106 Union Bay 



were strong flyers with an instinct for handling themselves 

 in such situations. It was not food but just the desire for 

 flight which kept them out in such weather. 



The hurdlers warmed up in different ways, then ran 

 smoothly, cleared the obstacles with only a few attendant 

 clicks, and finished with two local runners leading. 



Above, the gulls continued their movements in the storm 

 and I could hear the minor shrill of their cries. Only one up- 

 land bird, a robin, sang in the increasing rainstorm. The 

 skies grew darker, the waves on the bay higher, and the sin- 

 gle sculler had sought the shelter of the crewhouse. The 

 spectators no longer looked for a break in the downpour but 

 clustered in one section like stock bunched and waiting for 

 the pasture gates to open. My partner liked the way the meet 

 was now going. Well protected by his rain clothes and happy 

 that the home team was ahead, he made this two-edged 

 remark: 



"Some doings. You can't see anything like this in the 

 marsh." 



I figured that I had made a pretty good trade for such 

 a day. The canoe would have been wet, the rain hard to 

 buck. Soon I would have been damp and cold. In the stands 

 I was dry, and by moving about I could keep quite warm. 

 And so I remained, through the jumps, the two mile, and the 

 concluding relay which put the local team forty points ahead 

 of their opponents. 



The crowd broke up quickly. My friend's last remark was: 



"Rain or no rain, it's been a great day. I'll call you up for 

 the next one. As I've told you twice, there's nothing like 

 this in the marsh. You'll have to agree to that." 



I did agree, but not in the way he thought. I had thor- 

 oughly enjoyed the contests of the afternoon, and my friend 

 had a right to be proud of the local team's performance but, 

 after all, compared to what I saw on every trip to the marsh 

 it was the work of nonprofessionals. And as one of the great 



