Word: fished
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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Research in a Fish Bowl. Whenever a big rocket shoot is scheduled at the Cape, word spreads from homes to stores to filling stations and motels to the concessions on the public beaches, not five miles from the top-secret launching pads. Within the hour the beach crowds are 25% above normal. Binoculars, telescopes and cameras magically appear. "I know there's a missile on a launcher," says an eight-year-old boy, building sand castles, a pair of binoculars around his neck...
...yellow warning spheres are hoisted atop the 90-ft. poles; the eight massive service towers and gantries clank and clatter. The tips of the missiles are often visible on the skyline. "Conducting tests on the Cape," said one missileman, "is like performing research in a fish bowl...
That was the turning point. Soon Steeves was catching fish, supplementing them with garden snakes ("They weren't bad"). He rigged a snare with his cocked revolver at a salt lick, finally bagged deer. In mid-June, certain that his health had returned, he made his first try at getting out by going down the torrential Idle fork of the Kings River, attempted to swim across. He tied his summer flights suit and boots around his neck and gripped his underwear in his teeth, but, out in midstream, he found that he couldn't make it, lost...
Back from the Dead. As June ended the snow receded, Steeves packed some strawberries and a couple of fish, finally made it over Granite Pass and came down into Granite Basin. One day last week one of the season's first camping parties heard the clatter of rock, looked up to see a heavily bearded, gaunt figure (he had lost about 30 lbs.) sitting on a rock munching strawberries. The campers shook their heads at his story, reckoned that he had walked about 100 miles, eased him on a horse to the nearest ranger station. From there he went...
...became a mass of welts and bruises. "I found it difficult to shoot Mudie," said Boston, "but it was the most humane thing to do. He sort of yelped and turned over." Alone again, Boston longed for any sort of companionship, wrote in his log: "Noticed a very small fish swimming near the rudder. I hope that he stays there. It will be nicer to have company...