Late summer 1985, 9:00 PM, Ocracoke Harbor, North Carolina, looking out over the water, looking at the other boats, looking up at the stars, enjoying the lapping of the water against the aluminum hull of the fifty-foot sloop Photon, enjoying the salt air and the movement of the vessel. I sit down on the deck and bring my knees up and cross my legs at my ankles. The Woodsman SAK, bought for me by my dad in 1978, slides out of my pocket, thunks off the deck, and plops into the water. Comrade deckhand looks over, asks what that was. I calmly, resignedly tell him. He shakes his head and says, "You're never gonna see that knife again." He was right. I still haven't. But at least I know exactly where it is.
Zieg