"The Tire-Wrangling River Cowboy: How One Man Took On Kentucky’s Trash-Filled Waters"
Back in the 1980s, Russ Miller and his wife made a bold move to the far reaches of eastern Kentucky’s Red River Gorge. Nestled high on a ridge and almost entirely surrounded by the winding Red River, they built a secluded homestead—so remote you’d need a hand-drawn map just to find it. The deeper you drive into this wild landscape, the more it feels like you’ve taken a wrong turn into a forgotten world.
They spent their afternoons lazily floating along the river in inner tubes—until reality hit. Floating beside them wasn’t just driftwood and leaves, but piles of garbage.
“Back then, the river was embarrassing—a conveyor belt of trash,” Miller said, holding up a photo of a nearby tributary clogged with tires, broken appliances, plastic pools, and even a rusted-out car.
Among the garbage, tires stood out the most. Every year, the U.S. dumps nearly 300 million tires. While many are reused or recycled, millions vanish into illegal dumps, especially in waterways.
One day, while paddling, Miller spotted a tire lodged in a tree like “an olive on a toothpick.” That image stuck. He knew that tire would remain there forever—unless someone did something.
So he did.
That autumn, he rounded up hundreds of tires and rallied friends to float them downstream. With no boats to spare, Miller stuffed empty milk jugs into the tires to make them buoyant.
“That’s how he got the name ‘River Cowboy’,” said Laura Gregory, watershed director at Kentucky Waterways Alliance (KWA). “He was the guy literally herding tires down the river.”
According to Kentucky’s division of waste management, the state produces 4 million waste tires annually, and around 1 million go untracked. And while official numbers are scarce, those who work the waterways will tell you: many of those missing tires end up in rivers.
Now decades deep into his mission, Miller has hauled out an estimated 3,000 to 4,000 tires. He also co-founded Friends of Red River (FORR), a passionate grassroots organization born in 1996 to clean up the gorge.
Dumping tires illegally is against the law in Kentucky, but that hasn’t stopped people. Some do it out of laziness, others as part of deliberate operations.
“There are actual professional dumpers,” Gregory said. “They cover their license plates and wear hoods. It’s wild.”
With a silver ponytail, powder-blue eyes, and a calm but compelling voice, Miller is the kind of man whose words stay with you. He’s penned a stack of letters and op-eds over 25 years, all bursting with passion.
“The roadsides people fought hard to clean up are once again sprouting trash,” he once wrote. “I can’t decide who I’m angrier with—the litterers or the legislators.”
The Cleanup Rides Again
On a cool May night, 11 muddy volunteers gather to prep for an early morning tire cleanup along the upper Red River, Kentucky’s only federally protected “wild and scenic” river. Their journey will demand a grueling 13-hour paddle, including a quarter-mile portage through rough terrain.
As 22 canoes and rafts are lowered off sandstone cliffs, Miller moves with quiet leadership, lining them up like soldiers. This cleanup isn’t open to the public—it’s expert only. The technical turns and potential Class III rapids make it too dangerous for beginners.
“Back then, there was barely any garbage service,” said John Burchett, board member of Friends of the Tug Fork River (FOTTFR). “People just chucked trash over the creek bank. Now, we’re paying for the sins of our forefathers.”
Later that June, during FORR’s second cleanup of the season, we launch early along a four-mile route through some of the Gorge’s most breathtaking stretches. At first, it’s serene—just trees, rocks, and rippling water. But before long, the tires start to appear. One by one. Then in clumps.
In rural Kentucky, legal tire disposal is often inaccessible and expensive. While the state hosts free waste tire collection events, they only cycle through each of Kentucky’s 120 counties once every three years. That leaves many residents resorting to old habits—treating rivers like nature’s trash can.
A Tire-Hunting Legend
Standing in the back of his canoe like a pirate scouting treasure, Miller suddenly points: “There’s one!” He back-paddles hard, jumps into the cool river, and disappears beneath the surface. Seconds later, he emerges—hauling up another buried tire.
His keen eye can spot a tire beneath layers of sediment. It’s a skill honed over decades.
In one paddle near Floyds Fork, KWA board member Travis Murphy spotted 400 tires.
Between Jackson and Beattyville, Miller counted 2,630 tires in just 20 miles.
In Daniel Boone National Forest, 54 tires were pulled from just three miles.
Along the Tug Fork, FOTTFR has removed 16,183 tires in six years.
States Step Up
There’s progress. Connecticut passed a law requiring tire manufacturers to handle disposal. Florida is removing ocean-dumped tires via the Osborne Reef Tire Project. In Kentucky, Senate Resolution 238—a bipartisan move—was adopted thanks to KWA’s advocacy, acknowledging the crisis.
“We’re gathering input statewide,” said Robin Hartman, spokesperson for the Kentucky Energy and Environment Cabinet. “Our upcoming report will outline solutions and potential legislative changes.”
Tires: A Toxic Time Bomb
Tires are one of the hardest post-consumer products to manage. They take decades to decompose, leaking toxins that damage aquatic life and threaten public health. With vehicle use rising—especially heavy electric cars—the urgency grows.
About 3 billion tires are made each year. 800 million become waste. While cleanup helps, the real question is—what do we do with them?
A glimmer of hope lies in new research that breaks tires down into precursors for epoxy resins—materials used in adhesives and coatings. It’s early, but it’s a start.
“Sometimes I feel helpless,” Miller admitted, “but I’m also hopeful. Awareness is the first step toward change.”
More Than Just Trash
By the end of one cleanup, Miller and his team have pulled 30 tires, 15 full trash bags, a folding table, a broken wagon, and pieces of torn sheeting—all from just 13 miles of the Red River.
Change happens when people witness the problem up close. And thanks to the River Cowboy, more people are starting to care.
As I drove home, I couldn’t unsee it. Tires abandoned by the roadside. In the creek beds. In the ditches.
One… two… three…
Description:
"Discover how Kentucky’s “River Cowboy” Russ Miller is leading the fight against tire pollution in America’s rivers. With thousands of tires pulled from the Red River Gorge, his story proves one person can spark change."