Sand. In my camo thermos coffee cup. One swallow put the hot, gritty liquid where it belonged – in my belly. Cold north winds swept across the wide sandbar, and chilled me to the bone. Gritty sand grabbed at my bare legs three days later as I ignored the blustery winter day outside and slid into the comforts of my favorite leather chair near the fireplace. Shorts seemed like a good idea until the sandpapery sensation. 

Sand has a way of sticking with you. My mind drifted to sands of the past as I wiped the Missouri River sand from my cozy chair, sipped a hot, sand- free cup of coffee and slipped into deep relaxation.

Sand attracts people. The white beaches of Florida are littered with sun seeking bodies. The reflective qualities of the white stuff bakes flesh rather quickly, then grinds away to add misery to foolishness. Thoughts of other sand experiences feigned my gray matter as the hot java did its magic. The hard packed sands of Anastasia Beach tickled the feet of my children when they were small, and tiny, tumbling pieces of driftwood turned up one morning, which, according to a local expert, had perhaps been rolling across the sandy ocean floor for two or three decades. Images of far away places filled our heads.

Mexico, the Caribbean, the Quetico Wilderness of Canada, Dauphin Island, Yellowstone Lake, and dozens of other places have contributed unwanted sand grains to my body and gear over the years. But none perplexed me more than the sands of the Mekong. It jammed M-16s. Sands of the Middle East plague our troops’ safety daily.

I should hate sand, but it always tugs at my curiosity and stimulates the beginnings of some new adventure. Such was the case in late November years ago. The river was dropping. Massive sandbars grew continually. The sprawling sand flats became open encyclopedias of what the river had been hiding.

The muddy Missouri ran low and lean. Its skeletal structure lay exposed to the world at every turn. Sand bars, rock dikes, ancient pilings, mounds of driftwood and immense piles of river refuse lay exposed as if the watery flesh covering it had been eaten away by a monstrous imaginary vulture.

Few bones stimulated my imagination more than the wreckages of boats, however. Captain William Heckman, a mid 1800’s riverboat pilot, spent 64 years on the Missouri River. According to him, whiskey and carelessness sent many a side-wheeler to the Missouri’s bottom. Perilous snags and ever shifting sandbars claimed even more.

“We used to separate the men from the boys at the mouth of the Missouri. The boys went up the Mississippi, and the men went up the Big Muddy,” Heckman said.

The Missouri is said to be the muddiest river in the world. Old-time farmers say it’s so because of “her eternal habit of eatin’ up farms and shiftin’ sandbars.” But the river’s old time fishermen say “Ol’ Muddy” got that way from the “rootin’ and wallerin’ of the big ol’ catfish” that call the Missouri home.

It’s also said that boat hulls make great hide-outs for the Missouri’s big catfish. Heckman supposedly proved the point when he pulled a 300 hundred pound blue cat from the remains of a wrecked riverboat near Morrison. Seems he baited a hay hook with a spoiled ham, tied it to an anchor rope and tossed it into the muddy water next to the wreckage.

Such stories of monster cats, lost riverboats, and treacherous waters are a fair mix of fact and fiction. Regardless, the results are the same. Few people ply the waters of the Missouri River, primarily because of fear associated with the unknown. A healthy respect for the river and its obstacles are certainly the better part of valor. However, with the right equipment, adamant use of safety procedures, and a grand dose of common sense, the Missouri River is an outdoor lover’s paradise. Any outdoorsman likes solitude and plenty of it is available on the Missouri, especially in the wintertime.

My November search for Missouri river sandbars brought bountiful rewards. Acres and acres of rippled sand spread out along the banks for a mile or more in some spots. Each held its own characteristics and attractions. To explore them all would take more than one lifetime. Every sandbar seemed worthy of a thorough search, however. The forces of the Missouri River’s waters sculptured each bar uniquely. Pockets, drops, turns, ripples and ridges all painted pictures of what had happened as the muddy waters receded. And the next rise and fall of the river will re-sculpture all of the bars which I visited.

Driftwood is a natural work of art. Conditioned by the conditions to which it is exposed on its watery travels downstream, a piece of wood is shaped by everything to which it makes contact. Water and sand smooth surfaces  and highlight the natural grains. 

My search for sandbars had not been stimulated by a desire to study history or search for relics. On the other hand, I traveled there to look for signs. Stop. Go. Yield? No, I scoured the beaches for signs of the Giant Canada Goose. Sand is important to geese as well. The heavy birds land on the sandbars to loaf in the sun and pick up grit to help their powerful gizzards grind up the food stored in their massive craws. If you are interested in the experiment, pick up goose poop sometime, the solid kind that is. It is gritty. The runny, green kind is, well, slimy. Pond owners and greens keepers are familiar with the stuff.

Don’t let your boat become a catfish lair. Remember, the Missouri river is famous for eatin’ up things. At the least, her sands will eat your shorts!