TR of sorts: Texas Flood

[Disclaimer: Not a lot of fishing content, but the power of a Hill
Country river seen firsthand.]

Saturday's weather didn't look promising (%70 chance of t-storms),
but I needed to get some fishing in, so I hit the road early and
headed out to fish the Pedernales River in the P. Falls State Park.
It was a dreary overcast day, but I didn't hit any rain on the way, so
I was hoping I might get some action in between storms.

Even though I don't normally fish there (because it's where all the
tourists head), I went right down to the falls area. I had not been
there since The Big Flood, and I was curious to see what it looked
like. When I got to the overlook, it was almost like looking at a new
river. The falls themselves and the two pools below them were
basically unchanged, but the area below was brand new. Where
previously there had been a narrow channel that wound around some
stands of cypress trees, there is now a wide sandy beach and the
rivers braids through rock and sand creating a series of flats and
tailouts.

I hiked down to the first pool and rigged up with a peacock-bodied
wooly bugger to do a bit of prospecting. This section of the river
isn't considered great fishing, but I used to have good luck on
medium-sized channel cats with an occasional bass thrown in. The
river level was up due to the recent rains we've been having, but it
was still running pretty clear as it crested the falls. Overnight
rain also is usually a good thing out here, as it seems to spur the
catfish to be more active.

Anyhow, I had been casting for maybe five minutes when I heard a
commotion coming from up above the river. At the overlook was a group
of 15-20 kids who apparently were on a fieldtrip. They immediately
headed right down to where I was standing and started running around
rough-housing, tossing rocks in the water, etc. I grabbed my gear and
headed off down below the pools to find another spot, but the kids
merrily followed along.

I led them down Pied-Pier-like to a nice clear beach and then
doubled back and climbed up over some boulders well above the
waterline. As I passed their chaperone coming in the opposite
direction, he asked me if I was "doin' some fishin'?" (Why do people
always feel compelled to ask you that? What else was I likely to be
doing with a 9' flyrod?) I bit my tongue and instead of replying "I
was trying until you let your herd of brats loose", I just mumbled and
nodded my head.

So I hiked back out and went to the trail that leads to my favorite
fishing place. It's only about 20 minutes down the trail, but I
almost never see anyone else down there. By the time I hit the trail
I was calmed down, and I enjoyed the walk through the wildflowers,
deer, cactus, cedar and oak trees. It struck me that things are just
about as green as I've ever seen them in that area. The rains hit at
just the right times this year, and in the muted light of an overcast
day like Saturday, the shades of green looked almost unreal in their
intensity.

When I got down to the river I was happy to see that the level was
up was high as I've seen it in a good while, but was running nice and
clear. There had been some very heavy rains in the Hill Country
overnight, and frankly I was a bit worried about how it would be
running, but at the time I figured I'd gotten lucky.

I headed over to my favorite pool just off the main current and
tied on a black Madame X creation I had tied up on Friday after seeing
quite a few large crickets out and about in recent days. There was
almost no wind at all, the air was damp, but I had dodged the rainfall
so far. Things were looking good and I was in a spot where I was
pretty sure I wouldn't be bothered by a busload of kids.

I fished my Madame X around a stand of some underwater plants, and
was happy to see that it floated well and the rubber legs gave it a
nice action on the water, but I couldn't entice any fish to come up
and give it a try. After about fifteen minutes of casting to various
structure with no luck, I figured I might as well go underwater with
my offerings. I looked through my box and finally settled on an olive
wooly bugger/leech with some flash in the tail and on the sides.

In the time it took me to choose it and tie it on, the sound of the
river had changed. When I looked up it took me a moment to realize
what it was. At first I just thought the wind had picked up, but then
it dawned on me that the level was definitely rising and
chocolate-brown waters from somewhere upstream were heading towards my
calm little section. I wasn't stupid; I know what the rivers here can
do, so I walked back towards the trail where I could get away if it
rose too high. I had heard stories about a 10' wall of water rushing
down this stretch of river, but I had never had the chance to actually
see the river go into flood stage.

It was one of the most amazing things I've ever witnessed. As it
passed me by, I watched the muddy water spread in a distinct line,
like oil on water, until it completely overtook the normally-green
river. Within five minutes, what had been a placid little stream was
a series of dark brown rapids, and where I had been standing to fish
was under at least five feet of water.

I like to think that I have a decent respect for nature, and in
particular, for the power of water, but sometimes you see something
that just leaves you in awe.


Chuck (humbled) Vance

Apologies for the followup to my own post, but I found the
streamflow info for the Pedernales, and it went from ~120 cfs to almost
3,000 cfs on Saturday. Fairly impressive jump, but not as much as the
one for April 5 and 6th, where it went from 92 cfs to over 10,000.


Chuck Vance

Greg Pavlov wrote:

People do that to acknowledge us as fellow human beings
and sometimes to strike up conversations. They aren't
stupid, they're just being friendly.

Most of us were brats once and many of us are the better
for it for being allowed to run loose in someplace other
than a gym or playground.

Ah, you mean like ROFF? :-)

Oh well, thanks for the perspective. I guess SWMBO is right, I am
getting to be a cranky ******* in my old age. :-}


Chuck Vance