How to go rogue without roughing it

By Don Mankin

Our raft bounced on the big waves coming at us from all directions as we squeezed through the narrow neck of the canyon. As the crest of one wave lifted us, I leaned over and tried to dig my paddle into the water. When we crashed down into the trough, I stared at next the wave poised in front of me like a wall of water several feet high. Shouting with exhilaration, I braced for the deluge, sputtering as the wave slapped me in the face. I spit out as much water as I could … and swallowed the rest.

We were on the Rogue River in southwest Oregon, one of the first rivers in the country to be run commercially, and one of the original eight rivers named in the Wild and Scenic Rivers Act of 1968. I was here at the invitation of ROW Adventures, an adventure travel company that’s been offering trips around the globe since 1979.

The Rogue has something for everyone: Class III and IV white water for adrenaline junkies; scenery from a Winslow Homer watercolor for the aesthetes; and eagles, ospreys, kingfishers, and other winged creatures for birders–not to mention history ranging from thousand-year-old Native American artifacts to early 20th century pioneer houses.

What made this different than most other rafting trips was that instead of camping in tents, guests were put up in comfortable lodges featuring hot showers and indoor plumbing. Both of the lodges we stayed at during our three-day, two-night trip were beautifully sited– one on the edge of a broad lawn nestled in a valley; the other overlooking the river with a great outdoor deck. But what really set this trip apart was the fine dining. Most river trips tout good food, usually prepared by skilled guides on cook stoves and grills lugged along on the boats. This trip featured a guest chef– a former restaurateur who’d made his living feeding people, not guiding them through white water.

In the lodges’ fully stocked kitchens, the chef and his assistant prepared such tasty, sophisticated fare as risotto with lemon and fresh asparagus; rock sole saltimbocca with prosciutto and sage; and pheasant thighs Cacciatore style with polenta. And, unlike the wine-in-a-box found on most river trips, we drank fine Italian vintages. Since we weren’t camping and didn’t have to worry about tripping over tent stakes on our way to bed, we drank with abandon. It was easy to see why most of the guests were in their fifties and older.

Over the course of the trip we had three travel options, each offering different mixes and levels of relaxation, activity and adrenaline. In the oar boat, we could lean back and let the oarsman do all the work; in the paddle boat, we had to paddle (ergo the name); and in the inflatable kayaks (also called "duckies"), we were essentially on our own, getting buffeted by every wave as we bounced through the rapids, paddling like crazy to keep from getting dunked in the cold water.

These inflatables made easy Class II rapids look like challenging Class III, and Class III look like heart-stopping Class IV, and almost everyone who gave them a try ended up floating downstream until they were pulled into one of the rafts. It’s wild, like the best amusement park ride I’ve ever been on, except it’s real, the scenery is better– and you won’t lose your car in the parking lot.

And the scenery was beautiful. On the first two days, it was more peaceful than dramatic–vistas that soothed and lowered the blood pressure with rolling hills covered in evergreens, oaks, and golden grasses as far as the eye could see. On the third day, the landscape became more striking as the river wound through a narrow canyon lined with steep, rocky walls. The rapids also became more intense, with more Class IVs than the previous two days. It was either ignorance or hubris on my part, but that was the day I decided to give the duckie a ride. I don’t know if it was sheer luck or desperate paddling, but I managed to get through several rapids without going for a swim.

After a hard day on the river, we’d pull up to our lodge for the night, check into our rooms or cabins for a hot shower, and wander back to the lodge for wine and hors d’oeuvres. After dinner, we sat on the deck overlooking the river and drank wine, smoked cigars, and laughed at each other’s stories, then tottered back to our cabins to sleep, lulled by the sounds of the river.

This is a perfect trip for senior adventurers and reluctant outdoorsmen and women. I’m planning to return next year with my cousin, whose idea of adventure is flying coach and staying in three-star hotels. He was sold on the idea of sleeping in lodges, eating gourmet meals and drinking fine wine.

I haven’t told him about the duckie yet.

About the author

Don Mankin is a travel writer, organizational psychologist, and educational consultant.