Catching Idle Butterflies

Beer Wench

When we reached the halfway point of getting the boat back into the water, Kyle bent down and studied this black square piece of plastic hooked to a wire.

“Is this your transducer?” he asked.

Dave took a look and said, “Yep.”

“How do we put it back on?”

“We don’t. It was bolted on, and the bolts are broke.”

Without the transducer, we would have no idea what depth the water was at as we continued our travel down river. Dave seemed unconcerned, confident he could read the river well enough to avoid shallower sandbars.

You see where this is going now, don’t you?

The day started fairly cool, but warmed up quickly. With nary a cloud in the bright blue sky, I was glad I had bought my wide-brimmed hat. I only had to worry about my arms and tops of my feet. I forgot to bring shorts. Besides, I had neglected to shave my legs recently. I know. Too much information.

Moving on.

We spent most of the morning floating down the river. Being in the rear, I had control of all the coolers (four of them, three little and one big one) that contained all the food, beverages and bait worms.

Dave swiveled around and asked, “Hey, Beer Girl. Hand me a beer, would ya?”

For whatever reason I remembered something a friend of mine mentioned. When he went to an old-fashioned tavern in Las Vegas, all the customers were required to call all the waitresses wenches. They wouldn’t serve you otherwise.

As I reached into a cooler I said, “That’s Beer Wench to you.” He gave me an odd look at first, as did Kyle. He then shrugged and said, “Fine, Beer Wench. Hand me a beer.”

So I did. That was my name the rest of the trip. Well, not entirely. I was also the Worm Wench, the Sandwich Wench, the Water Wench . . .

Rufus was by far better behaved. I think she learned we would be spending more time out on the water instead of on shore. So she spent most of the day sleeping and trying to find even the merest sliver of shade.

I felt for her, because I was getting antsy myself. If I’m going stir crazy after only 4 hours, I decided then I would have never made it across any ocean in a sailboat like many people did in the 17th and 18th centuries. They were made of tough stuff those people!

After lunch is when we realized none of us had any idea how to read a river. We were going along with the engine going to help us cool off from the still air, when we came to an abrupt halt. We hit a sandbar, hard. With our momentum, we went far enough, going in reverse was impossible. Plus we couldn’t lower the engine enough into the water to help us through. We ended up in 6-8 inches of water. Our only choice was to go forward.

Luckily, with all of us out of the water, the boat retained enough buoyancy that with minimal effort on our part, we were able to push the boat into deeper waters. Rufus couldn’t have been happier at our misfortune since she now had plenty of room to run and cool off in all that water.

We still didn’t learn our lesson.

Not two hours later, we hit another one! No problem. We made it through the last one, so we got out and began to push forward, hoping the current would help carry us forward. Unfortunately, the current only pushed us deeper into the silty, very soft sand a mere 3-4 inches below the water.

Now what?

We took out the heaviest of our gear which amounted to the extra 5 gallons of gas and all of our coolers. Unfortunately, plastic coolers float. So we placed two others on top of the big one. No go. The current kept wanting to kick it out. So I got to hold the coolers down and watch as Dave and Kyle first tried to push it deeper into the sand. When that only let them inch along, if that, they decided to dig a trench, with our one and only broken oar.

It worked, though very slowly. Personally, I was glad to be out of the boat, and cool off (my feet anyway) in the chilly river water. Rufus again was having a great time splashing around and looking for sticks to play with.

As with the previous sandbar, the shallowest part of the sandbar was downriver. Once we past that, it dropped at least five feet in depth in as many horizontal.

When the boat reached within five feet of the edge, Dave helped me move the gas can and coolers closer so it would be easier to grab them once we dislodged the boat. The water was shallow enough there, they were no longer buoyant and stayed. Between the three of us, digging a trench and pushing with all our might, we freed the boat in about an hour and a half.

Finally we learned our lesson! We didn’t get stuck like that again the rest of the day. We even used caution when choosing a campsite, making sure the shore dropped off enough so even if the river shallowed, the boat wouldn’t be grounded.

We also sought a campsite that had no sand!!!

We set up our tents and cooked some bratwursts over beans and bacon. Soon afterward, so exhausted from pushing the boat, we went to bed, not even having the energy to watch the oh so bright stars move across the sky.

Rufus, on the other hand was just getting wound up. She was more thrilled to reach land than any of us. Even after we zipped her up inside the tent, she soon discovered all she needed to do was push against the edge of the zipper and it unzipped enough to let her out. Dave had to get up, chase her down and drag her back three times.

Finally, he put her between us and we took turns holding her down. We won the contest of wills, and she soon fell asleep. One thing I love about our dog is how quickly she acclimates to what’s going on. Even though frogs sang, hawks and coyotes cried, and little rodents scampered through the tall grass all during the night, she slept through it all.

The next day turned out uneventful. We still hit a few sandbars, but they were deep enough only one person had to get out and push.

We arrived back in Bismarck early Sunday, filthy, exhausted, but otherwise happy with how the trip turned out. We drove the Jeep back to the house to drop me and Rufus off while they took Kyle’s truck back up to Garrison Dam to pick up Dave’s truck and the boat trailer. I don’t remember a shower feeling so good. No more sand between my toes and other unmentionable places!

I’d do it again as long as we’re a bit more aware of what the Missouri River can toss at us, whether at the behest of Murphy or not.