I hear tell that some pretty fringe ideas, characters, and actions are associated with Texas. But when it comes to fringe rivers, paddlers take note. There is no need for me to talk up the utterly stunning canyons of the Rio Grande through and below Big Bend. That's old news. But let me acquaint you with another lone star gem known to few—the Sabine (pronounced sah bean) River.
About half of this 500-mile-long river forms the border between Texas and Louisiana. At its midpoint is a huge impoundment called Toledo Bend Reservoir. Below that, according to internet sources, is one of the finest destinations for anyone seeking a remote, camping-worthy, multi-day experience. So for years I have been obsessed with getting there, and in November 2025, I pulled it off. This is the story.
It took 1,250 miles of determined driving to get from Maryland to Anacoco, LA. Why Anacoco? Because near Anococo is where Tack-A-Paw Expedition is located. Nobody can say I am shy about hitchhiking my shuttles, but to do that, there must be a secure place to leave boat and gear. Absolutely nobody lived near the Sabine put-in. So I resorted instead to hiring a shuttle, and fortunately I found this one outfitter, Tack-A-Paw, operating nearby who was willing to do this very long shuttle. The proprietor was Danny.
Tack-A-Paw is in a little RV park located on some high ground along Bayou Toro. I arrived at about 9:30 a.m. and a lone dog walker pointed me to a tree house to find Danny. I wove through a jungle of junk, ascended the rickety stairs, shouted if anybody was home, and after repeated such calls, a groggy, grouchy octogenarian responded and eventually emerged from the clutter, grabbed a beer, and eventually remembered why I was there. And then he broke the bad news—his sole truck wouldn't start. But as the relationship warmed up, he assured me we would figure something out, and he directed me to get my stuff ready.
Sure enough, Danny soon emerged with jumper cables in hand. For a power source, he drove up a crumbling little sedan and attached one end of the cables to its battery and the other ends to one of the truck's two batteries. Did you know big pickups have two batteries? I didn't. But I bring this up because, when he turned the ignition, the engine eventually caught. And then he revved the engine up. And then, a few seconds later, a two-foot geyser (no exaggeration) of sparks and flames erupted from the other battery. "Oh heck" he didn't exactly exclaim. And I dejectedly saw my expedition dying before it was born. But after a rest, he tried again, the engine caught, he shouted for me to jump in, and with prayers on our lips, sprinted the five miles to the launch site, counting on momentum to get us there. Free, free at last.
Now about the trip. I launched my C-1 below the Toledo Bend Dam into a mile-long canal conveying water from a hydroelectric plant to the main river. Due to the drought, the plant had not been generating for a long time. With a flow of only 53 cfs there was no current, but there was no gradient either, so that was fine. They must be required to send some minimum flow from the dam, because upon hitting the natural channel, I had a good and ever-growing current. But let it be clear, that ole river was low.
At this level, the Sabine is a zigzagging channel down a corridor of sand. Behind that are steep, eroded sand banks topped by a jungle-like forest, which on the Texas side is called the Big Thicket. This place is remote, but it is not pristine. There are occasional camps or clusters of camps, and there are no doubt lots of sand roads hidden back in the forest, as evidenced when you get out and investigate the four-wheeler tracks on some beaches. But I had almost complete solitude. You will find no river more suitable for camping, as the beautiful and spacious sandbars are almost continuous. I think at higher levels one might share the river with motor boats, but I encountered none. The place is probably crawling with wildlife but I saw little—just a clan of wild pigs and a few alligators. I don't understand why I saw so few gators. Maybe it was too cool, maybe just RD (reptile dysfunction).
As you may have guessed, this was not a whitewater adventure. There is one easy rapid near the beginning, then only a moderate current. The stream bed is littered with snags. All are avoidable, usually favoring one side or the other, but you can make it a slalom if you need stimulation. Really, the only excitement of the trip came one day with the crack of a rifle and a bullet presumably flying by my head. Seems a good ole boy was just passing the time taking potshots across what he assumed was an empty river as I unexpectedly emerged from a screen of trees. I should note that he was very apologetic and offered me food and drink and even a place to camp. But I had miles to make.
And so it was, after 106 miles and six days of bliss, I reached the takeout at Deweyville, TX. Now, for the final step, I had to call Danny and have him pick me up. When I eventually got through, I learned that his truck had died just after he dropped me off, and it was still moldering by the roadside. So he rallied that aforementioned decrepit sedan. A few hours later (this was a long, backroads shuttle) he arrived, strapped my boat to the roof, barely stuffed me and my gear inside, and eventually, after getting lost, delivered me back to his camp.
Life is strange. When the adventure began, I thought I had entered the Twilight Zone. But Danny proved to be my cleverly disguised guardian angel. I am forever grateful to have made his acquaintance. So go follow my lead, but remember to bring a jumper cable and fire extinguisher.