while a portage would have consisted of days of heavy labor through absolutely brutal environments. I highly recommend this book for anyone tempted to complain about the inconveniences of kayaking in modern times.

KAYAKING TIP #3: Read The River of Doubt and ask yourself, "What would Teddy do?" any time you feel like giving up.

   Speaking of books, part of my reason for beginning this blog was to start writing something, anything, in order to take a step towards my not-so-unique dream of becoming a published travel/adventure writer. A friend's recent joke about writing haikus led me to look up exactly what a haiku was. Apparently, haikus are the perfect way to practice writing about nature, as they are basically the Instagram of poetry- just a descriptive snapshot of a scene, often involving a thought-provoking or clashing juxtaposition of things. They do not include emotions or metaphors, but each reader will likely gleam their own profound meaning from the short poem. So, while it started as a joke, Jadd and I really did bring along composition journals to write haikus and/or sketch wildlife terribly in. And if you think poetry is not manly, keep in mind that many of the boldest explorers in history considered poetry books to be as essential to their provisions as salted beef and tobacco. Just ask Teddy. 

Haiku is actually the proper plural of haiku

Wildlife and Spirit Guides

 

Ten spiders weave a communal web
A small gray boat collides
Texting and kayaking
- Bayou Haiku

   To me, the best part of paddling Buffalo Bayou is the opportunity to see a surprising variety of wildlife. Within minutes of launching your kayak, you'll likely notice fish jumping or splashing by the bank. Unfortunately, I quickly realized many of the jumping fish were mullet, which I only recently learned can survive in freshwater. Mullet are oily, trashy fish that nobody cares about and only serve to get your hopes up when you notice them leaping from the surface and belly flopping back into the water. However, many sunken roots and seemingly perfect nesting sites between access points one and three indicate a potential for holding bass. Also, the fact that the first leg of the paddling trail is difficult to traverse means that bass in that area are likely clueless compared to those in heavily-fished lakes and ponds. I didn't get to test my theory much because we were on a tight schedule, and I am an awful bass fisherman.
      Gar are the most commonly seen fish in the bayou, and can often be seen hovering just under the surface. After floating by the third or fourth such lethargic creature, I really wished I had brought a fishing-reel equipped bow, although I have never tested my archery skills from a kayak. We also spotted carp and some very large catfish. I knew there were channel cats in the bayou, but there are apparently blues as well, since the largest one I have seen in the wild (about 3 feet) lumbered by my kayak midway through the trip, displaying striking white and yellow spots before sinking to the muddy depths where it ignored my watermelon-green plastic worm. 

Great White Egret

     Plenty of avian friends can also be made along the bayou. What I always thought were cranes are actually great white egrets (which are a type of heron), and line the bayou in plentiful numbers. I wasn't able to identify most of the other birds we saw, but one bird stood out more than any other- the great blue heron. Early on during our expedition, I noticed the creature watching us from an elevated branch, while standing by one of its white egret cousins. But only when it took off across the bayou, occasionally letting out a mighty croak, did I appreciate its majesty. This bird's wingspan was noticeably wider than the egret's, and in contrast to the stark white of its relative, the blue heron's wings shone a dusky blue topped with steely gray as it glided hypnotically over the water. 

     Each time I approached the bird and attempted to take a picture, it would hunch down and fly downstream, where we would encounter it minutes later. This pattern suddenly raised an important question: If this bird was trying to stay away from us, why didn't it just go upstream? Was it that dumb? The only logical explanation is that the bird actually embodied a spirit from another world, purposely guiding us on our journey. This profound revelation filled me with even more awe at the magnificent being. So when Jadd threw a peanut towards the bird and it finally flew upstream, my heart sank with the knowledge that the portal between our dimension and that of the spirit heron's was now closed and I would never achieve oneness with nature. 

The worst picture anyone has ever taken of a blue heron

   Besides birds, fish, and spiders, many strange animals call Buffalo Bayou their home. Bats reportedly live somewhere along the bayou, and I am almost sure I heard their squeaky chatters echoing under the bridge at Chimney Rock. Also, here is a shrimp/crawfish/scorpion thing I picked off of a floating log. What is it???

Unidentified bayou demon

  

    Turtles can be seen floating or basking on rocks, and rumor has it there are even otters living in parts of the bayou, though I believe they reside in a portion that is not covered by the paddling trail. I did encounter one more mystery creature towards the end of our trip, which I thought was another large catfish. As a dark brown shadow emerged just under the surface of the water in front of my kayak, I was surprised to hear a snap and suddenly see the inside of a pink mouth. The creature dived down and I noticed it's tail did not look forked like that of a fish. Had I just seen a juvenile gator? I felt strangely disturbed, like I had seen something I wasn't supposed to. But I later learned that alligators do indeed make their homes in the bayou, although they are quite reclusive, so it's unlikely that I truly encountered one on my first trip. The existence of alligators shouldn't scare anybody away from paddling the trail, though, as gators have not been responsible for a death in Texas in over 150 years. 

Going The Distance

    We started our day in high spirits, but along the way, I had some creeping doubts about whether we would make it to the end of the trail by sunset. I had no idea whether the whole trail would be littered with debris or how many times we would have to stop and maneuver around obstacles. The first challenge was apparent after less than a mile of kayaking, when Jadd asked me whether his back was supposed to hurt, and I realized I forgot my detachable kayak seat in the car. This can be a minor annoyance for a short trip, but for an all-day marathon it would prove to be a serious threat to our finishing at all. 

KAYAKING TIP #4: Invest in a quality kayak seat for long trips to avoid lower back pain. Also, don't leave it in the car. 

     I had paddled without it plenty of times, but never for a trip even a quarter of this length. Back pain and fatigue became our main concern, and the sight of a smooth rock became akin to seeing a friendly inn on a long road trip. 

Make sure to take basking breaks

  
    In the absence of time or flat rocks to rest on, I laid back against my tackle box to stretch and just floated for a minute or two. Squeezing my eyes shut to block out the glaring August sun, I drifted under a tree and suddenly felt cool air on my face as my eyelids relaxed beneath the shade. I opened my eyes to see the long, swaying willow leaves forming an arch around me, and all the aching disappeared.

Pretty shady

Brown water rushes forward
Rippling past a fallen branch
That has pierced a bag of Doritos
-Bayou Haiku


    Our next challenge presented itself when Jadd announced that his Camelbak, our main source of water for the trip, was completely empty. "It must have leaked or maybe I drank it all", he shrugged. "Did you even fill it up all the way? There's no way you drank 100 ounces, we've only kayaked like three miles". If we had been kayaking down a true wilderness trail, we may have been in serious trouble. Luckily, we were able to ration the remaining water in my 32 ounce bottle until we reached San Felipe Street, more than halfway to downtown. There, we docked our kayaks under the bridge and emerged from the forested bayou onto a busy street. It's incredible that such a seemingly isolated wilderness flows directly under the busy streets of Houston. We climbed onto the road and walked to a nearby gas station, where we each inhaled a bottle of Gatorade before re-filling our water supply. Jadd's water rationing skills were further questioned when his Camelbak turned up empty a few miles later, but at least we were re-hydrated and within a few hours of the finish line by then. 

The stench of summer garbage

Father and son play under the bridge

The park was just twenty feet away...

 -Bayou haiku

 

     We assumed the sun would be our enemy on the trip, and although we sweated through many unshaded stretches, the bayou is well-covered by trees throughout much of it's length. It was also a mostly overcast day. In fact, heavy downpours drenched us for a good hour of the afternoon, which was more refreshing than anything else, although Jadd lamented the destruction of his haiku book. My waterproof phone also proved not-so waterproof during this time, so we were down to Jadd's iPhone on 10% battery around four in the afternoon, with a good eight miles to go. Without a reliable phone, we would be unable to track our progress or contact our ride to pick us up at the end. I started to get nervous, especially with Jadd beginning to lose steam. A few miles later, he requested we stop for a while, but I knew we didn't have time- I didn't want to be carrying a kayak around downtown at midnight. So we connected Jadd's kayak to mine with a fishing stringer and I fought to make progress while I dragged him until he regained his strength. 

Jadd taking the guided tour

     Around 7pm, we turned the phone on to make a call. Jadd was done. I recognized a friend's apartment complex on the bank of the bayou, and Jadd dragged his kayak barely out of the water before collapsing to sleep on the pavement. With one hour left before sunset, I estimated I had three or four miles to go, took Jadd's phone, and kayaked towards downtown as fast as I could while he awaited his ride. 

A skyline appears

    I had previously paddled the last two miles through downtown, so once I reached a familiar point, I knew that I was in the home stretch. The forest gave way to the Houston skyline as joggers and cyclists became active before sunset, as most animals do. The last few miles were a blur. A mullet flopped into the water as I approached a bridge atop which a woman stretched, leaning against the ledge. I wondered if she was about to jump into the water ahead of me. A purple bird stared at me before I crossed under another bridge where a sweatsuit-clad man flapped his arms in the twilight. The sky darkened as I passed the Ferris wheel and blue lights of the Downtown Aquarium restaurant. And finally, a neon green sign reading "Spaghetti Warehouse" peeked through the trees as I rounded the last corner at Allen Park, the historic center of Houston. 

Epilogue

A dragonfly, flashing crimson
Lands on my paddle
Wings purse shut, it was a drab brown moth
-Bayou Haiku

    I dragged my kayak up the muddy bank and stashed it in some bushes, trying to hide it from some teenagers loitering on their bikes nearby. My friend had picked up Jadd and was waiting in the parking lot, and the journey was over. The next few hours were spent assessing and mitigating all the damage that was done throughout the day. My phone still wouldn't work, my car had been broken into by the time we got back, Jadd's wallet was gone, and it was too late to pick up the kayaks, so we wouldn't know they were safe until the next day. Regardless, we ended the night true to our original plan of stuffing our faces at a burger joint, and that was immensely satisfying. I'll need to take a break to fix my window, my phone, and my back, but I'm already excited about exploring the next trail. Just 59 to go!
   Finally, I don't recommend that anyone kayaks the Buffalo Bayou Paddling Trail in one day unless you just want a challenge. To enjoy the trail, I would start at Terry Hershey Park, or Access Point 2, as this puts you past much of the difficult debris and into the most wooded and serene stretch of the trail. There is also a kayak rental and shuttle service that can make a trip down the bayou simple and easy, even for first-time paddlers. When you do take a break from city life to explore the historic Buffalo Bayou, I think you'll realize that it's actually one of the most Houston things you can do.