Field Note: Floating the San Marcos

Chasing Guadalupe Bass on the Fly in the Texas Hill Country

We walked down the steep gravel path to the edge of the riverbank, where our guide was rigging a few rods and readying the drift boat for a full-day float. The smell of the river settles me. It was almost instant, a familiar peace washing over me as I meandered through the cypress trees and down to the water.

I’ve done a few float trips, mostly down the White River in central Indiana, so while the routine was familiar, the landscape was completely unique. Since we’ve moved to Texas, I’ve made a short list of things I wanted to try. Horseback riding through the hills and two-stepping have yet to be checked off, but catching a Guadalupe bass on the fly was on the agenda for the day.

As we pushed off the bank, I took my usual position in the back of the raft, enjoying some extra leg room and the privacy to make all the practice casts I needed to get warmed up. The perfect place to avoid drawing too much attention to how rusty I felt. After a few casts, and a few small rapids, I was back in the swing of things.

I caught a sunfish in the first few casts, and it felt oddly special. My grandfather passed away late last year, and the first fish I ever caught was with him and my dad at the end of a long dock in Port Clinton, Ohio, just as the sun was sinking over the lake. Four years old, Barbie rod in hand, and as excited as ever. My grandparents were the only ones in my family who had the same affinity for fishing, and discovering that same passion over the years has made me feel more connected to them than ever. I took a minute to hang onto those memories and be grateful for the gift of days spent on the water. We released him, and we were back to the float.

The river was uncharacteristically low that day, and the stretch we fished was busier than usual. A canoe race was happening downstream, and a fair share of folks were practicing on our stretch, too. The blue-green color of the water against the cypress and the long stretches between limestone canyons were just as captivating to me as the fishing. The turtles sunning on the banks would slip silently back into the water as we came by, and the river felt alive with the colors of spring. Between the serene surroundings and the therapeutic rhythm of the casts, I was fully beginning to relax when Hayden hooked into a nice fish.

I immediately was jolted back into the action as he netted a huge Guadalupe bass. We had caught a few largemouth and sunfish to this point, but this moment was the highlight for me. Hayden had never caught one, and we had been trying to make this trip happen for weeks since we arrived in Texas—a little celebration for our five-year wedding anniversary. There’s truly nothing I love more than getting to share moments like this together, pure fun and so special. The fish was beautiful, and after a good-hearted celebration from everyone on the boat, we released it and continued on our way.

We stopped in a little lagoon-like pocket under the shade of a big cypress for lunch and enjoyed some fresh fruit and chicken salad. Lunches on the water always taste 100% better, and at this point it was over 90 degrees, and we felt like we earned it.

We were getting toward the end of the float and came up to a dam. I don’t know exactly what I was expecting when our guide pointed to the bank and had us hop off the boat, rods in tow, and told us he’d meet us at the bottom. We walked down an embankment along the edge of the dam and realized he was intending to take the raft over it.

On a normal flow, the water would be pumping over the edge, and it would be a fairly routine task, but today, the water was only running over the dam just enough to cover it. He inched and pushed the raft up the edge, slowly positioning himself until there was just enough weight to propel it forward, and he slid down all 15 ft at once, landing just like he planned and meeting us with a grin at the bottom to continue the float.

At this point, I was feeling like catching a Guadalupe bass wasn’t in the cards for me. We made several casts in this zone, and nothing was panning out. Throughout the day, I felt like my casts had gotten plenty sharp, but I’d run out of time to make something happen. I must have thrown 15 casts and was about to give up on it altogether. But I decided to throw one more. All at once I felt a tug at the end of the line. I strip set and he was hooked.

Fully expecting a sunfish or a largemouth, I was completely shocked when I netted the small Guadalupe. The only way to end the day.

We finished the float in the blazing heat, picking up the pace, sliding under a few low bridges, some quick rapids, and observing the flood lines along the canyons that towered over our heads. I had an Arnold Palmer reserved in the truck to celebrate, and it was just as good as I hoped.

I love the way that being on the water reminds you to be patient, to be still and intentional, and to enjoy the reward—whether it’s accomplishing what you’re after or the thrill of having to wait until the next run to make it happen. It’s stretches your muscles for endurance and challenges you to stick with it. And whether or not it pans out, there’s always something more to learn on the water. Until next time.