I arrived back in Laredo last night after a remarkable solo trip from La Linda down to Langtry, and quite frankly (this is an understatement), I am very happy to be alive right now. I'm spending the day beginning the long process of replacing documents and keys which sit at the bottom of the river below the Weir Dam. 

I'm writing to you immediately because in one of the things I wrote which you have posted on your website, I say that boaters can run the Weir Dam without a scout at all but the lowest water levels. Two days ago, I was nearly the first drowning victim of my own bad advice.

Yes, I have run the Weir Dam without a scout approximately 15 times, but I had never run it at the high water level I experienced on the evening of August 6th. The IBWC reported the level at about 2900 cfs the next morning, but 13 hours before, when I had my near death experience, the water was up -- I'm estimating here -- to 3500 or higher.  At this water level, the reversal below the damn is a death trap!

There is a cheat route right along the Mexican shore, but I didn't discover it until I had churned hopelessly in the mess at the bottom of the dam for ten interminable minutes. If I had been in a canoe, I would be dead right now. 

Luckily, I was able to keep the raft from tipping by staying perpendicular to the dam, but it was a monumental struggle. I knew immediately that if I tipped I would drown, so rather than trying to fight my way out, I spent several minutes trying to get myself 'comfortable' with the unenviable task of keeping the boat straight as the water see-sawed me back and forth in sickening 'whooshes'. Finally, I figured out that my only chance for escape was to inch the boat toward the shore. Each time the backflow would push me backwards to the bottom of the dam, I would cut over a foot or two and then straighten the raft just before I hit the down river flow again. Foot by foot, I edged over to the Mexican side. It would be difficult to overstate how terrifying this exercise was.

In the end, I lucked out and reached the cheat route. I consider myself very lucky that all I lost was my camcorder, my wallet, my keys, and my documentation of the trip, the pages of notes and two disposable cameras. Everything else I had tied in.

On a more positive note, I had a fabulous trip. I continue to be amazed that people don't run the Lower Canyons in the summertime, especially now that it is the only season when you can get high flows. Sure it's hot, but with the high flows, you can make your miles early and then late. Plus, for those with inflatables, the rapids are ideal during the flows you often encounter during the rainy season.

Andy Kurie drove my gear down to the river at Heath Canyon at 3:30 on August 2nd. When he saw how much the flow had increased in the four hours since he had last looked at the river, he excitedly predicted, "you're going to have a great trip with all this water!"

I made 14 miles that first evening, much of it in a rain storm which cooled off the afternoon. 

The second day I reached Hot Springs and saw firsthand that the rapid is much of the way to reforming itself at the main drop. I remembered that I had been there just over three years ago two days after the inflow from San Rocendo Canyon had leveled the steep drop. At that time, buzzards were feeding on dozens of dead catfish which had been caught in the backflow up the
canyon.

Usually, I don't camp at Hot Springs except in the summer. And this time -- for once! -- there weren't any cattle. I set up my tent right next to the main pool and spent the evening soaking my feet (as I sat in the tent) and watching the stars. 

Due to the high flows, I ran both Madisons, Panther Canyon, and San Francisco Canyon the next day and still had time for a very long shade break below Lower Madison. I reached an island camp just below that canyon at mile 708 which I believe you named Big Thicket Voyagers Canyon. 

The following day I paddled down to Dudley's place and spent much of the hottest part of the day stretched out on his antique camp furniture. Then as the worst of the heat passed, I went downriver another 10 miles to a beautiful ledge camp I use in the summer (and only the summer because it's too difficult to access at lower flows). 

During that night, the river came up several feet right to the base of my ledge, and I used this rise in the river to boat the many long turns between Indian Creek and the Weir Dam. In the winter, this stretch takes me three days. With the high flows, I made it in 10 hours, and that includes a three hour shade/nap stop at the Dingler's cabin at Bear Canyon. 

Just less than 100 hours after I left Andy Kurie, I was at the Weir Dam, and honestly, I wasn't in a hurry. Usually, the summer trip is a race against the melting ice but this time, I felt like I was taking it very leisurely.

After my misadventure at the Weir Dam, I camped at another ledge camp I often use which is about three miles below the dam.  The next morning I paddled to the take-out at Langtry, a distance of about 13 or 14 miles, which I covered in a little less than four hours, again without much of a paddling effort.

A new problem presented itself. Since I had lost my money and credit cards at the Weir Dam, I had to get a loan in order to have the gasoline to drive back to Laredo. Fortunately, I had a spare key in the car. I was counting on my good friend Pete Billings who lives close to the take-out for the loan, but he wasn't home. Feeling a little desparate, I approached Mike Gavlik at the cafe in Langtry, and he immediately gave me more money than I needed to get home.

Then I stopped in to see Emilio Hinojosa (who I am now using for the shuttle since Ted Thayer hasn't been very regular about returning phone calls) and he too offered me money and food. 

I'm beginning to think that between guys like Andy Kurie at the top end and Pete Billings, Mike Gavlik, Emilio Hinojosa, and Clay Dingler at the bottom end, the appeal of my solo trips has taken an ironic twist. Seeing people is now as much a joy of the trip as the river.

And in that spirit, let me close with a funny story about my "fame" as a solo boater among the Mexicans who ranch the Lower Canyons. Every time I have seen a Mexican guy in all these trips, I've offered him Tecate beer (which I always carry in excess). The final morning of my trip, I met two ranchers about 8 miles before Langtry. They happened to be working in a grove of mesquite where I ordinarily harvest firewood. So I pulled in to chat with them.

One of the guys said he knew of another guy who often boated solo down through there, and he told me quite seriously that this "other guy" was from Laredo, Texas and he travelled in a boat similar to mine. In fact, he boasted, he had even met him a couple years ago and the guy from Laredo had given him six cold Tecate beers with limes.

I said: "I don't believe you."

He said: "No, Señor, I swear that it's true."

Laughing, I replied: "But I only gave you four of them!"

So I gave him 12 this time (since I had seen nobody else) and I told him: "but when you tell the story this time, please say I only gave you 8."