The Yegua River

by Alan E Rudd

Labor Day weekend this year cried out for a river trip, and the only “river” that was running hard on September 3 was a portion of the stream that the Spanish explorers dubbed the Rio San Francisco.  Stephen F. Austin drew a map of the expanding land grants between the Brazos and Colorado Rivers in 1829 and labeled this same stream Yegua. It stands to reason that those people occupying the land at that time had identified this watercourse as a place populated with horses. Yegua in Spanish are female horses. A valley to the west of the Brazos River with a significant abundance of horses deserves such a distinctive name. St. Francis of Assisi was already known as “the patron saint of animals” when the Spanish priests were spreading their culture north into Texas circa 1690. His name would be attached to many other places and a few streams. The Texas stream that is named after the horse populations attracted to its bottomland habitat is a special kind of place.  It was my time to explore it.

Adam and I put boats into the water of Yegua Creek below the Hwy 36 bridge in Somerville. It was before dawn, and I was hoping to paddle the first portion of a 13-mile run in moonlight.  As luck would have it, we were running a bit too late, and the moon was slightly obscured by thin clouds anyway.   Angie was our driver and her photographs taken as we shoved off show an orange dawn sky looking downstream.  Turns out it was a darn good thing we could see well because the first three miles of this trip seemed like a combination of paddling through a Venezuelan jungle and the log-ride at Six Flags. We needed full visual acuity. Short-statured elm trees reached far out from each shore, and you had to weave around them.  Open shorelines were densely populated with sedges, rattle bean, millet, and smartweed. Somerville Dam was just a mile upstream and was releasing 366 cubic feet per second to supply users down near the Texas coast.  In this 40-60-foot-wide channel the water was pushing hard toward the Brazos and shoving our boats with it. 

The narrow channel was alive with insect life on the water surface and in the air above it. There were clouds of small insects buzzing about us but not biting or landing upon us. I suspect they were midges (I inadvertently swallowed several but could not identify species from the taste), and they were being attacked and fed upon by an astounding number of dragonflies. In the dawn’s early light thousands of dragonflies of many sizes and colors were passing through the dense haze of Chironomids and eating them in mid-air. Looking upward was like watching tuna feeding on schools of sardines. Dragonflies were to be over and around us all day.

One of my worries about running a narrow creek was about how many large trees would be lying completely across the channel.  Very rapidly Adam scraped over the top half of a semi-submerged log in his kayak but my cargo canoe loaded with water and food could not pass. We pulled to shore, carried the cargo around and then portaged the canoe 60 feet to reload and relaunch. This turned out to be the only portage of the day and I pointed out to Adam that many famous “canoe trails” in Maine and Minnesota have ¼ mile portages between upland ponds that have no water flowing between them.  This kind of portage was a cinch unless there turned out to be one tree every half-mile. 

Very rapidly we were off, and then came the rapids. The first was a washed-out concrete vehicle crossing that had collapsed in the middle. Both boats sailed through the gap and the Yegua carried us soon to a second loud crashing of water half a mile downstream. This spot was a concentration of large rock rip-rap strewn across the channel and below a powerline that supplies Somerville and Caldwell.   Construction crews likely used this material when stringing wires 50 years ago. The heavy water flow got us over the rocks and into the big eddy four feet below. No problem! However, this day was far from over.

The next rapids could be heard but were hidden around a hard right turn. It ended up being a steep drop of 5-6 feet. This spot is a natural rock formation.  The 366 cfs filled my boat when I went over the drop and was pushed sideways into a rock wall. This, dear hearts, is why we tie all our gear securely into the canoe.  

The entire boat was full of creek water in under three seconds and was being pushed rudely downstream. The water jugs, canteens, Pelican box holding my I-phone, ice chest (strapped tightly closed), first aid kit were all attached. Adam, who had shot through the rapids ahead one minute ahead of me in the kayak, had spun around to watch as I inelegantly exited my boat and was floating along beside it in my ugly brown PFD (personal floatation device). Don’t ever let anybody tell you it is too hot to wear a PFD (even an ugly brown one), especially on a reach of river that you have never traveled before. We were shoved downstream 300 yards along straightaways and around corners before an adequate sandbar was located to pull up the water-filled canoe. 

The PFD was absolutely essential to keeping me from snagging a pant-leg or belt on a submerged tree-limb while being dragged along. The water temperature felt good in late summer, but in winter getting “tumped” over would have been a problem that required quickly building a fire to heat up a shivering paddler (me). Yet another reason you never paddle alone. It is hard to start a fire when you are shaking like a coon-dog trying to pass a peach pit.

The fourth rapid was halfway through the trip and had a large rock in the middle of the river.  A lunchtime spot! The rest of the trip was delightful. Magnificent pecan and willow trees over-hung the river. We paddled in the shade almost the entire day.  Without question the largest black willow trees I have ever seen stand like mythical giants along the Yegua. I wondered what it takes to be the state record Salix nigra? Two of these we saw had to be contenders.  

Beautiful live oaks grew on both the Washington County bank and the Burleson County shore. Big antlered deer and feral hogs were sleeping and feeding in the lush green growing on the shoreline sandbanks. There were two old, abandoned county road bridges. Cattle swam and waded back and forth across the county line (who needs bridges?).  We noted two minimalist fish camps but not a single drop line was seen. This apparently is rod and reel territory.

Having unceremoniously plopped over my trusty OUACHITA, I was glad I did not bring my binoculars. Many small birds flying across in front of me consequently went unidentified. I did note eastern phoebes, pileated woodpeckers, a lone anhinga, wood ducks, a Louisiana heron, green herons galore, and great blue herons. At least my vision is still good enough to see the big ones!  

The surprised behavior of a lone coyote suggested he had never seen a boat before. Deer antlers seem big this year based upon the whitetail bucks we flushed. That cool rainy spring must have provided protein at the right time for a lot of grazing animals. Francis of Assisi would be pleased.

The nice thing about this canoe trail is that it has easy access to put in on Hwy 36 and easy access to take out at Hwy 50 near Clay, Texas. Driving home through Independence and eating Mexican food at Las Fuentes in Somerville after a 6-hour paddle was a sweet finish to a Labor Day Sunday trip. Always bring dry clothes or lunch must be eaten in the outdoor heat. 

Nowadays the Yegua is considered a “creek.”   After experiencing the intensity of the flow and taking a thorough dunking at a natural waterfall I can see why those well-educated Padres and Spanish Expedition commanders wrote down in their diaries that the San Francisco was a river.