by Colin McDonald | Feb. 11, 2015
The Rio Grande is disappearing. Demand for water is growing as snow packs shrink, rain patterns shift and average temperatures rise faster than they ever have in the past 11,000 years.
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The forecast called for temperatures in the 40s, rain and a 24 mph north wind. The tide was going to turn against us at noon.
The Rio Grande is never a dull place to paddle.
With nine canoes and kayaks ‑ paddled by folks ranging from my brother to people I had never met — we paddled into a headwind that spun the boats as we clawed our way downriver. Ellen Tyma, our host for the last three nights, followed in a Jet Ski to make sure we would make it.
We hugged the banks, which changed from thorn scrub to Gulf Coast prairie to mangroves and, finally, to dunes.
As the river twisted and turned, we hit every compass point. At times, we slid sideways across the water as the wind and our direction lined up. Other times we dug our paddles into the sandy river bottom to get enough traction to move forward.
It felt more like wrestling than paddling.
But we moved downriver. Oyster beds started to appear. The salinity steadily climbed and then spiked too high to be registered with my gear.
A lighthouse, which stands less than half a mile from the mouth of the Rio Grande in Mexico, rose above the horizon.
We could see the spray ripped from the waves by the wind and, finally, a break in the dunes. The Gulf of Mexico sat before us, teaming with birds, as the surf roared.
Where the Rio Grande ends is not exact and I was in a daze trying to understand what was happening. Jenna and I found a current of brown river water heading out and paddled against the wind to stay in its flow.
The water changed from light brown to light green. The waves built up and they threatened to flip the canoe.
We turned and surfed the waves across the river current back to the beach.
I took out the vial of snowmelt I have carried from Stony Pass and waded back into the Gulf. The clear water poured into the brackish foam and was gone.
It’s been decades since snowmelt from the Rockies has reached the Gulf of Mexico here. It was the least I could do to thank the river for such a wonderful ride.
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While making his way to the Gulf of Mexico, Colin will be periodically activating a device that uses satellite technology to share his current location. Use this map to see where he traveled on this day.
| Check-In | Time of Check-In (CST) | Latitude | Longitude |
|---|---|---|---|
| #1 | 9:19 a.m. | 25.95301 | -97.28824 |
| #2 | 10:02 a.m. | 25.95022 | -97.25876 |
| #3 | 11:39 a.m. | 25.95786 | -97.20428 |
| #4 | 12:26 p.m. | 25.96514 | -97.17728 |
| #5 | 12:59 p.m. | 25.95604 | -97.15884 |
| #6 | 1:11 p.m. | 25.95167 | -97.15149 |
| #7 | 1:35 p.m. | 25.95753 | -97.14685 |
| #8 | 1:55 p.m. | 25.95613 | -97.1467 |
| #9 | 2:26 p.m. | 25.95655 | -97.14767 |
To report on and understand the haphazard irrigation system the Rio Grande has become and the changes it is going through, Colin decided the best approach would be to travel the length of the Rio Grande by foot and small boat.
He knew it would give him a unique perspective on a river that few understand. It did require many long days of moving slowly and camping on muddy riverbanks, but Colin likes that sort of thing.
The benefit was it provided access to people who wanted to share their stories and experiences with the Rio Grande. Via Facebook and chance encounters, Colin made instant friends who opened their homes. They provided help from loaning their trucks to their cell phone contact lists to help tell the story of the Rio Grande.
The trip would not have been possible without their help, along with the dedicated assistance of David Lozano, Jason Jones and Daniel Dibona, who drove thousands of miles to get people and boats in place.
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