Outdoor Adventure Articles - The Bull Catchers by Jim Sayles

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The Devil’s River 2009 :

      My nephew, King (“Catfish”) Pugh, and I had been talking about and planning a canoe trip down the Devil’s River for several years, and it finally came together this April. King’s friend, (“Minnesota”) Steve Timm, a master sawyer from Minnesota, and my son, Trey (“Griz”) Sayles, joined us for a 48 mile float, push-pull, portage, paddle like crazy against the wind, adrenaline pumping expedition down what is arguably the most demanding and the most pristine, crystal clear river in Texas.

       King brought his new Bell 17 foot carbon fiber canoe. I had Buck McMullen’s cumbersome, old 17 foot Alumacraft, and Trey was in an 11 foot rental kayak. We camped the first night at a private “campground” (weed-eated spots with no toilets or trash receptacles) at Bakers Crossing, and it was evident when we loaded the canoes the next morning that King, our master chef and supply sergeant, had over-prepared.

       “We look like a ‘map the Nile River expedition’,” said Trey as King’s buddy, Steve, whose favorite canoe trip is the upper Missouri River, shook his head in agreement and insisted that King leave his battery powered air conditioner and recliner behind.

       There were many times when we were in danger of drowning, serious injury, sunburn, or snakebite, but we were never in danger of not having enough to eat. Prime t-bones an inch and a quarter thick cooked over pecan wood coals accompanied by salad and campfire potatoes is not exactly “roughing it” when it comes to eating.

       No one can compare to “Catfish” King Pugh when it comes to campfire cooking, and we were going to eat well regardless of what else happened.

       One night, camped on a flat rock shelf next to the river where we could not put up a shelter tarp, King and his helpers cooked fried Mexican quail, field peas, campfire potatoes, and salad in a wild rainstorm, accentuated with brilliant displays of lightning, while the old man waited, warm and dry in his little tent, to be served a gourmet meal.

       Although we read as much as we could about the river, the rapids, and other advice from previous travelers, we had to make our own decisions about how to tackle the rapids or negotiate the vast, complicated mazes of shallows obscured by grass islands with grass more than eight feet high.

       On one set of class II rapids that we are now referring to as “the devil’s toenail”, King and Steve entered the rapid and were in it with no choice but to run it and hope for the best. They made it through, and then they climbed back up the rocks to warn us. Trey went for it, too, and made it through, but the Alumacraft, loaded to the hilt with gear, and powered by a single paddler, would never have made it.

       I suggested that we unload it and portage down beside the rapid, but Trey and Steve were confident they could line the loaded canoe through the treacherous, waist deep torrent that split right and left around the toenail rock itself.

       Disaster. The bow of the canoe started down one side, but the stern was picked up by the current going down the other. Trey made a heroic effort to push the stern back in line with the bow, but it was too late, and the canoe quickly took on water, pinned by thousands of pounds of water pressure to the devil’s toenail itself.

       I didn’t see any way for us to get the canoe off, but King insisted that we do so, even if we had to cut the canoe down the middle to get it off. Trey, thinking more practically, cut down a small tree with his folding saw, and, after removing all the gear, the four of us levered the canoe, inch by inch, up out of the water.

       What a relief to see it get carried down the rapid to the swirling pool below, badly wounded, but still floating.

       Trey stomped the canoe back into shape, and some 5 minute epoxy and Gorilla Tape were used to patch the split in the aluminum skin. Gorilla Tape proved to be a very handy addition to the expeditionary supplies. I broke one side of my kayak paddle and used epoxy and Gorilla Tape to fix it. The paddle endured the rest of the trip without incident, and is in my garage waiting to be used again. We used Gorilla Tape to mend fishing rods, repair rips in nylon tarps, and hold together just about anything that needed holding together.

       Although none of us fished as much as we would have liked, we caught perch, smallmouth bass, largemouth bass, hybrid bass, and catfish. King, known as “Catfish” because of the unique catfishing techniques he uses to catch them on the Clear Fork of the Brazos, used a river cane pole with a hook, split shot weight, and hot dog meat for bait to entice several catfish out of the deeper holes in the rapids while we waited at one of the only outfitter take-out points along the river.

       We were not waiting to be taken out, though, we were waiting for the outfitter to return with some ice so King could have ice in his Jack and Coke.

       Dolan Falls, with no public access other than by canoe or kayak down the river, was awe inspiring, and, after portaging around the falls, we dove from the rocks and played to our hearts content.

       We had seen no other canoers on the upper river, until a group of scout masters who had camped at the Nature Conservancy’s cabin with hot showers and real beds, floated in behind us at the outfitter’s takeout. And, below that takeout we saw no other canoers.

       At times it seemed that we were in a timeless land where Indian cave shelters, pristine, un-polluted waters, and the absence of other people, transported our souls to a better time on planet Earth.

       Low water conditions and high headwinds every day made progress through the frequent rapids and shallows as well as through the long, deep pools of emerald green waters difficult and exasperating, but the rewards of being on this amazing river and of strong, male companionship under trial, made it all worthwhile.



                 “Indian Jim” below Dolan Falls                                                         “Catfish” cooking breakfast

“Catfish” Pugh with largemouth bass hung on the Devil’s Toenail

“Minnesota” and “Catfish” through the chute                                      lining the canoes through shallow rapids


“Catfish” and “Minnesota Steve” lining canoe                                               lunch break


                  emerald green waters                                                “Catfish” Pugh swimming at Dolan Falls

                                          flat rock camp                                                                                          into the rapids

   t-bones on the grill   a “visitor” in the tent


                         bent pecan tree camp                                                        Indian cave

                  “Griz” runs the Devil’s Toenail                                                     the tumbler at Dolan Falls (these are 200 lb
                                                                                                                               boulders, not small rocks)


“Minnesota Steve” engineers smooth crossing                         “Minnesota” Steve Timm and “Catfish” Pugh
                                                                                                                at Rough Canyon Marina takeout

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