An overused, cheap joke in Fort Worth is a one-liner about
the nauseating water floating within the Trinity. While it may be ranked the
third most polluted river in Texas, the surrounding scenery and downtown
skyscrapers are worth a moment of appreciation. You just have to be wary about
the water you’re floating on.
Hunter,
Thomas, and I rented our paddle boards on Panther Island and pushed ourselves
off the sandy riverside. Rocked my body forward and threw it back with each oar
stroke. The rhythm came naturally, one stroke on the left, one stroke to the
right. The board, gradually gaining momentum now, glided above the water. I was
winning this imaginary race between the three of us as I hooked a left at the
fork splitting the river. An arbitrary bridge ahead became the unofficial
checkered flag. A sweat stream cascaded down my forehead to the tip of my nose.
Now, every alternating stroke included a smooth wipe across my face. This
lasted all of about 50 meters until the shoulders, back, and biceps pleaded for
relief. A quick glance revealed of my opponents multiple board lengths behind
me, and I unanimously crowned myself winner.
My
thrusts slowed, now just letting my inertia carry me and allowing the Trinity’s
serenity the allotted time it deserved. The water that lined to the descending
sun glistened a yellow tone. The reflection rippled with small waves formed
from the headwind that funneled underneath the bridge. The front of the board
made audible pats as it climbed and crashed with each wave. Between my relaxed
pace, the headwind, and the energy being used downwards, I stalled in place and
spun in a circle. The trees lining the bank were lush and full that
complemented the grass filling the space to the river. As a newcomer, the
Trinity’s allure grew on me.
But
then reality set in. Refreshed, I began paddling again with Hunter and Thomas
on either side. As we journeyed down the river, a floating conglomerate of
green scum washed by. And then another. Then three. We steered straight into a
bottleneck of debris that tainted the tranquility of the river. The sources of
the filth became quite clear. Multiple drainage pipes snuck out of the
embankment to discreetly release its toxins. I was fully prepared to discover a
mutant double-headed fish swimming under my board. Immediately, I stuck my oar
off to the side, rotated in a 180, and rowed towards our dock.
With
the tailwind on our side, we spent the trip back sitting on the boards with an
occasional paddle but mostly cracking jokes and taking pictures. The pristine
scenery on the outskirts rivaled the polluted water that I avoided at all
costs. Our outing on the Trinity River presented promise at first, but now,
I’ll just be another patron making the same bad jokes about the quality of one
of Fort Worth’s drinking sources.
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