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.