Adventures on the Rogue River

We had a blast on this southern Oregon river, despite foreboding rangers, tick potentials and an all out lack of alpine lilies.

We took the day off on Thursday and headed south for the first backpack of the season. The rolling hills of the Willamette valley ave way to forest as we wound south and west, until finally making it to the trailhead for the Rogue River trail. Our guidebook said to park on the south side of the bridge over the river as there is no overnight parking allowed at the trailhead. However when we got to the bridge it was lined with “no overnight parking” signs. So we headed to the nearby trailhead, also lined with “no overnight parking” signs, and started scratching our heads about where we were meant to leave the car on this popular multiday backpacking trip.

There was a ranger trying to fix the door of the bathroom at the trailhead. So I put on my butchest hat and swagger and headed over to ask about parking. The Ranger said that the Sheriff didn’t want folks parking at the trailhead because “weird stuff happens here.” “You mean break ins?” I asked for clarity. “

“I mean ‘weird stuff’,” he reiterated.

This sounded strangely supernatural and rather foreboding. I told him our guidebooks said to park on the southside of the bridge, but the ranger said he wouldn’t do that if he were us. “We have a guy whose been throwing cars into the river.”

I asked him where he would park if he was us, and he stared back at me and shrugged.

My map and guidebooks didn’t indicate any options for parking within several miles of the trailhead. So I asked the ranger if we might get towed if we parked at the trailhead for the weekend, and he gave me the first piece of actionable information of the encounter, which was that we most certainly wouldn’t get towed. The he added ominously, “the no parking signs are just for your protection.”

We stared at each other for a minute and then he cracked a smile that wasn’t necessarily friendly, and said, “Well you have a good trip now.”

I walked back to Shawn at the car and debriefed this strange conversation. We didn’t have too many options, and so opted to leave the car at the trailhead (which was ominously empty of cars) because whatever “weird stuff” might happen to the car at the trailhead seemed more workable than the car being thrown from the bridge into the river. And with that cheery welcome, we hit the trail.

Somehow all my photographs of the Rogue River seem to wash out the color and flatten the distances, so you’ll have to take my word that this backpack is stunning and magical. I’ve never hiked a river trail like this, and I somehow imagined just walking along the banks of a river. The Rogue River trail is entirely different. It climbs crests and buttes to the north side of the river and winds in and out of ravens with creeks and streams running through. The river cascades below, eddying in different parts, sometimes rushing, sometimes calm, cresting around sand banks.

We came a bit early in the season, but still caught many parties of rafters below. And overhead, eagles and ospreys soared through the air. At one point on our second day, the river valley opened up and an eagle flew right over Shawn’s head so close they could hear the thwap of their wings and feel the air rushing beneath. Shawn yelped in delight. I wish I had gotten a photo of that moment; you would have loved it.