It was Wednesday, day five of my trip to Big Bend National Park. I looked on the big calendar I had hanging on the wall. It had everything we were doing.

Mostly it was just stuff like “Explore BBNP.” But today was special. There was nothing much on it: no back-road drives, no hotel moving, or anything like that.

There was only one thing marked in on that day. “Big Bend River Trip.”

Oh, yes. The special feature of the trip. We would be canoeing inside the Rio Grande / Santa Elena Canyon. Three miles up the river, and three miles back.

We drove over to the river company (it was called Big Bend River Trips, coincidentally) and met our tour guide, John, who drove up in a big truck.

Behind the truck were four canoes and bags of stuff on a trailer. We all piled into the truck and were on the road.

After quite a bit of chatting, we arrived at the parking lot of the Santa Elena Canyon.

Matt and his mom (who had come with us on our trip) along with my dad and I were given a simple task: bring a canoe to the shore.

It took us ten embarrassing minutes to get ourselves down to the beach. Meantime, John held another canoe in one hand like it was a feather and watched us struggle.

When we finally arrived at the shore, I realized just how skinny the Rio Grande was. The other side was so close a few paddles would get us across. The water was moving very slowly, too. So slow that a illegal immigrant could swim right across… if he scaled the two-hundred feet canyon walls first.

After John taught us how to get in and out of a canoe, how to row correctly, and how to turn around, we were ready to “hit the river”.

When we first got into the river, it was surprisingly even SLOWER than I expected. One had to sit and wait patiently while the Rio Grande mustered its power before it pushed ever so slowly like an old man.

But I wasn’t going to sit and wait patiently. For the first time, I was actually  in the Rio Grande. This was like sitting on a bench in Disney World!

My dad in the rear controlling directions and speed, I rowed hard and eventually began racing Matt, who was on the other canoe.

Finally, when Matt began to drop behind and rest, I relaxed, slowed down, and let my hands run through the water. It felt cool to the touch, and my fingers wavered as the water pushed it backwards.

Somewhere on the first mile (it was three miles in total), we stopped and had a snack break. John’s bags and bags of stuff were filled with food, I realized. I tried some corn chips and some potato chips from his cooler, along with fruit punch.

When we got back into the canoe, I noted the beautiful scenery surrounding us. The grace of the canyon walls were simply amazing. (picture at beginning of post)

As we stopped for yet another time (some more potato chips) on the Mexico side of the Rio Grande, John pointed out to us that we were slacking behind on the schedule. He suggested we combine both families into one canoe.

We left one canoe tied to the bushes and took off, John leading ahead, us following with Matt’s mom in the front, my dad in the back, and Matt and I in the middle. Four people was a bit squished in one canoe.

Then we came across a narrow part. I realized just how strong water was as we began drifting backwards. My dad began to paddle harder, and I began to help along.

Soon everyone was all paddling with all their might, and from the direction we were paddling at mostly, we swerved from the left to right and back to the left on the river.

I was the first to notice that in all our efforts, I was still seeing the same triangle-shaped rock on my left and the fuzzy fern to the right. We weren’t moving!

But how could that be possible? The answer struck me hard: the water was pushing us backwards as hard as we were paddling forward. And going upstream made it worse.

John hollered at us. He told my dad to get out and push the boat. My dad got out and grabbed a rope tied to the stern and pulled. His shoes made squeezing noises as he stepped.

When we had finally endured half a minute of watching my dad’s contorted face while he pulled with all his might, we stopped on the very island that had made the Rio Grande narrow in the first place. It took up half of the entire space that the river should have had.

After a quick restroom break, (and maybe someone saw me sneak some potato chips from his cooler, but that was an illusion) we were back on the river. In my happiness that we had got now that the river was now slow again and we were actually moving, I made up a variation of Row, Row, Row your Boat:

Paddle, paddle, paddle your canoe,

Roughly down the Santa-Elena-Canyon!

Merrily, happily, joyfully, tiredly,

Life is just a companion.

I marveled at how I had got canyon to rhyme with companion, and I rowed harder to the rhythm.

A slightly narrower part came, but my dad was ready. He hopped out and pushed us up. As he got in, however, he fell and made a huge splash that lurched us forward.

When he got back in, he was dripping wet. Everyone was laughing at him, and he was shivering now.

My dad smiled along, and acted like a good sport, unlike me sometimes. He laughed along with us and we were all joking. We were having such a good time on the Rio Grande.

to be continued… very soon.