| It has been almost 40 years since I first
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| | huge shark. Well, so the story went.
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| sailed a canoe, and now is the time to
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| | The next day we headed home. As we broke
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| share the experience.
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| | camp, I noted the wind was in just the
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| I was with my Boy Scout troop out of
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| | right direction. Having sailed a little
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| Miami. We went for a canoeing trip into
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| | on my Uncle Carl's boat I had a little
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| the 10,000 Islands area of Florida, a
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| | familiarity with the whys and wherefores
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| place where the land and sea fight for
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| | of sailing. Not much, mind you, but it
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| preeminence over the very southern tip of
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| | was that little bit of knowledge that
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| the state.
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| | engendered the idea-sail-don't paddle. I
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| We paddled a mélange of canoes out to an
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| | convinced my tent mate (smaller than me)
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| island, maybe just a couple three miles
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| | that this was the way to go. We lashed
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| or so. We made camp on ground barely
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| | two sticks-probably two tent
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| above the high water mark, scattered with
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| | poles-together, square-rigged, and tied
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| coral and transient soil. Plants
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| | to them an Army poncho. We lashed the
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| consisted mostly of sea grape and
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| | mast to the forward thwart and he would
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| whatever weedy stuff grows in such
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| | have to act as the step to keep it
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| inhospitable conditions good only for
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| | vertical.
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| crabs, mosquitoes and the ubiquitous sand
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| | With steering paddle in hand, (now, I'd
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| fleas.
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| | never seen this before, only surmised it)
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| By that age I had pretty much reached the
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| | we left the beach, hell-bent for leather.
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| point where I was too independent to be a
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| | Well, not right away. For awhile we
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| Scout anymore and this would prove to be
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| | sailed while others paddled ahead of us.
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| my last trip hanging off the umbilical of
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| | They laughed. I knew better. Tentmate
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| a Scout Master, especially one who (in my
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| | mast step complained that we'd get in
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| youthfully arrogant thinking) was better
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| | trouble. I assured him we were being good
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| off sitting in front of the tube watching
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| | Scouts and told him to stop bawling and
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| a Dolphins game than trying to lead a
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| | just hang on.
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| hardened outdoorsman like myself. I had
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| | Then…we got wind….
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| already spent many days in the Everglades
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| | It wasn't much, but we started
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| and practically lived in the
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| | accelerating, leaving the paddlers
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| drained-swamp pine barrens surrounding
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| | behind. He held on for dear life, I held
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| our southern Dade County home by then.
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| | onto the paddle and steered.
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| (Within a couple years of this trip I
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| | Wow.
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| would find myself held by the foot by
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| | The flapping poncho filled and tightened
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| trap in alligator-infested, chest-deep
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| | as the wind picked up. The sound of water
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| water in the Big Cypress Swamp; but
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| | rushing over tin and rivets increased as
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| that's another story.)
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| | the mast step got louder in his
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| During one of the many lulls in the camp
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| | complaints. We were leaving a wake...the
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| action, I took off with the canoe
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| | paddlers fell behind. I heard not a word
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| assigned to me and my tent mate, a
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| | from Scout Master, who was probably
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| Grumman, if memory serves; aluminum, for
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| | aghast at the site of two of his young
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| sure. Packing a spinning rod and a mullet
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| | troops showing him up in such an obvious
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| gig, I went in search of adventure, and
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| | (and plainly heroic) manner.
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| maybe some fresh fish for dinner. After
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| | I guess we beat the rest of the Troop by
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| sticking myself a black mullet and
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| | close to an hour. Tentmate was scared
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| baiting a hook, I settled down in the
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| | we'd be in trouble and he complained
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| bottom of the canoe in my usual repose:
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| | about being held hostage and I reminded
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| horizontal-napping. After a bit, I had a
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| | him he wasn't a hostage, but Pressed,
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| strike. Shark! It pulled hard and began
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| | like the British did to American sailors,
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| swimming to deeper water with a tin canoe
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| | and should be proud he was part of a
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| and teenager attached. I hung on and
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| | grand adventure.
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| adjusted my rod angle so the boat would
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| | Scout Master was mad we'd left the others
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| stay inline with the fish, knowing a
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| | behind and castigated me for being
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| broach would be uncalled for when a shark
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| | irresponsible and what would have
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| is on the line.
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| | happened if we wrecked and all I could
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| He pulled.
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| | think was he was better off living
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| I pulled.
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| | indoors with others of his kind and he
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| He pulled harder.
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| | was red in the face and I was sure it was
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| I hung on, (harder).
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| | because he was shown up by a boy not yet
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| And then the line parted, but not after
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| | old enough to drive who was twice,
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| he pulled me and canoe into open water.
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| | no-thrice-the outdoorsman he'd ever be.
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| How cool.
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| | And, that, my friends, is how I came to
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| I paddled back to camp with an air of
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| | sail a canoe the very first time...and
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| success having caught, and released, a
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| | things haven't been "right" since...LOL!
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