Thanksgiving On the Neches
by Bob Greibel

 Eight folks showed up.  All of them used boats, all of them learned to like rain.

We put into the Neches River at FM 1013, about 50 miles north of Beaumont, just after mid day on Thanksgiving.  The rain held off for the loading but made itself known off and on all day.  The initial leg only went six miles before we stopped early to set up for Thanksgiving dinner.  The site was a great sandbar on the west bank which rose high enough to pose more of a threat from low flying jets than rising water.

Marilyn sprang into action, cracked the whip, and soon had everyone pumping camp stoves, heating dishes, and watching pots boil.  The dinner was every bit as good as promised and the middle of the night thunderstorm was far more than promised.  Though tons of rain fell during the night, it hardly affected the river level.  The good thing about weather on this trip was
that it did all the dirty stuff when it didn't matter and cooperated when it did matter, like while making and breaking camp.

Friday started with mixed weather signals, but passed with practically no rain.  The day's objective was to get in as many miles as possible and to figure out where we were.  At mid-day, the terrain changed as we moved into a low basin that forms the swampy, roadless portion of Big Thicket.  No
roads cross the river along our forty mile route, but a few rare houses were served by backroads in the northern half of the route.

One side trip led to some great cypress stands, although cypress appeared only rarely on the flowing river.  Part of the group got a good look at a bald eagle that day, but I only spotted a snake, an armadillo and, maybe, a beaver.  Didn't see a deer on the whole trip.

A late afternoon disappointment occurred when we passed two river markers which we'd been told represent the half-way point of the trip.  We'd thought we were further than that and the prospect of arriving at the takeout near noon Saturday starting looking like a bad estimate by about a day.  The change in terrain had also taken away the sandbars that were prevalent on
the first half of the route and made the hunt for Friday night's site
harder.

The group eventually perched for the night on a small sliver of weed and ant covered bank that was just big enough to hold us all if nobody snored, but most everyone did.  The one good feature of the site was that it took an immediate jump of a couple feet at the water's edge to get on top of the sandy bank, so our kayaks, once dragged up the sand cliff,  sat high and dry above a water level that hadn't risen after the previous night's deluge and surely wouldn't after our rainless Friday.  I had to laugh at Rick's
paranoia when he pulled his and Janet's kayaks all the way across the site to the treeline.

Fortunately, Rick checked the kayaks again about midnight and discovered that only the front tips of all the other kayaks were still out of the water and much of the gear was floating.  Apparently, some careless person had opened the dam and the river level had risen several feet between sundown and midnight.  Unknown to lazy people and heavy sleepers at the time, Rick saved us from being stranded with nothing to paddle in a place from which we
probably couldn't walk out.  By dawn, the water was at the edges of our tents and the fire ants were using us for islands.

So we got an early start Saturday morning.  The good news was that the river was now high and fast and whisked us, in beautiful sunshine, to an early arrival at the takeout without half trying.  At one point, we estimated that we did about five miles in 35 minutes.  We got advice, sometimes dubious, about the remaining distance from people in floating river houses along the
way.  These are permanent floating shacks that owners apparently use during hunting season or for weekend cabins, . . . or to tend their moonshine stills.  The four women at one couldn't be persuaded to give a straight answer about how far we were from the takeout, but insisted we'd be halfway there when we got to the next house.  The men at the next house told us we had five miles to go.  We made the takeout at Highway 96 around noon Saturday.

The late surge of current saved the trip from stretching to something longer than would be justified.  I would rather have seen more wildlife.  The benefit for me was getting to learn what the area is like.  Forty-eight hours was about as much time as I'd want to spend for that, three full days is too long.  The difficulty in trying to shorten the trip is that there are no other road crossings between FM 1013 and Hwy 96, which mandates a 40-mile
tour.  Without the unusually swift current we had on the last day, it could easily take most of three days for that stretch.