I was born and raised in Texas and currently live in the Texas Hill Country, spent some 30 years living in the smack dab middle of Colorado, and have spent a lifetime adventuring and leading others on adventures in many parts of the wild world.
Lightning was striking everywhere, and each time it did, a blindingly bright flash was followed by a deafening crack of thunder. When the weather chaos first started, I’d figured it might be wise to do something about it, but I didn’t. But once the lightning bolts started lighting up individual trees, I sprang into action.
Don’t blame the river
For what happened that day.
It had no choice,
It had no voice.
The same goes for the rain.
Yes, what the Guadalupe River and rain did on July 4th,
Was painful, violent, and extreme.
And because the two followed the only path man left them with,
The destruction was obscene.
Nature only did what nature does:
The sky opened up, and a deluge fell,
On rocky limestone and caliche hills.
The water saturated the meager topsoil,
Then rushed down into the draws,
Pushing everything in its way
Into the creeks, and then the river,
As it headed downhill toward the Gulf.
Now, almost 5 months after the morning of chaos:
I’m thankful because:
The river is now back to its meandering, peaceful self.
And there’s thirst-quenching rain in the forecast.
But I wonder:
“Will the river ever have a new path forward?”
For Jane Ragsdale of Camp Heart O’ the Hills, 1957-2025
I cannot say
That Jane went away,
In the big Flood of ‘25-
Because:
Her smile survives,
I see her sparkling eyes,
The sun is shining brighter,
Good is winning,
Birds are listening,
Things keep improving,
I look before leaping,
People sing more and talk less,
Questions have answers,
Challenges are met without regret,
Foes sit down and discuss,
And life keeps getting better.
Whatever the case,
It’s good to know that her heart will always be home,
Because her home will always be The Heart.
(NOTE: This is for Ron Duke, who rode off down the South Fork of the Guadalupe River near Hunt, Texas early on the morning of July 4, 2025 in his kayak. As far as I know, he was last seen nearing the Gulf of Mexico. Wherever you are, Ron, may you R.I.P)
Ron
Conventional wisdom says
That Ron Duke didn’t survive
The massive flood of ’25.
But he’s never been one to let convention
Get in his way.
Through the years
He was often heard to say:
“The best time to kayak this river
Is when it’s flooding.”
This may be what actually happened:
In the dark of the morning
On the Fourth of July of ‘25,
Ron was startled awake by pounding rain.
The sound was music to his ears once he put his hearing aids in.
Back in ’87, he’d stayed in bed and listened to that same song,
For a little too long.
And that’d been a mistake.
So this time around, he had a new plan.
With the help of a rush of adrenaline,
He crabwalked himself out of bed,
And made his way down the outdoor leaning stairway,
Of his house on stilts.
Then, he walked across the road,
To his combination
Kayak/canoe/outdoor gear/chainsaw/mountain bike/woodstove/water advocacy shop.
With the water coming his way,
And no time to waste,
He made a try at haste.
He moved, not dragged, a kayak to the parking lot,
Grabbed a paddle, put on his old life jacket,
Got his thermos of Community Coffee,
A box of coffee cake that he’d fairly recently purchased at Walmart,
A new pack of Marlboro’s,
And the unread July issue of the Geographic.
Then, he climbed into the boat
Just as the water set him afloat.
And so,
He rode the rising South Fork
In his kayak toward the Gulf.
Through the cypress
And the cedars,
Past the boulders
And the bluffs.
Lightning flashing,
Thunder rumbling
Sweet smell of raindrops in the air.
He didn’t hurry,
No need to worry.
‘Cause he was on a river,
And headed home.
If there’s a Heaven, and assuming that’s where I go, I hope there are:
Bluebird skies to fill my eyes,
Brilliant stars to light the nights,
Unknown trails to touch my feet,
Mountaintops to hope to reach.
Lot’s of trees to fill the forests,
Golden Trout to take my flies,
Sketchy ledges to try to ride,
Good friends to walk beside.
Open spaces just to wander,
No time to waste or squander,
Stiff breezes to nudge me onward,
No false summits to tease me forward.
Silent places to clear my head,
Smells of flowers to fill my nose,
New horizons to give me hope,
Boundless vistas to help me cope.
Solid rock to hold onto,
Cooing doves to listen to,
Flowing rivers to float my boat,
Roaring rapids to hope to float.
.
Massive glaciers to ski across,
Mountain streams to need to cross,
Flat spots to pitch my tent,
Stacks of rocks to block the wind,
Deep crevasses to blow my mind,
Smokeless campfires to warm my spine,
New treasures to try to find,
No good times to leave behind.
Messin’ with a Red Ant,
Drawin’ pictures in the dirt,
Swattin’ at a gnat,
And takin’ off my shirt.
Lookin’ at a cloud,
Whistlin’ out of tune,
Thinkin’ about tomorrow,
And wonderin’ if it’s noon.
Damin’ up the creek,
Wishin’ for a flood,
Hopin’ for dessert,
And playin’ in the mud.
Watchin’ buzzards soar,
Freezin’ in the snow.
Trippin’ on a root,
And seein’ what’s below.
Hammerin’ rocks together,
Tastin’ leaves and grass,
Livin’ in the moment,
And sittin’ on my ass.
Hearin’ Coyotes yippin’,
Puttin’ band-aids on my knee,
Tastin’ Honeysuckle,
And fightin’ with a tree,
Crossin’ on a log,
Bangin’ with a stick,
Gettin’ stung by wasps,
And feelin’ kinda sick.
Laughin’ at the squirrels,
Swimmin’ with the Perch,
Dryin’ in the Sun,
And headin’ off to search.
Burnin’ up the daylight,
Avoidin’ all the Ticks,
Yellin’ cause I can,
And fiddlin’ with some sticks.
Screamin’ at a boulder,
Listenin’ to the day,
Runnin’ from a bug,
And ponderin’ what to say.
Walkin’ without shoes,
Forgettin’ things I know,
Rememberin’ what just happened,
And rowin’ with the flow.
Drinkin’ from a pond,
Witchin’ with a stick,
Rollin’ down the hill,
And floatin’ in the crick.
Climbin’ on a mountain,
Raisin’ up the sail,
Breathin’ in the air,
And followin’ a new trail.
Leanin’ on a tree,
Ponderin’ sticker burrs,
Rattlin’ the bushes,
And screamin’ if it stirs.
Soakin’ up the mornin’,
Celebratin’ what went right,
Smellin’ all the roses,
Not frettin’ about the night.
Fillin’ up the moments,
Soakin’ in the day,
Savorin’ ‘round the corner,
Goin’ where I may.
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