The dangers are real: Everything that bites, stings, itches and scratches lives in this part of Texas. Mosquitos, flies, wasps, poison ivy and fire ants abound. And the 'gators and water moccasins -- territorial this time of year -- do bite. A score of log jams (some 1/4 mile long), low dams, high dams, washed out dams, cable crossings and low water bridges all stand in the way. Mix that with 100 degree heat and 90 percent humidity and you have the ingredients of a real epic: what they call in the race packet, an "experience that will change your life". Right.

The Texas Water Safari is billed to be the toughest canoe and kayak race in the world. Starting from the headwaters at Aquarenna Springs (complete with glass bottomed boats, domestic swans gliding and teenagers splashing and romancing) the San Marcos River flows into the Guadalupe River and winds its way through the arid farm and ranch lands of Texas, east of San Antonio. Through towns, past cabins and fishing shacks, and into a confusing labyrinth of cypress swamps, backwaters and bayous the river suddenly, in a matter of feet, opens into the Gulf of Mexico. Two hundred sixty-one miles of continuous racing and paddling: rest when you drop, eat between paddle strokes. This race doesn't just traverse a dot on a map; you can trace its path on a globe.

The rules are simple, first boat to the finish line wins. There are no stages or mandatory rests -- just go. Everything must be carried with you, you can only be resupplied with water and ice. You must have a knife, flares, and first aid supplies complete with snake bite kit. The first aid and snake bite kits should be kept where you can get to them quickly.

As many near-reckless ideas get started, it began with a wager, over 30 years ago. Frank Brown and "Big Willie" George made a bet with some friends that they could float, without the aid of motors, from San Marcos to Corpus Christi, Texas, 250 miles of river and nearly another 100 miles of semi-protected ocean. That first trip took 30 days and was so much "fun" the pair decided to organize an annual event -- the Texas Water Safari was born in 1963.

Through the years the race and equipment have evolved. The 100 miles of ocean have been shortened to about ten, the race now ending in Seadrift, on the far side of Guadalupe Bay. Boats have become lighter and much faster: Carbon fiber and kevlar are the materials dujour. "Unlimited class" boats -- sleek four-man craft, 30 feet long and only 27 inches wide, specially made for this race only -- are the new gold standard. The four-mans finish first, hours ahead of the solos and two-man canoes.

But maybe the racers have stayed about the same. I foolishly asked if the race had changed now that real athletes had become involved. "Those first guys were tough, they had to be to make it down the river with the equipment they had. Maybe they were tougher than we are today," says Joe Mynar, toughest of the tough and member of the winning boat in 1992, 1993, 1994. Those early participants are legendary for their athletic prowess, strength and, most of all, grit. Legends are good things and need to be protected.

Certainly what has changed is the mental barrier of how long it should take to paddle 260 miles. That first trip took 30 days. The course record (set in 1992 by the four-man boat of Joe, Fred and Brian Mynar, and Joe Burns) is 31 hours, 2 minutes. It's become a real race.

The first day is perhaps the toughest. The river is so small that no help is given by the current. The day also has little rhythm: 18 of the 21 portages are in the first ten hours. A flood which subsided only days before the 1995 race had changed and moved all of the log jams, and created new ones. The rumor-mill churned before the race, racers trying to glean information from people who had previewed any part of the course. Is the rumored log jam at Mile 37 the same jam as the one at Mile 38 overheard from a different team? And there is always the possibility someone is spreading false rumors -- disinformation is fair-play in south Texas.

Every boat has a Team Captain who keeps the paddlers resupplied with water, passes on information, and is supposed to know the boats location and condition at all times. The team captains leap-frog ahead by car. This entourage of "bank-runners" consisting of team captains, drivers, spectators and well-wishers -- spawns dozens of rolling bank parties.

Three hours from the start is the first official checkpoint and a medium sized dam which must be portaged. The sleek team boats don't even hesitate: the bow man is out and at the bottom of the dam before the stern man quits stroking. Then the bow man is already stroking before the stern man jumps back in at the bottom of the dam -- the boat never stops moving.

When the first solo boat arrives stopwatches click as pursuing teams mark the time their boat is behind. In each class -- team unlimited, tandem and solo -- hares are running scared with hounds in hot pursuit.

During the first day the bridges are crammed with spectators cheering for their favorites. At least parts of the race start to become routine: Team captains wade out into the river anticipating their boat's e.t.a, as the boat nears it jettisons empty water bottles a dozen yards upstream then, missing only a stroke, the team captain tosses fresh water bottles into the cockpit.

The first day is also the most eventful. The allure of participating in the toughest boat race in the world has a way of attracting the ill-prepared. At every bridge, bent aluminum and shredded fiberglass canoes and kayaks limp in. Hopes dashed -- literally -- the first day sends over ten teams packing, taking little glory, but plenty of great stories with them. The leaders are moving smoothly and swiftly, but pursuers are forced to take greater risks. A strong four-man boat approaches a bridge with reckless abandon and, unable to make last-second adjustments, careens into the abutments and wraps in half -- a real crowd pleaser. The strong Californians are able to miraculously get the boat straightened out and paddle off -- cooled off by their swim -- still in hot pursuit.

As day begins to slide into night, the fast four-man boats are nearly 85 miles downstream while the solo boats are around 70 miles. At this point in the race, Texas is just an all-around wonderful place to be.

At nightfall, far away, but in the general direction the race is headed, the horizon occasionally flashes up with the lightening of a distant thunderstorm. The 1995 Water Safari was hit by one of the most tremendous thunder and lightening storms in anyone's memory. With boats and paddles made of carbon fiber (the same material as lightening rods) the hares and the first few pursuing hounds don't miss a beat, pushing as best they can through the driving downpour, near-miss bolts of lightening and riotous thunder hammering their senses. The air lights up and seems to glow with each pulse, sometimes as frequent as ten strikes per minute. The fierce storm throws the race into total chaos. Teams running far back in the pack suddenly find themselves contenders when boats out in front choose to pull over and hunker down through the storm.

In the solo division, the lead and second place boats have hammered relentlessly through the night. Having led for nearly twenty hours, the first-place boat is certain he must be extending his lead -- not knowing that the second place boat turned off all his lights and sneaked past in the chaos of the storm.

The glamour of an ultra-marathon left somewhere in the night. By morning of the second day sticky brown mud cakes soaked paddlers and team captains alike. No one has had any sleep. The crowds are gone. The lead four-man unlimited boat is now far ahead, 180 miles into the race; solo boats have fallen back and are at only mile 130. The second day is grueling. Four-man boats can smell the sea air and are pounding towards the finish. Solo and tandem boats know a second night is ahead and move at a more conservative pace. Late in the second day, 34 hours 40 minutes after the start of the race, the lead four-man boat (with Joe, Fred, Brian Mynar and John Dunn) paddles -- at the same 90-stroke per minute rate they started with -- across Guadalupe Bay and into the finish.

It's in the second night that the stories of the 1995 Safari are born. Five boats become lost for hours in a maze of new log jams, backwaters, thick growth and side channels. A tandem team leaves their boat to walk the bank and scout a log jam trying to find a way around it -- and then can't find their boat again. One solo contestant is struck in the back shoulder by a heavy snake -- most likely a water moccasin -- as his boat slips under an overhanging tree; fortunately the snake only gets a mouthful of the paddlers sweaty tee-shirt. A member of one tandem boat suffers from apparent race sickness and hypothermia and needs assistance. A two-man team argues and one member hikes out while the other pushes on alone. But it is the spirit of the Texas Water Safari that brings each and every one of these boats ultimately to the finish line.

In the early morning a solo paddler walks into a checkpoint, after leaving his boat three miles upstream, totally forgetting that the Safari is a boat race. His team captain walks him back to his boat and then coaxes him, near delirious, back into the race. Again the racer loses grip of why he's here; his team captain gets him to shore, makes him eat and lay down to rest. An hour later the captain cajoles the soloist back into the boat and urges him towards the finish. Reckless? Maybe, if you talked to the paddlers wife. But in Safari style the team finishes.

The first solo paddler, Ron Henk, crosses the finish line in 43 hours 32 minutes. The awards ceremony is held mid-afternoon on the fourth day while many contestants are still on the river. As another boat appears on the horizon, headed into the finish, the ceremony is stopped completely so everyone can go to the seawall to clap and cheer the boat across the line. It's a Safari tradition: nothing matters more than finishing.

Wanna race? The Texas Water Safari is held the second Saturday of every June. Contact Spencer Canoes for more information: 512-357-6113.