In the 1950's, my grandmother owned a summmer cottage in a low-end summer community on Long Island Sound. To make ends meet, many of the owners would rent their cottage for one or two months. We usually played with the renter's kids and became fast friends before the month was over. On weekends, when everyone would be using the beach, parents sent the kids down to the beach early to stake out the family plot with beach umbrellas and blankets. You could instantly tell where your friends could be found simply by looking at the colored umbrellas. Ours was red and white with fringe.

On this particular day, one of the new middle-aged renters showed up at the beach early, intent on doing a little bottom fishing. His tackle was a sad collection of rusted Penn Reels and thick boat rods with rusted reel seats and a missing guide or two. He carried an equally beat-up tackle box and a pail with his 3 dozen sandworms. This was back in the days when sandworms could be purchased without taking out a second mortage on your home.

He wore only a dark, baggy bathsuit and a ridiculous, floppy grass hat that belonged in Freeport not on Long Island Sound. He presented an amazing sight to my friends and me because his totally untanned skin glowed almost ghost-like in the bright, clear morning sun. We watched as he stroll purposefully through waist-deep water to the moored rowboat that came with the rental house. He stowed his gear, grabbed the oars and rowed to the "Blackfish Hole" at the end of John's Rock.

We forgot about the renter for the next four or five hours as we swam and played at the beach. Just before 1:00 p.m., we recognized the awkward rowing style of our returning fisherman and watched him rehooked his boat up the the mooring. He was, of course, half cooked from his exposure to the sun. The term "Lobster Red" doesn't even begin to desribe the degree of sunburn on back and shoulders. We watched as he gathered his rods, tackle box, bucket with his catch while sitting on the boat's gunnel (edge). With his gear firmly in hand, he slid over the edge and disappeared with hardly a ripple. Only his grass hat floated on the surface of the water. The tide had come and the waist deep water was now nearly ten feet deep. He returned to the surface in a few seconds, minus all equipment. My friends and I stared in silent amazement. No one laughed, we just couldn't believe what we had witnessed. We later donned swim masks and helped him recover his sunken equipment which was undoubted left in worse condition for the next renter. 8T

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You had better learn to be a happy camper. You only get one try at this campground and it's a real short camping season.