October is the best month on the Brazos...especially the part near Fort Worth, where John Graves grew up. As a boy he hunted, fished and camped by the river. He cherished its stories...pillage and murder, friendship and foolery, that gave names to the bends and crossings. Thus the Brazos took on special meaning for him.
In 1957 he learned the river would be dammed, drowning much he remembered. So he took a belated canoe trip on it, alone, to bid it farewell. This is the narrative of that trip -- three rain-soaked, wind-driven autumn weeks, bucking rapids, scraping sudden rocks, making and breaking camp.
"Every rare gift of blue-golden weather, every bird, every tale of violence and pride, is remembered with the keenness of the last goodbye." (B-O-T Editorial Review Board)