Pictured is a Guadalupe River scene on a happier day. The river draws vacationers from all over Texas and beyond to swim, fish, camp, canoe, or just sit in the river as one is pictured doing. One mother now living in another state sent her daughters to Camp Mystic so they could have the Texas experience she had. It wasn’t to be. Donations are being accepted to aid the many that suffered losses. (Photo by John Jefferson).

The River has provided me myriad cherished memories.

Recollections of the recent heartbreaking Fourth of July tragedy will also haunt me — as

it will for more than a hundred grieving families.

Some will understandably shy away from the river, trying to forget. But it’s not the river’s

fault. It was just doing what it was supposed to do — carry rainwater runoff to the sea.

John Jefferson

I first learned about the Guadalupe floods at age 10 at my grandmother’s home on the

river west of Seguin.

One morning, something was different. The usually wide, green river that I adored had

shrunk to a narrow stream less than half as wide as before.

Grandmother said heavy rain upstream would bring floodwater downstream. The river

operators were lowering the lake to make room for all the runoff coming down.

I didn’t understand. I wondered if she made it up to pacify me.

I was excited seeing the bottom of the river where it was exposed. But there were no

fish or turtles! Just mud. I was told to stay out of it.

The next day, waves of water quickly flowed past us, refilling where it had been lowered.

It even covered our flimsy little dock by the big, dead cypress tree where I fished. I

feared it would get so high it might even rise enough to flood our house.

The river rose over our dock, but it barely came up on the grass. The next day, it was

back where it belonged.

Years later, I parked along the road west of the Kerr Wildlife Management Area and

walked toward the big bluff along the south bank. In the dark just before dawn, I walked

toward the dry Guadalupe riverbed just downstream from the nearly dry spring that fed

the river’s headwaters. Bill Armstrong, on the Kerr Area, had gotten permission for me

to ascend the bluff to photograph eagles on a private ranch.

Just before getting to the dry riverbed, I was startled nearly out of my skin by a

thunderous eruption in front of, overhead, and around me! Aware of rattlesnakes, I

stopped short and froze.

I’d forgotten there was a huge wild turkey population in the area. I had walked under

their roost amid the tall trees. Nearly a hundred turkeys noisily took wing — emphasizing

the remoteness of the area. And my unwelcome presence.

Thinking back last week, that dry riverbed was an ominous contrast to the destructive

power the Guadalupe River displayed further downstream on July 4. Flash floods can

arise from a powder-dry, rocky streambed, given enough rainfall.

Many people have fond memories of being on the river, too. There’s nothing wrong with

that. I’ve canoed much of the river through the Hill Country and cherish every paddle

stroke and every sound of water tumbling over rocks.

But the river must be respected for what floods can do … and have done. And heart-

aching reverence for the unfortunate ones comes with it. I wish to God it didn’t.

John Jefferson writes a weekly outdoors column for the Victoria Advocate.

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