When I was about 13 or 14 I was duck hunting with my cousin and
uncle, on the east side of the ST. Johns north of SR 520 back in the
late seventies we would just pull the kicker boat up on the bank
and walk the fields jump shooting ducks from the streams and puddles.
anyhow I waded across one of those muck bottem streams, about
four feet wide and went to my arm pits and could not get out no matter
how hard I tried after struggling for a few minuites with no success
I noticed a dead cow about thirty feet down stream I guess she could'nt
get out either. well after finding that panic was no good I remembered
that three shots was some sort of SOS signal, so I popped off three
and waited, after all my uncle and cousin were not too far away ( I hoped )
after about an hour, and a box and a half of shells my cousin came strolling
up ( he thought I had found the honey hole ) I emptied my shotgun he grabbed
the stock and with great difficulty I came out. the dead cow freaked me out
a bit and I think I may have crapped myself, but with that black, stinkie muck
in every nook and cranny I'm not sure. anyhow the talk about quicksand just
floated that one out of the memory banks.