THE BOOK OF THE TARPON 



dolphins a mile up a channel that petered out 

 and sent them skittering over shallow banks in 

 water that only half floated them on their way 

 to another channel. 



The day was calm, the often muddy waters 

 crystal clear and more than once as we rested 

 quietly on its surface the huge form of a fif- 

 teen-foot sawfish glided slowly beneath us, 

 waving its broad, many-toothed weapon, one 

 stroke of which would have destroyed our craft 

 and qualified us for a hospital at least. Sharks 

 which could have eaten us alive fled at the ap- 

 proach of the canoe, while the tarpon we met 

 seemed to understand that our evil designs 

 against them had been suspended. Our wander- 

 ings extended to Man-o'-War Bush and other 

 keys where a few birds, young and old, greeted 

 or scolded us, while on one we found a small 

 colony of the fast-disappearing roseate spoonbill. 

 We explored Cuthbert Creek, disturbing the al- 

 ligators that slept on its banks and finding a nest 

 of the smallest tarpon I had ever seen. One that 

 jumped into the canoe measured a trifle over 

 eighteen inches and must have weighed less than 

 two pounds. 



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