Ribbon of Turquoise
“This river eats rods. You’ll want to stow them before you hit the rapids.”
That warning from our shuttle driver came to mind as soon as I heard the whitewater rumble deep in the cactus- and scorpion-ridden badlands of southwest Texas. Five friends and I were about to embark on a four-day, 30-mile adventure down the Devils River, which crosses an unforgiving wilderness known as the Trans-Pecos. The Devils wends through rolling hill country, descends into the rugged Chihuahuan Desert and reaches its terminus at a reservoir on the Rio Grande along the U.S.-Mexico border. With no help in the area should we screw up, we approached the noisy boulder field with caution.
The paddling would get more technical downriver. Still, with decades of fishing and paddling experience across our mostly middle-aged crew, I figured know-how and luck were in our favor. Those early miles, meanwhile, presaged just how tricky it could be to negotiate the Devils River
