We contacted our old friend, Brian Wright, an IBM executive who surrendered his yuppie life-style to manage the 10,000 acre Texas Hill Country Ranch, to guide us down the Pecos River. With over two decades of Pecos experience Brian prepared us well. He began us on a six-week conditioning program  designed to build our back and core muscles. He made arrangements for a Del Rio outfitter to deposit us at the low-water bridge at Pandale, 60 miles upriver from our final destination.

At Del Rio we selected our canoes, strapped them on top of a rusting SUV and drove west on Highway 90, turning north on Ranch Road 1024. The stark and desolate land flattened as we penetrated the heart of Val Verde County, dotted with yucca, sage, and cedar. We turned west toward Pandale onto an unpaved single-lane road. The brilliant sun reflecting off the caliche plain seemed to pale the blue sky as a fine dust billowed behind our rattling SUV.

We knew we had reached Pandale when we saw the sign. There were no houses, no stores, no people–just a tattered sign reading, “Pandale: Population Varies.” A few yards past the sign we came to a low-water bridge spanning the sparkling water of the Pecos cutting an asymmetric path toward low-lying limestone bluffs. 

After we placed our gear-loaded canoes in the water, the outfitter drove away. Our ears filled with silence. No traffic noises. No cellular phone. No radio. No twitter capability. We were twenty miles from the nearest ranch house. If struck by misadventure our rescue would depend on our ability to walk out of the deep gorge we were about to penetrate in our flimsy canoes.

The next five days were filled with incomparable adventure–thrills and spills in treacherous white-water alternating with languid paddling in deep, placid pools. Occasionally we faced fierce winds that despite hard paddling drove us backward. Portages over slippery cliffs threatened to plunge us into the rapids below. Twice Brian roped our canoes and we pulled them through tempestuous waters when towering overhangs offered no portage opportunities. At other times we pulled our canoes through muck and mire. As we approached our destination, the waterway widened into a reservoir created by Amistad Dam at the confluence of the Pecos, Rio Grande, and Devil Rivers. Throughout the trip our shadows had been our only companions.

I remember cowboy coffee in the morning and gourmet meals enjoyed with the setting sun; a new day’s sweet stillness and star filled skies at night; the silence of a drifting canoe and a warming sun after a mid-day swim; showering under waterfalls and camping in meadows of knee-high grass.  Most of all I remember Wende–the excitement in her eyes when we approached our first rapid; her laughter when the canoe fliped me for the fifty-fifth time; her morning exuberance and her peaceful glow at night; her joy of adventure and risk; her courage when the rapids ran swifty toward massive bolders; her bright mind and her invigorating cheer. When we spend time with those we love each day becomes a treasure to recall.

Life is like the Pecos River. A deeply flowing current allows us to enjoy the scenery, but smooth water can turn rough with little warning. The winds of change seem to blow against us. Occasionally we just scrape by; at other times we seem mired by muck and mud. We can be tossed about when we little expect difficulties. A setting sun promises a brighter day. All the while beauty surrounds us. At the end of our journey a peaceful lake awaits.