Sidney’s skiff was now about 200 yards away and it was getting dark. “Stay here and enjoy the rest of the tide. When I make it to the boat, start heading my way,” he said. For the next 30 minutes or so, I was left on my own, and after managing a few more fish, I noticed Sidney was in the skiff. About five steps into my walk, out of nowhere I felt a hard thump at my feet and looked down to see a five-foot lemon shark with its jaws latched onto my heel. (OK, maybe it was only three feet long, but just like the camera adds 10 pounds, a shark between your legs appears longer.) Freaked out, I high-stepped it across the flat, but the shark was still in pursuit. I swatted at it with my rod tip, threw handfuls of sand at it, kicked the water, but it wouldn’t leave me alone. I looked up and expected to see Sidney on his way to the rescue, but when my eyes found him, his head was pointed at the sky, his mouth agape, and all I heard was hysterical laughter. When I finally made it back to the boat, he was still laughing. He caught his breath and remarked, “Welcome to Water Cay.” Only a true Bahamian could find humor in a paleface American running scared from a baby shark.