Summary of “A Voyage Along Trump’s Wall”

Crossing into Texas, where the river meets the Mexican frontier, the Ledyardians switched to bicycles and rode along paved roads until, a couple of hundred miles later, the Río Conchos, running out of the Mexican state of Chihuahua, replenished the ancient riverbed, so that they could saddle up their kayaks again.
As imagined, such an undertaking would be devastating to life along an already threatened river.
For a great deal of its length, the river is insulated on both sides by hundreds of miles of desert-inhospitable terrain that does more to discourage smugglers and migrants than a wall ever could.
Alvarado had recently returned from a trip led by a twenty-nine-year-old filmmaker named Ben Masters; they’d paddled, and ridden horses and mountain bikes, along the Texas border, from El Paso to the Gulf, for a documentary Masters was making, called “The River and the Wall.” Masters, a wry, red-headed horseman with a telegenic Texas drawl, was on this trip, too, along with the film’s producer and another cameraman.
Lean, bearded, fervid, and quick-spoken, McDonald had brought along some books about the river for people to look through before dinner.
The barracks banter typical of other river trips was replaced by a mediated discussion about the Rio Grande and its discontents, chief among them the wall.
The group began to talk about a kind of antidote to the wall, an idea that Reicher had only just heard of the month before but which has been around since Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Administration discussed it, in the thirties: a binational park, linking the existing Big Bend park and some adjacent public lands, on the American side, with millions of acres of wild country, both public and private, already set aside just across the river.
Cemex, the Mexican building-materials behemoth, had bought up ranches along both sides of the river, in the interest of land preservation and the reintroduction of bighorn sheep.

The orginal article.