Galveston in the rear view mirror, the 3rd Coast Cowboys aim for Sabine Pass

Galveston in the rear view mirror, the 3rd Coast Cowboys aim for Sabine Pass

The paddlers passed the tall ship Elissa this afternoon before heading across the Galveston Ship Channel. Pam LeBlanc photo

The 3rd Coast Cowboys wrapped up the 11th day of their trip by forging across the Galveston Ship Channel to Bolivar Peninsula, where they’re currently sacked out, amidst a field of trash and sand.
The paddlers – leader West Hansen, plus Jeff Wueste, Jimmy Harvey and Branndon Bargo – began today’s journey (not an expedition, and definitely not a cruise, but positively a journey, I’m told) at the western tip of Galveston Island.
I met up with them early afternoon at the end of Sportsman’s Road, where I tossed over a few jugs of water and some snacks purchased at the closest gas station. Harvey took his usual afternoon nap, and the others sipped instant coffee to boost their enthusiasm.
“I’m never fucking doing this again,” Hansen told me, but in a positive, upbeat way. Maybe he’ll do the same 385 miles in reverse direction next time.

.

Jimmy Harvey takes a quick nap during the team’s lunch break at the end of Sportsman’s Road on the west end of Galveston Island. Pam LeBlanc photo

I intercepted the team again a few hours later, in front of the tall ship Elissa, which launched in 1877 and now serves as a museum on Harborside Drive in Galveston. That ranked high on my excitement-o-meter, but the biggest accomplishment for the paddlers came in the form of the channel crossing.
The team got a fairly calm harbor, and bunched their four boats together before starting across the busiest stretch of waterway of the mini-expedition. Halfway across, they spotted a large reddish-orange freighter coming in from the Gulf, “just hauling ass right at us,” according to Hansen.

Jeff Wueste checks a paddle after cracking it on Saturday, May 30, 2020. Pam LeBlanc photo


They paused a moment, wondered if they could outrun it, then turned around and started to beat a hasty retreat to the Galveston side. After a few minutes, the ship passed, the guys rode out the wake, and continued their way across without further adieu.
“It took forever to make crossing – exactly forever, because we timed it,” Hansen said.
I’m planning to catch the 5 a.m. ferry to Bolivar Peninsula to meet up with them early tomorrow. Looks like they’ll make it to Sabine Pass late Monday or early Tuesday, where they plan to pull out at Walter Umphrey Park in Port Arthur.

Jimmy Harvey and Branndon Bargo prepare to head back into the water after a lunch break on Saturday, May 30. Pam LeBlanc photo


In the meantime, Hansen’s already dreaming about doing the trip again – only in a cabin cruiser, with an ice chest and a good supply of wine.
“I think that would be kind of neat,” he said.

Today’s “journey” took the guys through the Galveston harbor. Pam LeBlanc photo

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What’s it like to chase kayakers up the Texas coast? Very, very glamorous

What’s it like to chase kayakers up the Texas coast? Very, very glamorous

A storm gathers as the 3rd Coast Cowboys pitch camp near Sargent on Thursday, May 28. Pam LeBlanc photo

I’ve had a hell of a day, full of bumps and slams and sky-rocketing highs.
Here’s the deal: I love doing stuff that makes me uncomfortable and leaves me covered in scratches and mud and mosquito bites. It’s itchy and dirty and frustrates me to no end, but these days don’t fade away. They stick to my ribs, in the most delicious way.
I’ve been chasing a team of paddlers kayaking from the tip of Texas to the Louisiana border. The 3rd Coast Epic Kayak Journey started nine days ago, on May 20. Today, West Hansen, Jeff Wueste, Jimmy Harvey and Branndon Bargo are nearing Galveston Island, with a goal of reaching Sabine Pass by Sunday or Monday. They’re not as far as they originally thought they’d be, but they’ve hit a rhythm and are having a hell of a good time, I think.
So am I. That doesn’t mean everything’s gone according to plan. Take the last 24 hours. It’s been a whirlwind of altered plans, mud, mosquitos and technical difficulties.
It started when I arrived in the small coastal community of Sargent on Thursday afternoon and found four very polite but beer-drinking, music-cranking 20-somethings at the house where friends had offered to let me shack up. There’d been a miscommunication; I needed another place.
While I plotted my next move, I decided to take a spin through Sargent, which is when I discovered that the Intercoastal Waterway was closed during daytime hours due to bridge construction. The guys would have to portage.
As I waited for them, I met the county constable, a friendly guy who showed me where the team could pull out and put their boats back in. When the kayakers arrived – West Hansen, Jeff Wueste, Jimmy Harvey and Branndon Bargo – we loaded their kayaks into my truck and made two trips to carry them to the put-in. Then we agreed to meet and camp about 5 miles down the road. A storm was brewing and we wanted our tents up before it hit.
We ended up on a little point of land next to where a barge was parked. It seemed perfect: More or less flat, a nice dirt road leading down to the site, out of the way, and private.

The rain turned the “dirt road” into a mud pit. Pam LeBlanc photo


The storm grew closer. We quickly put up our tents. Then we headed to Hookers, the local restaurant, for real food. Jimmy stayed behind.
As we drove to town, the storm hit. Raindrops smacked the windshield and it came down in sheets. We dashed into the restaurant, where the guys tossed back double Hooker burgers with cheese. (I can’t make this stuff up.) We bagged one up for Jimmy. The rain stopped.
When we got back to camp, a lot of the dirt road had turned into mud, and Jimmy notified us that a rat had trotted through camp, but the tents were still standing. Puddles had formed inside mine (sideways rain has a way of defeating a rain fly), but I had a cot, so I didn’t much care.
After a while, I went to sleep. I’m not sure how much time passed, but I awoke to the sound of the barge, rumbling so loud it sounded like I was on an airport runway. It had powered up, but was idling – and idled for the next 6 hours. Then it fired up the lights, so bright they illuminated half of the Texas coast.
I rolled over. My cell phone dropped off my cot, but I ignored it. I got up to pee, and a few hundred mosquitos bit my butt.
At 5 a.m., as the roaring continued unabated, I could hear the guys stirring. I stayed on my cot, exhausted. I reached for my phone, which I found – in pooling water. When I stepped outside, the mosquitos descended and I slipped in sticky mud. Someone handed me bug spray.

The paddlers attempt to push my truck out of the mud. Pam LeBlanc photo

Eventually, I broke down my tent. I’d asked the guys not to leave before I moved my truck up to dry ground, and West volunteered to move it for me. That’s when it got mired in sticky brown goo. The rest of the team came over, and together they rocked the truck forward and back, trying to gain purchase.
No luck.

Eddie Steel of Granbury came to the rescue! Pam LeBlanc photo


After 30 minutes, I called the constable, who called someone just down the road who could help. In another 15 minutes, Eddie Steel came to my rescue.
Eddie, who lives in Granbury but owns a summer house in Sargent, rolled up in what looked to me like a golf cart with tractor tires. He attached a tow line to my (husband’s) Ford F150 and winched my vehicle slowly up the muddy road. I thanked him, tried to offer him money (he wouldn’t accept), and bid the paddlers, who were now 30 minutes behind schedule, adieu.

My muddy shoes. Pam LeBlanc photo


Then my phone started acting weird. At first, it wouldn’t take the letters I typed into the screen. Then it started randomly dialing numbers. Eventually, it quit working altogether. And I had kayaks to track!
I followed paper maps to Galveston (how old school), and when I arrived, I called Mary Beth Bassett at the Galveston Visitors and Convention Bureau. She invited me over for a shower, and placed my phone in a bag of dry rice. Then she took me to lunch.
And then, a miracle. When we got back, my phone started working. I did a happy dance, then set out for the Best Western, where she’d arranged a room for me.
Then I realized my phone wouldn’t plug into the charger. I kept pushing, but it just wouldn’t go. Finally, in my room, I discovered that a piece of rice was jammed in the opening. I stabbed at it with a flossing pick. I slammed it on the table. I blew at it. Then I posted an SOS message on face book.
In the end, someone suggested a needle. I called the front desk, and they handed over a sewing kit. For the next hour or so, I whittled away at the piece of rice, working it free.
And then, just like that, it crumbled to pieces.
Once again, I’ve got a working phone. I’ve got a working truck. I’ve got access to a hot shower, and places to charge my gear.
I’m back in business and can’t wait to find out what tomorrow holds.

After the storm, a beautiful sunset. Pam LeBlanc photo

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BBQ on an oyster reef, a new tent, dolphins and a swimming snake…

BBQ on an oyster reef, a new tent, dolphins and a swimming snake…

Branndon Bargo, West Hansen and Jeff Wueste pulled their kayaks onto an oyster reef in the Intracoastal Waterway near Port O’Connor Tuesday and ate barbecue from Peter’s BBQ in Ellinger. Jimmy Harvey photo

I’m driving back down to the coast today, after taking a day off to catch up on other projects here in Austin.
In the meantime, I checked in by phone with West Hansen, leader of the Third Coast Cowboys Epic Kayak trip from South Padre Island to the Louisiana border. Hansen, along with Jeff Wueste, Jimmy Harvey and Branndon Bargo, began their mini-expedition a week ago. They’re about halfway through the 385-mile trip.
Hansen described Tuesday’s 37.4 mile-paddle from Rockport north along the Intracoastal Waterway as calm. After a late 8:30 a.m. start, the team crossed two bays. They stopped for lunch on an oyster reef about the size of a backyard trampoline, munching on brisket and ribs from Peter’s BBQ in Ellinger (delivered by Hansen’s wife the previous evening). They got rid of the tents ruined in the Sunday night storm and debuted a new, sturdier North Face tent that’s not as breathable, but less likely to blow down in a storm.
Hansen took a few minutes to answer some questions from readers, too:

What are you eating? “We’ve all got different appetite issues. I’m not hungry at all. The other guys get hungry. But I’m eating two packs of instant oatmeal (apple cinnamon) and two cups of instant coffee for breakfast, and a 1,600-calorie protein drink as I’m paddling in the morning. For lunch it’s a can of tuna, trail mix, nuts, Cholula sauce, water and electrolyte pills, and for dinner, dehydrated meals. Sometimes I’ll eat two.”

How’s that chafed patch of skin on your lower back? “It’s the standard thing.” (I watched him apply anti-bacterial ointment the other day.)

West Hansen’s back is chafing from rubbing against the seat in his kayak. Pam LeBlanc photo

What other physical issues are you dealing with? “We’re all starting to lose fingernails, they’re getting loose. Everybody snores; no one cares. It feels really good to put foot powder on at night.”

What do y’all talk about all day while you’re paddling? “Music, trivia, navigation.”

Do you paddle all together as a group? “Jimmy paddles all by himself up ahead. We all stay within sight distance.”

What’s your average speed? “3.8-4 mph.”

How do you keep clean? “Jimmy stinks.” And from a disembodied voice in the background: “I bathed in Dawn dishwashing liquid!”

How’s Branndon doing? (Bargo is new to sea kayaking, and struggled early on with sea sickness.): “Brandon’s paddling has improved, yeah, I can say that. He started with not much experience and he’s really stepped up. He’s learning quickly so we’re all very proud of him.”

What wildlife did you see Tuesday? “Lots of dolphins, and Jimmy saw a snake swimming across the channel. Redfish tailing. We paddled past Aransas National Wildlife Refuge. We need a breeze tonight to get rid of the mosquitoes.”

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Storm mangles tents, soaks gear, but paddlers continue up Texas coast

Storm mangles tents, soaks gear, but paddlers continue up Texas coast

The post storm wreckage of Branndon Bargo’s tent. Branndon Bargo photo

Add late night, tent-collapsing storms to puke-inducing rough seas, hideous chafing and ocean poops on the list of joys experienced by a group of Austin paddlers kayaking up the Texas coast.
The team endured its wildest night yet Sunday, and that’s saying something, considering they fended off drunk teen-agers one night and pitched tents on a crab-infested mudflat another.
West Hansen is leading the mini expedition, which started as an eight-day semi-serious training trip from the tip of Texas to the Louisiana border. They’ve made less than half that distance (no worries, they didn’t really have a hard-and-fast schedule) and already have burned up six days. One team member quit after four nights, joking that he was too old and wise for so much fun. Three others – veteran paddlers Jeff Wueste and Jimmy Harvey, along with mountain climber Branndon Bargo (of “The Highpointers” show on PBS) – are still plugging along and, it seems, actually savoring the seemingly endless barrage of discomforts.
Not long after I left the guys after camping with them near Bird Island Basin, they headed back into the Intercoastal Waterway, near Padre Island National Seashore.
A few hours later they paddled into Corpus Christi Bay with a tailwind, and zipped along until they reached open water, where they encountered foot-and-a-half rollers. The team veered right, hugging a line of spoil islands, then popped into the channel just south of Port Aransas. They sped as quickly as they could past the bustling ferry crossing and into rough water surrounding an industrial area. At nearly 8 p.m., they pulled ashore for the night.
After getting word of incoming inclement weather, they pitched camp, buttoned things up and went to sleep. Then, at about 12:30 a.m., things went from calm to crazy.
“This gust of wind came in and snapped my tent pole,” Bargo said today. “Then the pole pierced the rainfly and collapsed it all on top of me.”
Temperatures dropped by 20 degrees and rain sliced sideways through camp. Wearing nothing but his underpants, Bargo staggered out into the elements to wrangle his kayak on top of his flattened tent, pinning it like a calf at a rodeo. After hollering at a still-sleeping Wueste, he retrieved his sodden sleeping bag and fled to Harvey’s still-standing-but-now-leaking tent, where they rode out the next four hours, cold and wet.

A cold, wet Branndon Bargo surveys camp after a violent storm ripped through. Jeff Wueste photo

Hansen, meanwhile, was busy directing his own three-ring circus. The first wave of wind and rain laid his tent down but didn’t kill it. A second, stronger wave yanked up a couple of stakes securing the tent’s fly cover, which began flapping violently. He strained to hold the tent poles in place to keep the shelter from blowing down.
Then Wueste ditched his own wounded structure and came knocking at Hansen’s tent flaps. Hansen sent him out to tie the shuddering shelter to the bow of a boat, and the two huddled inside, using their body weight to hold the tent, its stakes now plucked from the ground like feathers from a chicken, down.
The vestibule flaps slapped Wueste’s face, the rain pooled at one end of the tent, and the storm blasted the team until 4:40 a.m. They finally went to sleep, and when their alarms went off, the men heaved a communal “fuck it” and rolled over.

West Hansen settles into his kayak for the day. Hansen is leading an expedition along the Texas coast, from South Padre Island to the Louisiana border. Pam LeBlanc photo

They slept for an hour or so more, and when they stepped out the air had stilled – and the mosquitos arrived.
In the end, they were left with two more or less surviving tents – the exact same eight-year-old North Face Topaz 3 models that Hansen used on a 111-day expedition down the entire length of the Amazon River.
They loaded up and paddled 14 miles into Rockport, where they’re now resting and doing boat maintenance at the home of Wayne White, a fellow Explorer Club member currently in his third year as station manager of the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station in Antarctica, and his wife Melissa.
Support crew are on their way with a new North Face tent, a heavier, bomb-proof model that sleeps five and is part of the gear for the Arctic Cowboy’s upcoming 2021 expedition to kayak the Northwest Passage in the Arctic.
“It’ll be a party. It’s got a disco ball,” Hansen said of the tent.
The boats sustained no storm damage, and the team was washing clothes and eating sandwiches as I spoke with them. (I headed back to Austin after weathering out the storm in Magnolia Beach, just up from where the guys were camped; I’ll be returning to the coast on Wednesday.)
What’s next, a zombie invasion?

Water pooled in the surviving tents. Jeff Wueste photo

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One paddler quits, plus dolphins, a righted outhouse and big wind

One paddler quits, plus dolphins, a righted outhouse and big wind

The team paddles into shore at Bird Island Basin on Saturday, May 23, 2020. Pam LeBlanc photo

One paddler bailed out, a bobcat left its paw prints on the outskirts of camp, and we woke up to an impressive lightning storm this morning.
Tim “Wildman” Curry, a Spanish teacher from the Houston area, decided he’d reached the peak of the fun-o-meter after four days of paddling up the Texas coast, and bowed out of the Third Coast Cowboy Epic Kayak trip from the southern tip of South Padre Island to the Louisiana border.
By way of explanation, he offered up a comparison to hot sauce.
“You know Cholula,” he said. “It’s good. It’s just chili flavor, and that’s all it is. It’s not too hot. I’m too old for some stuff – I don’t need my ass to burn. The paddling’s kind of like that – I need a little spice, but I don’t want my ass to burn.”

Jimmy Harvey prepares for departure early Sunday, May 24. Pam LeBlanc

With that, he paddled to a parking lot at about 6 a.m. to await his wife while the other four paddlers – expedition leader West Hansen, veteran paddlers Jeff Wueste and Jimmy Harvey, and co-star of the PBS documentary program “The Highpointers” Branndon Bargo – pushed into the Intercoastal Waterway and continued their adventure.
So far, the team has knocked out about 130 miles of the roughly 385-mile trip. Hansen initially predicted they would finish in eight days. It’s clear now he overestimated that schedule, but after gliding into Bird Island Basin near Corpus Christi at about 5:30 p.m. Saturday, he shrugged off the miscalculation.
“We knew the wind would be with us, but we had this weird hour-long gale force thing that screwed everything up,” he said. “We’ve encountered some conditions that were unpredicted.”
In fact, the wind has been blowing like the world’s biggest box fan for most of the past four days, and doesn’t appear to be letting up. Jason Jones, who’s been driving me up and down the South Texas beaches, and I watched as at least three portable shade awnings set up by beach-goers crumpled to their spindly knees.
We’ve had our own adventures. We spent two nights at Matagorda Cut waiting for the team to arrive. We watched a kangaroo rat sprint across the sanddunes, ogled a raccoon in the giant granite blocks that make up the jetties, met a dog named Xena Warrior Princess, and got tangled up in a jellyfish’s tentacles. I collected sanddollars and swam frequently.

Jimmy Harvey smiles after reaching shore at Bird Island Basin on Saturday. Pam LeBlanc photo

We reconnected with the team Saturday evening at Bird Island Basin near Corpus Christi, a spot popular with windsurfers. I doled out cheeseburgers, tater tots and ice cold Cokes that had been sitting in the car for four or five hours, but nobody seemed to notice.
“Best cheeseburger I’ve ever eaten,” Hansen said.
They shared a few of the day’s adventures: They met a guy named Shawn who gave them water and orange juice, and a few hours later stopped at his bayside house, where they helped him right an outhouse that had overturned in a recent storm.
“It wasn’t just a port-o-can – it was heavy,” Hansen said.
They saw several pods of dolphins, leaping mullet, undulating jellyfish, squadrons of jellyfish and some friendly fisherman. The challenge, Hansen said, has been finding a properrhythm.
“I was hoping to have more mileage,” he said.

Not sure if West Hansen is wincing in agony or just enjoying the cheeseburger he wolfed down after pulling into shore Saturday evening. Pam LeBlanc photo

West Hansen’s back is chafing from rubbing against the seat in his kayak. Pam LeBlanc photo

During the 2012 expedition Hansen led down the Amazon River in 2012, the team covered between 50 and 80 miles a day. That more than 4,000-mile expedition took nearly four months. Two years later, Hansen and Wueste paddled the entire Volga River in Russia.
So far on this trip, the team has paddled between 25 and 42 miles each day, but the first day and a half they were in the Gulf, where they dipped and rose in swells as big as schoolbuses. Their pace has picked up since they shifted into the more protected Intercoastal Waterway.
As he stepped out of his boat Saturday, Hansen grimaced and took a few ginger steps. He showed off a patch of severely chafed skin rubbed raw against his kayak seat as he peeled off his shredded water socks.
“It’s so nice to be away from the news and social media,” he said. “Sleeping out feels so good. The best part is hanging out with these guys.”
Bargo, a mountain climber who’d never paddled in the ocean before, struggled the first few days. He couldn’t keep food or water down, and spent hours puking into the sea.
“I knew it would be hard, but that compounded everything,” Bargo said. “That got me dehydrated, then I slowed down even more.” Also, he noted, he’s paddling with some of the best paddlers in the state. “I do everything I can just to keep up and they pull right past me.”

Jeff Wueste settles in at camp last night. Pam LeBlanc photo

I camped with the team last night, and I’m glad I did. I know I’ll get a better story in the end. (Last night’s meal was another favorite from Austin-based Packit Gourmet – the corn chowder. I rate it an A-minus. Harvey and I are comparing notes, and agree that our favorite is the Texas State Fair chili, which gets an A-plus. Shepherd pie gets a B.)
Something about popping up a tent, listening to everyone swap tales and watching the stars come out makes me feel alive. We woke up to jags of lightning ripping across the sky to the east, saw hundreds of thumb-sized crabs in the mudflats, then discovered bobcat tracks on the beach that hadn’t been there the night before.
It all made me feel ever-so-slightly feral. Or maybe that was the bottle of scotch we passed around

Branndon Bargo drags his kayak into the water early Sunday, May 24, 2020. Pam LeBlanc photo

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