A Multi-Day River Trip Through Boquillas Canyon
4 Days Paddling the Rio Grande on the Border of Texas and Mexico
In January of 2021, just shy of a year deep into the pandemic, and less than a year into our relationship, Ben and I took a road trip across the country to visit his sister and her family in Austin, TX. Intrigued by Ben's tales of a previous guided trip paddling the Rio Grande in Big Bend National Park, we were determined to experience it again, just the two of us. Despite the initial discouragement from the permitting office about low water levels, Ben, refusing to accept defeat, reached out to old friends who dug up past water level data. Comparing the current cubic feet per second (cfs) with levels from 2011, which were even lower, we got the green light.
We drove 7+ hours from Bastrop to Terlingua, TX. Liz and I had been to Terlingua on our road trip back in 2017 (read blog here), and I was excited to return. Perched overlooking the Mexican border, this quaint ghost town is everything Marfa isn't—authentic and rugged. Following a meal at the Starlite Theater, the town's sole restaurant, we headed to the ‘Goat Pen,’ a campsite our bartender had suggested. Arriving after dark, exhausted and ready for rest, we found the gates locked. Without missing a beat, Ben leaned over, tapped the numerical equivalent of G-O-A-T, and the door swung open, signaling the start of our stroke of good luck.
The following morning we hired Desert Sports to shuttle our car to and from the put-in site, two hours away. We spotted a road runner at the put-in, the exact same spot where Liz and I had seen a white horse bathing four years prior. Another good omen. I picked up a little orange scorpion toy, hand-crafted out of wire, at an abandoned stand and left some money.
My first multi-day river trip: I was immediately hooked. We swam, floated and ate lunch as the canyon walls slowly started to close up around us with not another soul in sight. Our river craft of choice was our trusty Mothership board, a giant 17 ft inflatable paddleboard with enough space for us to stretch out and do yoga, even with our minimal belongings strapped on top. Each night we set up our tent on top of the Mothership, and deflated it for comfort. Each morning we pumped her back up and were on our merry way. As the days wore on, the desert began to take a toll on me. I underestimated the sun in a big way - and also forgot to pack chapstick.
In hindsight, what might have initially appeared as a small oversight—resulting in cracked and bleeding lips by day 4—morphed into a wild desert fever, exacerbated by a slight sunburn. Thankfully, staying hydrated and a timely return to the car alleviated the situation.
Post-trip, a sense of renewed perspective enveloped me, akin to "seeing with fresh eyes, all the things I never realized," in the words of my dear friends LVDY (listen to their song about the monotonous, repetitive nature of the concrete life). The desert, unexpectedly, acted as a source of refreshment and regeneration. The stark contrast of returning to our packed car after four days made me question the point of capitalism and consumerism; I will never forget the overwhelming feeling of opening up my car door and wondering why in the hell anyone would need this much stuff.
Lesson learned: never underestimate the importance of packing chapstick on a desert adventure.