SEASON 2, EPISODE 16

Season TWO – Episode 16 – “RUSTY NAILS IT”

Rusty hid in the corner of the Angler’s Lounge and the ice-cold mug of beer felt good in his hand. The same hand that had recently been arrowed. Forty-eight hours, twelve minutes, seventeen seconds to be exact, but other than himself no one seemed to be giving a hoot.

“You can wish to be doted upon by glamourous women, and people in hell would like ice water,” he told himself. It was time to take heed from the wisdom bestowed upon him by the likes of Jon Heimburg and Geoff Loonsuckle.

“Son… Just take our advice… And the headlines will soon read: “Rusty Nails It” in big bold print. Either way you’re bound to come out a winner,” they both encouragingly agreed. “It’s time for you to get out of this lodge room and get yourself back into the game!”

Sinking further into the back corner booth, the crowd from outside began to make their way into the tavern as dusk arrived at the Gold Rope Ranch, and Rusty sat unnoticed. With frothy beers being passed about, the two bells of the ball entered (Sally and Ellie) arm in arm and made their way centerstage to the prominent row of beer handles on display.

“Barkeep… Draw one of each for my newest best friend!” Sally hollered for all to hear. “And rope up a round for the house, so the lot of us can get our boots shined!

“CHEERS!” erupted Ellie… Her voice carried back to Rusty who remained undetected, out of sight, and clearly out of mind.

“Who are these two?!” he thought to himself. “One second, they’re at each other’s throats and now they’re the best gal pals who’ve ever roamed the range. I don’t get it! I don’t get women!”

But he didn’t have to… The commotion lasted for the better part of an hour and then he threw the playbook from Heimburg and Loonsuckle on the table and marched toward the bar.

Sidestepping Sally and Ellie, only close enough to tip his ballcap, “Ladies” he greeted and quickly passed. No hesitation. No formidable acknowledgement. No time to waste.

With courage, Rusty saddled up to the only open stool near the front entrance of the bar. There was confidence in his step and strength in his voice… Without hesitation he planted himself down next to a spicey young cowgirl. Based on previous investigations, she carried a local name of Loonsuckle, the first name Cinnamon.

She was and is Jackie’s stepsister from Geoff’s third wife. A tall… Slender… Ginger… True to life Montana cowgirl.

He had been informed earlier by some of the ranch staff that she was built for speed and could spit tobacco over a barbed wire fence at seventeen paces. More relevant to Rusty’s game plan, was that she was also the kind of gal you did NOT take home to mother, but the kind you WOULD get roped up with for an evening!

“Hi Cinnamon, I don’t believe we have formally met, but I am Rusty Flathers,” was his intro.

He reached out a paw and she quickly snatched it from mid-air, grasping firmly with a shake and then placing his hand on her knee.

     “Yes, my stepfather told me you’re here with this Sally-what’s-her-name, doing some photo shoots. But he didn’t tell me you were this handsome!”

The lump in Rusty’s throat was the size of a grapefruit as he responded, “You know… You’re quite amazing yourself!”

He sat facing Cinnamon, and directly in his view were both Sally and Ellie, sitting midrange down the bar. First it was his hand to her knee. Then her opposite arm touched his shoulder. And before he could shake a stick, she was nestled up to an intimate distance of AWKWARD.

Obviously, this woman didn’t waste any time getting acquainted. Very much the touchy-feely sort, she was extremely well spoken and hotter than a pistol at a Montana shooting contest.

“My god am I invisible!” Rusty declared to himself. He was just short of making out at the end of the bar with this bombshell ginger and SALLY and ELLIE continued to be oblivious to his show.

From behind there was a tap on his shoulder. He ignored the prodding finger and watched as the girls simultaneously got up from their places at the bar and walked in his general direction. They traveled in unison like a couple of elementary girls on a playground. Their hands were clasped together… Their arms were swinging back and forth… And short of skipping they looked like they were merrily on their way back to the classroom. Or potentially someone’s room in this instance.

“What the flying-hell” Rusty thought, as they passed his GPS location and didn’t so much as give him a glance. “They literally do not know that I exist!”

But the prodding finger did. And it continued to prod as Rusty’s face turned a dark shade of red (temperature rising). Then, spinning on his stool he blurted out before looking “HEY, STOP TAPPING MY SHOULDER!”

Ooooops. It was Jackie Loonsuckle. The same dude who put an arrow through his hand 48 hours prior, was now creating distance between Rusty and Cinnamon.

     “Hey guys, mind if I squeeze in here,” Jackie said with indifference.

     “Actually Jackie… I do mind.” Countered Rusty. “Your sister and I are having a nice conversation here.”

     “Oh, is that what you call it… Maybe you ought to back away from her, and step over here with me bud.”

     “Jackie back off” Cinnamon jumped in.

     “You know what,” Rusty added, “maybe you should go pound……” And before he could finish, a right hook came from Jackie’s holster and planted itself just above the cheekbone on his left eye.

The following were fading thoughts as his knees buckled and he dropped like a gunny sack full of dead carp to the floor of the Anglers Lounge:

X) If there were an award for the number of gameplans gone haywire… Rusty nails it.

X) Thanks, no thanks, for your generous advice Ron Heimburg and Geoff Loonsuckle.

X) When I get punched in the face why do I see a weird wolverine wearing four-buckle overshoes.

–            To Be Continued – 

SEASON 2, EPISODE 15

Season TWO – Episode 15 – “IF THE HOUSE IS A ROCKIN”

 

Rattled from his late afternoon nap… Rusty woke to a stampede of vehicles honking horns and spinning donuts in the parking area of the ranch. The fly-fishing clients, along with their guides and Sally’s team, had returned from their Windrush River adventure.

 

Ambling toward the third-floor window he could see coolers of beer being opened… Two Trout (the Gold Rope Ranch beer of choice) tallboys were being tossed in every direction… Excessive amounts of high fiving were taking place amongst the crowd.

 

Then hell froze over!! From his peripheral Rusty caught Sally and Ellie, shoulder to shoulder, sitting on the tailgate of a ’74 Chevy Cheyenne Super C-10. They were hoisting beers, belly laughing, and clinking cans (cheers) REPEATEDLY with foam-soaked lips.

 

This couldn’t be good!! At least not for Rusty Flathers. Serious discussions had to be had with each of these two 21st century outdoor-asskicking-frontier women. But if “the house is a rockin”, does he dare bother knocking! From his catbird location it appeared as though amends between the girls had been made.

 

Another knock at the door… Lots of folks knocking on his door lately. Soon or later Rusty was going to have to do some knocking of his own.

 

Moving toward the peephole he could see Archer Sting (renowned lead cameraman) perched on his roost with a laptop in hand. “Yes Archer, what’s up?” he called through the door.

 

     “Dude, you gotta let me in! You’re not going to believe this!” was Archer’s response.

 

     “Good lord… Can’t a guy just hang out in his underwear for a day and not be badgered,” Rusty muttered to himself. “I’m the one who had the damn arrow stuck through my hand.  Gimme a chance to breathe!”

 

As he swung the door open… Archer practically knocked Rusty to the floor, plowing through the entry and heading for the coffee table. Then he placed his laptop, opened the screen, and insisted “Man, you won’t believe the day we just had!”

 

The film from the flip drive rolled… Rusty sitting inches from the screen… Speechless… Eyes the size of beer league softballs…

 

First it was the catch-catch-catch fly fishing duel between Sally and Ellie. Next the midstream face off where they launched themselves toward “No Fuckin’ Way” rapids. Then the MONSTER trout stalemate with the fish getting off and the gals wrestling their way down river.

 

And then… And then this happened… And the entirety of it was caught on film by Sir Archer Sting.

 

During their unhinged, unstaged, uncontrolled rage of fury river wrestling contest… Sally Squatsnfishes and Ellie Waylayer splashed and floundered their way downriver toward an unbeknownst new Monfuckintana state record rainbow trout.

 

Still in a bear hug… The current washed the women toward a windward and shallow current swept sandbar. Shallow enough that each could gain footing.

 

Ellie was the first to touch bottom. With this advantage she spun counterclockwise and locked her hands to the interior of Sally’s fly-fishing waders. Then with built momentum and a thundering scream… She deadlifted Sally from the river’s depths and flipped her toward the beach. It was like watching Vasily Alekseyev (considered one of the greatest Olympic deadlift champions from the 1970’s).

 

Sally was now a lake sturgeon, making a huge backsplash in three feet of water. And Ellie was a crazed wildebeest with high sloping shoulders and arms jutting out like horns attempting to smother its prey.

 

But what neither of them saw… Momentarily… Was the trout. THE TROUT! The “No Fucking Way”, this is a state record, get the certified scale out TROUT!

 

Mysteriously, it happened to be swimming its way across Sally’s lap as she sat upright in the water preparing to receive Ellie, who was airborne, coming in red-hot off the top ropes. Wrong place wrong time, or right place right time pending whether you are the fish or the fisherman.

 

Upon impact the rainbow trout became entangled in the uproar between these two hooligans. Kicking and screaming the three (Sally-Ellie-Trout) rolled their way toward shore, emerged from the water, and flogged about multi directionally on the sandbar.

 

The flopping fish caught the attention of the two women and promptly brought a cease fire. Sally let go of two wadded fists of Ellie’s hair… Likewise, Ellie returned the favor, along with spitting out a few shreds of Helly Hansen outerwear (there were no pre-established rules concerning biting).

 

Together they pounced on the marked-up fish and held it up securely in their arms. Then they hugged the fish… Hugged each other… And danced about laughing and frolicking in the sand.

 

Rusty stared at the screen, shook his head, and then grumbled aloud “Do these two EVER fail at anything?” The second question that popped was “How long are these two going to keep laughing and hugging each other?!”

 

Rhetorical questions… He then watched them successfully measure, weigh and release the new Montana STATE RECORD rainbow trout.

 

As Archer Sting’s clip came to an end… There was a still shot of the girls hoisting their catch. He had posted the length and weight (37.874-inches and 41.395-pounds) across the screen, only it was highlighted with an asterisk.

 

By standard ruling a trout caught by hand is not eligible to be a state record. A fish must be caught using hook and line in a sporting manner. Hand grabbing is considered to be illegal, and the fish must be caught using legal equipment.

 

This fact clearly did not detract from the celebration on screen between Sally and Ellie, and the one that now continued below in the parking area of the ranch. Everyone involved was counting this day as the ultimate Monfuckingtana fishing success story!

 

“Nice hustle on the shoot,” Rusty congratulated Archer. Then he candidly pointed out the window to Sally and Ellie who were sharing yet another embrace on the tailgate, and asked “You ever wonder if “the house is a rockin” you SHOULD bother knocking?”

 

–            To Be Continued –

 

SEASON 2, EPISODE 14

This week’s episode is inspired by Geo “Possum” Fleming. A great friend and supporter of the BBI Fishing Club.

Season TWO – Episode 14 – “SINK OR SWIM”

 

Meanwhile… Back at the Windrush River… The angling competition continued to reel between Sally and Ellie. By shortening her line below the indicator Ellie was now able to keep Sally’s streamer at bay with her nymph.

 

Cast for cast… Fish for fish… The cameras continued to roll as the two women battled it out and a rather large viewing audience formed along the shoreline.

 

“C’mon Sally… Kick her ass!” shouted a puffy looking blueberry sort of fellow hidden amidst her entourage.

 

“You got this Ellie… Show her where the bear shits!” echoed a stringy haired dude crouched within a cluster of Gold Rope guides.

 

Without warning a breeze from the north found its way down the Windrush River and lit up Yello Dawg Pass.  Oglers lost fishing caps, the current in the river gained another 3mph, and the back-to-back-to-back-to-back non-stop fishing action ended with a slam on the brakes.

 

A stare down was now taking place betwixt Sally and Ellie. It was time to Sink or Swim!

 

Cinching her Costa visor down a notch, Ellie set the tone and took a stride forward, deeper into the river. Sally matched her move by tightening the chinstrap on her Helly southwester’ and advanced to intense water as well.

 

When the wind blows, and the barometer rises… Two things happen in the angling world. The bite slows down and the fish tend to go deeper.

 

Sally and Ellie straight away had forty-paces between them as they approached mid-river. They were equally chest deep in water, teetering on moss laden boulders, and being hurried by impossible currents. Neither woman blinked nor slowed their stride to reach the center of the river.

 

As the final bout was about to begin… The two anglers saluted each other and then turned toward their respective bank of cheering onlookers, raising their fly fishing rods high to the fish gods, and then dropping their chins along with their tips to the surface of the water.

 

Masking up… Ellie pulled a Simms Sungaiter over her face and Sally followed suit by covering her face with a Starflake Seafoam Sun Scarf.

 

Taking the en garde position… Each of the women rotated and faced directly downstream. Approximately 100-yards to the south, loaded with jagged rock and boiling whitewater, was the legendary “No Fuckin’ Way” rapids.

 

What does every local angler know about “No Fuckin’ Way”? For starters… It is neither fishable by boat nor by wading. Too much water… Too much depth… Too much danger.

 

Secondly, this location was recently reported as the site and home of Montana’s would be state record rainbow trout. Allegedly, (yes allegedly) Jackie Loonsuckle recently shot this set of rapids (rarely attempted) and witnessed the tailing fish tucked behind a mammoth boulder.

 

All this apparently happened under normal flow conditions at a speed of 12mph. Presently, with the gusting winds and rising water levels, the currents now gushed at a less than moderate 17mph.

 

With an authoritative voice… Jackie Loonsuckle cupped his hands to the sides of his mouth and barked toward Sally and Ellie: “Pret? Alez!!!”

 

This is the French version of “READY? GO!!!” And with his command the two crazing, dueling, fly fishing fanatics raised their boots from the floor of the river… Tucked their knees to their chests… And free fell with the current toward “No Fuckin’ Way”.

 

At 17mph the massive boulder that purportedly held Montana’s would be record rainbow trout immediately came into view. It sat dead center of the river and split the current, engulfing the water flow, turning it to a fateful-death-gripping whitewater rapids, and eventually backwaters with fuming eddies.

 

Twenty yards from a fatal rock collision… Sally elbowed Ellie in the shoulder, attempting to gain separation, and clear the rock on the west portion of the river. Ellie returned the favor with a flip kick that caught Sally midsection, pushing her to the east and hopefully further from harm’s way.

 

Simultaneously, the deafening roar of the water disappeared, as the two anglers were towed below by the undercurrent of the rapids. The only visible remains were two rod tips, bent in the direction of the gigantic rock, and both were now considerably downstream from their previous location.

 

Sally was the first to surface… Spitting streams of water and swinging wide with the currents carrying her to the western portion of the eddies.

 

Ellie was a split second behind… Popping to the surface, hacking and gasping for air. The power of the river was moving her to the eastern section of the eddies.

 

Now facing each other… It was ever apparent that both women were hooked up!

 

The other distinguishable element… They were HOOKED UP on the SAME FISH!

 

It was a stalemate. Neither angler was willing to give line with both continuing to reel and neither was closing their distance on the fish.

 

And then they saw it… The light olive dorsal fin, with dark polka dots, broke the surface of the water. Its back was greenish blue with sides streaking from prominent red to silvery white.

 

As if on cue the great trout launched midstream, gained verticality, and tail danced straight down the river away from its would-be captors. Both fly lines sang in distress with rod tips yielding. Clearly, this WAS the new thirty-plus-pound Monfuckingtana state record rainbow, dragging both Sally and Ellie downstream.

 

     “Drop your rod!” Sally screamed atop the roar of the rapids. “Let me take the line!”

 

     “You can kiss my…” and Ellie’s words vanished… As did the trophy fish, the tight lines, and the possibility of landing a newsworthy world-class-trout. With one rock-solid head jerk, hooks were broken loose from tippet lines, and piscatorial dreams vanished.

 

     “I told you to concede and drop your line!” Sally challenged.

 

     “And I told you, you can kiss my ass!” Ellie retorted.

 

With Archer Sting and the film crew streaking down the shoreline… Film continued to roll as the two participants of the fencing bout met midstream and dropped their (swords) fly rods. Then… At the same time… They reached out and locked hands like two primal Greco-Roman wrestlers in an early century Olympic bout.

 

Sally attempted a throw by stepping in for a body lock… Hoping to lower herself enough to perform an inside trip and pile drive Ellie to oblivion.

 

Ellie countered her move by shooting first… Eager to sweep a leg and use her weight to pound Sally to the bottom of the river.

 

Each aggressor’s attempt was a colossal failure as the swift current, combined with deep water and slippery rocks, nullified their ability to use force. The deadlock ended when each fire breathing bear charged their opponent and grasped each other in a breath expunging hug.

 

Again… Splashing… Free flowing… Boots up… Down the river Sink or Swim they went! 

 

–            To Be Continued – 


SEASON 2, EPISODE 13

Season TWO – Episode 13 – “Fifty Below”

Retrieving his laptop from the bedside table… Rusty took a sip from his Beaver Head root beer float and opened his Gmail Inbox.

 

From: COSMOID SCALE

Subject Line: need a YES or NO on your commitment for the NW Ontario fishing camp?

 

Clicking on the message from Professor Scale… Rusty leaned back against his handmade luxury, plaid antler pillows and commenced to read.

 

Dearest Rusty… I hope this letter finds you well.

In working with my accountant and financial advisor it appears as though the final papers will be drawn within the next six-weeks to complete the acquisition of the island property on gojiji-zaaga’igan.

If your Ojibwe needs a refresher… The lake is called “Lake of the Rains”.

What I don’t have… Is that name for the fishing camp?! Possibly something you can help me with?!

Speaking of helping… Prior to your departure with Sally, to the Gold Rope Ranch… We discussed in detail the potential for you to join me as “Camp Manager” on this new endeavor.

How are things between you and Sally? Have you spoken with her about this fishing camp opportunity?

Due to the current condition of the camp… (I just returned from the location after meeting there with local contractors) I’m requesting you join me as early as JAN 01 to get a jump start on renovations. Most likely, this will require working in temperatures that approach “FIFTY BELOW”.

For starters… The old lodge is in disrepair. My plan is to tear down what’s left of the original… And then ice-truck multiple loads of hand cut logs to the property for new construction.

The five outbuildings are what I would consider “useable” … At least for the first season or two… With some minor spruce up, they should be adequate for housing anglers as well as staff.

There are no boat docks in the natural harbor on the island. I’ve been told it’s best to build cribs, floaters, and drive piling in the winter season (Again, I would need you here sooner than later.)

This could be sizing up to be quite the challenge… Have you thought further? Or found anyone to assist you with the Camp Manager duties / position?

Any chance Sally might be interested in joining us? She could be a major asset and HUGE drawing card for new visitors. I would LOVE to see that possibility come to fruition!

Anyway… Again… Lots to discuss. But first I need to hear back from you and know that you are 100% dialed (committed) on this NEW project and NEW career path.

 

Regards,

Cosmoid

 

Taking another sip from his Beaver Head… Rusty returned the 36-ounce ice-cream-root-beer-filled tumbler to its doily and “clicked” on Reply.

 

Professor Scale! Great to hear from you!

How am I? I’m hanging in there. Currently recovering from an arrow wound (long story) and being well taken care of.

Lake of the Rains? Sounds wrinkly…

Name for the fishing camp? Hmmmmm…

Endless Scales… Grand-Slam-Lodge… Eagles Landing… Let me work on it.

“Things” are OK with Sally and me. She’s on a trout fishing photo shoot today. My plan is to discuss the fishing camp opportunity with her, before departing the Gold Rope Ranch (five more days here).

January 01 start date? New year… New career… Seems fitting.

My building skills need a bit of refresher, but I’m certainly not afraid of the work. Sounds quite exciting!

Someone to assist with the work? YES. I do have someone in mind. Have not yet presented the opportunity to this individual. Will prioritize within the “five days” window as mentioned above.

Sally to join us? Hmmmmm… Not sure about that one. I can certainly ask, but I’m not sure with all she has going on with her fashion commitments. I’ll make the offer, with your request.

Five days. OK? Give me five days and you’ll have my answers. This is definitely something I want to see happen in my world… Just not sure how it will fit with others… I’ll get it sorted, thanks!

 

Set the hook,

Rusty

 

“Well… I guess there’s no more procrastinating.” Rusty thought to himself. “Sally’s present temperature toward me seems to be about FIFTY BELOW, but what the hell.”

A knock on the door… It was Ron Heimburg and Geoff Loonsuckle checking on their guest.

     “How’s our boy doin’?”, Ron queried, “Can we get you anything?”

     “Something to eat… Something to drink…” Geoff followed.

     “You know what fellas,” Rusty replied, “There is something you can do for me. I could use some BUSINESS advice… And some FEMALE advice… Two topics in which I assume both of you are well versed.”

–            To Be Continued –