126 Union Bay 



the sunlight of the marsh margins. My part in the game was 

 to sit quietly and scan methodically the spaces between the 

 cattails until often (though not always) I located the shoe- 

 button eye of the rail and then traced the outline of all its 

 parts which were not blocked out by the intervening growth. 

 Often when I discovered the bird it was just inches inside the 

 margin; sometimes it was in the very last visible depths of 

 the tangle. Although I frequently gave up the search with 

 the excuse that the bird was not visible, I always knew that 

 a black and beady eye was in the clear and watching every 

 move I made. This time, after I looked continuously for 

 about ten minutes, I could not locate it at all; even though 

 the bird twice uttered a distinct note as if to guide my search. 

 I had only one consolation: the tangle was so unusually 

 heavy that the chances against my winning were about ten 

 to one. 



The growth on the bank was dense and so tall that I held 

 up my double-bladed paddle as a measure. Eight feet sepa- 

 rated the blade tips but the tallest of the cattails extended 

 three feet above them. The leaves moved slowly in the breeze 

 and rubbed with a soft continuous whisper. The bulrushes 

 across the narrow channel reached higher than any I had 

 ever seen and stopped just a foot below the cattails. In no 

 other place in the marsh did the growth reach such heights. 

 Only the closeness of the plants provided the support neces- 

 sary to keep them erect. As I looked about I thought of the 

 enormous tonnage of vegetation the marsh produced each 

 year. 



I spoke to the canoehouse manager when I returned to 

 the float: 



"You've been near marshes a good part of your life. Do 

 you know any uses for all the stuff that grows in one?" 



"Sure. When we were kids in Minnesota, we dipped cattail 

 heads in coal oil and used them for torches. They made a 



