Armand Bayou Delivers, but Where Are the Alligators?

The unspoiled surroundings and plentiful wildlife of Armand Bayou's upper section have made it a favorite paddling destination for as long as I've had my kayak. This weekend's paddle was true to form, with one notable exception.

After launching from Bay Area Park shortly after sunrise, we headed upstream with the goal of paddling until we ran out of bayou. The surface of the water was relatively calm except where it was disturbed by the leaping of mullet and skittering splashes of startled minnows. In the shallows, herons, egrets, and other wading birds patiently scanned the waters for their prey, while ospreys did the same from the treetops.

As the bayou nears Red Bluff road, the channel forks. Straight ahead, the bayou crosses under the road and becomes ditch-like in character. But to the left, the channel begins to narrow and wind. During past paddles, fallen trees have always blocked the left channel not too far beyond the fork, but this visit brought a pleasant surprise. The one fallen tree that completely blocked the bayou had enough air space on the right to allow a paddler to squeeze beneath it. Beyond that point the bayou was a veritable obstacle course of partially submerged trees, but always with a path through for the careful paddler.

We soon passed the farthest point I'd reached before and continued weaving our way through the narrow shaded channel. We covered about four miles and crossed under a set of high voltage power lines before an obstruction we couldn't readily pass forced us to turn around. After "reloading" one kayaker who ended up in the water after a close encounter with a spider, we headed back toward the launch.

One thing we didn't see during this paddle was an alligator. And I didn't see one during my previous paddle on the Old River, or the one before that at Pickett's Bayou, or the one before that at Luces Bayou, or even the one before that at Sheldon Lake. In fact, I don't think I've run across an alligator all summer. That seems odd, since these are all places I would expect to see them. Maybe I've just been unlucky? Maybe it's because I've typically been paddling with larger groups? I'm not sure, but I hope the pattern won't continue indefinitely. Seeing alligators swimming the channel or sunning on the bank provides a welcome connection to the wild!

EDIT: I'd no sooner posted this blog entry than I noticed one of my fellow paddlers did get a picture of an alligator floating suspended in the water with only eyes and nose showing. Apparently the vanguard of the group got a fairly long look at him before he finally gave up the staring contest and submerged. So, maybe all is as it should be!

Revisiting the Calcasieu

  

By the time the Calcasieu River reaches the city of Lake Charles, man has tamed much of its natural character. The banks of Lake Charles proper host a casino, a civic center, a marina, and a collection of grand homes. And the river itself has turned tidal and brackish, courtesy of the deep water ship channel which follows its course all the way down to the Gulf of Mexico. The fishing here can be good, but for speckled trout and red-fish rather than bass. But not too far upstream, at places like Sam Houston Jones State Park, the more natural character of the river still shines through.

The park is a great place to picnic, to feed the ducks, or to wander the wooded trails through glades of long leaf pines and various hardwoods. Visits here were a staple of my childhood. Often we'd come by boat, launching at Lake Charles, passing the Salt Water Barrier, and then following the cypress-lined channel upstream to the park.

On my most recent visit to Louisiana we made it back up to the park for the first time in many years. Time appears to have largely healed the scars left by Hurricane Rita and the park was green and vibrant.

Just inside the park entrance we saw a cotton-tailed rabbit foraging beside of the road, unconcerned by our presence. Next a deer wandered out to look us over - apparently looking for a handout.

Once we finished a driving loop through the park we left the car behind and walked a trail around the pond. The nutria and alligators hid from us, but we saw a few wading birds in the pond and numerous squirrels and birds in the surrounding woods.

After the walk we settled down for a picnic by the river. A squirrel arrived on the scene, hoping to capitalize on any unwanted (or just unattended) dainties. A collection of love bugs and ants tried to crash the party but we did our best to un-invite them. By the time lunch was finished, we decided the occasional hints of breeze weren't enough to compensate for the growing heat and we packed up for the air conditioned drive home. Still I was glad to revisit an old friend, even on a rather toasty late summer day.

In With The Old

At this point in my life, I have no idea how many times I have traveled Interstate 10 between Houston and the Louisiana border. I was raised in Lake Charles while my grandparents were still living in Houston, so that stretch of road was intimately familiar to the family station wagon. Now that I call Houston home and my parents remain in Louisiana, my RAV4 has traced the same path in reverse countless times. And on every trip, about an hour east of Houston, I have crossed a wide bridge bearing the legend Old and Lost Rivers.

In moments of idle fancy I have wondered which part was old and which was lost, but the flashes of curiosity never went any farther -- until I bought my kayak. Now I see the area with different eyes. The surrounding Trinity River basin is a natural treasure with countless options for paddling. Over the centuries, the Trinity has meandered over miles of bottom-land on its way to the bay. As it has wandered, it has left behind a maze of bayous, sloughs, and old river channels like the Old and the Lost.

I have already already written about my paddles in the Trinity National Wildlife Refuge at Champion Lake. This weekend I finally had the chance to to get better acquainted with the Old River.

We launched our kayaks at the Old River bridge on FM1409 and headed slowly upstream. The water was placid except for the occasional roll of a gar. The banks were lined with cypress, pecan and other hardwoods, often with an understory of palmetto. There were occasional signs of development: a ranch, a few houses around a golf course, a few pipeline crossings. But mostly there were heaping helpings of peace and beauty.

As we continued upstream, the channel slowly narrowed and the welcome canopy of trees closed in overhead. After a little over three miles we turned back toward the launch and enjoyed the scenery a second time on the return trip.

On some cooler day I still want to explore the area downstream section. And then of course there's the Lost River. And Lake Charlotte.  And . . .

More Pictures from the Old River

Seeking a Little Refuge on a Scorching Summer Day

I have been plotting a return to the Trinity National Wildlife Refuge since my first visit last year. At that time the drought of 2011 had already taken its toll on Champion Lake but we had a wonderful paddle on Pickett's Bayou on the last cool Saturday in May.

While I knew an August weekend was unlikely to be even remotely cool, I wanted to see Pickett's Bayou again and paddle Champion Lake for the first time.

The day started out warm and progressed rapidly to hot, relieved slightly by an occasional breeze and patches of shade along the bayou's banks. The water level in the bayou was a bit higher than on my last visit but otherwise the paddle south through the hardwood forest of the refuge had the same lovely character.

As we continued south past the sand bar and approached the Cut Off, the bayou narrowed and the trees provided a welcome canopy overhead. And we weren't the only ones who seemed to like the area. A whole colony of banana spiders had spun webs across the channel above our heads. A bit surprisingly, we also found that we were paddling against a current as we proceeded south.

Once we reached the Cut Off, we turned east toward the Trinity River. We found the gate closed at the the Corp of Engineers' "Structure A", but a fair amount of water was still pouring through, thus providing the current we paddled against coming down. We took the closed gate as a sign and turned around. We started back toward the launch with a respectable current helping us along until the bayou widened again.

It was approaching noon before everyone was back on dry land. By then, the heat had taken its toll on the group's enthusiasm for more paddling. Some packed up and headed out, while a few of us gathered in the shade for a picnic lunch.

By the time lunch was over, only two of us remained to take a look at Champion Lake. I had hopeful visions of gliding through the shady groves of submerged cypress trees but it wasn't meant to be. While the lake has plenty of water, it has been taken over by various types of vegetation. The only open water we could find was in the largely unshaded area of Big Caney Creek on the northeast side of the launch. We paddled until we ran out of water and then had to concede defeat. I fear that a full exploration of Champion Lake is going to have to wait until next spring!

More Pictures From the Trinity National Wildlife Refuge

Lake Conroe: A Visit To Wildwood Shores

The weekend brought the chance to visit a new area of Lake Conroe. This time we launched our kayaks along Stubblefield Lake Road and paddled south. We followed the old river channel as it made its winding way through the upper section of the lake bed. Eventually the channel reached slightly deeper waters and the lake opened up before us.

We turned east and made our way over to the only development on this section of the lake, the aptly named Wildwood Shores. After entering via a drainage culvert, we explored the canals of the subdivision and the lower section of East Sandy Creek before making the return trip to Stubblefield.

More Pictures From Lake Conroe

Lake Conroe: Cagle to Stubblefield

The key attraction of the northern section of Lake Conroe is the scenery of the Sam Houston National Forest which surrounds it. The plan for today was to launch at the Cagle Recreation Area, paddle up to the lake's northern edge, and then continue up the river channel to the launch near Stubblefield Lake. We shoved off from Cagle under an overcast sky a little after eight in the morning. A light breeze was in our faces as we turned north, passed under the FM1375 bridge, and crossed over to the west side of the lake. 

As we followed the shoreline northward, the sights and sounds of civilization began to fade away. The sounds of cars crossing the bridge were replaced by the calls of birds: the irritated croak of a blue heron as we disturbed his fishing, the cheerful song of a male cardinal perched near the edge of the lake, the trill of a pileated woodpecker deep in the woods. The morning clouds began burning away, leaving behind a clear blue sky and bright sunshine.

Once we reached the northernmost section of the lake, the shore became lined with a band of rattlebushes, a legacy of last year's drought. With its low point last year being almost 6 feet below today's level, much of the lake bed in this area was exposed and hospitable for growth. As we continued forward, the rattlebushes closed in and the open water disappeared completely.

We knew that the deeper and presumably unobstructed channel of the West Fork was nearby, but how could we get to it? One option was to backtrack and see if we could find the channel entrance on the east side of the lake, in the direction of Wildwood Shores. But retreat is always bitter. Instead we looked around until we found a spot where the rattlebush thicket was less dense and there was a hint of open water in the distance. From there we set off "cross country" through the bushes using a combination of push-polling and dragging ourselves from bush to bush -- all while being showered with bits of leaves, seed pods, and the occasional spider.

Then suddenly we were through into the open waters of the West Fork. After that it was an easy paddle up to Stubblefield Lake. We picked a shady spot on the shore to relax for a bit and eat a picnic lunch. Thus fortified, we returned to the water. We dodged the ever present fishing lines and crossed under the bridge at Stubblefield Lake Road to continue upstream. We'd only gone about a half mile more when the warmth of the afternoon overwhelmed our collective sense of adventure. We turned back to the launch where we found a group of butterflies were waiting to welcome us.

More Pictures from Lake Conroe

Cruising the Shaded Waters of Luces Bayou

After hearing good things about Luces Bayou from people in my paddling group, I finally got a chance to visit. It proved to be a great place to paddle on a warm summer day. The bayou is fairly wide at our launch point at Ponderosa Marina. From there you can either paddle downstream toward Lake Houston or upstream toward the bayou's headwaters.

We chose the upstream option and found ourselves in a gradually narrowing channel heavily shaded by cypress trees. We paddled beneath a couple of bridges and past a few houses and camps, but overall the setting is very natural and unspoiled. After paddling about three and a half miles, the bayou was obstructed by some broken concrete, an old metal culvert, and some fallen trees. We decided that was the right time to turn around, but I'll definitely be coming back.