A Paddleboard Overnighter on The Brazos River in North Texas
The 840-mile-long Brazos River has been in my peripheral forever, and, until now, I’ve neglected its adventure potential. It may just be the best SUP float trip in Texas.
I’ve been flirting with the Brazos for as long as I can remember. As a kid, I rode dirt bikes in one of its tributaries below the Texas South Plains, the South Fork of the Double Mountain Fork of the Brazos. The first river I fly fished was the Brazos. Yes, we have fly fishing in Texas. That was for a magazine story, and I caught 20 striped bass in water moving over 800 cubic feet per second. Photographer and friend Jerod Foster and I bikepacked the Brazos River basin from Portales, New Mexico, to Lubbock, Texas, along Yellow House Draw. That story, “The Plains Perspective” was featured in The Bikepacking Journal. I know where the Brazos begins, but I know little about where it flourishes. It was time to change that. This past spring, I recruited two of my most trusted adventure partners for an overnighter on the John Graves Scenic Riverway segment of the Brazos.
In 2005, the Texas legislature designated 113-miles of the upper Brazos River in North Texas as the John Graves Scenic Riverway to protect it from encroaching sand and gravel mines. In 1957, writer John Graves set out in a canoe from the Texas Highway 16 bridge and paddled 170 miles for three weeks. His only companion was his dachshund Watty. A series of dams were proposed for the Brazos, and Graves wanted one last look at his beloved river before it was flooded with reservoirs. He chronicled the journey in his book, Goodbye to a River, released in 1960. The Brazos River authority only built one of the many proposed dams. The demand for hydroelectric power had lessened, and Graves’s book mostly certainly had an impact.
I have crossed the Great Plains from Mexico to Canada by motorcycle, towed a bike trailer along the Colorado Trail, and bikepacked many backcountry miles with my good friend and photographer Jerod Foster. When I hatched this idea for a SUP overnighter along the riverway, my photographer had to be Jerod. I pitched the idea to Texas Parks & Wildlife Magazine, (the outdoor magazine of Texas), and we had our assignment.
To my knowledge, I don’t think anyone has toured the Brazos on a paddleboard, so I knew we needed to document this groundbreaking expedition thoroughly. I say that with my tongue firmly planted in my cheek. Any adventure you think up, someone has probably done it. Still, I figure we were among the first to SUP-pack the JGSR. I invited the most intrepid adventure documentarian we knew, Madison Walker Martin. Madi made a short documentary about Jerod and me crossing Texas on adventure motorcycles and also followed us for 3,500 miles on that Great Plains moto trip. She recently purchased a Canon cinema camera and would use it for the first time on the river. She stowed the hulking black cube in a waterproof Pelican Case and strapped it to the bow of her Monarch SUP. Like I said, intrepid!
Our journey started a few miles down from Possum Kingdom Lake’s Morris Sheppard Dam. Four years ago, I SUP toured the campsites along Possum Kingdom for a magazine story. Jerod joined me in a kayak to take pictures. That was lake touring with designated campsites. This, however, was our first down-river trip, and it would be far more feral than we expected.
We pushed off and paddled upriver 200-feet to the Highway 16 stone bridge. It is an intricate stone structure with 18 cathedral-like arches that span 433 feet across the Brazos. It was built by skilled stone masons in the Works Progress Administration from 1940 to 1942 as a part of Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal program. Madi and I paddled in and out of the arches as Jerod captured our smiles and stoke with his camera. Madi moved down river, stood in the water with her camera perched atop her Pelican case, and videoed Jerod and me moving through the arches. With that bit of production done, we proceeded down river.
The water was tranquil at 150 cfs. It quickened for a bit as we shot some Class I rapids. The only danger was falling atop the shallow cobble stones, so we rode them out on our knees. We floated above schools of carp and some meandering alligator gar, a slender prehistoric looking fish. The water bubbled along the banks where shoals of carp fed on berries dropping from the shoreline juniper trees.
We had two days to paddle 19.5 miles to the Farm to Market Road 4 bridge. I’d re-purposed a dry bag from my motorcycle and several of my Oveja Negra Bikepacking bags to stow my gear. That’s what I like about SUP-packing. You run what you brung. No rules! I’d mapped out a couple of sandbars for camping on RideWithGPS.com at miles eight, nine, and 12. While you’re sitting there reading this on your computer or phone, click here to see our route. In satellite imagery, the Brazos looks thoroughly unimpressive. “There are roads everywhere,” you say. Zoom in to that strip of green along both sides of the river. Right now–in this story–we are just over a mile in and completely immersed in wilderness. The river bottom is deep with high bluffs on the horizon. Other than the occasional fence or the arbitrary river cabin peeking out from the dense canopy of trees, we saw nothing but the water and flora around us. Junipers (often referred to as cedars in Texas) dominate the hillsides as post oaks proliferated along the gentle slopes that climbed from the water. Cottonwoods and pecan trees were interspersed along the river’s dry floodplains.
The wind was blowing about 15 mph out of the southeast and our trajectory found us fighting that headwind all day. We worked for every inch of progress. If you stopped, you went backwards. Just as the sun was at an angle where its rays shot directly into my eyes, I dropped my sunglasses into the drink. They were on my hat when I pulled it off and there went my eye protection. I felt like a river rookie not having a floatable retainer on my glasses. I spent the last half of the day squinting and worried I might go blind.
We reached our eight-mile island camp just as dusk approached. I’d planned a proper adventure meal, so we decided this was home for the night. Over 95 percent of Texas is private, but our navigable waterways are public land. You can camp in the cut of the river, beneath the foliage line, or on the sand/gravel bars. The river cut can be hard to discern for both boater and landowner, so I recommend always choosing one of the sand bars.
Our little island was idyllic. On river-left the water flowed briskly over shallow rocks creating organic white noise, while on river-right, we had a bog with chirping frogs. Madi and I positioned our boards parallel like a restaurant booth. I seared steaks in a skillet and pan-fried red potatoes. I garnished it with a premade kale salad and popped three cans of sparkling wine. We hadn’t seen a soul all day, and at that moment we felt like the last three people on the planet. It was April and the night air was still crisp. North Texas is humid, so Jerod and I both set up tents to avoid being wet in the morning. Madi cowboy camped in a bug bivy on top of her board.
I woke to the heavy wing flaps of geese above my tent. I unzipped my rain fly to see Madi sitting on her board watching the sunrise over a mesa. I joined her on my board, brewed coffee, and started breakfast. This morning’s fare was tacos with egg, peppers, and venison sausage. We don’t normally eat that good while bikepacking.
Our final day was easy like Sunday morning. Actually, it was Thursday morning. The wind was calm, facilitating efficient forward progress. We rounded Fortune Bend with the prominent Schoolhouse Mountain on the far horizon. At mile 10, we had a long stretch of deep flat water. “These boards were made for this kind of river,” I told Jerod. Flat water with a smattering of Class I ripples.
We passed the 12-mile sandbar. The quaint little island had a side inlet that led to a small beach under several towering pecan trees. We’ll save that camp for next time.
The water accelerated as we rounded Chick Bend into the last of the Class I water we’d see on the trip. The water calmed to a tranquil drift as we approached three massive boulders moored along the shore. We drifted in and out of their narrow corridors, studying their ancient limestone faces.
As we paddled our final miles, we encountered Cody Benton and J.D. Roberts, two fly fishing guides chasing bass on a fishing raft. The Brazos was their home river–J.D. fished and guided the section we were on, and Cody’s home base was 165 miles downriver near Waco. They were the first humans we’d seen in over 30 hours. They were just as curious about our adventure as we were about theirs. J.D. told me tales of fishing the Pecos River in the Trans-Pecos region of West Texas. Deep, shear-walled canyons and crystal-clear waters he proclaimed. “I’ve guided all over the West,” he said. “The Pecos is the wildest place I’ve ever been.” The paddles in my head started turning. I put the Pecos River on my list for this fall. I might need a Badfish Selfie for that excursion.
This had been a transformative trip. One of the things I love about SUP-packing is we can float and pontificate about the wonders around us. We soaked in the wildness of the topography as we paddled beneath a long stretch of limestone cliffs. Our journey had been peaceful. I dare say spiritual. The folks we shared the river with were friendly and gracious. They shared our sensibilities of quiet awe. I looked at Jerod and Madi. “You hear that?” I said. They nodded. It was the sound of an internal combustion engine bouncing off the high ridge on our right. We all assumed that it was traffic on the bridge where we were pulling out. And then it got louder! And just like that, a fan boat appeared. Packed with people, it barreled upriver skidding like a race car out of control. It was cacophonous and alarming. Also, it was kind of cool. “Welcome back to Texas,” I exclaimed.
We had shuttled a car to Rochelle’s Canoe Rental, an outfitter underneath the Farm to Market Road 4 bridge. They offer shuttles and parking for boaters. We floated underneath the tall bridge, beached our boats on the rocky shore, touched paddles (it seemed like a river thing) and hugged. It was over, but not really. A fire was stoked in all three of us. We need to see the rest of the Brazos. We’ll be back, and I’m bringing a dachshund with me. I will call him Badhound.
The most optimal time of year for a Brazos River float trip is late September through November and March through May. You can do it in the summer, but it’s going to be hot.
This trip report was written by Brandon Weaver. Find more of Brandon at his Instagram
Photos by Jerod Foster. Jerod's Instagram
Madison Walker Martin's Instagram