Andrew Zimmern, host of Bizarre Foods on the Travel Channel, knows what we like: We like what we can't stomach, through the experiences of others. So, Zimmern travels the world to dine on rotten potatoes, giant flying ants and blood pudding. It's more than a square meal. It's a ratings bonanza. (It also makes you appreciate peanut butter and jelly.)

Wouldn't it be vicariously pleasing if we could take you to boating's version of a full plate — a waterway rife with winds, heat strokes and stinks? In other words, to a place that has it all?

If misery loves company, then Misery Bay on the south shore of Lake Erie must be a huge draw. But does it live down to its name?

"The wind out on the lake can be bad," says Tim Omniewski, manager of Perry's Landing Marina in Erie, Pennsylvania. "But we're protected. Besides, I'd rather have a little breeze than unbearable heat."

Using that as the gauge for worst-ness, the Dismal Swamp Canal might be our hot spot. The nation's oldest man-made waterway connects Chesapeake Bay (Va.) and Albemarle Sound (N.C.). Col. William Byrd named the swamp while surveying state borders in the early 1700s.

"When there's no wind, it can get muggy and buggy," says Penny Leary-Smith, director of the Dismal Swamp Canal Welcome Center, explaining how today's boaters might translate Byrd's choice words about the place. "But I wouldn't say the boating is dismal. It's for boaters who want to take their time and have a relaxing ride."

That would not describe Cape Fear. Its shoals near the North Carolina coast swallowed up more than 20 ships during the Civil War, leading to white-eye navigating and two white-knuckle movies.

"Yeah, I've heard passengers scream," says fishing guide Mike Dennis. "It can be dangerous if you aren't smart, which is true anywhere. The name gives us an identity. I'd rather have that than some of the alternatives."

Perhaps he's referring to Woodtick Lake (Wisc.) and Mosquito Lagoon (Fla.). "In the summer, when it's real hot, the mosquitoes are mean," says J.R. McGovern, sales manager of Mosquito Lagoon Outfitters in Titusville, Fla. "But that's a small drawback to the wildlife. There are places a lot worse."

For boating that truly stinks, it would be hard to beat Chip Lake in central Alberta. The name was shortened from Buffalo Chip, which itself was changed in only a mild public-relations improvement from Bull Dung Lake.

"Walk out and you'll sink 2 feet in the muck, so I can see why it was called that," says Dawna Heske,
program manager at Chip Lake Park. "It has a ... a smell in the summer. But it's quiet and natural and hasn't been citified."

The lowest pit for boating could be 227 feet below sea level in southern California. There, daring boaters will find abandoned trailer cities, 120-degree days, pungency that turns nose hairs into bonfires, bugs big enough to scare wolves and a waterway 25 percent saltier than the Pacific Ocean. There's more.

"My husband was supposed to boat yesterday," says Donna Dial of the Salton Sea Beach Marina, "but the wind was blowing roofs off buildings."

It's called the Salton Sea even though it's a huge inland lake smashed between two deserts. Fittingly, it was formed by accident when the Colorado River overran irrigation canals 100 years ago. With only 2 to 6 inches of rain annually, the primary source of water is agricultural runoff. Yet the Salton Sea bubbled with activity in the 1950s and '60s. Weekend boat races drew crowds in the thousands. Sonny Bono learned to water ski here. Then ... the fish started dying by the millions due to the strange brew of man-made and ecological ingredients. Today, "a busy afternoon" means there's more than one boat on the sea.

"If there's no boating activity, what do you do at the marina?" I ask Dial.

"Sell beer." She looks outside and adds: "There's nothing like the smell sometimes. We do have a launch ramp and docks, for what they're worth. It could be worse."

Even worse? We'd like that.