Border barrier expansion along Big Bend’s Rio Grande imperils rafting in this remote national park
On an overcast August morning, river guides shuttled a group of visitors and a trailer of canoes through Big Bend National Park’s rugged expanse. When they reached the riverbank, the journey downstream began. “Paddle straight!” a guide called to the zigzagging boat. “Otherwise, you’ll go Texas, Mexico, Texas, Mexico.”
The sightseers paddled through the Rio Grande’s labyrinthine canyons, snaking through clusters of willows and prickly pears. Great blue herons waded along the shallow banks in search of a meal. Ocotillos waved their leafy tentacles as if to greet boaters who had trekked to one of the country’s most remote regions to paddle the river.
For many of the park’s estimated 550,000 annual visitors, floating the waterway is a pilgrimage to honor the nation’s protected public lands. “We were completely blown away,” said Ariel Cannon, a lawyer from Manhattan who had recently completed a different paddling trip. “We left with this amazing appreciation for what the landscape looked like before people built things on it.”
But in early August, the Trump administration began the construction process for a border barrier in Big Bend. While locals, conservationists, and environmentalists have lamented the ecological toll, outdoor guides fear an additional consequence that could put them out of business and cut off a way of connecting with the park. If put up, these structures could block off the river, triggering the demise of its storied rafting outfitters.
The effort to militarize this region started in February, when former Department of Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem declared an “acute and immediate need” for barriers in the Big Bend sector, deeming it “an area of high illegal entry.” But Customs and Border Protection data shows that the national park itself accounted for only 0.045 percent of apprehensions at the US-Mexico border last year. Meanwhile, locals in nearby Terlingua—a tiny town of spunky nature-lovers—say they have never seen migrants traversing sheer cliff faces and vast expanses of desert to cross the border in Big Bend. Residents feel so safe that many never lock their doors.
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“All it takes is seeing this place with your own two eyes to see that there’s no crisis,” said Billy Miller, a longtime Big Bend rafting guide.
Still, the federal government waived dozens of environmental laws, including the Endangered Species Act, the National Fish and Wildlife Act, and the Wild and Scenic Rivers Act, to expedite construction. It also allocated $1.7 billion to construction in the Big Bend region. Soon after, 18-wheelers and heavy machinery rolled into town. Private contractors cleared acres of land to house workers.
“It feels like an occupying army is invading,” said Miller.
These days, when Miller and other guides take visitors to the river, they pass bulldozers and road graders set to clear protected lands. For those who live and work in the region, the Rio Grande is no less than a piece of the divine. Having guided for over two decades, Miller has memories on every curve of the river—floating in crystalline water, telling campfire stories, and tracing constellations in one of the continent’s darkest skies. When his son was born, Miller named him after the river.
“The Rio Grande is where home is. It’s a connection with the natural world. It's a connection with humanity from the past,” he said. “Now, they’re planning to sever that connection.”
The Department of Homeland Security’s original plan was to build a 30-foot steel wall in Big Bend National Park, mirroring other parts of the US-Mexico border. But in tranquil west Texas towns more disposed to exploring the outdoors than protesting the federal government, the decision united people from across the political spectrum against the wall.
After months of public outrage, the administration nixed its initial plans and instead proceeded to build a new road and vehicle barrier, a railing with alternating four- and six-foot steel posts. But river outfitters and residents say the vehicle barrier is just as unacceptable as a wall and have continued organizing against the construction. Signs reading “no border wall” and “no service for contractors” adorn Terlingua’s homes and businesses.
Visitors to Big Bend, too, have been compelled to join the campaign. Awestruck by the animal tracks along the riverbank and appalled by the government’s plans, Cannon’s 16-year-old decided to donate some of his personal savings to the nonprofit No Big Bend Wall.
“He said it’s the first time he’s felt politically activated,” Cannon said.
Now, the community is working to convince the administration that Big Bend needs no physical barrier at all. With the impending construction, some visitors have canceled their reservations because of the destruction. Others are rushing to visit the park before it is irreparably damaged. Meanwhile, the future of Big Bend’s river outfitters is in flux.
The administration’s plans have been opaque and inconsistent, incensing stakeholders. Despite requesting updates and construction plans, locals only find information through officials’ social media feeds. They pore over contradictory CBP maps, trying to make sense of it all.
Billy Bartko is the owner of Far Flung Outdoor Center, a Terlingua-based outfitter that has guided tens of thousands of visitors onto the Rio Grande since 1976. “The beauty is in what man hasn’t touched,” he said. “There’s just zero value in that to this administration.”
On August 13, Bartko and other plaintiffs filed a lawsuit against the barrier expansion, adding to at least three other legal actions. Four days later, after months of public outrage, Customs and Border Protection commissioner Rodney Scott paused construction in the national park, flying in to evaluate the project.
For now, Bartko said he can sleep at night knowing there will be no destruction in the park. But the administration’s plans often oscillate, and the community is too scared by CBP’s occlusion and blatant disregard for the park to rest assured. “I personally do not trust them at all,” Bartko added.
As rafting outfitters hold their breath, one thing is certain: River trips could prove impossible even if access is partially preserved. Put-ins and take-outs, where river trips begin and end, shift as the river changes course, making one year’s access point unviable the next.
Customs and Border Protection pledged gates to access the river, said Miller. But outfitters are hesitant to believe them: Elsewhere, CBP has often broken the same promise. Gates that were constructed sometimes broke or obstructed emergency vehicle access.
Floods could also wash construction materials, like jagged metal and broken cement blocks, into the water, creating dangerous obstacles. And vehicle barriers pose a safety risk by impeding ambulances during emergencies. “They’re basically spending billions of dollars to create hazards to boaters,” said Miller.
Most of all, river guides say, barriers and patrol roads would transform a remote natural haven into a militarized political arena. “The whole premise of doing a river trip out here is to enjoy the wilderness,” said Miller. “Nobody’s going to want to do that when you’re camping literally under surveillance towers.”
Thania Rodriguez, a Houston native, drove through the night to paddle the Rio Grande with Far Flung. En route to the put-in, she scrolled through photos of the bulldozers at work. “It makes me sad that we’re destroying a national park,” she said. “I don’t want to come see a wall.”
On her three-hour float down the river, Rodriguez and her group saw nothing other than pure wilderness. Imagining barriers alongside the river that she had traveled 10 hours to see, Rodriguez wondered aloud, “Would I come back?” She paused. “Honestly, probably not.”
River outfitters themselves can’t conceive of saying goodbye to the Rio Grande. But Bartko believes that if access was restricted, at least half of Terlingua’s annual revenue would dry up, posing an existential risk for river businesses. Still, Bartko, Miller, and other guides and outfitters refuse to back down when it comes to defending Big Bend from the Trump administration.
“I’m terrified that we won’t win this battle. I fear for future generations,” said Miller as the sun set behind him, casting long shadows across the ineffable desert landscape. “But even if they build what they want to build, people care so much about Big Bend and the Rio Grande that the fight won’t be over.”