THE TARPON SWAMPS US 



grant flowers, and blossoming orchids as the tar- 

 pon bait was trolled from the trailing canoe, and 

 from the mouth of the river to the cut-off no 

 tarpon disturbed our meditations. Hurrying 

 sharks showed huge fins above the surface, 

 slowly-rolling porpoises turned keen eyes upon 

 us as they passed, otters lifted their little round 

 heads, and a great manatee, frightened by a sud- 

 den glimpse of our outfit, left a long wake of 

 swirls like those of an outgoing liner. 



Crossing to Broad River by the crooked cut- 

 off, we traveled a mile and a half to gain a third 

 of that distance. Projecting roots held us back, 

 overhanging branches brushed us harshly while 

 with bare faces we swept away scores of great 

 spider habitations, suspended from bridges which 

 their occupants had engineered across the stream. 

 Yet I had little cause of complaint, since the only 

 spiders that ran down my neck were the few that 

 escaped the Camera-man whose position in the 

 bow of the leading craft gave him the first chance 

 at the arachnids, or vice versa. 



As there wasn't a tarpon in Rodger's River, 

 we looked upon trolling down its companion 

 stream as a mere formality, yet no sooner had I 



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