Travel
AH Current
Where to find the very best old-fashioned wimming holes for a Texas summer.
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Recently, the land changed hands from John Dobie, whose family had presided over Blue Hole for a hundred years, to Kirby Perry, an Austin architect. He has made minimal changes, including the addition of three trailer hookups. The charge for campers is $3.50 per night without hookups, $4.50 with. There is a $1 discount for people over 65.
Garner State Park
Not too many years ago, B. J. Thomas made a hit record all about the blooming and fading of puppy love at Garner State Park. In the early Sixties teeny boppers, usually chaperoned more or less by parents, came to Garner in droves, eager for whatever rite of passage they could experience in stolen moments on the banks of the Frio River. However, the craze has faded, and the park is no longer a teen mecca.
The Frio runs clear and cold, and the park is spacious; there are 40 screened shelters and 18 cabins that can accommodate up to six people each, but these facilities are usually booked up well in advance for the summer months. Call the park for rates and reservations (512/232-6633). Paddle boats, picnicking, and miniature golf are further entertainment possibilities.
Utopia
Fifteen miles west of Garner State Park on FM Road 1050 is the little community of Utopia, on the Sabinal River. Although the accommodations and water facilities here are not the most striking, Utopia Park merits mention because of its coziness and small size. Given as a gift to the community many years ago, the park is maintained solely on rentals of camping space ($2 per night) and four screened shelters ($4 per night). No charge is made for swimming. A large old cypress provides overhanging branches for shade as well as a respectable rope swing. There is also a boat ramp and a square-dancing area.
Neal’s
Twenty-eight miles north of Ulvade, Hwy 83 dips toward, but does not cross, the Frio River. The little settlement there is Concan, whose center of activity is none other than Neal’s swimming camp. Open since 1927, Neal’s tenders enough services and accommodations to catapult the tiny town into competition with such front-runners as New Braunfels and San Marcos. Before delving into the other advantages of Neal’s, I wish to note that the swimming facilities are impeccable. The water at Neal’s is so exquisitely clear that bathers bring scuba equipment to peer into the depths. There is a rope swing for purists and a diving board for the more conventional. Admission for swimming is a modest 50 cents; inner tubes cost $1 a day.
And that’s not all. Neal’s is the site of the town post office, a small grocery store, a restaurant open during hunting season, a washateria, and a gas station. And in addition to that, air-conditioned cabins are rented as well as camp sites and trailer hookups. Neal’s seems to have an endless supply of old-timey diversion. There is a trampoline, horses for hire, and arrangements can be made for hay rides. Not to mention the rapids. Oh, well, the place has to be experienced to be believed.
Balmorhea
Right on the arid planes that lead up to the Davis Mountains, roughly halfway between Fort Stockton and Van Horn is Balmorhea State Park, which contains not just any old spring-fed swimming hole, but the largest in Texas. It is fed by San Solomon Springs at the rate of 22 to 26 million gallons of water per day. The springs have undoubtedly been used continuously since prehistoric times. Spanish settlers tapped them for irrigation, and the Mescalero Apaches had used them for drinking water prior to the Spaniards’ arrival. Modern travelers heading to the deserts of New Mexico and Arizona look to Balmorhea as the last-chance dip.
Adults may swim for 50 cents; children at half-price during the season, which runs from the fourth Friday in May to Labor Day. Eighteen cabins are for rent all year long. Camping vehicles can be hooked up for $1.50 per night.
Colmesneil
The school district of Colmesneil, nine miles north of Woodville, owns and operates this swimming hole. Back in the 1930s, the Civilian Conservation Corps built an enclosure to hold spring waters in an earthen reservoir. Later on, the school district gained control of the property, dubbed it Lake Tejas, and began adding amenities to draw the surrounding countryfolk. Forty years later, East Texas denizens still congregate for swimming, picnicking, and lazing about. The lake has a natural white sand beach, a two-tiered diving platform, a baby pool, and a sun deck. Away from the water’s edge there is a small bathhouse, a large picnic area, and a concession stand where first-class hamburgers are concocted by the manager’s wife. The facilities are large enough to accommodate 700 people on a sweltering summer day. Lifeguards are on duty every day from 10 a.m. to 9 p.m. Adults pay a buck, and children under thirteen pay half to float in a quarter-a-day inner tube, and listen to the wind whistling in the pines.
Blue Hole
Fortenberry’s Drug Store in Zavalla looks like part of a movie set of a Larry McMurtry novel. All facets of the décor are honest holdovers from the past — the clapboard floor, ratty screen door on creaky springs, and the proprietress with bubble hairdo.
“Could you tell me how to get to the Blue Hole?” I asked innocently. “Waaal, I ain’t been there in years, y’understand, but I think you go out there on the Jasper Highway, pass Concord Cemetery on the left, then turn right at th’ sign marked Bouton Lake Campground right there by the Mitchells’ house. Can’t miss it ‘cuz there’s a bunch a dogs and a couple trailers in the yard …” And her directions went on and on at a machine-gun pace. I decided to go to the cutoff to the campground from Hwy 63 and play it by ear. Thereafter I questioned a forestry crew and an obliging man on horseback. Blue Hole proved challenging, but not impossible, to find by winding about on a series of unmarked dirt roads. Perhaps the difficulty of access has helped protect its natural beauty: no fences, no bathhouses, no concession stands, no placards spelling out regulations, just a few snuffed-out campfires and a pile of beer cans.
It seems Blue Hole was dug shortly after the turn of the century. Some say it was a quarry where granite for Galveston’s seawall was extracted; some say it was a fuller’s earth pit. The latter seems more probable since the only rock in the area was a crumbly, low-grade limestone.
Regardless of the original purpose, it is now well used by the area’s youth for cooling off when they get as hot as firecrackers in July. Turquoise, crystal waters reflect the looming pines along the banks. This is not the place for Winnebago-style campers used to comforts at close proximity. It is, however, suited to lovers of the remote.
How to get there? Next time passing by Zavalla, just ask the woman at the drugstore for directions.
Big Sandy
Big Sandy is about sixteen miles west of Longview. Hwy 80 splits right through 30 acres of spring-fed lakes which hold numerous possibilities for family recreation. The smaller lake on the left (if you’re heading to Mineola) was built by the Texas and Pacific Railroad to provide water for its steam engine boilers. During the early years the lake also was an ideal spot for mass revival baptisms and washboard-style laundering. Many years have passed since the era of steam whistles and washboards, but Big Sandy Lake still holds its own as a family swimming spot. The season runs from the end of May to the first of September; admission is 50 cents a person. There is a diving board, a higher diving platform, concession stand, bathhouse, and an adjacent roller skating rink.
On the other side of Big Sandy Lake is a twenty-acre lake for fishing; it is open to the public at no charge. The manager swears that bass weighing up to eight pounds have been landed from the lower depths.
Just about five miles farther down Hwy 80 toward Mineola is a turn-off for Hawkins Lake. It is much more rustic than Big Sandy Lake, and should appeal to sporty individuals. Fishing is reportedly excellent, and there are ramps for motorboat enthusiasts.
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