In a field of brickellbush, hundreds of monarch butterflies move with the grace of a Disney fairy waving a wand. They circle back and forth in figure eights all around us, flashing black and orange wings dotted with white, as they fly from stem to stem undisturbed. My guide, Jim, and I take off our hats while wife, Vanessa, takes out her camera. We stand there, spellbound.
It’s only later that I realize the scene was likely a once-in-a-lifetime experience. But maybe our whole trip was. We were there last October to find a place called the Narrows. This limestone gorge on the Blanco River has hidden, almost tropical pools where honey-combed rock walls, skirted with maidenhair fern, shimmer with the water’s reflection—a Texas oasis like no other. After hearing about the Narrows several years ago and finding pictures online, I dreamt about seeing it for real. But there was another reason for my interest. I had just learned about Josephine Mandamin, an Anishinaabekwe First Nation woman who had popularized the concept of a “water walk.” Undertaken in Canada 20 years ago, hers was an act of defiance against those polluting her community’s water. I felt compelled to commemorate the anniversary of her noble effort.
A water walk is just that: a mindful walk by water. While some consider it an act of resistance or even a spiritual exercise—a feat of reverence to our most precious resource—others approach it as a journey to trace water’s route from sea to source to better understand how it makes its way to our drinking taps. For most of my life, I’ve only ever thought about water in terms of its absence—drought and the aftereffects. I intended to learn more about where it comes from and how it’s threatened.
“Water is
