Swimming was a major summer activity for Wayne and I and for most kids along Lower River Road or any other road the Rogue River Valley. Once we settle back on the farm after the war memories of swimming come first to mind. We started swimming with our mother, Lois, taking us swimming. We loaded the car not only with the three of us but neighborhood kids as well. We didn’t swim in the Rogue though. She had grown up in the Applegate valley so felt more comfortable taking people to swimming holes she was familiar with. She has swum there while growing up on her family’s farm in Provolt. She said she felt the Applegate River was cleaner, more important she knew were to go. I really don’t know where we went. We just drove along until we got to the right place. We usually went with other people. Who they were escapes me now, but suspect they were the Brockson family. We did a lot of thing with them in the earlier days. One of the families owned a Army panel truck and we got to ride in that. After the war people were buying salvaged military vehicles like hotcakes. Between the depression and the war good reliable vehicles were in demand, the one’s people had been getting by with were short on life. We enjoyed riding in that panel wagon. It had no windows, more the fun. Most important you could sit in the floor. It was rough riding and geared so low that it took a while to get up to highway speeds.
One sunny afternoon mom was taking a group of us out to the Applegate, she stopped to purchase some pop at the Bridge Street Store. Yep it was there then. This would be around 1946 or 47. While we waited in the car she disappeared in to the little place. Soon she came out just steaming got in the car slammed the door and drove off. No pop either. Pop at that time cost a nickel a bottle. It seems the store had just tried to charge her a dime a bottle. Doesn’t sound like much not now. But at that time they had just doubled the price of a soft drink, a penny may have be OK, But a nickel was a bit much. As it is today the Bridge Street store was a Mom and Pop business. The sale of beer, pop, cigarettes and candy was what most people went in for. During the era after the war there was much concern about businesses taking advantage of the real or perceived War shortages. There were much advertising and consistent news articles about business taking advantages of shortages. Even radio shows would have themes about the subject. So people watch closely when prices went up. It was kind of funny, but no one in the car dare say anything. It was quiet in the car all the way to the swimming hole. It took her some time to calm down. Of course none of us kids had an idea of what she was talking about. Mom was the only adult in the car so we just quietly rode along.
The Applegate River was a good place to swim as I remember. There were not nice grassy areas along the bank to sit on. Mom just drove until she found a large sandy area to park and just walked to the water. She just sat under the trees and watched or talked if there was another adult along, which there usually was. I suspect she just reminisced about her youth at the same spot or so. Swimming suits didn’t last long, but in those days underwear worked just as well and usually did. For kids swim suits were marginal at best. You just wore what worked.
By the time we started school we graduated to the irrigation ditch that ran along the Lower River Road. It was not very deep, but on a hot day it was fun. We could float along than walk back up the bank. We did learn to swim in the ditch. I don’t remember ever taking swimming lessons. It was just something we learned to do much like throwing a baseball. Of course like all young boys we couldn’t just float and swim. What is the adventure in that? Soon we were exploring the culverts that went under the drive ways and daring each other to go into the deeper water at each end of the pipe. That was a daring feat. That took courage; you might get pulled in to the pipe. There was always an eddy of floating material around the mouth of the upstream side of the culvert. You never knew what might be in there. Usually it was just grass. But once in a while, if you were lucky, there would be a snake swimming for its life. There was also a possibility of succors as well. Once in a while they would get through the screens at the Savage Rapids dam and be carried along the ditch. Dropping into that detrital mass was the sort of thing stories are made of and many were told in the shade of a tree on a hot summer afternoon.
Of course the next thing was us to enter the pipe. We didn’t know what was in the pipe, but we were risk taker. So down we went and pulling ourselves along the pipe to the other side. That was big stuff. What great sport to have other kids around then swim down to the pipe disappear under the water and come up at the other end of the pipe. They thought about it for a while, but the thrill of adventure was too much. But before long they worked up the courage to give it a try. It was a bad day when people upstream were using the water and the ditch was dry.
We also had a dirt ditch that crossed through the back of our property. We were about the end of the line on that ditch and we generally got water late at night. So seldom swam there. When we irrigated the pasture using that ditch it as a late night for dad. He would start the water then go to where it ended. He would lie down on the grass and wait until he felt the water on his toes. He knew the field was finished. One night he and our dog Tippy found a skunk while waiting. My dad took his shovel and killer with Tippy helping. When the irrigating was finish he came in the house to go to bed. When our mother smelt him, well he couldn’t get the doors open fast enough exiting the house. Mom made him take all his clothes off in the back yard and wash down with soap and the cold water from the garden hose. As for Tippy he smelt like skunk whenever he got wet for the rest of his life.
Sometime around 1950 we graduated to the Rogue River and we were off for White Rock. White Rock was a place down the River from our place? Not too far from where the road makes a turn and starts to parallel the river. There were several large white granite boulders in the river that gave it, its name. I suspect it is still there. It was place that was kind of a rite of passage for pre-teen boys. You were on your way when you went to White Rock. That is among our friends. The bank was steep to the water and was covered with brush, nettles and grass. Just some trails lead to the water. Someone had climbed one of the fir trees and tied a rope. They had also built stand. It was just a couple polls put in the ground with cross member. We would climb the latter then swing out over the water and drop. We had to be careful though, there was a gravel bar part way out so if you hit the water in the right place or I should say the wrong place the water could be very shallow in some spots. We did spent time sitting on the rock in the river. From there we would dive to the bottom and swimming around. We didn’t use goggles just opened our eyes. Later we did get some swim fins and a face masks which made things much clearer. Once in a while we would swim across the river. It seemed a long way, but now doesn’t look all that far the last time I was there. We didn’t do that often, just too much work and a waste of time. You drifted down river and by the time you went both ways you had to walk though berry vines and nettles to get back. Just wasn’t worth the effort.
Our favorite thing to do was swim to the bottom pick up a rock and swim back to the top. The challenge was to see who could bring up the biggest rock. That could be a lung burner. You could tell you were getting closer to the surface the light would get brighter and brighter the closer we got to the top. Some time you just had to let go of the rock and get some air. One of the more interesting times we were laying on the rock and all of a sudden the river got higher and higher. Soon it covered the rocks. It was kind of scary at first. You had no idea why and how deep it was going to get. Most likely they opened the gates at Savage Rapids dam to release more of the upstream water.
The best thing about White Rock was it was not crowded. Very seldom was there anyone there except the group of boys we went with. Once in a while there might be a high school couple trying to find a private place. They would sit on the rocks and neck then drop in the water to cool off. Once several ten, eleven or twelve year old boys showed up, they generally headed for new territory.
Riverside Park in Grants Pass was another haunt. I personally did not really cared for that too much. It was crowded. You could swim out to a raft anchored in the river, but it was crowded and people just sat there. It was more of a sun bathing place. At our ages sun bathing was not in the cards. There was a railroad bridge upstream from Caveman Bridge that kids jumped off. That was more for High school kids. Once in a while someone would get killed hitting the concrete abutments.
Wayne did have a problem or two at the city park. One time someone tried to steal his bike. Fortunately he walked up as the kids started to ride off. Another time he dove off the raft and hit his head on the rocks at the bottom of the river. When I found him he was bleeding pretty well so we went rode home. Mom took him to the doctor and he got a couple stiches. The talk was always someone rode their bike over the arches on Caveman Bridge. It had those wide curved arches as it still does. Not sure if anyone did. I never saw anyone or talked to anyone who did. Now walking over is another thing. Not me. I liked the park, but was just too crowded. There was large dance pavilion by the water, with changing rooms underneath. They sold food and drinks also. But unlike White Rock it was just a mass of kids and adults just running around. We all need a White Rock. It was a boys place.
Water was our friend during the summers. But it could also be a hazard. Not only the inherent danger, but it was the Polio era. The word polio struck fear into the hearts of everyone. Medford seemed to be a hot bed of cases. It was felt the disease could be transmitted by the river water. So when an outbreak occurred, parents limited the kids swimming until the fear passed. I am not sure if people got it from polluted water, but they were taking no chances.
We did have one alternative to the river and ditches. The YMCA in Medford was a choice. Now that was an adventure. We went with a church group, boys only. Our family attended the First Christian Church in Grants Pass. So as an activity they would take a bunch of boys to swim. What an experience that was. Of course in those days it was not the friendly family YMCA. The “M” stood for men. Oh ya boys as well. Anyway that was not fun. First you could not wear clothes in the pool. Yep no swim suits. You went in stripped to the buff, took a shower and washed your feet in some kind of disinfectant that was in a long trough. Then off to the pool. Oh Joy, nothing quite like swimming with twenty naked boys in a cold dang basement pool. But it was disinfected. If any of you have ever been in those older “Y” pools they generally were in a basement with limited lighting, concrete walls and just maybe they had small windows with chicken wire security glass around the top of the room. I guess the men did the same thing. Not sure but suspect handball was a more popular sport.
Swimming was a big part of growing up on the Lower River Road. There were many opportunities and places. People really didn’t think much about polluted water, except for Polio. If it was wet you got in. Once we started on our own and got a bicycle we went most every day some place.
One other river activity that took place year around was just to walk to the river and play along the bank. Dad got a war surplus machete at Camp White after the war. It was mainly left in the barn to cut the binding twine on the hay bales. But it worked well cutting berry vines along the river. So we would walk through the pastures behind our property to be river. A great afternoon would be spent cutting tunnels and trails to nowhere. Many an hour was spent walking a fallen cottonwood tree as it pass just above the vines hoping you did slip and fall, tumbling into the mass of thorns below. One evening my mother and I were waiting for Wayne to come home so we could go to some long forgotten place. A little after dusk he came walking up the drive way wondering what we were waiting for. Mom was not happy and wanted to know what he had been doing. He looked at her and said, “Cutting a tree down”. He then got into the car as if that was normal and a little surprised she bothered to ask.
LLRR, 70
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