THE BOOK OF THE TARPON 



They ranged in size from that of the little neck 

 of New York to giant quahaugs of which single 

 specimens weighed over five pounds. 



Our anchorage that night was beside the little 

 pelican key that separates the mouths of Broad 

 and Rodger's rivers and we roasted clams on the 

 beach beside the latter. It was the toss of a 

 copper which stream we should fish in the morn- 

 ing. Their sources and mouths were the same in 

 each case and a creek united their middles like 

 the band of the Siamese twins. We chose 

 Rodger's River because of its beauty, the great 

 royal palms that adorned it, and the tragic 

 legends connected with its abandoned plantation, 

 rotting house, and overgrown graves. 



Big herons rose sluggishly from flooded banks 

 before us and with hoarse cries flew up the river, 

 dangling their preposterous legs. Fly-up-the- 

 creeks flitted silently away, while lunatic snake 

 birds, made crazy by worms in their brains, 

 watched us from branches that overhung the 

 stream and when we were almost beneath them 

 dropped into the water as awkwardly as if they 

 had been shot. 



We admired beautiful trees, great vines, fra- 

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