Rick shook his head. "Most of the sightings are in the late morning or late afternoon. Only a couple were around dawn." While the houseboat moved across the Little Choptank, Scotty checked the tide tables. He reported that the tide was coming in. It was about one hour from high tide. Rick had been studying the chart. "No problem," he said. "Mean low water averages four feet in the cove, with seven feet in the middle. Think your stake will be long enough?" Scotty had placed the sapling with its winding of rope on the cabin top. He estimated its length again. "Depends on how deep the mud is. If it's more than three feet, the top of the stake will be under water." "Three feet is a lot of mud," Rick said. "It's likely a lot less than that." He turned into the creek mouth, throttling back. It would be hard to anchor precisely where the houseboat had been anchored that first night, but he was sure they could find the spot within twenty feet. Scotty went up on the bow and got the anchor ready. "Use about thirty feet of line," Rick called. He took the houseboat to the exact center of the cove, as closely as he could estimate, then put the motors in reverse to kill the speed. When it fell to zero, he yelled to Scotty. Scotty lowered the anchor and made it fast, then hurried back to join Rick, who backed off until he felt the anchor dig in. It was silent in the cove with the motors off. "I'll start," Rick offered, and at Scotty's nod he picked up his Scuba and slipped into the harness. His weight belt was next, then his fins. Finally he slipped the mask strap over his head, and put the mouthpiece in place. He took a couple of breaths to make sure he was getting air, then walked to the edge of the cockpit and fell backward into the water, letting his tank take the shock of landing. He slipped the mask off, took the mouthpiece out, and spat into the mask to prevent fogging, then he rinsed it, put it on, and replaced the mouthpiece. Scotty had taken the sapling from the cabin top. He handed it to Rick, who dove with it, thrusting the sharpened end into the mud far enough so that the sapling stayed in place. Rick surfaced again and swam to the boat, which had drifted a few feet. Catching the leg of one motor, he pulled the boat back to where the sapling projected above the surface. He held the boat in position while Scotty took the sledge and drove the sapling down until its top was only a few inches above the water. Rick tested the pole. It was firm. He removed the mouthpiece, treading water. "Looks okay. I'm going to start." "Good luck," Scotty called. Rick submerged and swam down, using the pole as a guide. The rope, attached to the pole, was perhaps two feet above the bottom. He freed the end of the rope, unwound a few feet, slipped the end through his belt, and secured it with a slip knot. Then, hands extended, he began the slow work of covering the cove bottom inch by inch, searching for the thing that had splashed.