The Beauty and the Danger of the Guadalupe River
Generations of Texans gather at the river’s stunning headwaters, which have been carved by cycles of catastrophic floods.
“When the river takes you, don’t fight it,” my parents told me when I was about nine years old. “If it takes you under, focus your effort on holding your breath—it will push you back up.” We would practice floating on our backs, feet downstream, like tiny giggling canoes moving diagonally across the Comal, Medina, San Marcos, and other lesser currents that made up the landscape of our gorgeous, dangerous childhoods, until we were ready for something bigger.
One of those bigger rivers was the Guadalupe, which runs from the Texas Hill County to the Gulf of Mexico, crossing aquifers and collecting tributaries as it plows southeast with a depth millions of years in the making. Before there were roads or fences, the Guadalupe was already cutting its way through limestone in a slow choreography of water and stone. It’s that clever pathway that makes the river so beautiful. It’s that perseverance through rugged terrain that makes it so deadly.