height, the sun streaking diago-
nally before us as it rose toward
its midday position. Soon we
reached the entrance rapids to
Santa Elena Canyon, just past
Arroyo San Antonio, which is a
slot canyon that snakes in from
the Mexican side with clear
spring water flowing into the
Rio. The entrance rapids are a
series of long drops, alternately
hooking to the left and then
right, culminating in the
canyon entrance rapids that
push you straight into the 700-
foot cliff wall and then force
you downstream right.
Gutzon Borglum sculpted
the presidents’ faces into
Mount Rushmore back in
the1930s and visited our area
in 1935. A discussion with the
National Park Service occurred
during his visit regarding the
possibility of carving faces into
the walls of Santa Elena
Canyon, but no solid plans
were ever presented. I can only
imagine how interesting this
might have looked. But should
a beautiful slice of nature be
altered in this way? We'll never
know what Borglum’s work
here might have looked like,
but it would have increased
tourism – have any South
Dakota residents complained
about their sculpture?
Suddenly Tim shrieked – an
alligator gar had leaped from
the water and into his kayak,
flopping around his legs.
Seconds later it found its way
back into the water and not a
moment too soon, as Tim was
about to jump out himself. We
got a good laugh out of it. I’m
just glad a prehistoric fish with
needle-sharp teeth didn’t end
up in my lap.
Soon we approached the
infamous Rock Slide, the most
feared and revered of the
river’s rapids. Giant boulders
the size of cars and houses have
peeled off the upper reaches of
the canyon walls, falling into
the river and creating a
pachinko-machine obstacle
course for boats. We got out to
scout the rapids on the
Mexican side, which is the only
good vantage point to get a full
view of the waterway. No trees
or other obstacles blocked our
route, so we clambered back
into our kayaks and charged
ahead, the strong current
pulling us through the water-
sculpted rocks with a will of its
own.
I approached a narrow slot
through two huge boulders,
and as I entered, my kayak
jerked to halt, almost throwing
me out. I looked behind and
realized my tow-line had fallen
out and snagged on a tree
branch jutting out of the water.
I leaned over and struggled to
free the line, but it didn’t give,
and in rapid succession the
other three were rushing
toward me. Within seconds
Robert plowed into me and
then Tim and David into him.
We suddenly had a kayak log-
jam, with the river pouring
over the sides of our vessels
with increasingly stronger
hydraulics.
Panic started to set in our
faces – people have died boat-
ing on the Rio Grande, and the
Rock Slide has taken its share.
Our kayaks began twisting and
swamping from the water rush-
ing over us, and, just when I
thought we would all fall over, I
popped free and shot out of the
slot, with the rest following suit.
I looked back to see Robert re-
sheathing the knife he keeps on
his life jacket – and remem-
bered I too had one on my
jacket. Thankfully, he had kept
his cool and cut my tow-line –
floating out of these rapids
without a vessel would not be
fun or safe. Tim, David and I
laughed with relief as we
cruised on, while Robert gave a
smirk that conveyed business as
usual.
Now we were really moving
as we shot out of the Rock
Slide, the canyon narrowing
and the flow rate increasing. I
looked around at the crew –
everyone had a grin as they
focused on the increasingly
faster turns in the river.
We passed Fern Canyon on
the Mexican side, a beautiful
slot canyon with crystal-clear,
cold spring water issuing out
year round, recently declared
off-limits by U.S. Customs and
Border Patrol, another casualty
of 9-11. The decision to no
longer allow access to this high-
light of the river saddens me –
it is virtually inaccessible from
the Mexican side, so the possi-
bility of smuggling contraband
or terrorists through here is nil.
Hopefully this decision will be
reconsidered in the near future
and the ban lifted, but today it’s
a moot point – we’re moving
along too fast to even float into
it or give it a sideways glance.
The limestone strata in the
canyon walls here reach their
greatest upstream tilt, creating
the illusion that one is sliding
down a chute, but this also sig-
nals that the end is near. Within
minutes I could see the canyon
exit where the river meets
Terlingua Creek and glimpsed
the first slice of blue sky not
directly overhead since we had
entered the canyon. Our trip
was ending, setting new per-
sonal records for us all: four
hours and 45 minutes total.
My father passed away in
2001, and I spread his ashes on
my newly acquired land in the
desert, as was his wish. I think I
will request my own ashes be
put in the Rio Grande in
Colorado Canyon, affording
me one last river trip in the Big
Bend. I’ll make it through
Santa Elena, the Great Un -
known, Mariscal and Boquillas
canyons and then the Lower
Canyons. Soon I’ll be in Lake
Amistad and course through
the dam, eventually making my
way into the Gulf of Mexico. I
expect the Gulf Stream to take
over from there, and its massive
current will carry me past
Cuba, Florida, the East Coast
of America and then all the
way to the United Kingdom. I
will become an international
traveler and continue my jour-
ney to sail the Seven Seas. Until
then, I’ll keep floating the Rio
Grande, riding the internation-
al boundary, where there is
always more to explore.
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Cenizo
First Quarter 2011
13