Riding the Rogue River Just for the Fun of It

I am all for educational travel and the value of spiritual journeys. I wholeheartedly support treks that fight corporate stress, and balmy cruises with sports stars and symphonies. I enjoy tracking penguins in Antarctica, and following the Mayan trail.

But sometimes, when enrichment experts are lecturing about the secret satisfactions of Mozart’s dad or the wonder of rattleless rattlesnakes, I mentally drift away to simpler times when holidays meant fun.

Remember picnics that weren’t gourmet? And boat trips without college credit? What happened to those carefree hours of summer camp? What about the splendid word vacation ?

This is not a protest against sophistication, or growing up, or being responsible or stretching the mind. It is merely an admission that this summer, I had one shining day of old-fashioned, mesmerizing fun.

It began before 8 a.m. there in southwest Oregon, near the coastal town of Gold Beach. Along with 40 strangers--including seniors, toddlers, backpackers and a family of Mennonites, I boarded a sleek, open jet boat for a 104-mile ride up the wild and scenic Rogue River, a trip made daily from May through October along a mail route begun in 1895.

The morning was quiet; maybe it always is. A seagull squawked from the porch of the mail-boat office. A russet duck echoed a quack. The air was chilly. I accepted a blanket from our boatman, a veteran by the name of Stan Wade.

Wade turned out to be relaxed yet vigilant--a keen-eyed riverman with a sense of Rogue history, a lively narrator who avoided a spiel and simply reacted with pleasure to what he saw. And, indeed, he saw a lot.

Small bushy islands were in the stream at first, and a beaver peeked up from the bank. We traveled upstream at an easy 20 m.p.h., although they claimed the boat could go 50.

Around a gentle bend we came upon two brown-tail deer; Wade cut the motor and drew near. Then tall ferns rustled, and a fawn stepped out to join the morning graze.

The sun was higher by the time we reached Copper Canyon, and the quiet waters reflected stands of ochre-barked madrono and clumps of larkspur and wild white azaleas. Our boatman said that we were approaching a prize fishing hole, more than 60 feet deep, where wily sturgeons hang out.

The sturgeons weren’t jumping that morning, but we did pass small fishing boats packed with friendly people. One woman proudly hoisted a Chinook salmon in our direction and was met by a barrage of camera flashes.

The banks were sometimes steep and forested with sugar pines, red cedars and yew. Tangles of wild roses lay above flat boulders where turtles were sunning.

Before this jet-boat adventure, I didn’t know a riffle from a rapid, but now I do: A riffle is a chuckle, a rapid is a yell. Most of the white-water patches between the Oregon coast and the remote settlement of Agness are riffles--the boat merely gets spanked as it charges through.

On the 360-degree spins--which the boatmen do for the fun of it and with a warning to hang on--a wave of cold spray arches over the craft, and happy squeals ride on the air.

In midmorning, Wade docked below Singing Springs Ranch, a shady enclave on a bluff at Agness (pop. 75 to 150, depending on the source). Beyond a ring of cabins lies a gift shop with a sign on its roof: “Flood Level, Dec. 22, 1964.”

Unlike many signs in the shop, this is no joke. The flood of 1964 sent river levels up 90 feet and more in southwest Oregon. Homes and bridges were washed out along the Rogue, but, amazingly, no one was killed.

Agness, 32 miles inland from the coast, has a post office, a one-room schoolhouse and an RV park. Its most famous citizen is baseball Hall of Famer--and avid fisherman--Bobby Doerr, who played for the Boston Red Sox from 1937 to 1951.

Doerr first came up the Rogue on a mail boat in 1936. Charmed by the wild woods, he bought property and met the schoolteacher, Monica Terpin, whom he married in 1938. For 14 seasons he started out for spring training by riding the mail boat down the Rogue.

From Agness on, the river gets wilder and the drone of rapids can be heard before the white water comes into view.

Around Foster Bar, the rocks move in and the rapids become frothy stairs. The Mennonites broke into a joyful chorus of the hymn, “How Great Thou Art.”

Stan Wade scanned the sky. “We see bald eagles up here almost every day,” he began. “There they are now!”

Two of them soared from a fir tree and grandly circled our boat.

“We see bears three or four days a week,” Wade went on. “And frankly, we’re due.”

Around a sharp bend, he killed the jets and the boat settled into the water. Just ahead, a black bear was lumbering out of the river and shaking herself; two cubs tumbled nearby. Whispers and snapshots kept up until the bears faded into the woods.

In early afternoon, we tied up for sandwiches and icy lemonade on the deck at Clay Hill Lodge, a two-story wilderness lodge that is accessible only by river or hiking trail. We lingered on shore for an hour, exploring waterfalls, fern grottoes and a clearing with a homesteader’s cabin.

The last rapid is the steepest: Devil’s Staircase rises 30 feet in 300 yards. Then, near Blossom Bar, we turned. “We’re not going beyond for two reasons,” Wade announced. “Too many big boulders--as you can see--and it’s against the law to take a power boat up there.”

As we started down toward the setting sun, I began to realize that the day had been laugh-out-loud fun--as well as educational, adventurous, spiritual, stress-free and, thanks to Bobby Doerr, one brightened by a resident sports star.

For more information on Rogue River Mail Boat Trips, write P.O. Box 1165-G, Gold Beach, Ore. 97444, or call (800) 458-3511. Prices: for the 104-mile ride to Blossom Bar, adults $50, children $20; for the 64-mile run to Agness: adults $25, children $10. Children under 4 ride free. Jerry’s Rogue Jets also offers Rogue River boat trips. Rates are the same as the mail boats. Write P.O. Box 1011, Gold Beach, Ore. 97444, or call (800) 451-3645.