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Sam Cook

Sam Cook column: Chance meetings among fellow travelers

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ELY — He was standing calf-deep in the waters of Basswood Lake, and I knew right away he was a man of the canoe country.

He had that look. An old-timey brown hat with a floppy brim. Shirt buttoned to the top button to ward off mosquitoes. Baggy woodsman pants that disappeared into the water down by his boots.
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