At the south eastern end of Elephant Butte lake this morning I find slightly bumpy (surface wind) exquisite green tourmaline gemstone water.
I launch just before sunrise from a boat launch at the historic Damsite. Seasonal irrigation release from the lake is coming to an end and water level is low. Low water means an onerous portage over soft sand if I want a beach launch without getting Janis truck stuck in the sand. It’s expensive to be towed out by the professionals. Yes even 4x4s get stuck in this lake’s beach sand.
Thus I seek out the cement boat launches at this time of year. Fortunately there are a fair number to choose from since there are about 200 miles of shoreline on this approximately 40 mile long water reservoir which dams the Rio Grande to generate hydroelectric power for southern New Mexico and provide irrigation water for Texas, Mexico and southern New Mexico.
Today I wanted to explore the waters around the eponymous elephant shaped butte which elephant-in-the-lake, to be honest, I’ve never really been able to see.
There’s a marina with some seriously impressive floating mansions (and some more humble watercraft) currently nestled near the pachyderm of a butte. I am, as usual, very early and only notice signs of a single scantily clad (it’s been super hot recently) liveaboard human on one boat.
This marina has a very different feel from salt water ones I have known where round the world yachts and their colorful, sometimes salty people gather.
Knysna in the eighties I’m looking at you. Forty years haven’t overwritten the truth inscribed in my heart of those years, that time.
Considering how close and accessible it is, I haven’t really explored many areas of Elephant Butte lake. There’s something gives me the heebie jeebies when I’m out on open water on this reservoir. It could be that more than 100 years ago the construction of this dam flooded a huge area of geography, drowning riverside villages and ancient burial grounds. Then there are the steep limestone cliffs casting shadows, offering no beaches for respite, just the deep, dark water. And David Parker Ray. Let’s not forget the ToyBox Killer.
I usually paddle solo in the liminal light of dawn, a time of enchantment. I sometimes have to work hard to keep focused on the beauty and not to allow my mind to pull me down down down among the drowned things.”…what the dead had no speech for when living…”
As the sun clears the canyon, it illuminates the row of historic stone and adobe casitas built by the Civilian Conservation Corps in 1940. These have been well maintained and are available as short term rentals.
Clouds play in the blue above, light dances on the blue below. Herons fish.
It is a good paddle. A peaceful blue green tourmaline paddle under a waning gibbous moon.
I recently drove all the way to California with my kayak riding shotgun, looking for something which is just five miles away, anytime I care to put the kayak on the truck and head out into the dawn.
“…We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, remembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea…”
from Little Gidding by TS Eliot. (1942)
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