Skip to main content
On the Glenn Jackson Bridge, there’s some distance between the “Leaving Portland,” “Leaving Oregon” and “Entering Washington” signs. Is there any sort of immunity or complication for those who find themselves in this No Man’s Land? If I got a ticket, to whom would I pay it? Is gambling legal in this space between? —Virginia Dentata
It’s certainly tempting to believe in bridges as a secret, hidden dimension where the position of a few signs can short-circuit the entire legal system, like Captain Kirk melting a computer’s brain by telling it, “This statement is false.” However, the boring truth is that every inch of your journey across the river is jurisdictionally determined. Sorry to kill your dreams, but no, Virginia, there is no Santa Claus.
The big green “Entering Washington” sign really does mark the border between the two states. It may seem oddly close to the Washington side, but that’s just a coincidence—the boundary follows the Columbia’s main shipping channel, which happens to be nearer to Washington at the Interstate 205 crossing. You’re legally in Oregon until you pass this sign.
What about the mile or so of dead space between the “Leaving Portland” and “Entering Washington” signs? Glad you asked! As a lot of folks in Eastern Oregon would be happy to remind you, “Portland” and “Oregon” are two different things. At I-205, Portland’s city limits end at the river’s south bank, while Oregon writ large continues up to the aforementioned sign. This makes Government Island unincorporated Multnomah County, which I guess is sort of like no man’s land, but The Upside Down from Stranger Things it ain’t.
There’s also an “Entering Vancouver” sign and an “Oregon Thanks You, Come Back Soon” sign, neither of which is particularly close to the border each implies, but either way, they don’t affect jurisdiction.
It’s funny you should mention gambling, though, because I suspect riverboat gambling contributes to the perception of rivers as jurisdictional free-fire zones. Putting a casino on a boat is pretty random, so you might assume they do it to exploit some legal loophole about river traffic. Nope! States just wanted gambling. They wanted to limit it somehow, so they picked riverboats, but it could just as easily have been trout farms, or mausoleums, or flatbed trucks. In fact, the whole thing was so arbitrary that today there’s a casino—built on dry land—whose gaming floor floats on a 350,000-gallon tank of water, just so it can count as a boat. Ahoy, matey!
Questions? Send them to dr.know@wweek.com.
