9 min.
The Master Trotliners of the White River
GLEN HEAVNER CAN THINK of a dozen ways to describe the Lower White River: the diamond of Arkansas, the land that time forgot, a state of mind, his favorite place on the planet.
“I used to drive 600 miles every day. Now as far as I go is the boat ramp,” says Glen, a retired trucker who lives half a mile from the dock where he and his dad, Larry, keep their twin johnboats. “Life slows down on the White River.”
The White flows fast and clear out of the Ozark Mountains, but by the time it winds into the Mississippi floodplain, past the Heavner home, and through the state’s legendary green timber duck holes, it’s wide and leisurely. If life here is slow, it begins to crawl when nearby WMAs hold…
