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Slipping below the water’s surface, I pause for the initial shock of momentary relief that the 80 degree water brings to my blistered and peeling neck, shoulders, and back. A good twenty-five degrees hotter than the water, the air cycles through my snorkel burning with the intensity of a blast furnace and seeming to pull the moisture from my throat and lungs. Taking a final breath I effortlessly glide into the depths of the pool toward the glaringly white limestone bottom. Even beneath twenty feet of water I know that due to the water’s unbelievable clarity and the reflection of the stone bottom that I’ll only get further sunburned from above and below. Barely suspended above the bottom, I cautiously ebb toward a tall stand of hydrilla. En route small sunfish, Rio Grande darters, and Mexican tetras cautiously scud and shoot through the piles of debris and short grasses below and to my side. At fifteen feet the bright green island of vegetation comes into focus and I can make out even more small fishes curiously darting about. Spotting a good sized carp the color of ground mustard feeding along the grass’s edge I thumb the safety of my gun, preparing to fire. A dark shape suddenly appears out of the corner of my eye. I turn in time to see a huge longnose gar hunting the edge of my visibility. I give a quick kick in his direction and fire. The line goes taunt and the water explodes in a whirlwind of struggle and defiance. I’m violently jerked forward as the gar fights to free himself. Closing the distance between us I pull closer to the four feet of sharp scales and needle like teeth engaged in its final battle to free itself. Seeing the spear’s barb begin to wallow against the gar’s skin I make a final lunge to grab him. The river shark’s armored skin quickly cuts its way into my hands and fingers, drawing out tiny pinpricks of blood. Welcome to spearfishing the Chihuahuan Desert of west Texas. It is said that everything in Texas is bigger and better but in the desolate region encompassing the Devils River everything is hotter and dryer. And more difficult. Simply reaching the river takes time and planning of expeditionary proportions.
Located 4 ½ hours west of Austin along the Texas-Mexico border the Devils (yes, it’s “Devils”- no apostrophe) intermediately flows for ninety-four miles through one of the most inhospitable areas of the state. Meandering through the eastern portion of the Chihuahuan Desert, the river is a welcome oasis among the yucca, cactus, and scrub choked hills, plateaus, and deep valleys of west Texas. Summer temperatures can hover well over a hundred, occasionally reaching melting points as high as 114 degrees. The river’s saving grace are the reasonably mild winters that require only a thin wetsuit for comfort. Although the Devils, like all rivers in Texas, is public property most of the land surrounding it is privately held. In order to reach the best spearfishing one must boat ten to fifteen miles (depending on lake height) north from the closest boat ramp on Lake Amistad to reach the mouth of the river. From there it’s a wet hike through shallow water and over bleached limestone in search of the deep pools that periodically pock the river. These pools, some as large as two football fields and as deep as twenty-five feet, are a haven for most of the legally hunted freshwater fishes of the state as well as snakes, fifteen to twenty pound nutria rats, and turtles the size of serving platters. Species that aren’t legally taken such as largemouth bass and huge catfish also cruise the pools in search of food and shelter.
The best way to spear the Devils, especially in the summer, is to set up a “base camp” in a shallow part of the river and work from there. With the Texas sun literally cooking you it’s good to have a shady spot to retreat to in-between hunts. It’s also a good place to keep a cooler full of water, beer, and fish.
As difficult and harsh as the Devils can be the effort is well worth it when the possible rewards are taken into consideration. But make no mistake, the river and the area surrounding it is aptly named. As Texas Ranger John Coffee Hays commented in 1840 when told that the river was locally known as Saint Peter’s River, “…looks more like the Devil’s river to me.”
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