Palmetto to Gonzalez 183 —
25 miles
Marty
wanted to wait until day-break to start again, but
I told him that there was no way that we were going
to wait there for 7 hours. Luckily the checkpoint
was fairly quite, and we were able to get about
four hours of sleep. However we lingered too long
getting our boat re-packed, some more food into
our bellies, and getting back onto the river.
We
walked our boat back down to the bridge and were
startled to find that the river had risen at least
4" since we had arrived. We were once again
warned about a huge logjam "somewhere not too
far from the bridge". Shannon told us that
other boats had reported that they were able to
pick their way around the jam on river left. We
shoved off into the current, our spotlight securely
mounted and throwing off a more-than-adequate light,
thanks to the dark clouds that were moving in. It
was 4:00 a.m. We were in 80th place when we arrived
at Palmetto, but had only slipped to 85th place
after our 5 hour rest-stop.
Around
each corner we expected to encounter a large jam,
but we didn't encounter it until about 4 miles after
Palmetto. Before the logjam, we passed a couple
of teams sleeping on the bank: Michael Gordon (#1962)
and Laughing Stock (#1204).
The
Laughing Stock was the last boat anybody-who-knows-better
would attempt to paddle in the Texas Water Safari.
It was a large green Royalex canoe, with a square
stern. It looked like it weighed at least 80 lbs.
We chuckled in amazement to ourselves and wondered
aloud "How did they get in front of us?"
We met Mike and David Clark, the two brothers paddling
the Laughing Stock at the finish line. When we told
them about passing them just before the logjam,
they laughed and said that they had heard us, and
it had only stiffened their resolve to keep going.
Through
the darkness and fairly swift water, we paddled
through several obstacles…at each one wondering
"is this the jam they were referring to?"
Finally, just after passing the sleeping Michael
Gordon and Laughing Stock on the banks, we saw two
boats pulled up to the bank on river-left. In front
of them was undoubtedly the logjam that we had been
warned about. We paddled cautiously towards the
left, scouting for the path that we were told other
racers had been picking their way through.
As
it turns out, the reference to teams "picking
their way through on the left" referred to
the 75' portage through a very rugged and difficult
trail. We lost about 20 minutes at the jam-scouting
it out, and then waiting for the two teams in front
of us to portage (only one team at a time could
get down the trail and back into the river). The
entire time we were portaging, the wind had started
to pick up considerably, and the rain started to
come down—softly at first, and then a hard
and cold downpour.
We
pulled our ponchos
out for the first time, and started paddling down
stream. We soon passed the two aluminum canoes that
portaged in front of us. We paddled alone in the
dark and the rain until just before Slayden
Cemetery Bridge. The sun was starting
to rise, but it couldn't quite cut through the still-heavy
dark clouds. Just past the bridge we passed another
aluminum canoe that was putting back into the river
from what looked to be their over-night camping
spot. This boat stayed right with us all the way
to the Gonzalez 183 Bridge. They nearly overtook
us once as we were trying to ram our way through
a floating soft-jam…we were about ¾
of the way through the 30-40 foot of muck and logs,
trying to shove our way out. The canoe behind us
was able to glide through easily in the path that
we had just cleared, but couldn't get around us.
They plowed into us, which gave us the extra little
shove we needed to get through.
The
rain quit falling about the time we hit the Old
Iron Bridge. And by the time we reached
the confluence of the Guadalupe
River, the sun had completely burned
through the haze, and a preview of the heat of the
coming day was upon us. Thanks to the earlier rain,
the humidity was somewhere around 90%.
We
were quite excited about hitting the Guadalupe River.
First of all, the last several miles of the San
Marcos River felt like we were paddling uphill.
If there was any current at all, we couldn't tell.
We eagerly anticipated the much faster waters we
would surely encounter once we reached the Guad.
Second, the Guadalupe River represented a milestone…we
would have paddled an entire river from source-to-mouth-a
first for both of us.
We
hit the confluence and were pretty disappointed
to find that the Guad was only mildly faster than
the San Marcos we had just left. At least for a
mile. And then it slowed to a standstill for the
next three miles above the Gonzalez Dam.
We
heard the dam long before we could see it. The audible
roar of water was indicative of the massive waterfall
that pours over the largest dam of the race. We
hit the Gonzalez Dam
about 9:45 a.m., and found the take out on
river-right. We did not have a rope tied to our
bow, which we already had partially out of the water.
Pulling our boat up onto the very steep, very muddy,
and impossible slippery bank was the most difficult
portage we would make the entire race.
Another
boat we talked to said that the lead teams were
rumored to dump all of their water on the take out
at Gonzo dam to slow down the boats behind them.
I don’t know if it’s fact or fiction.
But after 60-70 boats had already portaged in front
of us, the trail was sufficiently slick to impede
our portage.
We
stopped at the top of the hill, and noticed that
there were two boats putting in at the short put-in
right below the dam. We were thankful to watch two
other boats make this entry, as we were warned about
the dangers of this portage (due to the very strong
hydraulics and turbulence caused by the dam). We
had discussed taking the longer portage, but ended
up taking the short one.
We
put the boat into the swirling water and I tried
to hold it steady and pointing down river as Marty
scrambled to the bow. As soon as he reached his
seat, I shoved off hard, jumped into my seat, and
started paddling hard—all in one surprisingly
fluid and seemingly-singular motion. It’s amazing
how hard you can paddle when you think your life
is at stake, which it very well could be if you
could not escape the eddy that was trying to pull
your boat back into the dam.
We
cleared the dam, and felt invigorated about being
back into faster water. We made the final mile to
the Gonzalez 183 Bridge
checkpoint in good time.
The
entirety of the morning (the logjam, the portage,
the heat, the humidity, and the entire Gonzo dam)
had taken a slight toll on Marty and I. When we
hit the Gonzalez 183 checkpoint, we both spent about
10 minutes sitting or laying down in the shallow
river trying to cool off while Shannon cleaned the
trash out of our boat and refilled our water jugs.
We
pulled our boat onto the gravel bar under the shade
of the bridge. Knowing that the next checkpoint
and access point was 38-miles away, we took extra
time (much too long) eating some lunch, mixing Gatorade
into our jugs, re-applying sunscreen and Vaseline,
and steeling ourselves for the next leg of the race.
We ended up taking an hour and 15 minutes at the
Gonzo Bridge.
Gonzalez 183 to Hochheim Bridge
— 38 miles
With
two and a half gallons of water in our jugs, and
three 16-oz. bottles of water each, we pulled out
of Gonzo at 11:10 a.m. Even with our extended
pit stop, we had made the Palmetto to Gonzalez split
in exactly 7 hours, which was the 46th fastest time
for the leg. We also moved up from 85th to 78th
place.
Based
on our speed from Palmetto to Gonzalez, we estimated
that we were making anywhere from 4.25 to 4.5 mph.
So, we figured the 38 mile Gonzo-Hochheim stretch
would take us about 8.5–9 hours…putting
us into Hochheim around 8:00 p.m.
I
had read on the Safari
billboard and heard from other safarists that
this stretch of the river was one of the most dreaded
because of it’s length. But it turned out to
be our favorite stretch of river during the race.
The river was wide, had numerous fast sections,
some fun rapids, and wide-sweeping bends with good
current.
We
caught and passed 6 or 7 boats on this stretch.
The speed at which we caught and left behind these
other boats was one of the highlights of our race,
and really improved our confidence and morale. For
the first time since the start of the race, it felt
as though we were actually racing other boats, and
not just paddling against ourselves and the river.
Somewhere
just before the Pecan Grove campground, we heard
a motorboat approaching, so we hugged the shore
on river left. The boat approached, slowing its
motor as most boats do. However, about 150 yards
before they passed us, these two fat, probably-illiterate,
moron, rednecks gunned the boat, and swiped within
15 feet of our canoe, pointing and laughing at us
over their shoulders as they watched us get rocked
by the swells they created. I took a few paddle
strokes off to give them the middle-finger salute,
and surely disappointed them when we didn’t
tip over or fall out of our boat.
Right
after the boat, we weren’t sure of how much
further we had to go to get to the Hochheim
Bridge, but we guestimated that we had
another 1.5–2 hours, based on our earlier estimates.
We came around another bend, and saw a bridge. I
thought it was odd, because I didn’t think
there was another bridge before the checkpoint,
and we still had at least 5-8 miles to go. But to
both of our surprise and great joy, we had indeed
made the Hochheim checkpoint…in less than 7
hours.
We
stopped and re-filled our water jugs, and grabbed
a quick bite to eat. Earlier, we had discussed grabbing
a quick nap at Hochheim, but that's when we thought
we had two more hours to go.
Hochheim to Cheapside —
22 miles
Shannon
told us that the next checkpoint, Cheapside Bridge
was only 16 miles ahead, and that the river was
still running fast all the way to the next checkpoint.
Both pieces of this information would prove to be
painfully inaccurate. Since it was only about 6:30,
I convinced Marty that we should keep paddling hard
and take advantage of the available daylight. In
fact, I persuaded him, if we paddled as hard as
we had between the last checkpoints, we could make
the next 16 miles to Cheapside in just under 3 hours…meaning
we would only have to paddle in the dark for less
than half an hour.
Marty,
as previously mentioned, hates paddling at night.
So he was game. So after a 30-minute rest at Hochheim,
we pulled out at 6:40 p.m., and told Shannon
we would see her no later than 10:00 p.m that night.
We had completed the Cuero-to-Hochheim section in
7:30 minutes, which was the 36th fastest time. Also,
we continued to improve in the rankings as we moved
up from 78th to 68th place.
For
the next two hours I paddled harder than I had the
entire previous 123 miles. I got into a good groove,
making long and powerful strokes. I could feel the
boat moving quickly beneath us, even though the
river had begun to slow considerably. During those
two hours we passed three more boats, including
Wade Courtney…who we would pass one more time
only 300 yards from the finish line at Sea Drift.
It
was beginning to get dark, so we pulled out the
headlamps, which we had decided would provide ample
light for this wide and nearly-obstruction free
section of the river. The mayflies were insane,
and we turned our lights on only when absolutely
necessary.
Eventually,
the sun fell completely behind the horizon and the
full darkness of night enveloped us. The full moon
would not rise for about another hour and a half.
We guessed we had less than 2 miles to go, and should
see the bridge at any point. And then we would turn
another bend, and stare down a long straight stretch
of river with no bridge in sight. And then we would
round another bend, certain we would see the lights
of waiting team captains. But it was not to be.
The
water felt like molasses, and that we were paddling
uphill into it. Marty was completely wore out, and
a bit demoralized. I could feel his paddle strokes
becoming weaker and more infrequent. So I kept paddling
hard, expending more energy than I thought I had
in me. Marty would later acknowledge that I carried
him for the last two hours of paddling that night.
Eventually,
we had about 4-5 boats all paddling together. I
know for sure one of the boats was the FUMAR MOPAR
CHOCAR team, who was running with almost no lights.
Marty and I were also nearly light-less as my head
lamp died, and his barely had enough lumination
to see the bottom of the boat. I'm fairly certain
that the other boats that were in our little armada
were #1977 (the MonkeyPox), team Sony Online, and
#4031 (Johnny & Johnny Ray Garcia).
We
were commiserating with the other teams, wondering
if we had entered some weird Twilight Zone episode
where the bridge no longer existed, and we were
fated to paddle forever in this uphill stream of
molasses.
About
1:00 a.m., we rounded another bend, no longer
expecting to ever see the Cheapside
Bridge, when lo-and-behold…there
it was. Three hours later and six miles further
than we anticipated. I was a little upset with Shannon
for not giving us the accurate distance before we
left the last checkpoint, but I got over it pretty
quickly, as I was too tired to even standup at that
point.
