days, he killed 50 ducks with just one shot at night from a "punt gun." I remembered this story for the rest of my life because I thought he was exaggerating for my benefit. But when I visited the "Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum" in St. Michaels, Maryland a short while back, there it was. A huge, 13-foot long 2-gauge shot gun, weighing 150 pounds, with a bore diameter larger than 2 inches, securely and horizontally mounted on a small flat-bottom punt boat. The article told how a waterman would row out to where the ducks had settled on the surface at night. One properly aimed blast could easily bring down 75 sitting ducks while propelling the punt boat backward with the recoil.

One day my Dad's Uncle Haywood came... Haywood's dogs, hit head on, going as fast as they could run, knocking each other out cold. "True story" Uncle Haywood said.

It was customary that each waterman had earned himself a permanent nickname of sometimes obvious significance. I recall Boney (my Grandpop), Churney, Speckle, Spurge, Skinny, and Hotcha Baby. There were many more. These guys worked hard for little pay. They crabbed in the summer and oystered in the cold months. Many of the wives worked as crab pickers and oyster shuckers in the packing house near the elbow in the canal. My Grandmom was one.

On my first summer in Greenback, I found a derelict row boat partly buried in the beach at the mouth of the canal about 100 yards from Pop's Store. I dug it