written and photographed by Mary L. Peachin
Jan 1999, Vol. 3 No. 3
Pablo Blakely perches high on his seat in the rubber pontoon boat, a position that allows him to analyze every riffle, eddy, and rapid of the river spread out before him. The water is relatively calm, and he allows the raft, which has just caught in a swirling eddy, to spin in circles, eliciting whoops from the rafters within. Seconds later, the frothy, churning waves of a rapid drench us with 65-degree water. More whoops, followed by goosebumps that fade quickly in the sun.
Blakely smiles, but he’s seen it before. He’s been guiding rafting clients through the Class III rapids of southwestern Oregon’s Rogue River for 22 years. Before that, he spent six years guiding on the Grand Canyon’s mighty Colorado River, as well as on Idaho’s Salmon and Snake Rivers.
Hudson Bay fur trappers named the Rogue in the early 1800s. The river is 225 miles long and flows from Boundary Springs near Crater Lake to Gold Beach, Oregon, where it meets the Pacific.
In 1968, Congress designated the Rogue the first official “Wild and Scenic River” in the United States. More than thirty years later, the Rogue is unspoiled by development. Over the course of a three-day tour, our group of rafters saw mostly fast water and striking wilderness, with bonus sightings that included historic remnants of the Oregon gold rush, a U.S. Cavalry battleground, and a rock-etched pictograph, evidence of habitation by early Native Americans.
Our 43-mile journey through the designated “wild and scenic” section of the Rogue began near Galice, Oregon. We joined a group of twenty Nevadans organized by “Big John” Kirch, a resident of Fallon, Nevada. Kirch’s group consisted primarily of young, able-bodied military and civilian pilots and their spouses, and friends. This latter fact was reassuring-it’s always good to know that you are in the company of strong young people who, in the event of a capsize, are capable of pulling you from the river.
In addition to Blakely’s cadre of three rubber rafts, Kirch had requested that Whitewater Warehouse, our outfitter, supply rubber kayaks and inner tubes. Most of the pilots F-18 and Tomcat pilots and American Airlines pilot, Karen Catron, accepted the challenge of kayaking, while less daredevil types chose the tubes, which have more stability in the rapids; the main challenge in this case is to steer clear of boulders that might scrape the posterior.
Things went smoothly at first. We floated past the Alameda, a gold mine claimed by Clifton and Clayton Sanderson in the first decade of the 1900s. Soon after, we heard the roar of our first large rapid; a churning whitewater called Grave Creek. Grave Creek quickly did its job, pulling one kayaker, Bjorn, into the river. After some tossing around, Bjorn was swept into calmer water. He surfaced with a wave and a wry grin: “I got sucked into that hole even though I saw it coming.” A concerned Blakely gathered the six kayakers for a few additional safety instructions-a kind of how-to of capsizing. He stressed the importance of trying to hold on to the kayak, and if at all possible, climbing back into it. This keeps the kayaker from being swept through additional rapids without the protection of the kayak. Retrieving the paddle, explained Blakely, is less of a priority-it will most likely float downstream for later retrieval.
A few smaller rapids (and some successful kayak maneuvers) later, we neared Rainie Falls, the only Class 3 rapid on the Rogue-a 15-foot drop comparable to the largest rapids on the Colorado, monsters such as Lava Falls, Hermit, and Crystal. We went ashore (checking out the water from afar while eating our picnic lunch-tuna salad, apple pie, and ice cream), then portaged around the rapid, hiking several hundred yards downriver while carrying our gear. Meanwhile, Blakely and the two other guides took the empty rafts and kayaks down the “fish ladder,” one of two alternative routes dynamited in the late 1940s as an alternative to portage.
The next rapid, “Big Slide,” was named for a landslide caused by the earthquake of 1878. Drama ensued as this whitewater capsized two kayakers, the Lane brothers, Rocky and David. Rocky’s leg seized up in a cramp as he tried to re-enter his kayak. He yelled, “I’m in trouble,” and petite Anna Ruiz grabbed him by the collar of his life vest, pulling him into a raft. Jeffrey and Donna Crymes, known on this trip as “The Criminals,” pulled David into their two-person kayak.
While Whitewater Warehouse offers camping float trips, our two nights on the river were spent in cushier surroundings, at the Black Bar Marial Lodges. After we disembarked at the first lodge, the group formed a “baggage brigade,” passing rubber river bags and luggage uphill to the lodge. After one brigade, we began to wish we’d left a good portion of our clothes at home.
On the river, it turns out, lighter is better. The three essentials are a hat, sunscreen, and bug repellent (“Our fish may not bite but our mosquitoes do,” confirmed a sign in the dining room of Black Bar Lodge.) And while electricity is provided by generators, there’s not enough wattage to run a hair dryer-“hat-hair” is the prevailing style here.
Both lodges are isolated and rustic. Black Bar is set back from the river; guests stay in individual log cabins. Marial Lodge, closer to the river, has an outside deck for cocktails and rooms scattered a single building. Both lodges serve family-style dinners in a communal dining hall.
After a well-earned night at Black Bar, we hit the river again, with a short trip that included both history and some scenery. Mixed stands of conifer line the black basalt banks; willow, big leaf maple, red alder, and Oregon ash mix with fir trees. We saw deer and river otters. Bird life included the rare green heron, the great blue heron, redheaded mergansers, mallards, and osprey. And though we saw no black bear, Blakely told us that they are frequently sighted along the banks.
During the fall, steelhead trout begin their spawning migration up the river from the Pacific. Though we saw a few salmon, our trip preceded the migration season. (Fishing season on the Rogue, which begins September 1, brings rain; we had three sunny days and cool nights. Whatever the forecast, though, rafters should include raingear on their packing lists.)
We also got some stories. As we floated through a relatively calm portion of the river, Blakely told us of a miner named Jack Mahoney who killed another man, Bob Fox, who lived in a cabin on Battle Bar. Before he died, Fox wrote a note identifying his assailant and then fired shots that attracted rescuers to his cabin. A search party was enlisted to find Mahoney, who, legend had it, had a “hit list,” that included many local prospectors. Mahoney was found dead, a single bullet hole in his head. Whether it was suicide or revenge by the search party was never known.
We stayed at Marial Lodge that night and awoke to the prospect of Blossom Bar, the most difficult rapid we would run, and one that was impassable before pioneering rafter Glen Woolridge dynamited it in 1940. Explained Blakely, “Even the rocks in Blossom have names. Picket Fence is like a sieve; if you don’t run it correctly, the rocks’ll eat your raft. But don’t worry-I’ve run it a hundred times.”
We scouted the rapids prior to running them. There is a channel for the less adventurous, but we took the challenge and ran the five-foot drop over rapids into a swirling eddy. Blossom, it turned out, was a thrilling climax to a wonderful adventure on the Rogue.
Suddenly we were headed for a beachfront trailhead. Our vehicles were, having been shuttled by a service, were awaiting our arrival. We had enjoyed the camaraderie of the group, and a scenic float through the wilderness. Now it was time to head back into civilization. U-Pick Shellfish Farm in Bandon, Oregon 
As the tide ebbs on the Coquille River in Bullards Beach State Park, Oregon, shellfish lovers don rubber boots, gloves, and old clothes to harvest oysters, clams, and mussels at the , Oregon Mariculture U-Pick Shellfish Farm. It sounds odd, but U-Pick, which has been around for three years, is an Oregon tradition. Created as a tourist attraction, it is popular with cityfolk out for a day at the shore. Owner L. Craig Codd, who supplies the rakes and buckets, directs pickers to the shellfish of their choice. Pickers pay by the pound for any clams, mussels, and oysters they harvest. And while signing up at U-Pick is not as easy as buying from the market, fun and freshness is assured.
As we dug in, we got a free education from the near-eponymous Codd. A certified member of the HACCP, the USDA’s new seafood regulatory division, Codd cautioned pickers against taking clams or oysters without tightly closed shells. Fresh shellfish, he added, should be kept cool and damp, but not immersed in water where they might “drown.” The shells should be cleaned before cooking and should open during cooking. Any shellfish that remain closed should be disposed of uneaten.
During our visit, a moratorium had been placed on area mussels due to a possible red tide (an ocean condition in which microorganisms infect fish and shellfish). Although Codd’s mussels were not affected, he did not want to take a risk.
Codd raises Pacific oysters from 25-day-old larvae, which he buys from a hatchery in Tillamook, Oregon. As soon as the oyster grows a “foot,” or siphon, Codd attaches it to a “mother-shell,” which can cluster approximately 16 oysters. The mother shell attaches to a line, which has been strung with old shells to keep the oysters separation. And though only 10 percent of Americans eat oysters, demand is steady: it takes 18 months for each oyster to grow to the point where it is ready for harvest.
The oysters “spit” water out of their siphons and Codd explained with characteristic understatement, “My oysters are somewhat fresh.” While we went for oysters, others chose littleneck clams, located by their small air holes dotting the sand. Some pickers went for the bigger clams, while others chose the smaller (some say tastier) ones. If pickers reject a clam, Codd tells them to replace rejects “foot-down,” to keep them from drowning.
When he leased the 130 acres along the Coquille, Codd agreed to operate U-Pick only during low tide between May and October. To obtain the agreement, he had to deal with the Oregon Department of Agriculture; the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife; the city, county, and planning commissions of Bandon; and the Oregon State park authority.
Codd is not allowed to use billboard signage in the state park; look for a small sign by the road before you reach the lighthouse. Before you go, check tidal tables for low tide and call to be sure that Codd is there with the rakes.