THE BOOK OF THE TARPON 



devious, difficult channels to a little lake hidden 

 among the jungle-like trees of a mangrove 

 swamp where I had seen a key with its trees 

 hidden by the white plumage of the thousands of 

 snowy heron that were nesting upon it. I 

 learned the next year that my boatman had re- 

 turned to the rookery and from the birds that 

 he killed gathered plumes which he sold for 

 $1,100. 



A narrow strip of coast, a few miles to the east, 

 contained the little remnant, if any there were, of 

 the Florida crocodile, while a single family of 

 manatees of my acquaintance lived, unless re- 

 cently killed, in nearby waters. But neither na- 

 tives nor tourists could kill off the fish and the 

 waters were alive with them, oodles of them. 

 From Joe Kemp's Key, where we were anchored, 

 channels wound about the keys and threaded the 

 shallow banks where multitudes of mullet and 

 lesser fish feasted and were feasted upon. For as 

 the tide rose the channels were filled with sharks 

 and sawfish, dolphins, tarpon, and other pred- 

 atory creatures until the small fish that slipped 

 into deep waters was lost. 



As the flat-bodied sawfish drew the least water 

 192 



