Two Feet on the Water

Touring Possum Kingdom on a stand-up paddle board

by Brandon Weaver
photos by Jerod Foster

I stand on a fishing pier and survey the blue waters of Possum Kingdom Lake in North Texas. It is a sprawling, picturesque 16,716-acre body of water, nestled along the canyons and limestone bluffs of Palo Pinto County. I plan to spend the next three days touring and exploring those coves atop a stand-up paddleboard (SUP).

It’s January, and I’m wearing long pants, two jackets and running shoes — not your typical bare-feet-and-shorts paddleboard attire. It’s 41 degrees outside, so I’m dressed for the weather and multiple hours of board-top travel. While I’m hoping to inspire warmer SUP adventures, maybe I can prove that SUP fun isn’t limited by season.

There are two simple goals for this excursion: I will not fall off the board (the water temperature is in the 50s), and I must paddle through the iconic 90-foot cliffs of Hell’s Gate, PK’s signature geological feature. With sustained 20 mph winds and gusts up to 40 mph, the lake has other ideas.

Texas has 15 major rivers, 3,300 miles of tidal shoreline and 188 major lakes (5,000 acres or larger). The Texas Parks and Wildlife Department has helped develop 78 official paddling trails along those waterways. I have dedicated this year to explore as much high-quality Texas H20 as I can from atop my SUP.

While it is not an official paddling trail, Possum Kingdom Lake was at the top of my list. It’s close to my house, and it’s set up perfectly for a multiday paddle tour. There are 138 Brazos River Authority campsites on the lake, and Possum Kingdom State Park is at the far western end. The plan is to connect a BRA campsite on the south side of PK’s main peninsula with Possum Kingdom State Park, 8 miles across the lake, and return to the peninsula on the north side. It is a 22-mile circumnavigation around the heart of PK: two nights camping and three days paddling.

I enlist my good friend, adventure collaborator, photographer and Texas Tech professor Jerod Foster to join me. He and I have unfinished business on this Brazos River reservoir.

We snag a cozy waterfront site at the D&D South campground along the southern shore of the Possum Kingdom peninsula. It is cradled along a cedar-covered ridge that juts into the water and forms a small protective cove. From this vantage point, the water appears calm and navigable. Jerod arrives and we evaluate our float plan.

The First Dunk is the Coldest

The wind is relentless, but the water in our cove is calm. The plan is to hug the shoreline and hopefully escape the choppy, white-capping water.

We unload our weapons of choice. I unzip a giant duffel bag, unfurl my SUP and start pumping it full of air. My Badfish Monarch inflatable is made out of the same heavy-duty PVC material as a whitewater raft and will expand to 11 feet long, 34 inches wide and 5 inches thick. Fully inflated to 17 PSI, it is rock-solid.

Jerod slides his plastic hard-shell Diablo Adios off the back of a small trailer. Diablo manufactures its boats in Texas, and the Adios is a hybrid model, teetering between stand-up paddleboard and sit-atop kayak. At 12.5 feet long and 36 inches wide, the boat is very stable and features a ton of storage.

Today, we’re paddling 8 miles out and back through Hell’s Gate. I launch first, carrying a change of clothes, a wetsuit and food for the day. I paddle past the protection of our tranquil cove and suddenly find myself in a very angry body of water.

I look down the lake to the bluffs ahead. The water explodes, spraying mist 20 feet into the sky as it crashes against limestone monoliths resting in the water.

I am not deterred. I look back. Jerod hasn’t made it out of the cove yet. I turn my board to paddle back his way.

Big mistake.

The wind and waves literally rock my world. In the blink of an eye, I lean hard on my left foot and … into the drink I go, head-first and totally submerged.

I scramble back to the board. My heart is pounding. I instinctively grab my head. My lucky hat! It’s gone! I stand up and paddle toward it. Jerod rounds the point and sees my Namaste cap bobbing in the water.

“Oh, no, your hat,” he yells.

I flank it and scoop it from the icy waters. The wind is deafening.
“I went in,” I shout. Jerod looks at me.

“You want to go in?” he shouts back.

“No, I went in the water!” I say as I point to the lake.

“Oh,” he says. “Are you cold?”

I confirm with a shiver. “Yes! Let’s paddle in and re-evaluate,” I shout.

As I paddle back to shore, gusts of air blow me backward. I struggle to make forward progress. When I reach our cove, the wind subsides, the water settles and serenity returns. 

Exploring the rocky shores of Possum Kingdom State Park.

The King has spoken

I pull my boat ashore and quickly change into dry clothes and wrap myself with the most luxurious fleece jacket I have ever felt. It’s like a nice, dry, warm hug. I squint my eyes at the lake that has betrayed me. Jerod senses my conflict.

“There’s no way I can shoot in that wind,” he says. “I can’t track the boat.”

I watch a bass boat on the lake returning to the shore. Its outboard engine screams, pushing the bow skyward as waves smack its hull. “Thump! Thump!” I come to my senses.

“I think today is a no-go,” I say,
feeling defeated.

We pitch tents and decide to go for a walkabout. There’s a steep and rugged 16-mile hike-and-bike trail that runs along the Possum Kingdom peninsula. We ascend to the top of Johnson Peak, the highest point, and get a view of the day’s aborted route. The sky is consumed by dust, casting the cliffs of Hell’s Gate into a brownish hue. Below, the waters of the Brazos River swirl and boil like a giant bubbling witch’s cauldron.

Today, the great Possum King has proclaimed his lake off-limits. We must obey.

Possum Kingdom State Park shaded in green.

Starting over

We have a campsite reserved at Possum Kingdom State Park. My wife, Allison, and a special guest will paddle out to greet us upon our approach. Hell’s Gate will have to wait for another trip. Jerod and I pack our boats and push off. It is a beautiful day, with calm water and no wind. The pace is easy and relaxed as we drift past boat slips adjoined to large, small, grand and simple lake cabins that have seen generations of family lake getaways. The only traffic we have on the water is the fast and furious bass boats careening across the lake from one fishing hole to the next. They pay us no mind, not even a curious glance.

We traverse a serene 3 miles of greenish-blue water. I feel intimately connected to the Brazos River as I glide across its waters on a board filled with air. It is two of Earth’s elements, opposing yet working with each other. We stop for lunch on top of rock at the opening of the channel that will take us to Possum Kingdom State Park.

We make our way down the channel, thinking how easy today has been. We should roll into camp around 3 p.m. and have time to chill and enjoy a campfire. As we get deeper into the cove, something seems amiss.

“This doesn’t look like I remember,” Jerod says.

I agree. None of this looks familiar.

Uh-oh.

What are we doing here?

The genesis of this Possum Kingdom Lake paddle tour sprang from a bike trip Jerod and I collaborated on for this magazine (“Backroad Bike Camping,” April 2019). We pedaled from Mother Neff State Park in Central Texas to Possum Kingdom State Park on a five-day, 223-mile bike tour. We did not want that trip to end, but the lake impeded further progress. I remember standing on the shores of Possum Kingdom and thinking, “What if …?”

As I float in the cove, nothing along the shoreline looks like what I remember from that day. We check the GPS on our phones.

“Darn it!”

We’ve made a major wrong turn. We’re in Caddo Creek Cove, due south of the state park. We just paddled 2 miles in the wrong direction and down the wrong leg of the lake.

We spend the next hour paddling nonstop to get back on track. We are running out of daylight.

Finally, the topography begins to look familiar, and like a beacon on the horizon, Jerod spots a familiar figure.

“Is that Allison on a paddleboard?”

“Yep, that’s her and Mr. Bojangles!”

Mr. Bojangles is our beagle. He’s on the front of her board, proudly sporting his red personal flotation device. He howls. I bellow.

“Mr. Bojangles!”

They escort us to our campsite along the shoreline of Possum Kingdom State Park. We paddled 11 miles today with our wrong turn. Allison and Mr. Bojangles leave us with a stack of firewood and escape back to the comforts of home. Jerod and I settle into the comforts of camp with a star-studded sky, a roaring fire and some rehydrated meals in pouches. The accommodations and cuisine register a billion-star rating.

As the last embers smolder on the fire, we settle into our tents and fall asleep to the gentle sound of water lapping along the shore.

Bring it on home

It’s our last day on the water. We meander through the serpentine inlets and bays along the north side of the lake.

Jerod’s been using his Diablo Adios exclusively in its sit-down kayak iteration, basically shooting pictures from a floating vessel. Stability is a necessity. He’s watched me bobble, fall and traverse the entirety of our 20-mile route with cold, wet shoes.

“So, what drew you to the SUP board?” he asks me. “As opposed to a traditional kayak.”

I think about how inefficient the SUP is, and how vulnerable you are on it. It’s really a delicate dance between bliss and calamity.

“I like the perspective of standing on the water,” I finally answer. “I feel free.”

He gets it. He also knows I like the struggle, the balance, the yin and yang of moving through nature exposed and raw to the world. Jerod is similar in the sense that he’s always up to push his comfort zone. He’s not really a boat guy and borrowed the Diablo Adios from a friend. Paddling 20 miles across vast expanses of water with camera gear is its own dance with calamity. Jerod never hesitated when I ask him to join me.

Our trip ends at the D&D North campground across the road from where we launched. Like any adventure, the realities of the journey are always different from what you anticipated.

When you are in the moment and living that planned excursion, expectations must be checked. You’ve got be fluid, listen to the environment and adjust accordingly.

It’s like life. It’s never what I expect, but it’s always best when attacked standing on two feet.

Brandon Weaver is a Texas writer and adventurer.

SEE MORE SUP ADVENTURES WITH BRANDON