There’s something special about time spent on a river.
Maybe it’s the silence. Maybe it’s the slow pace. The water pulls you along, and for a while, everything else falls away. Fishing, kayaking, boating, tubing, or just watching—it doesn’t really matter what you’re doing. The river gives you a chance to let go. To feel small, but in a good way.
But lately, I’ve noticed something that snaps me out of that feeling.
Plastic.
A crushed bottle lodged between rocks. A chip bag drifting in an eddy. Single use bags tangled in branches along the bank. It’s subtle at first. Easy to ignore. But once you notice it, it’s hard to unsee. And once it starts, you see it everywhere.
This isn’t about a single careless act. It’s about a buildup. A slow, steady accumulation of small moments of irresponsibility—someone dropping trash in a parking lot, a bag flying out of a truck bed, a snack wrapper left near a trailhead. All of it adds up. Most of it ends up in the water.
The River Is Supposed to Be an Escape
When I’m out there, I want to feel connected—to nature, to myself, to something real. That’s why we go, right? To get away from the noise. The stress. The screens.
But seeing garbage in the water pulls you right back to the world you came to forget. It’s a reminder of how careless we’ve become. And it messes with the whole experience.
You’re floating along, feeling free. Then you see a plastic bag caught in a tree like a ghost. It’s a small thing, but it changes the feeling.
Plastic Doesn’t Disappear
The problem with plastic is it lasts. It doesn’t break down the way natural materials do. And it travels. What starts on a street miles away can wash into a storm drain, into a creek, then into a river. It doesn’t matter where the littering happened—the river collects it.
We tend to think of rivers as self-cleaning. Flowing water has a way of making everything seem fresh. But the truth is, once plastic gets in, it stays. It gets tangled, buried, stuck. It harms wildlife. It pollutes the water. And it pollutes the experience.
Tragedy of the Commons
There’s a concept called the tragedy of the commons. It’s what happens when a shared resource gets damaged because everyone assumes someone else will take care of it.
That’s exactly what’s happening with rivers.
People think: it’s just one piece of trash. One bottle. One wrapper. But when thousands of people think that way, we end up with what we have now—rivers that look more like drainage ditches than the clean, wild places they used to be.
No one sets out to ruin the river. But in the absence of responsibility, that’s what’s happening.
The Damage Adds Up
This isn’t just about aesthetics. Plastic pollution hurts wildlife. Fish and birds eat it. It gets stuck in their stomachs and they die. It leaches chemicals into the water. It disrupts the ecosystem.
But even beyond the environmental cost, there’s a human cost.
The feeling of being on a river—the peace, the beauty, the escape—that’s a fragile thing. When the banks are trashed and the water carries litter, that feeling slips away. What should be a refuge starts to feel tainted.
Becoming More Aware
I’m not perfect. I’ve forgotten trash in the past. I’ve let things slip. But I’m trying to be more mindful now.
Because small habits matter.
- Pack out what you pack in.
- Pick up a few extra pieces of trash, even if it’s not yours.
- Be aware of where your trash could end up, even if you’re not near a river.
And maybe most importantly—talk about it. If you don’t want to be the one to talk about it with friends, you can quietly and humbly set an example by picking up a few pieces when out in the wilderness with others. Just be the kind of person who treats the river like something worth protecting.
The River Deserves Better
I think about what a clean river feels like.
The way the light dances on the water. The sound of wind in the trees. The satisfaction of a quiet cast or a smooth paddle stroke. A place where you can breathe deeply.
That’s what we’re trying to protect. Not just the ecosystem—but the experience.
And it starts with awareness.