Memorial Day Weekend Sabine Float Trip

As I headed North in the grey dawn, I worried that I might be the only one at the river and have to turn back, not willing to go it alone. Silly me – when I arrived it appeared as if the Spanish Armada was preparing to invade England. Got my stuff on the beach, no rush as shuttle lady had just left and would be back in 45 minutes or so. But where were my peeps? Not one. Alone in the midst of strangers. Oh well.
The shuttle lady returned and we did that. Boldly I set forth and soon cast my lot with a motley crew of Houstonians, steering clear of the rowdy scouts and church groups. These other renegades were more to my liking. They had a token Englishman among them who soon had us saying, “torch” and “dustbin” and taking afternoon tea.
I was a little bit anxious as my neighbor had told me the Sabine had dangerous undertows and treacherous snags. It soon became clear it was no Selway or Chattooga. No funny looking kids with banjos on the bridge either. Stumps, there were, but easily read and seen. Beaches around every bend. Clear water to cool off in.
At our campsites there were always many hoof prints of feral hogs, which some guy from another group said were dangerous. Bah. What sane hog would come rooting around ten tents and one hammock (which I must have!) and a smoldering campfire and even a dog? We fretted not. However, the sand no-see-ums were vicious.
My gear worked out quite well. It is all either forty years old or brand new, so I attracted the curious for both reasons. Everyone was Ga-Ga over my Ultimate Tegris hybrid. Took 62 years to be the first kid on the block with a new kind of toy, but better late than never.
The weather couldn’t have been better. On the second afternoon, we briefly considered whether to beach it or not, as a storm could be seen in the distance, but since a was around every bend, we persevered. The storm went the other way and we gave thanks.
The third morning, a pair of kingfishers kept pace with me for about a mile or so, making that buzzing call they do so well. A ginormous carp cleared the water near Bayou Anacoco, startling me. And then it was all over, sadly. My reawakened wanderlust has been considerably whetted and I can hardly wait for the next adventure. If for the fact that my kid is at Lamar and not quite off on her own yet, I do believe I would turn full-bore gypsy. Soon I hope.

Phil Rogers