On a very lonely stretch of Ranch Road 624 southeast of Cotulla, the Nueces River doesn’t merit a sign. It doesn’t even merit a dry bed. One of the state’s major rivers — once the disputed border between Texas and Mexico — is completely invisible. Don’t be fooled by the attached photos. None of them with liquid mark the spot.
It takes a lot of imagination to visualize this low stretch of thorn brush country filling up with any amount of water. It, however, must. GPS and satellite imagery don’t lie. The Nueces passes through here at some time or another.
As did we on our 26th official Texas river tracing. We started the day early in Uvalde, heading up Texas 55 through flat fields toward Camp Wood. We stopped by the site of two vanished Spanish missions, abandoned despite the promise of fertile valley lush with pecan trees that give the river its name (“nut” in Spanish).
Higher and higher we climbed up a crease in the lower Edwards Plateau. We were almost to Kerrville when we came to the sources of the eastern prong of the Upper Nueces. As often is the case when a clear stream spills through rugged, semi-arid land, the air was full of birdsong and butterflies.
The day was clear and crisp as we headed back down the river, intending, as we do, to follow it to the mouth. One pleasant discovery along the way: Lake Nueces, a small reservoir that provides year-round recreation just below sleepy Camp Wood, a former fort. Fisherman dotted the dam as we explored the low-water crossing below it. “Stay out of the pipes” read the signs. It was not until I watched the clear water gushing through plastic tunnels beneath the road that I realized the improbable danger.
Below Uvalde, the river dries up. We knew this would happen. First, because all our maps showed the thin blue line disappearing as it curled to the south and east, then a little north before joining the Frio River near Three Rivers. Also, we watched the Sabinal and Frio disappear into the same arcing recharge zone on earlier tracings. At least as it crosses under U.S. 83 above La Pryor, there’s evidence of regular floods among the spectacular piles of whitened stone.
On the other side of Crystal City — a sad agricultural town somewhat brightened by the nearby oil and gas boom — we found the wet Nueces again with great difficulty, dark and oily behind a dam at Presidio Park. Rarely has a Texas River looked more abused.
Then across the great thorny brush land. Nothing. Not even a river bed for most of the way. Lots of crested caracaras, the national bird of Mexico, but few people. Every few miles, we passed a fracking camp. Oil workers clear a square of land and bank it with red earth. Tanks hold fracking water and the resultant oil. Flares burn off gas. Always, a merrily decorated camper sits guard at the entrance to the site, checking in giant trucks, but also smoking barbecue out back.
The roads here are in terrible condition. Pot holes could easily wreck a normal sedan. Ours seems to be the only one on the road. The tiny villages are packed with RVs, trailers and portable cottages. City and county buildings, including schools, look newly tended, but boom town economies come with winners and losers and the infrastructure won’t support all this activity.
The Nueces magically becomes a river again after the Frio spills down from Choke Canyon Reservoir. We cross it irregularly before encountering the informal lake communities on Lake Corpus Christi, just a few miles from the city itself. Like the bigger Highland Lakes, this one has shrunken in the drought. Truth be told, this water source for Corpus Christi often ends this way. South Texas is a lot drier than the rest of eastern part of the state.
As we navigate the city’s western suburbs, we find that the river is nicely lined with recreational options. We follow it alongside the newer channels that form the port of Corpus Christi. Wading birds flock here, as do fishing humans of all ages.
The Nueces flows into Nueces Bay, a fat arm of Corpus Christi Bay. We can easily see it and rejoice at the luck. It’s one of the few spots where a Texas river reaches its destination within sight of accessible land.
We soak that in, head to our inevitable hotel, then try to find some local foodstuff. We end up at the A1 Texas Steak and Seafood in Calallan. Not bad. Pert staff. Odd decor. Could have done much worse.
The next day we add the San Antonio River to our list.
Photos by Joe Starr