Growing up in Rockford, IL I had access to the Rock River. My dad had lived on the river as a kid and enjoying boating on the river and at his family summer home on Lake Geneva Wisconsin.
When I was a kid of 11-12 years old, dad and I did quite a bit of camping on the Rock and Pecatonica Rivers. While dad had his 17’ boat I was blessed with a 12’ Thompson wood boat with a 5 hp engine. We would load our gear in the boats, often on a Friday, and head upriver for a weekend of camping. One of our favorite camping spots was in a farmer’s field just upstream from Roscoe, IL. On one occasion we had set-up camp cooked a meal, typically Spam and beans; and dad suggested I make a run to Roscoe for burgers. He would keep the campfire burning. I was excited to tackle the adventure solo as a 12-year-old.
I should note: the Roscoe landing is about 1.25 miles downstream from the campsite, where highway 63 crosses the river. The sunlight was waning, there is a rocky shoal just upstream from the landing, and the hamburger joint is about a quarter mile hike, no reflective gear, from the landing.
I purchased the burgers, hiked back to my boat, and made the slow upstream journey, no running lights, back to the campsite. When I returned it was dark. But the campfire was blazing. My 5 hp made the trip about three times longer than the downstream trek with no mishaps. Those hamburgers were delicious!
I think back now and doubt that I would let a 12-year-old make that trip. But then, I must have been an exceptional kid!
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