The Far West Texas Experience

A Journey Worth Repeating

Welcome to another travel blog! This time, Brian and I embarked on an unforgettable trek across far west Texas, from El Paso to San Antonio. We paddled and fished the Rio Grande, Pecos, and Devils Rivers, immersing ourselves in stunning scenery, diverse wildlife, and some of the most remote waterways in the lower 48. The wind tested us, but the trip was nothing short of spectacular. It left us yearning for more, dreading the return to civilization. Far west Texas hasn’t seen the last of us.

Past Adventures in Texas

This wasn’t our first trip to the Lone Star State. Brian and I have fished Texas twice before, with our last visit a staggering 15 years ago—a fact that still floors me. We’ve been chasing fish and trails together for a long time.

Our first trip took us to the Guadalupe River for a couple of days, followed by a lengthy haul to Gila National Forest and Taos, New Mexico, with fishing and hiking along the way. The second trip was shorter, targeting the San Marcos River and Lower Colorado in the Texas Hill Country. It was during that visit we first heard whispers of the Devils River. Back then, anglers were just beginning to explore its bass potential—a remote river cutting through wild terrain with almost no fishing pressure. For two guys always on the lookout for remote fisheries, that stuck with us. We vowed to return.

Why Far West Texas?

As I mentioned in my Louisiana trip report, I’ve shifted how I pick angling destinations. With just two states left to fish in the next three years, my focus these days is discovering places I can revisit annually or biennially. Seeing what far west Texas has to offer has been on the top of that list for years—here’s why.

A Landscape of Scale and Solitude

Texas is enormous—a truth locals know well but one that hits hard for newcomers. To put it in perspective, the drive from El Paso to Big Bend National Park clocked in at nearly four hours. That vastness shapes everything about the experience.

This isolation is the region’s magic. It’s a rarity in the U.S., delivering a solitude that’s tough to match. You might share the area with other adventurers, but out on the rivers or trails, you’re unlikely to see them. It’s just you—vulnerable, surrounded by a breathtaking ecosystem, and cut off from the daily grind back home.

Yet, for all its remoteness, getting there is easier than you’d think. Flights to El Paso are budget-friendly, rental cars are cheap, and the roads are a driver’s dream: wide, straight, and empty, with speed limits often 75 MPH or more. Cue up a playlist, hit cruise control, and watch the scenery roll by like a film—you’ll be at your destination before you realize it.

Winter’s Sweet Spot

Most of my angling trips align with the northern hemisphere’s winter, when the Buffalo Niagara Region turns cold and opportunities to fish are few and far between. To dodge the snow, shoveling, and cabin fever, I chase climates that feel like the opposite. Far west Texas delivers.

Local guides say the weather shines from October through May, with late January to mid-February hitting the sweet spot for fishing. Fall can bring rain to muddy the plans, and wind picks up from late winter into spring. Still, compared to the icy slog back home, it’s a haven. No place is immune to weather quirks, but far west Texas offers a dependable escape and a solid shot at a great trip.

A Passionate Group of Professionals

Running a guide service in far west Texas sounds like a dream—leading anglers and paddlers on pristine rivers in a rugged paradise. But the reality? It’s a logistical beast. The region’s sheer scale and isolation, while a draw for adventurers like me, throw up roadblocks that’d test even the savviest outfitter. Take the distance: El Paso, the nearest hub, is four hours from Big Bend, and that’s the easy part. The rivers themselves—like the Devils or stretches of the Pecos—are often tucked down rough, unmarked roads or require long paddles to reach prime fishing spots. Hauling gear, boats, and clients across that terrain isn’t just time-consuming; it’s a constant battle with wear and tear on vehicles and equipment.

Then there’s the environment itself. The Chihuahuan Desert is a hostile place. Water’s scarce—guides can’t rely on refilling at a stream, so every trip means packing in gallons for drinking, cooking, and emergencies. Weather adds another layer: summer heat can push 100°F, risking heatstroke for clients, while spring winds humble even the most hardcore paddlers. Flash floods, though infrequent, can wipe out plans fast, leaving you stranded or scrambling to pivot. And the wildlife? It’s a selling point until a rattlesnake or mountain lion spooks a rookie paddler. Managing those risks takes more than skill—it takes constant vigilance.

Clients are the final hurdle. Far west Texas isn’t a “pop in for a weekend” fishery like the Guadalupe or San Marcos. It’s remote, raw, and demands commitment—both in travel time and physical prep. That shrinks your customer pool to hardcore adventurers willing to trek out and pay for the privilege. Sure, the solitude and untouched waters are worth it, but turning that into a profitable guide service? You’d need to be bold, with ironclad patience, and a knack for turning adversity into something worth seeking out.

Add all those challenges up—only the most passionate (or crazy) guides set up in this region. Accordingly, there are very few, which makes booking one kind of an anxious experience. I’m convinced I found the best in Far West Texas Outfitters.

Execution

Here’s the rundown of our trip. It was a complex and ambitious itinerary—perhaps a touch too ambitious in hindsight—but I’m grateful Mike Naccarato, owner of Far West Texas Outfitters, crafted it for us. His plan delivered a hearty sampling of what the region has to offer, and we came away richer for it.

Day 1: And So It Begins 

We landed in El Paso mid-morning, grabbed our rental car, and set off on a 3.5-hour drive to Marathon, Texas. It was a long day of travel, no doubt, but the journey proved worthwhile. The open road gave us a front-row seat to the shifting terrain—flat desert giving way to rugged hills, then mountains—and plenty of time to catch up and mentally gear up for the adventure ahead.

We checked into the Marathon Motel, a charming spot just a stone’s throw from Big Bend National Park. Marathon surprised us both with its cozy accommodations for such a small town. That evening, we unwound with drinks at the White Buffalo and savored stellar steaks at the Gage Hotel—ideal send-offs as we prepared to leave civilization behind for the better part of a week.

Day 2: Launching into Boquillas Canyon

We kicked off the day linking up with our guide, Adam, at 8:00 AM outside the motel. A quick note: Adam’s a character worth a novel—his guiding skills and annual pattern of life are almost unheard of these days. He arrived in a pickup towing a trailer stacked with three canoes and supplies for days. As someone who appreciates logistics, I was fascinated by his setup.

No time to waste—we climbed aboard (leaving the rental car behind, thanks to the motel’s hospitality) and drove under two hours to the Boquillas Canyon launch on the Rio Grande. We hit the water, paddling into a scene photos can’t touch—you’ve got to see it. (I’ve tossed in a few shots below anyway.) After about 14 miles, we made camp, and Adam cooked up strip steak and smashed potatoes. With riverside nightcaps, it was a perfect cap to the day—until the wind roared in.

That night, gusts ripped through the canyon, audible for 10 seconds before slamming us—like waves with a slow, eerie buildup. Tent frames bent, the walls slapped our faces, and dust coated everything—gear, skin, you name it. It was chaotic, gritty, and flat-out awesome.

Day 3: Riding the Tailwind 

The wind eased at dawn, giving us a chance to shake off the dust and regroup while Adam cooked up another excellent breakfast. We were paddling again by 10:00 AM—just as the wind returned, this time at our backs. It shoved us downriver at a solid pace, though it wasn’t all smooth sailing. Misjudge a rapid or turn, and that tailwind would spin you upstream, leaving you cursing until the scenery snapped you out of it.

After roughly 15 miles, we camped on a sliver of Mexico—the Rio Grande’s national boundary location at work, and a first for Brian and me. The wind faded by late afternoon, making setup easy. Adam’s dinner was, as usual, a hit, and we sipped nightcaps under a starlit sky. Calm at last, we slept hard.

Day 4: Wrapping Boquillas, On to Pecos

Another stellar breakfast fueled us for a 9:00 AM start. The final Boquillas leg was a breeze, landing us at the takeout by noon. We packed up, drove back to Marathon to grab the rental car, and met Mike Naccarato before heading 2.5 hours east to the Pecos River.

If Boquillas felt remote, the Pecos took it up a notch. Mike’s years of building ties with local landowners—public land’s scarce in Texas—garnered him access to a ranch house right on the river. With power, bunk beds, and running water, it’s a rare launchpad for such a wild spot. We arrived at dusk, settled in, and dug into yet another standout meal. Mike’s crew doesn’t mess around with food—I’m usually just chasing calories on trips, but these meals? They boost morale and keep you going.

Day 5: Pecos Fights Back, Pivot to Devils

Dawn brought howling headwinds and whitecaps on the stretch of river outside the ranch house. Fishing looked brutal, but sitting idle wasn’t an option. Casting was a nightmare—Adam rowed HARD all day to keep us on track and in the zone. We gutted it out to the takeout, grateful to move on.

The Pecos’ inaccessibility is its allure—an angler’s dream when conditions cooperate. Mother Nature won this round, but I’m already plotting a return, a very extensive trip focused exclusively on this gem of a fishery. By 2:00 PM, we’d loaded up and made the 2.5-hour drive to Del Rio, Texas, where we stayed at Marlene’s “Who Cares Bed and Breakfast”—our base for the Devils River leg.

Day 6: Devils River Serenity 

After a solid night’s rest and breakfast, we hit the road by 6:30 AM for the North Unit of Devils River State Natural Area. No wind this time—just us and a few pristine miles of river. We cast flies at cut banks and weed patches, chasing largemouth bass. The action was decent, but the scenery stole the show—clear, spring-fed water ringed by canyons and wild rock formations.

The novelty never faded. Sure, I wondered what lurked below, but the landscape above kept me gawking, imagining what a multi-day trip here could yield with time to dial in patterns and dissect stretches. We returned to our base by dusk and commenced to consume cocktails and cerveza. Mike made some ridiculously delicious smash burgers and fries. We hit the rack shortly thereafter—full, a little tipsy, and delightedly exhausted.

Day 7: Devils River Finale and Journey Back to Civilization

On the morning of Day 7, we fished the recently opened South Unit of the Devils River, a striking contrast to the North Unit from the day prior. This stretch showcased towering cliffs, brisk currents, a maze of braided channels, and distinctive holding water. A formidable tailwind—our recurring challenge—swept us swiftly downstream through open sections, sub-optimal conditions to say the least.

To counter it, we targeted heavily wooded areas and tight braids where the wind’s grip loosened. There, we hooked smallmouth bass, largemouth bass, and carp—a satisfying catch under tough conditions. Our guides confirmed this section reflects much of the river’s character, sparking my desire to return and explore its full scope. The steady action, set against such dramatic scenery, delivered an excellent close to our journey. Even with the wind’s relentless push, it was a highlight worth savoring.

We wrapped the day by packing up and driving to San Antonio, where the wild gave way to the inevitable pull of society. The transition stung a little—trading the river’s quiet isolation for highways, traffic, and the hum of urban life felt like waking from a dream we weren’t ready to leave. After days of canyons, starry nights, and the rhythm of paddle and rod, reintegration wasn’t just logistical; it was a mental shift. Clinging to memories of the trip, we tried to swap out billboards for lawyers with fleeting images of the wilderness—the only way to ease the shift.

Day 8 – Homeward Bound

Brian and I had late flights out of San Antonio, so we had time to explore the area for a little while before heading to the airport.  We grabbed breakfast at the hotel, walked River Walk for a bit, and checked out a wildlife safari park.  There were dozens of species of exotic animals wandering that property – some of the same creatures that  inhabit the “high fence” ranches of the area.

It was an interesting way to pass a couple hours – it made me appreciate how similar that area is to the Serengeti.  It easily supports a WIDE range of big animals.

Random Observations from Road and Water

Water Levels and Local Impact

In far west Texas, water scarcity runs deep, shaped by the relentless upstream demands of agriculture, sprawling cities, and reservoirs that siphon off flows before they reach the rivers below. Irrigation for crops and the thirst of growing populations in places like El Paso pull heavily from the Rio Grande, Pecos, and Devils, leaving them vulnerable when dry spells stretch on.

Low flows could dial back the fishing and paddling that draw people here, putting pressure on guides and outfitters downstream who rely on steady water to showcase the region’s best.  My master’s thesis focused on how water scarcity leads to conflict around the world – it’s dissappointing seeing the same trends unfold here.

Scouting vs. Staying Put

This trip could’ve gone two ways: dig into one spot—say, the Devils River—for days, or scout the whole region to see what’s out there. I picked reconnaissance, hitting multiple rivers to get the broadest take on far west Texas. It was the right call for sizing up what the place offers, and pulling off something this logistically heavy showed what Mike and Adam are made of—handling the sprawl, the gear, and the shifts seamlessly. That’s the kind of knowledge and expertise I’ll bank on for a more focused return visit.

Remoteness in Two Worlds

Guyana kept popping into my head on this trip.  Far West Texas and Guyana present comparable attributes—challenging access, variable weather conditions, and fisheries largely undisturbed by angling pressure. The opportunity to target species in such isolated waters, whether along Guyana’s river systems or Texas’ canyon stretches, underscores a level of remoteness uncommon in the lower 48, approaching the seclusion found in Guyana. Having explored various remote locations stateside, I found this Texas region distinctive for its unspoiled character, a quality that merits consideration for future expeditions.

Fuel vs. Flavor

I’m usually a quick eater on these trips—food’s fuel, meat’s my pick, and I don’t dwell on it. Good cooking doesn’t typically register; I just eat and move on. The Far West Texas Outfitters crew changed that. They were true camp cooking artists with a diverse menu and excellent presentation for every meal. I genuinely liked it—those meals stood out and kept me going stronger than my usual shove-it-down routine.

Conclusion: Lessons and a Plan to Return

This trip through far west Texas was a solid run at some of the wildest rivers in the lower 48. Boquillas Canyon gave us solitude and grit, the Pecos fought us with wind, and the Devils River showed off clear water and rugged beauty. The weather threw curveballs—gusts, dust, and all—but the fishing held up, and the scenery made it worth it. Mike, Adam, and Far West Texas Outfitters handled the chaos like pros, proving to be some of the best guides I’ve ever spent time with.

It wasn’t all smooth; the wind tested our patience, and leaving the quiet for San Antonio’s bustle hit harder than expected. Still, it was a damn good week—good fishing, incredible scenery, killer meals, and a taste of something rare. I’m already eyeing a return, likely a longer stretch on one of those rivers in pursuit of giants they might hold. Far west Texas has more to offer, and I’m not done with it yet.