I slept like the dead on that bare patch of grass under the FM 236 bridge just south of Cuero. I never even noticed the stench from the porta-potties. After what seemed like 5 minutes after I laid down, Audra nudged my shoulder gently and told me that it had been three hours. I'm sure I looked groggy, but I felt alert. I threw off the space blanket and instantly felt chilled. I started shivering as I put on my soggy water shoes and cap. Robb got up slowly and I could see at least one other person laying on the ground nearby who had not been there when we got there. I was pretty sure it was Grady Reed, another first-timer who was going it solo. I folded up my blanket and walked down to the boat to get ready to go. I rearranged some food and stowed my sleeping gear in a dry bag. We took some of the trash out of the boat. I felt really, really stiff. And I was shivering and yawning. I almost looked forward to paddling again just to build up the body heat to dispel the chill. I hate being cold.
We switched the light on and made last minute adjustments to gear and provisions. I asked Audra what place we were in and how many boats had passed us in the night. She said we were 32nd and several boats had gone through while we slept, but she didn't know exactly how many. "And the girls?" I asked. She told me that they had pulled in a while after we did and actually slept on the ground next to us before getting up and leaving about an hour before. I was sleeping so hard I never would have known. We carried the boat down to the water's edge, said our goodbyes and set off again. As we paddled away, I thought about how pleasant the checkpoint had been. There were a few people milling around, but there were an equal number, or more, asleep in cars under the bridge. Something about that gave me a comforting feeling. Plus, Audra and my Mom and Dad were all there. Audra and my Mom had been waiting for us when we came in and they saw us off when we left. There was something about a bunch of people gathering at this inhospitable place that made me feel good. I learned later that someone played some soft songs on guitar while we slept and that all who heard it really enjoyed it.
My thoughts turned to the river ahead. There were two major obstacles on this stretch - DeLeon Rapids I and DeLeon Rapids II. I had their locations on my GPS chart, but since I knew my chart was off by several miles there was no way I could be sure exactly when we were going to come up on them. My calculations had us coming through there while it was still dark; a prospect I did not relish. This section of the river is the same that The Prelim is run on, so we had seen it once before. Even still, these rapids were tricky and would require us to weave around partially submerged rocks that would be hard to see in the dark. Early in the Prelim we'd rammed a sweeper pretty hard and dinged the nose of the boat. It had been above the water line, but it left a sizeable hole that I'd since repaired. We didn't want to repeat that experience. I knew the rough location of the sweeper and we were looking to avoid it altogether this time around. There were also numerous other tricky bends and sweepers and even a long extended rapid that might have had the fastest current on the entire course. Next to the upper San Marcos, I considered this section to be the most technical.
We paddled along at a modest but steady pace. The moon was out and the reflection on the water and in the trees gave the whole scene an eerie fairytale glow. Owls swooped across the river from tree to tree. Several hooted loudly and the echo carried down the river through the canyon created by the trees. We recognized that we were coming up on the sweeper that had damaged our boat in the Prelim and called out to each other - "Head left, head left." The left channel around an island had faster current and no sweeper. We'd seen that it was the obviously better path during the Prelim, and used that knowledge to our advantage this time around. Pretty soon after that we saw a bow light up ahead. We slowly made progress on them until we could see that it was an aluminum boat with the bowman laid back in the front of the boat asleep and the sternman working pretty hard. We exchanged "hellos" and "how ya doin's" and went steadily by. There was pretty good current going through this section and I remember looking back upstream thinking I could actually see the incline of the land and the river itself. A half hour later, or so, probably around 3 in the morning, we started seeing fog. I had heard about fog from other racers and nobody liked it. For good reason. As it is, your bowlight only lights up a beam directly in front and it's nearly impossible to see anything in the water. Fog would block out the moon and make our bowlight useless. Hmmm...I thought to myself - DeLeon Rapids are going to be impossible in this fog. I started trying to think of workarounds. The only thing I could come up with was to simply portage around them. The only problem was, we'd have to know exactly where they were so we could get out of the boat upstream with plenty of time and room before we got into the churning water of the rapids themselves. I got pretty anxious about this because I was not confident at all that we would know when the rapids were coming up.
We passed in and out of banks of fog. Most of it was pretty thin, but we could see a layer of fog sitting higher above the water and I suspected that it was going to get worse the closer we got to dawn.
I kept looking over my shoulder at what I thought was the light from the aluminum boat that we had passed earlier. It looked like it was getting closer. I mentioned this to Robb. We both surmised that the bowman had woken up and now they were both paddling and gaining ground on us. They slowly reeled us in over the next half hour or so. Meanwhile the fog was getting worse. A lot worse. Most of it had descended and now we were paddling in a white mist that our bowlight was illuminating and blinding us. We tried turning the light to the lower setting, thinking it would have the same effect as foglamps on a car, but it didn't help much. At one point, when the fog was really thick and we couldn't see much more than four feet in front of us, we hear rushing water. "Can you tell which way to go?" I asked Robb. "No. I can't see shit," was the reply. I feared that maybe we had come upon the rapids already. My anxiety level increased. "Let's just try to take it slow," I said, trying to sound reassuring. The fact was that a sweeper could just appear out of the darkness and swallow us up and there was little we would be able to do about it. The choices at that point in my mind were to either pull over and wait several hours for the fog to lift or press on and hope for the best. I never verbalized to Robb what I felt the options to be for fear that he'd want to stop. I had gained confidence in our ability to deal with obstacles because of how well we'd done on the upper river. I thought the odds were that we'd be okay, but I was nervous as hell about getting into something bad and wrapping the boat, or worse.
The bowlight from the boat behind us was getting closer and closer. In fact, their light was reflecting on the fog around us making it that much harder to see. We were trying to backpaddle in a narrow channel with a sweeper off to the left with them coming up fast behind us when we ground out on a gravel bar. The fog was really thick and I worried that the other boat was going to ram us from behind. We couldn't see anything and had no way to avoid the bar. I finally could make out the other boat. It wasn't the aluminum at all - it was boat #30, Tom Fleshman and Ralph Castillo. I had spoken to Tom at the start of the race because I learned we had a mutual friend a few weeks before. Tom was a veteran of several Safaris. Once I saw who it was I told Robb that we should try to follow them through because they would know how to get through DeLeon Rapids. We greeted them as they paddled by and we reentered the channel to follow. With them and their bowlight ahead of us the fog didn't seem as impenetrable. The river opened up again and we could relax a bit. We were close enough to the other boat to talk to them a little. I introduced myself to Tom again so he'd know who I was. I asked them if they minded us following them through DeLeon Rapids. They said that of course we could follow them through; they were thrilled to have our bright light along. Then Tom said that we wouldn't reach DeLeon Rapids until well after dawn, which surprised me. I must have miscalculated the distances and times. Up 'til then, I feared coming upon them at any moment and I'd stiffen up at the sound of rushing water.
We paddled behind Tom and Ralph for quite a while. They were in a C-2, which is a boat without a rudder. Rudderless boats are more of a purist's game because they take more skill to maneuver and steer. I got a real kick out of watching them work that canoe through all of the twists and bends and sweepers. It was like they were dancing or something. I know that sounds cheesy, but it really was fun to watch. Those guys were skilled canoeists.
Slowly, though, they pulled away from us. We tried for a while to keep up, but they were just going too fast. We were okay with that, though, because now we knew that at least we wouldn't have to navigate the rapids in the dark.
Soon enough we came upon the few houses lining the river bank that mark the riverside hamlet of Thomaston. Robb's dad owned some land near Thomaston in the late 80's and early 90's. Just upstream of Thomaston we had recognized the railroad trestle over the river that marked the property. An old Safarist from years back, Billy Murphy, owned one of the houses on the river here. I thought I spotted his house because every light in the place was burning. I like to think that he did that on purpose as a sort of beacon to lonely Safari paddlers that he knew to be out of the river at night.
We paddled on for a good while and the light from Boat 30 disappeared from up ahead of us. We went through several more fog banks and back into clear air where we could look up and see a bajillion stars. We came upon the Thomaston highway bridge and there were two boats tied up there. I looked hard at the boats to see who it was. It was the girls! Just as we were about to pass unnoticed, someone on the bank shined a light on our boat. It was probably the girls' TC or Mike, the boyfriend of one of the girls. It would be just like them to post a sentry to look for us to alert them if we came by. I'm not sure if it really happened like that or not, but I found out later that they were afraid to go further because of the fog so they pulled over at the bridge and sacked out. When we passed their boat I thought to myself, "This is it - finally the last time we are going to pass them for good."
We kept going through the darkness and occasional fog. At around 4am we came up to an apparent split in the river. To the left was an overhanging tree with current running under and around it. We couldn't see to the right. The way we were lined up, it was almost too late to pick a path, but I asked anyway, "Left or right?"
Robb said quickly, "I don't know. I can't tell."
"We're already lined up left. We're going through. Can you see anything?"
"I can't see anything."
I could hear the sound of rushing water getting louder. There was something beyond those tree branches.
We came around the branches and leaves from right to left. As our bow swung around, the bowlight lit up a giant sweeper. "Oh shit!" I cried. "Draw right! Draw right!" I shouted. But it was no use. We were caught in a classic bad scenario - a sweeper with current driving into it with a gravel bar bounding it on one side, leaving nowhere to dig a paddle in for traction. We were out of control and heading straight into the sweeper. I laid the rudder over hard to the right, using it as a brake as much as anything to try to slow us down and lessen the certain impact. The boat did turn to the right as it raked across the gravel bar making a sickening scraping noise. Then, CRUNCH! We slammed broadside into the trunk of the tree. The impact nearly threw us both out of the boat. We came to a dead stop but the current was pushing the boat into the tree. If we dipped the gunnel slightly into the current, the boat would fill with water in seconds and be sucked under the sweeper and probably break in pieces. I jumped out of the boat immediately to grab the stern of the boat and start hauling it upstream to avoid the wrap. I was frantic. The water was shallow in some spots but there was a deeper channel cutting under the sweeper. Robb was still stunned and trying to paddle his way out of there. His paddling and bodyweight was making it hard for me to move the boat because we were partially grounded out. "Get out of the boat! Get out of the boat!" I shouted. He looked back to see that I was already out of the boat and instantly jumped out and we both pulled the boat over to the gravel bar and up on the island. I had no idea how badly damaged the boat was, but I feared that the hull was cracked and our race was over. As I donned my headlamp, I wondered how in the hell we were ever going to hike out of from this spot in the middle of nowhere with our boat. Were we simply going to have to abandon the boat? Right then I spotted it - the carbon fiber rudder was sheered off right below the aluminum tee. Our rudder was gone!
"Our rudder broke!" I shouted. Robb hustled back to look at it. I was horrified - my beautiful carbon fiber rudder that I'd designed, cut and shaped myself - gone! The material alone had cost seventy five bucks! Plus, our spare was a partially cracked old bent up aluminum piece of shit. I had never expected to have to use it and now we were going to have to rely on it. I was stunned for a second, but then I sprung into action. "I'll put the spare on and you see if you can find the part that broke off." I knew that now we were down to our single flimsy rudder and I wanted the broken off piece to possible fashion into a spare if we broke the spare, which considering what shape it was in, was likely. I dug into the dry bag to get the spare rudder while Robb looked in vain through the rushing water and darkness. I fumbled a bit as I started replacing the broken rudder. My mind was racing and I thought to myself, "I am out here at 4am on the Guadalupe river on some gravel bar in the middle of nowhere." I also thought about just how much everything was hanging by a tiny thread. One wrong move and you are done. Not only could you be out of the race, but you could damage your expensive boat, get injured or die. On the other hand, I thought, I am well prepared for this exact situation - I've got the spare rudder, I've got the tools and hardware that I need. I'm fine. As my mind raced, I took off a nut I didn't need to take off at first. Realizing my mistake, I cursed myself and told myself to settle down. The fact was that we were going to be okay. There was no hull damage and we had a replacement rudder. We were going to be delayed while I replaced it, but we were going to be fine. All told we were going to lose 20 minutes or so. We struggled to tighten the nut on the rudder with only one Leatherman tool, but we got it on there using a flat wooden splint from the first aid kit as a screwdriver. We put everything away, carried the boat back out into the channel and we were underway.
Thinking of the cracked and flimsy rudder, I told Robb in all seriousness, "Nothing like that can ever happen again. From here on out we are going to have to be very careful. No more taking chances." We paddled on and I noted how steering with the smaller aluminum spare rudder felt a lot different than the carbon one we'd lost.
Daylight came. Not long after, we came upon DeLeon Rapids I. We perked up and we picked our way through the rocks, calling out to each other as we went.
"Right? Right looks good."
"Yeah, to the right. Then left after that big rock."
"Okay, then left after the big rock."
As we came down the last chute of the rapids I said, "That was no problem; for a Man of the River." For all of the anxiety I'd had about them, we'd made it through the rapids nicely. That was the last major known obstacle that we'd have to face and I was very relieved to be past it. From here on, in my mind, it was just holding on, taking care of ourselves and not getting sick and to keep on paddling to the end.
We paddled for a while and then Robb said he needed to pull over for a minute. We found a beach and got out. Robb went up on the bank and I checked the boat over for dings. I made some minor repairs with Gorilla tape to the bow of the boat. There were some small chunks missing and a few cracks, but I didn't think we were taking on water. Just then I looked up and who did I see? The girls! They had caught us again! I was more shocked than disappointed. You had to hand it to them - they were relentless. I waved as they got closer. They asked us if we were okay and I told them that we'd broken our rudder off but that we were okay. We got back in the boat and paddled after them. At that point we were a hundred yards or so behind them.
We gave chase. It helps your pace to have someone to chase. We reeled them in and chatted a bit when we got close enough.
I didn't know it, but we were coming upon the Nursery bridge - the second access point between Cuero and Victoria. I thought we'd passed it in the night. Plus, there had been some confusion between me and our bank support crew about the Nursery bridge. I told them that I wanted them to meet us there just to make sure that we were doing okay and to take on water if we needed it. Having grown up in Victoria, I knew the Nursery bridge as being next to a power plant. I had been looking for a power plant as a landmark for the bridge, saw some lights on the bank and thought that was it. Somehow I screwed that all up and we hadn't passed it yet. When we got within shouting distance I asked Audra and my Mom how we'd missed them at Nursery. They looked at me funny and shouted back, "This is the Nursery bridge. "Well, shit," I thought to myself. That explained a lot. I never saw the power plant, though. It must have been further off the river than I'd thought. The girls stopped to take on water, we didn't. I told Audra and my Mom that we were okay on water and we were going on ahead. It was true that we really didn't need any water. It might've been nice to get a fresh water bottle with ice in it, but I was thinking tactically. We were going to make some time on the girls while they were stopped. There had been several tactical moves made by us and them at several points on the course. We never really said it, but we were racing each other pretty hard. We got a couple of hundred yards ahead and again I thought that was the last we were going to see of them.
The morning wore on and it started to get hot. The muscles in my back and shoulders were hurting pretty badly. Finally we reached the bridge at Loop 463 right outside of Victoria and only a couple of river miles to the checkpoint in Riverside Park.
We pulled within site of the checkpoint and I could see a number of people. As soon as someone on the bank saw us, I saw people scrambling. We pulled up to the boat ramp and several of my relatives were there - aunts and cousins, in addition to the regular three of Audra and my Mom and Dad. We got out of the boat and traded out our jugs. I rearranged some food. I stood up and looked upriver and lo and behold, the girls were there! You really had to hand it them - they just kept coming. I had the urge to hurry and get back in the boat to stay ahead of them, but I needed to swim a little and put on some more Icy Hot. I had a hard time taking off my shirt because I was so stiff. I cracked a couple of jokes for my relatives. The girls pulled out before we did and we resigned to catch them. Again. "Break out the doubles," I said. And with that we said our goodbyes and paddled away.
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