THE LOWER CANYONS

The bovine skull came into view as we rounded a bend on the Rio Grande, setting a scene like the desert backdrop of a Wile E. Coyote cartoon. With its muzzle down, horns up, and carcass stretched as flat as a carpet, the cow had apparently come to the dirt bank and lay down for its final rest. Only the effects of time and weather had disturbed it since.

Drifting past the desolate sight, I marveled at the glory and isolation of exploring one of Texas’ wildest places—the Lower Canyons of the Rio Grande. Last November, I joined photographer Laurence Parent and a party of nine others for an 83-mile paddling trip along the Texas-Mexico border.