THE BOOK OF THE TARPON 



the dash of an unseen tarpon from beneath the 

 bow of my canoe. 



Birds have been made shy and wild animals 

 timid by the destroying tourist, but there is al- 

 ways life in the water and a continuous pano- 

 rama moves before the eyes of the hunter as they 

 search the depths before the canoe. In the crys- 

 tal water from the great springs, in the clear 

 streams from the Everglades and the inflowing 

 tides when the Gulf is quiet, objects many feet 

 beneath the surface are clearly defined. Fish, 

 little and big, brilliant in color and strange of 

 form, slow-moving and swift-darting, hold fast 

 the attention of the sportsman. In the dark 

 streams that flow from the Big Cypress or 

 through mangrove swamps, and the turbid tidal 

 waters when the Gulf has been stirred by a 

 storm, little can be seen beneath the surface and 

 the eye wanders afield, studying the spattering 

 patch where a school of Spanish mackerel are 

 dining, the sprightly play of a family of por- 

 poises in the distance, the swaying fins of a 

 predatory shark, or glimpsing the up-bobbing 

 head of otter and turtle or the disappearing eye 

 of the wary 'gator. 



36 



