The Old Man and the River
Tom Goynes still remembers the first time he dipped an oar in the San Marcos River. He’d grown up paddling in the bayous of Houston, where the water was murky and black and anything that fell in disappeared in an instant. On the San Marcos, the spring-fed water was clear as a windowpane and a consistent 72 degrees. “I put my paddle in, and I could see it,” he says.It was 1967, and he was sixteen years old. His mother had paid the entrance fee for him to join his brother and another teen in the T...