This article was originally published by Jed Mazour in The Kendall Gentleman, Kendall County’s premier men’s magazine.
Over the past couple of weeks, I have been concentrating on ideas for this article. I knew what I needed to write about, but I have been avoiding it. I have endless stories to share of the outdoors, and I enjoy doing so, but the truth is, I feel I owe it to myself and anyone experiencing the same feelings to talk this out, so to speak. There are thoughts and questions many of us share that we can’t answer right now. Sometimes burying these will seemingly make them go away. But my heart is telling me to talk about it. We (community volunteers) all have our experiences with this recent tragedy on the Guadalupe River. Some you hear about on the news, others from conversations with locals while cleaning up debris, or just airing things out with friends. I have heard some stories that can haunt a man’s life forever. Stories that are so heartbreaking they should only be in a movie and never lived out. Some that will undeniably change the course of the lives of its cast.
This story is mine. I share it with Denise, Cory, Shannon, Matt, and Erin. There was never a question of whether we should be doing something to help. There were only questions like: Where do we start? What time will we start up again tomorrow, and the next day, and so on? As I am writing this, I can feel the uneasiness of my friends. This is not something that any of them would talk openly about, nonetheless, write an article. But like I said, I feel called to do so. The 6 of us, for 6 days, cut our own path down the river from Center Point to Sisterdale. Each day was filled with miles of muddy river banks, mountains of debris, and what seemed like the impossible task of clearing an area, the best we could. Walking away from some of these areas was incredibly difficult, and for some of us, it probably still haunts us. You never could be sure if your best was enough, if it was your best, or when it was enough. Sounds confusing, but there are a lot of you who will uniquely understand this part. In the early parts of our endeavor, we learned pretty quickly that we had made the right decision. There were times in our search when it was just us as far as we could see. The feeling of just how vast the devastation was and the scale of the search really set in thick. It’s a feeling that seemed so hopeless. But it wasn’t.
Sunday afternoon, we decided to stop for a meal and replenish some of our energy. Comfort Pizza was open and happens to be one of our favorite stops in the area. The owner, Ty, was extremely generous and bought our lunch. We sat and talked for about an hour, sipping a few cold drinks and calming our nerves. Before long, we pushed off and set out for a special spot on the river. This section happens to be the exact same location we have been kayaking all season, and I even mentioned to y’all in my previous articles about fishing the Guadalupe River. We pulled up to the bridge, and it was completely covered in flood debris. Only two county road crew employees were there at the time. We talked them into letting us cross the bridge. From there, we moved upriver on foot. That Saturday night, as Denise and I were getting ready for bed, I told Denise, “Something tells me we need to be looking in the same spot we have been kayaking all season. It’s a new spot for us and unusual to frequent it so much. Maybe there is a reason?” Well, there was a reason.
Steve Edwards was born in the West Texas town of San Angelo. Happily married to his beautiful bride, Marilyn, for over 50 years! Steve and Marilyn raised twin girls, Allison and Courtney, in Odessa. From my conversations with Courtney, I gathered that her father was a lot like what you might expect from a West Texas gentleman. Born in the Texas desert, he worked in the oil and gas industry until he was able to retire. He was a well-respected man in his industry. Steve was the kind of guy who would have a conversation with just about anyone who would listen. He had a big personality, and I think it’s safe to say his heart was just as big. He cherished his girls and adored the time they spent playing tennis. It was something he was NOT going to miss! There were moments that could make him tear up, and I don’t think it bothered him. I do think his ability to show emotion was probably important to his girls. Even if it was as simple as a movie like Hoosiers. It seems like Steve had really settled into life well at his age. Ranching, watching sports, loving his dogs, and the RV travels with Marilyn. Seemed Steve could always make a friend pretty quickly too. I pictured Steve and Marilyn making new friends at campsites, sitting outside their RV and telling stories with the dogs in tow until dark.
I think not only did all of this fill his heart, but it also completed his journey in a way. Allison and Courtney both reside in Austin and were so lucky to be able to spend time with mom and dad just before the Fourth. Thank God. I wonder if Steve and I had crossed paths upriver, would we have talked? I’d like to think so. I would probably be dragging my kayak across rocks down to the water. Maybe Steve would be walking his dog and start a conversation with me. Man, do I wonder… As fate would have it, we didn’t meet that way….
Closure. What a simple word for such a profound feeling, experience, or moment in your life. I think closure is what we are all looking for in this tragedy. Maybe it’s finding it through the ability to bury a loved one with dignity, or cleaning up the river banks along the kids’ camps so they can have some normalcy. For me (us), it’s getting the chance to know the man Steve Edwards was. That was so important and fulfilling to me personally. It was MY closure.
A question I keep asking myself, “Will I ever be able to look at the river the same? Enjoy it like we used to?” I don’t know the answer to that question yet. I will certainly be back out kayaking and fishing the steady waters under the bald cypress trees soon enough. But I don’t know how it will feel. I do know that this river is scarred with battle wounds. From the days of the Comanche Indians, Civil War stories, and now the great flood. But she blooms every spring, and the currents keep her clean. That’s a gift from God.
Please understand this is just one story, our story. There are hundreds, if not thousands, more. Some with a sense of closure, and some unanswered. If you have a story, consider sharing it with someone you care about. If not, that’s ok too. Maybe you can read this article and understand that people know exactly how you feel, even without saying a word. I do. We do.
With love and respect,
Jed Mazour
From the Texas outdoors: the Guadalupe gives as much as it takes. For the fishing side of that same river, The Spring Transition covers it with the care it deserves. And for a fishing community built on the same love of the water, The Boerne Bass Club: The Tug Is the Drug is worth a read.