tour—soon stopping to watch another boat, Miss Leslie from Poquoson, Va., come in with about 30 bushels of blue crabs. Ken Diggs and his son—you guessed it, Ken Diggs Jr.—gripe like all fishermen do about regulations, but they wouldn’t do anything else for a living. “It’s all I ever did, it’s crazy,” says the younger Diggs. “It’s like I’m the last cowboy.” There are a lot of last cowboys here, in the so-called Small Boat Harbor, one of the largest concentrations of seafood businesses of its kind on the Bay. Dozens of boats come in and unload while we watch. One of the fish packing plants has a retail outlet, and a nice lady—”What can I get for you, darlin’?”—sells me some very nice shrimp. Perfect for our dinner on board. Barb and I spend another night aboard, this time anchored at a peaceful spot in Deep Creek, and leave shortly after first light. A fall-like
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