Lost Maples: Sometimes Green is a Fall Color

The state of Texas is known for many things, but having beautiful fall colors isn't generally numbered among them. One place that bucks that reputation is the Lost Maples State Natural Area, where the ancient stands of big tooth maples growing in the canyons often put on quite a show.

This year the cold weather arrived too late for my scheduled visit. Things were still green and growing when I arrived with no leaf turn to be seen anywhere.

Oh well! For my money, green's a pretty color too and I thoroughly enjoyed my visit. I arrived early while the morning was still quite cool and hiked both the east and west trails, taking in the views from the bottoms of the canyons and the tops of the hills.

I highly recommend hiking this park in either the spring or the fall. And if you time your fall trip just right, just maybe you'll catch the maples in their full glory.

More Pictures from Lost Maples

Blown on the Bayou

I think Mother Nature has it out for me this fall. First, she chased me from Lake Raven with clouds and cold winds during my first paddle of the season. Then she lulled me into complacency with the return of a few weeks of summer-like weather. But after I scheduled this paddle to Pickett's Bayou for my kayaking meetup group, she decided to hurl the first strong cold front of the season at southeast Texas.

The cold dry air started blowing in on the night before the paddle and the RSVP list quickly evaporated. The prospect of a low temperature in the the forties coupled with strong north winds was just a bit too much for most of our members. By launch time, only three of us remained.

Yes, the morning air was cold. And yes, the north wind was blowing. But otherwise it was an amazingly beautiful day. The sun was shining brightly from a flawless blue sky.

The paddle south was uneventful up to the point where we reached Jac's Island. We took the fork toward the right, thinking we'd find a narrow channel there which we could follow toward the Old River. We learned that satellite imagery can sometimes be deceiving, as we quickly ran out of water and were forced to turn back.

Instead we took the left fork, passed Jac's Island, and continued southward toward the narrows. As we entered the narrows, we noticed a moderately strong current pulling us forward. Upon exiting the south end of the narrows and reaching the Cutoff to the Trinity, we found ourselves faced with a small waterfall at the pipeline crossing. The strong north winds associated with the cold front had pushed enough water out of Trinity Bay that the bayou was slowly being drained.

We'd harbored some thoughts of continuing into the cutoff and beyond, but there wasn't any clear portage path around this unexpected waterfall, and we weren't confident the narrows would remain passable if the water level dropped much more. We'd run out of water once again!

We retraced our path through the narrows and then landed briefly on Jac's Island. It gave us a chance to stretch our legs a bit and examine the animal tracks in the sand. After a brief exploration, we returned to our kayaks and headed for the launch. Since the afternoon sun had warmed the air a bit, the headwinds had lost their bite and we made it back in good spirits.

While it may not have been the perfect day for a paddle, I can handle as many imperfect days like this as Mother Nature wants to give me!


More Pictures from Pickett's Bayou

Fall Arrives at Lake Raven

While I thoroughly enjoy my summer excursions, there's no denying the heat and humidity that characterize most paddles along the gulf coast in the summer. By the time fall arrives, I'm generally ready for a change.

The temperature was comfortably warm as we headed toward Huntsville on this Saturday afternoon. We exited I-45 just south of town, turned west on the Huntsville State Park access road, and soon disappeared into a sea of pines.

The park was hopping, with the usual compliment of campers and boaters being joined a group of mountain bikers there for a race. We made our way down to the boat ramp, unloaded, and shoved off into the relatively uncrowded waters of Lake Raven.

The first couple of hours of our paddle were lovely as we explored the western lobe of the lake. We hoped to spot an alligator if we could. We couldn't. But with the peace and quite of the lake broken only by the calls of birds from the surrounding woods, it was difficult to be too upset about that or anything else. As we circled the lake, we nosed our way into various little inlets. In many of them we disturbed small gatherings of ducks or other water birds. In one we ran across a huge swarm of hornets that had taken over a wood duck nesting box. By the time we got close enough to tell what they were, they were starting to look agitated. Needless to say, we made a hasty retreat.

As we made our way over to the eastern side of the lake, Fall started taking itself a bit more seriously. The clouds thickened and the wind picked up out of the northwest. Soon the temperature had dropped 10 or 15 degrees and we were paddling into a cold headwind that was raising goosebumps all over us. A short time later we reached a unanimous decision that we'd paddled enough and headed back to the warmth of my car.

I'm glad you're here, Fall, but next time we visit I'm going to dress a bit more warmly!

Closing out Summer on Luces Bayou

What a summer it's been for kayaking! The weather has been warm, but not as scorching as last year. And since we've been blessed with more rain, there's been much more water to paddle in the local lakes and streams.

Along the way I've gotten to revisit all of my favorite destinations from last year and I've discovered a few new ones like Luces Bayou. So it's fitting that I spent the last Saturday of summer paddling its waters with one special kindred spirit.

It was overcast and relatively cool on Saturday morning when we reached Ponderosa Marina. The calm and quiet were in stark contrast to my last visit when both the Houston Canoe Club and Houston Kayaking Meetup group were arriving at about the same time. We unloaded our boats, shared a quick breakfast, and then headed upstream.

Other than a handful of fisherman we had the bayou mostly to ourselves. Unless you count the herons. And the egrets. And the kingfishers. And the woodpeckers. And . . . well, you get the idea.

As the morning progressed and we made our way farther upstream, the clouds burned off and the day became quite warm. Now and then we'd pause near the cypress-shaded banks, enjoying the cooler air and soaking in the quiet -- interrupted only by the occasional call of a bird.

Eventually we turned our boats and made our way back downstream at a leisurely pace. We stopped briefly at the local "nude beach" [PHOTO REDACTED] and then finally returned to the marina.

We loaded the boats but somehow weren't quite ready to bid farewell to the bayou. As we lingered, we snacked on some cool slices of apple that tasted especially sweet in the warmth of that late summer afternoon. It was a perfect last paddle to punctuate a wonderful summer on the water.

More Pictures from Luces Bayou

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