Sea Rim’s pop-
ular Gambusia
Nature Trail
boardwalk, which
is named after
the mosquito-
larvae-eating
fish and allows
for up-close
marsh explora-
tion, has been
shut down
indefinitely for
repairs.CLOSED
FOR NOWare puff y white clouds. You used to
be able to drive Texas Highway 87
from Bolivar’s High Island to Sa-
bine Pass, but the state fi nally gave
up on continually rebuilding that
sixteen-mile stretch after a suc-
cession of storms capped off by
1989’s Chantal and Jerry. No doubt
the park’s isolation is why few peo-
ple I’ve spoken to have heard of it.
As my trusty sidekick, Emily, and
I discover when we visit, in mid-
April, even some folks who live in
its vicinity are unfamiliar with it.
Drive south from downtown
Port Arthur, following Sabine
Lake, and you’ll get to Sabine Pass,
once a promising port city and now
a hurricane-fatigued community
that was annexed by Port Arthur
in 1978. It’s also home to the only
park-adjacent convenience store
and gas station, which, when we
stop by, is out of gas (fortunately
we have enough). “Y’all have one
job here!” I pretend to yell out the
window, for Emily’s benefi t, and
we head ten miles west to Sea Rim,
four thousand acres of marshland
and fi ve miles of beach whose rug-
ged beauty inspires descriptions
like “raw,” “unspoiled,” and “di-
amond in the rough.” Opened in
1977, the park has also seen its fairshare of tempests. In 2005 Hurri-
cane Rita caused so much damage
the park had to close and rebuild; it
was two weeks away from reopen-
ing, in 2008, when along came Ike.
With Sea Rim’s history of weath-
ering the vagaries of the weather,
its facilities are understandably
minimal: a visitors center housed
in a trailer, a single cabin, fi fteen
RV sites, primitive beach camping,
and, most intriguing, a 13-by-20-
foot fl oating tent platform in the
marsh that we briefl y considered
before factoring in the four miles
of paddling (round-trip), the high
possibility of clouds of mosqui-
toes, and the likelihood of void-
ing in a plastic receptacle within
a rudimentary wooden shelter.
Later we’ll meet an outdoorsy
Houston family returning from a
night on the platform who expe-
rienced all of the above, as well as
a magical break from civilization,
with a three-year-old in tow. “He
pooped like a champ in that buck-
et,” Mom says.
Big fans of indoor plumbing, we
have chosen the cabin, which is
clean and comfortable and stark in
that state-park-accommodations
sort of way, decorated with his-
torical photos of Sabine Pass andfurnished with a chunky picnic
table and bunk beds (single on
top, full on bottom) equipped with
waterproof mattress covers. “I’m
not fi ve years old!” Emily hollers
indignantly while I unpack what
seems like the entire contents of
my home back in Austin. Sheets,
towels, soap—just go ahead and
bring everything. The cabin
is furnished with a coffeepot,
toaster, grill, can opener, toilet
paper, and that’s about it. Pret-
ty cushy for $95 a night. What it
really has going for it is location,
perched at the edge of what the
park romantically calls its Marsh
Unit (the Beach Unit being the
other part, on the opposite side
of 87). Boats, canoes, and kayaks
launch from docks right outside
the cabin onto a glassy pond of
pea-green water that narrows
into a channel that disappears
enticingly into the marsh. We
happily spend a good deal of time
observing the wildlife from our
screened-in porch—a preter-
naturally calm frog, chattering
blackbirds fighting over prime
bug-catching territory, silver-
bellied mullet jumping one, two,
three times across the water like
skipping stones, and a residentThe park’s
visitors center;
Blake Cliett, of
Groves, kayaks
through the
marsh.24 TEXAS MONTHLY ILLUSTRATIONS BY CHRISTOPHER DELORENZO
PARKS AND RECS