Shoal Creek meanders a dozen miles through Austin, collecting near a Chuck-E-Cheese north of town, before dumping into the Colorado River near the old Seaholm Power Plant, picking up bits of litter and worse along the way.
This ancient stream, like many in this part of Texas, ordinarily does not carry a great deal of water and operates as a prettified drainage ditch for the neighborhoods built in its vicinity. But when heavy rain falls in north Austin just so, Shoal Creek roars briefly with the power of a river. If you have ever seen it in action, and if you live here long enough you will, it’s an awesome sight.
Before there was a city, Native Americans camped on the creek bank where game and spring water was plentiful. Pioneer Elisha Pease bought up the area, ran everyone off and built a plantation west of town. But Shoal Creek remained undeveloped and a pretty spot for years afterward. U.S. soldiers, anxious to get back home after the Civil War ended, were assigned to oversee Austin for a while as the Reconstruction period in Texas got underway. The army camped under the oaks of Shoal Creek during the winter of ’65 ( “. . . they were hungry, just barely alive” as the song says), although their commander Gen. George Custer and his wife stayed at a roomy mansion in town.
Some thoughtful Austinites in the 1950s recognized the beauty and fragility of the creek and did what they could to preserve bits and pieces of it. The creek has flooded many times, scouring out the limestone bed and carrying away homes that must have been built there to enjoy the scenic view. For years the City of Austin has struggled to keep the creek in its banks with fancy engineering. But no one doubts the next big flood is only a matter of time.
When I was there Saturday morning to paint with Plein Air Austin, the creek was quiet with a light fog obscuring the skyline to the south, which was fine with me. The stagnant water smelled not so fresh. A little dog, off the leash, stopped to say hi and peed on my paint box. Even 160 years later, it’s easy to see why so many of Custer’s soldiers died of cholera that winter. German painter Herman Lungkwitz painted this creek in the 1870s, when it was wild and green. Setting up near Custer’s Meadow, I tried to conjure up the inspiration and skills of old Herman, with 9 dabs of paint and 3 brushes, ignoring the traffic noise nearby.
You can find the completed painting here. More Texas paintings are available in my gallery.
Here’s a little behind-the-scenes video from the Plein Air Austin Instagram:
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