“We’re canceling Lower Canyons.”

Though I had prepared for the worst, I didn’t know the worst would actually come. We had been anxiously monitoring the water levels for weeks. A week prior to the trip, the senior guides—who’ve led Lower Canyons since before I was even born—made the call. With flows so low, our trip would’ve been half-hiking, half-paddling, essentially a type three fun sufferfest. Still, canceling wasn’t an easy decision. Canoeing the Lower Canyons of the Rio Grande Wild and Scenic River has been the quintessential spring break trip hosted by Recreational Sports at The University of Texas at Austin for decades.

Selfishly, I was saddened at not being able to lead this trip again, but the thirst for a river adventure was still in me. Quickly, I recalled an email I had gotten a month ago:

“Thank you again for participating in the San Juan River Lottery 2024, and we encourage you to apply for the next lottery.”

I had applied for a San Juan River permit for the high-use season in May as a potential trip before starting my summer internship. Fueled by cancellation adrenaline and a fervorous drive to make the most of my spring break, I started to scheme.

What if we ran the San Juan? I knew that in the ‘80s, RecSports would run Lower Canyons in rafts, but times change. Canoeing had become the norm as the water supply dwindled, and now, there wasn’t enough water for our canoes. I thought about the future of the water supply in the Big Bend region and the future of the Outdoor Recreation program. And I thought about the San Juan.

And so, I, along with a couple of other University student guides, proposed this: The section from Mexican Hat to Clay Hills offers a Lower Canyons-esque experience with towering canyon walls and canoeable whitewater. Maybe the San Juan could serve as a backup if Lower Canyons were too low again in the future. Why don’t we scout it and find out? With all that in mind, our director gave us the green light.

On March 9, 2024, at 4:30 am, our crew of four set off in hopes of making our spring break one to remember. It would be my co-guide Lynna’s last major adventure with our program before graduation. We joked about the makings of an epic adventure as we drove, flipping through the guidebook and trying to predict what the San Juan had in store for us. Our building excitement felt almost bittersweet. The Outdoor Recreation program had brought us together, yet once we all eventually graduate, the opportunity to have shared experiences like these becomes increasingly difficult. It’s hard to say if we’ll keep the same closeness we had while in school, but I know the memories we’ve made will stay with us even if we’re thousands of miles apart.

For those who’ve never road-tripped in Texas before, it’s an experience. Road games, stories, Allsup’s stops and dreams for the future got us through the first thirteen hours. After a pit stop to camp at Bluewater Lake State Park in New Mexico, we brushed off the morning frost before continuing on our scenic way, posing for selfies and taking in the views during visits to Four Corners Monument, Goosenecks State Park overlooking the San Juan, Monument Valley, and lastly, Mexican Hat Rock. We pulled into the Valley of the Gods and set up camp for the night.

Tomorrow, we’d be on the river.

We were so ready. Yet, as we drove to the put-in the next morning, I felt a pang of anxiety. The San Juan was much larger than anything we’d paddled before. While 600 cfs may not seem like a lot to those accustomed to snow-melt rivers, we Texans live and die by spring-fed waters. 600 cfs was enough to get our hearts racing.

The put-in was empty when we arrived but soon buzzed with activity. A fleet of pick-up trucks, carrying what seemed to be three generations worth of a family, unloaded at least five rafts, each seemingly loaded to the brim with gear. Compared to our two canoes, we felt like backpackers staring at RV-er’s. Eventually, our shuttle driver, Valle, arrived, and from there, our journey began.

The San Juan started with a bang and baptism. The guidebook stated this first rapid, Gypsum Creek, was the steepest of the trip.

My canoe partner, Zoie, who was on her first trip with the program, asked:

“What are the chances we flip?”

To be honest, I didn’t know. I had done Class II in Texas before, but steep was not an adjective I could use to describe the rapids I had done.

“Twenty we flip, eighty we don’t? Fingers crossed!”

In hindsight, we should’ve scouted. In our hubris, we ran it and miraculously stayed afloat. Although we were wet and cold, our first taste of the San Juan had us more elated than deterred. After a quick recess to dry off, we ventured on.

The miles came fast. During our planning, we had conservatively budgeted day one, aiming to set up camp thirteen miles in. However, we eventually made the call to camp at Honaker, seventeen miles from the put-in—an unexpected but welcome victory. We spent the remainder of the day hiking the Honaker Trail, an old mining route turned hiking trail. Our joyous whoops echoed against fantastic views of the river below us, our little campsite mere specks of color against the high desert landscape.

From Honaker, it was only three miles to Twin Canyons, our first Class III rapid—and our first taste of actual whitewater. As we drew closer, my anxiety grew. Adrenaline began pumping, the thought of wrapping one of our canoes imminent in my mind. As we scouted, we concluded that neither lining nor portaging our boats would be viable. Reluctantly, we decided to run it one boat at a time, with the others staying downstream to act as rescue if something were to happen.

Zoie and I were up first. In my mind, I was repeating, “Don’t ride the wave train, don’t ride the wave train; just go right.” We rode the wave train. To my complete surprise and relief, it was fine. We avoided the rocks we needed to, and the wave train provided an almost direct path to safety. Emboldened by our success, Lynna and Morgan made it through with ease. Later, we learned the rapid was more of a Class II+, but that didn’t diminish our feeling of accomplishment.

John’s Canyon was that night’s campsite, and we had arrived shockingly early despite the fourteen-mile day. With hours of daylight to kill, we busted out the firepan, and over a small fire, we discussed the day. Running that rapid was a source of anxiety for all of us before the trip. We had read about the difficulties of it at low water and wondered if our polyethylene vessels would make it through unscathed. That anxiety was eventually overshadowed by the “yippees” and “yahoos” we all shared.

We rode the high of our success as the fire died down. Tomorrow, we’d encounter the proper Class III of the trip: Government Rapid.

The morning sun painted John’s Canyon a beautiful amber. After some breakfast tacos, we set off to conquer Government Rapid, catching a small flotilla of rafters just before Government. We scouted together and eventually watched their rafts navigate obstacles that would easily wreck our canoes. Our crew opted to line the rapid, the sensible choice to avoid any risk of wrapping a canoe.

Lining our canoes through the rushing water was tough, cold and a bit miserable. But we did it, exchanging proud high-fives before continuing downstream.

Accomplishment couldn’t keep us warm, however, when an afternoon storm swept in, dropping the temperature and hail. Even layered up, I found myself getting increasingly cold by the second. Eventually, we stopped on an island to change and down some calories. Wet, cold, and miserable, our group was slowly losing spirit. Lunch at Slickhorn Canyon brought relief and rest, and, eventually, the storm eased. Revitalized, we could finally appreciate the sandstone’s otherworldly beauty.

Beyond Slickhorn Canyon, sandbars begin developing as boaters near Lake Powell, and they’re invisible until you’re basically on top of them. With that in mind, we decided on an early wake-up to cover as much ground as possible and hopefully get to the take-out by midday on our final day.

Despite all the frustration and boat-walking that ensued, it was the right call. We arrived at the take-out in high spirits that would stay with us through the 19-hour drive back home to Austin, but our epic spring break adventure wasn’t over yet.

Although we avoided a major snowstorm looming over the American Southwest, our car’s transmission failed an hour and a half from home. The recovery effort that ensued was the cherry on top. I’ll never forget the tow truck ride to the nearest dealership and the absolute hero that was Lynna’s dad, who drove up from Austin to rescue us, dirty, tired, smelly and joyous, still basking in memories of the San Juan.

As a college student, there’s a lot of pressure to make the most of your time while at school. People preach that we only get four summers, four spring breaks, only four short years before we enter adulthood, different cities, and the next stage of our lives. This time we spend in college is inherently liminal; we’re neither adolescents nor adults. Speckled by experiences like these, we’ve come to find joy in periods of transition. I think in the future, when our adventures are dictated by how much PTO we have, I’ll remember the laughter, smiles and tears we all shared in beautiful places, not the days spent in the library studying.

Ultimately, we deemed this trip too logistically complicated to run with participants, but it didn’t feel like a failed mission. We felt thoroughly challenged by the San Juan. Nevertheless, our crew of four embraced both the fun and the suck that made this spring break—if not the adventure we had hoped for–one to remember.

***

Guest contributor Andrew Nguyen grew up in scouting, where he found his love for the outdoors, particularly the water, and developed his desire to have a net positive effect on the environment. This led him to becoming an adventure trip guide at UT Austin where he studies Environmental Engineering with a minor in English. You can find him biking around Austin, usually to places to swim, or in a canoe with a smile on his face.