There’s a creature lurking in the waters of Arkansas that’s captured the hearts of locals in a way no other mystery beast has—meet “Whitey,” the White River Monster. This oddball critter’s so beloved that the state’s lawmakers even carved out a special spot for it near Newport, dubbing it the “White River Monster Refuge.” Nowadays, it’s against the law to mess with, harm, or even give Whitey a rude shove. However, it’s important to remember that in the past, people were prepared to use dynamite to completely destroy Whitey.
Whitey’s story began in the 1890s when someone first glimpsed him. He reappeared in 1915, but it wasn’t until July 1937 that he truly made a significant impact. Some fishermen on the White River—a winding ribbon that feeds into the mighty Mississippi—started grumbling about their lousy catches. Then one day, they spotted something bizarre swirling in an eddy. They flagged down the local plantation owner, Bramlett Bateman, to come see for himself. Bateman wasn’t exactly sold on the idea, but he humoured them and strolled down the riverbank. What he saw knocked him sideways: a hulking thing, maybe four or five feet wide and twelve feet long, with elephant-like skin and a catfish mug, just lounging on the water’s surface.
Convinced this monster was bad news for his crops, Bateman went straight to the authorities, asking to blow the eddy to kingdom come with TNT. They shot him down, but by then, word had spread rapidly. People flocked from as far as California—some lugging cameras, others packing dynamite, and one guy supposedly toting a machine gun. Plans to snag Whitey with a massive net fizzled out, and Bateman even hired a deep-sea diver to hunt for him, but that was a bust too. As the hoopla died down, folks started whispering that Bateman had made the whole thing up—never mind the hundred-plus sightings logged during the frenzy.
Whitey slipped back into the shadows until June 1971, when he made a grand comeback. While fishing with his friends, a geyser erupted right in front of them, causing a 20-foot-long, spiky-backed beast to break the surface before disappearing underwater. The fisherman snapped a quick photo and sold it to the Newport Daily Independent. However, the picture’s blurriness left everyone underwhelmed, and the paper has since lost the original.
Still, plenty of others caught sight of Whitey that summer. They described a long, grey thing, some saying it was as big as a boxcar with peeling, smooth skin. A few swore it bellowed like a cow or whinnied like a horse. Those who got a good look at its face claimed it sported a weird tusk jutting from its forehead. Strange, 14-inch tracks turned up on nearby Towhead Island, and CBS sent a news crew to poke around. The last sighting that year came in late July—two anglers said something rocked their boat, and they were sure it was Whitey. After that, the media circus seemed to scare him off, and by February 1973, the Arkansas Senate stepped in to slap some legal protection on their elusive river pal.
So what’s Whitey all about? Some experts reckon he might be a wayward elephant seal. Those hefty critters can stretch up to twenty feet, and the peeling skin, odd noises, and forehead tusk could match the bill. They are also known to migrate thousands of miles—roughly seven thousand, to be precise—so it’s possible that Whitey is lost. But here’s the hitch: the closest elephant seal hangout is on America’s west coast, meaning he’d have to hitch a ride through the Panama Canal to end up in Arkansas. Plus, they only live about fifteen years, so one seal couldn’t explain sightings spanning nearly a century. Regardless of Whitey’s true nature, he has a home in Arkansas that awaits him. In the present day, the reception is considerably more cordial than a stick of dynamite.