I was grilling chicken and green peppers when the tongs slipped out of my hand. In disbelief, I watched as they sank below the water's green surface, tho it may have been the scotch that was disbelieving. Wasn't the first time. These things happen. I've seen tradesmen drop a screwdriver and watch it sink, then fish it out with a magnet on a string. Me, I was in the heat of dinner, watching the timer on my iPhone, sipping Johnny Walker Black. Magnet-less. There was nothing to do but grab the spare tongs, save the peppers and chicken, and wait for morning's lowtide. Next day, with a mug of coffee and the net from the end of the dock, I rescued my beloved tongs after a no-doubt long, chilly, muddy night on the bottom of the channel next to the aging finger pier. Magnets, nets on poles, & low tide. Scotch & Wrecking Ball joe. A satisfying rescue. This is the stuff of adventure, when you're afloat on a boathouse and drop your tongs.