| "I just broke my leg!" I yelled at my fishing partners as I | | | | glass, as smooth as far as the eye could see. The |
| lay in the bottom of the boat. They seemed | | | | temperature at 8:00 am was in the low seventies. The |
| unconcerned about me, only anxious about the fishing | | | | morning mist from the gulf hid from sight the sea birds |
| tackle I had fallen across. "Those rods are not broken | | | | you could hear screeching as they fought each other |
| are they?" my friend Captain Steve asked, not | | | | for a morsel of food or any bait left by early |
| concerned about me at all. | | | | fishermen. It was a perfect day and we were about |
| "No" I shouted, "But my ankle is!" | | | | to cast off for a spot about 12 miles offshore from the |
| It was a beautiful warm, sunny, January morning and | | | | marina. |
| the Gulf of Mexico at Panama City, Florida was like | | | | |