About 2 months ago, my wife got a response to her craigslist ad requesting someone's used canoe--cheap. We raced to Savannah to purchase a 17' Stowe fiberglass canoe.

Don't try to look it up; Stowe is a long-defunct company.

So here we had this aqua-green contraption with two paddles, a questionable history, and an even more questionable reputation. The bow had clearly been patched many moons ago. The seats were a wood-wicker combination. The guy we bought it from said he purchased it years ago at a yard sale in Atlanta.

Last weekend, we put in at the Machete Flats/Johnson Creek landing, just northwest of Hunting Island. I'd spent many days in my childhood paddling rivers in the Midwest; I'd never done brackish water, and sure as hell never shared the river with a f**king shrimp boat. On top of that, we hadn't been canoeing in over 4 years due to an incident that involved a long walk through a cornfield and late-night portaging.

I felt like an amateur. The Beaufort county area is home to people who take boating seriously. The parking lot for the landing was filled with massive trailers that cost more than my car, attached to trucks that cost more than our home (not a difficult feat with a circa 1970's single-width mobile home). Here we arrive in a compact sedan, with a canoe strapped to the top--no rack--in the time-tested bungee-cord-and-ratchet-straps method. I was intimidated, to say the least, but me, the dog, and the Misses were vigilant.

It was damn hot, too.

The boat paddled like a dream. This beast cut through water like a snake, the wicker seats held up under the force of our respective asses, and found shade under our seats.

And then there were the dolphins.

I spent a good chunk of my young and adolescent life paddling the waterways of the Midwest; not a particularly diverse selection, but I'd seen enough. The flora and fauna of that region meant nothing to me, and the journeys had simply become entirely adequate excuses to get a group together, drink beer, and end up reeking like swamp. I never thought I could paddle and "see" something.

We saw a horseshoe crab orgy. No kidding. I couldn't help but think that somewhere out there is a naturalist or marine biologist seriously saying, "Ohmigosh! You got to the the HSC's (that's what I assume they call it in the biz) mating?" It was in the midst of this quiet giggling that we heard the blast of watery air that heralds the arrival of aquatic mammals.

It was coming towards us. The rhythmic appearance and recession of its fins was, at first, mesmerizing. Then it occurred to me that it was coming close to us and that this was an occasion worthy of committing to photo. All hell broke loose, "Ohmigod! Ohmigod! That's a f**king dolphin!!! SHHH, Shhh, shhhh...don't scare it---don't freak out, it might bump the boat...shhhh....Ohmif**kinggod..."

Its fin rose and fell so close to the boat that I could see its body. I could count the notches in its top-fin. It was right there...and it was a f**king dolphin.

I never thought I'd see a horseshoe crab orgy in my life, much less a dolphin...6' from my canoe. I thought that was the kind of thing you paid good money for...the kind of thing naturalists and outdoor aficionados awoke in the early morning and slept in the mud to see.

It seemed incredibly appropriate, that--as we spun to try and catch up to the creature--we would encounter another Harbor River phenomenon. brrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRR-RRRRRRRRRR. A 20’ boat, carrying mom, dad, and son, came barreling up the river. Perhaps they saw it earlier, but it certainly didn't make an appearance after they'd come through.

As we sat--the ripples of the million-horsepower engine now rocking kermit the canoe--I began to reflect. I don't mind motors or the people who use them, but I began to wonder how many people were simply unaware. As the steady chug of these engines become commonplace, do people become incognizant of just how loud they are? Perhaps I felt that seeing these dolphins under such circumstances was impossible because I was unaware of my own buzz--figuratively speaking. I wonder if that family is now saying "We saw a dolphin only 30' away! We've never been that close before!" I find it ironic and eye-opening that it is equally possible that--somewhere out there--another person is saying, "I swam alongside a dolphin!"

We decided that we’d reached the apex of that paddling excursion, and turned back to the landing. As horseshoe crabs fornicated off our port and starboard (and fore and aft), we began to plan the many more adventures this vessel would have. Don’t need a motor—we’re driven by determination.

When we’d reached the landing, I was heartened to see an atypical Beaufortonian—in place of the bright white nikes, nautical polo, and clean-shaven face was a bearded, sandal-wearing type. He was towing a rickety trailer—loaded with kayaks. I waved as we left—he flashed the peace sign. There’s hope for these water-dwellers after all.

It was a good first time piloting the vessel that would become known as the "Yankee Swamp Monster".