My nephew, King (“Catfish”) Pugh, and I had been talking about and planning a canoe trip up the Devil’s River for several years, finally getting together as King’s (“Minnesota”) friend Steve Timm, a master sawmill from Minnesota, and my son Trey (“Griz”) Sayles, joined us on a 48-mile tow, pusher and pump on what is arguably the most demanding, cleanest, crystal clear river in Texas.
King brought out his new 17-foot carbon fiber boat. I had the cumbersome, 17-foot-tall Alomacraft Buck McMullen, and Trey was in a rented 11-foot kayak. We camped the first night in a private “camp” (places where you eat weed and have no toilets or trash receptacles) at Baker’s Crossing, and it was evident when we loaded the canoes the next morning that King, our chef and quartermaster sergeant, had been overprepared.
“We look like a ‘map of the Nile expedition,’” said Trey as King’s buddy, Steve, whose favorite canoe trip was the Upper Missouri River, nodded in agreement and insisted that King leave his air conditioner and battery-powered chair behind.
There were many times we were in danger of drowning, serious injury, sunburn, or snakebite, but we were never in danger of not eating enough. The inch and a quarter thick t-bones cooked over pecan wood charcoal accompanied by salad and campfire potatoes don’t “rough it” when it comes to eating.
No one can compare to “Catfish” King Pugh when it comes to cooking over a campfire, and we were going to eat well no matter what.
One night, camped on a flat rock shelf by the river where we could not put down a tarpaulin, King and his assistants cooked fried Mexican quail, peas, potatoes, and salad in a wild rainstorm, highlighted by lightning, while the old man waited, warm and dry in his little tent, for him to have a gourmet meal.
Although we read as much as we could about the river, rapids, and other advice from previous travelers, we had to make our own decisions about how to tackle the rapids or negotiate vast, intricate labyrinths of shoals obscured by grassy islands over eight feet high.
On one set of class II descents that we now refer to as “Devil’s Nails,” King and Steve got into the highway and were at it with no choice but to turn it on and hope for the best. They pulled it off and then climbed back up the rocks to warn us. Trey went for it too, and managed to get past it, but the Alumacraft, laden to the limit with gear, and powered by a single paddle, would never have made it.
I suggested we unload it and move it alongside the fast ship, but Trey and Steve were confident they could steer the laden canoe through the treacherous, waist-deep torrents that split right and left around Toenail Rock itself.
disaster. The canoe’s bow started down on one side, but the stern of the boat was caught by the downward current on the other side. Tree made a heroic effort to push the stern back in line with the bow, but it was too late, and the canoe quickly took on the water, wedged with thousands of pounds of water pressure to the nails of the devil himself.
I couldn’t find any way for us to get the boat out, but King insisted we do it, even if we had to cut the canoe in the middle to get it out. Thinking more practically, Trey cut down a small tree with his folding saw, and after removing all the gear, the four of us hoisted the canoe, inch by inch, out of the water.
What a relief to see him rushed into the whirlpool below, grievously injured, but still floating.
Tre poked the canoe back into shape, and about 5 minutes of epoxy and Gorilla tape was used to repair the split in the aluminum skin. Gorilla tape has proven to be a very useful addition to expedition supplies. I broke one side of the kayak paddle and used epoxy and gorilla tape to fix it. The paddle endured the rest of the trip without incident and is in my garage waiting to be used again. We used Gorilla Tape to mend fishing rods, mend rips in nylon canvas, and hold anything that needed holding together.
Although neither of us caught as much as we would have liked, we did catch perch, smallmouth bass, largemouth bass, hybrid bass, and catfish. King, known as “Catfish” because of the unique catfishing techniques he uses to catch them in the Clear Fork of the Brazos, used a river cane pole with hook, split shot weight, and hot dog meat as bait to lure several catfish out of deep holes in the rapids while we waited at one of the only dressing points along the river.
We weren’t waiting to be taken out, though, we were waiting for the factory to come back with some ice so King could get ice at Jack and Coke.
Dolan Falls, which are only accessible to the public by canoe or kayak down the river, was an amazing inspiration, and after hopping around the falls, we dove off the rocks and played to our heart’s content.
We didn’t see any other canoes on the upper river, until a group of Boy Scout masters who had camped in a Nature Conservancy cabin with hot showers and real beds, floated in behind us at our dining out. And under that food out there we didn’t see any other boats.
At times, it seemed like we were in a timeless land where Indian cave shelters, pristine, unpolluted water, and the absence of other people transported our souls to a better time on planet Earth.
Low water conditions and high headwinds made each day progressing through frequent, shallow rapids as well as through long, deep pools of emerald green water difficult and exasperating, but the rewards of being on this stunning river and the strong companionship of the males on trial made it all worth it.