Hooked on tubing

BOBBING lazily in the Los Angeles Harbor, Leo Campbell is doing what he does best. In one smooth flick of the wrist, he snaps his fishing pole and drops his lure about 10 yards away into a sweet spot just beyond a kelp bed. He then begins to kick hard, scooting over the slimy kelp with the agility of a determined water bug, and just as quickly, halts his craft and spins it around as if in a teacup ride.

In the distance, his pal Alan Marino is kicking steadily, fighting an easterly current, and casting as he bobs up and over waves churned out by nearby excursion boats. Wearing a well-worn wetsuit and a frayed baseball cap that says, "Cheap as Dirt," Alan squints up at the cloudless sky, drops his line and lights a cigar. He sits back in his float tube, an amped-up inner tube with multiple air chambers, the aquatic cousin to the La-Z-Boy. From a distance, he looks as if he's slouched in a bathtub, taking a soak.

He's an excitable guy who exudes the healthy enthusiasm of a fine Labrador puppy. He's frustrated by Alan, who's raised a few questions about how clean the water is. "Dude," Leo says. "What's the worst thing that can happen? Your fingernails fall off?"

Suddenly Leo feels a hard tug. His tube moves in the direction of the line. Then, for an agonizing minute, his tube is pulled in circles. He kicks furiously with his fins, regaining control. The creature heads for the open sea. Leo's heart begins to race.

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Up close and personal

NO one knows for sure when someone first decided to pitch an inner tube into the water and try to figure out how to sit in it. But commercially produced float tubes have been used in freshwater lakes since the 1940s, when Tucker Duck & Tube Co. in Fort Smith, Ark., began manufacturing them.

The early tubes, which sported diaper-like seats, were made with heavy rubber covered with thick canvas. Today they have a feather-weight nylon exterior with durable urethane bladders and are capable of supporting a 350-pound angler.

Some float tubers switch over time to kayaks or kickboats, which are faster and safer in open water, but die-hard ocean tubers are willing to sacrifice speed for the tube's portability, stealth capacity and the pure womblike experience of bobbing in coastal waters.