JANUARY 26
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JANUARY 26 ICE FISHING REPORT
SEASON 3, EPISODE 3
Season THREE – Episode 03 – “Off the deep End”
She was more than a toddler but not a teenager. The sun was bright in the sky, and she begged and begged her mother to take the rowboat out by herself after lunch. It was an offshore wind. Tricky for a ten-year-old.
No sooner than she cut the ropes from the dock cleats, the bow caught a gust and spun toward the middle of the lake. Now she pulled and strained and splashed with the oars in a futile attempt to get back to shore.
The dock got further and further away as tears welled in her eyes. She was out of breath and her lungs burned for oxygen. How quickly she had been blown from the shallows and pushed away from the shoreline “Off the deep End”.
A grouse drummed high up on the poplar ridge. Her English setter found its way up the hill through the treefall, but she could not get out of the ravine. Her Dayton ’64 logger boots, hand-me-downs from Cousin Minnie, were bogged down with mud.
With each step the weight of the boots implored more strength than she could muster with her youthful stride. The hillside, with a freshly covered drizzle, made it impossible to ascend the steep slope. Her dog would not return to heel, and she was spinning her wheels at the bottom of the ridge.
On her next attempt she fell face forward and landed on a surface boulder. The knuckles on her left hand were scraped raw. The metal of the .28-gauge side by side took the brunt of the hit and the bluing had been exposed by the rock.
The river raced at an alarming speed. Her grandmother warned her of the high bank and the potential danger of getting too close. But her mind was set on fishing in the fast waters, so with baited nightcrawlers she cast her hook and planted her fanny in the dirt with feet dangling over the edge.
A light bite… Tap… Tap… Tap… And she was caught off guard by the early action. Impulsively she attempted to stand with a rod in hand, lost her balance, and tumbled headfirst into the river. Underwater, her eyes were open, and everything was brown. She hit the surface gasping for air, while freestyling toward shore. The fishing rod was gone, and she swam and swam and swam, but could not reach shore.
She was playing shortstop, crouched low in the fielder’s position. They seldom let a girl play this spot, but she had a strong arm and could cover territory.
The ball was hit sharply and because they were competing on a makeshift diamond in Jimmy Blowdust’s backyard it took a wild hop. She knocked it down, accidentally, with her face. Right below the eye socket on the cheekbone. Then she reached down with her mitt and scooped the ball, but when she tried to grasp the laces, she could not pry it loose.
The runner kept running and running and running. And she kept pulling and straining and clutching, but the ball would not come out!
Sally Squatnfishes sprang upright in her first-class seat, still bound for Australia. There were beads of sweat on her forehead and her stomach was doing backflips. She had just relived a few adventures from her youth… With more ahead in her adulthood.
She had awoken halfway into her flight… From a quick glance at her watch this would put her approximately fourteen-hours-and-some-change away from where she had left Rusty Flathers, their lab puppy Link, and Professor Cosmoid Scale.
Coincidentally, Rusty and Cos were still being detained at the US / Canadian border crossing station. Most of the issue derived from Link, who accidentally hit the auto-lock button on the inside of the pickup cab on the door panel.
When Rusty was asked, “Sir, do you have a set of keys for your pickup?” and his keys were still in the ignition, he knew there was going to be further delays. Thankfully, Link remained playful as they waited for a locksmith from Fort Genevive to arrive.
Inside the cab the pup stayed busy bouncing like a ping pong ball on steroids. First, it was the cloth material of the backrest on the passenger side that he chewed to shreds. Next, he attacked the knobs on the face of the AM / FM radio and found them to be quite tasty. Then it was time to mark his territory on the bench seat… No less than a half dozen times. And finally, he settled on the steering wheel, as content as a beaver, gnawing gashes into the rubber molding with his baby teeth.
By the time Cecil Forrest from the Moose Valley Auto Shop arrived at the scene, Link was plum wore out, sleeping soundly on his back with all four legs pointing up in the air. Much calmer now in relation to what was happening back inside the Customs and Immigration office with Flathers and Scale.
“Gentlemen, while we are waiting for your work-permit papers to be processed, we need you to visit the Non-Resident Language Center… Third door down the hall… On your right,” instructed the attending Port Director.
“What’s this about?” countered Cos.
The Port Director replied, “Well, now that you’re about to take temporary residency in Ontario, we deem it necessary to assist with any potential language barriers.”
Rusty and Cos exchanged glances… Proceeded down the hallway… Knocked three times for admission… And were greeted by a rather Dungeness looking fellow. He was crouched over at the waist with his arms hanging out directly in front of himself. Very much holding a crab-esk posture.
“Gentlemen. Please come in and be seated. My name is Vincent Pardon,” he said with an impeded slur.
Rusty could not make heads or tails of what this man had just said and replied honestly, “pardon me?”
“Yes” replied the Non-Resident Language Director, and the three men took a seat at the conference table.
Mr. Vincent Pardon had a half-inch spitting gap between his front teeth and each time he spoke, you could see his tongue curled at the tip. This was also accompanied by a froth of saliva that jetted out intermittently in various sized bubbles, notably air bound for a stretch of two to four feet in distance.
Professor Scale was fine. His glass eyewear protected him from the grotesque barrage. Rusty on the other hand… Lenseless… Was left at the table taking direct hits of shrapnel at close range.
“Ok gentlemen,” foamed the Dungeness crab man with the wide gap spray machine mouth, “I will post some words for you on the overhead projector, and then you will repeat after me.”
The first word on the board was “YES”. Correct pronunciation? “NO, YEAH… NO, YEAH”.
Next word “NO”. Proper diction? “YEAH, NO… YEAH, NO”.
And then this class got tougher… “ABOUT”. Appropriate language? “ABOOT”.
Favorite
Program
Labor
Defense
Realize
“Now, these are just the basics gentlemen,” spewed the Crab Director. “If you find yourself having difficulties communicating… When in doubt… Use the word: EH.
“Don’t you think this is a little “Off the deep End?” Rusty whispered to Cos, as their instructor removed himself from his seat and ventured to the corner of the room.
“I don’t think we’re out of the proverbial woods yet, my friend,” returned Cos. “I recognize that machine in the corner as a 1952 RCA Victor 45-J-2. For a youngster such as yourself… That means it’s a record player built to produce sound from a 45-vinyl copy.”
And then… Without notice… The arm with the needle hit the spinning wheel of the 45, and Anne Murray could be heard up and down the hallway of the Customs and Immigration building, belting out the best-selling vocals of “Snowbird.”
If only Rusty and Cos could “spread their wings and fly away!”
– To Be Continued –
JANUARY 19 ICE FISHING REPORT
JANUARY 19 ICE FISHING REPORT — LAKE OF THE WOODS
Hey Sportsfans!
After a few days of hard work, the guides have shifted the entire fleet of houses east (7 miles past Pine Island).
Even through the cold snap, we continue to hear reports of good fishing. Seeing buckets of nice size keepers, plus rumors of slot fish, from most houses at the end of the day.
Successful Presentations:
1) A tungsten buck shot spoon with a minnow head
2) Deadstick Option – Red 1/8oz jig with active minnow
Most reports claim to catch more while jigging than with a deadstick.
Keep an eye on your electronics… We have seen a number of active, suspended fish. To hit bottom, you are looking at roughly 30′ of water.
Due to high winds, and whiteout conditions, we made the switch to bombers on Friday afternoon.
SET THE HOOK!
SEASON 3, EPISODE 2
“Excuse me sir, did you just ask if either of us was in possession of a voodoo doll?” Rusty cringed.
“That was a YES or NO question Mr. Flathers… Need I remind you that I am the one asking the questions!” retorted the Customs Officer. “You’re not driving into Wisconsin here… This is Ontario… Home of Timmy Horton’s… We have rules here!
“Yes sir,” Rusty replied. Then he straightened in the driver’s seat, thinking “she’s gone… I better learn how to face it” on my own if I’m going to make it in this world. Sally’s no longer here to hold my hand.
“OK then… Let me continue by asking,” continued the Officer, “Have either of you completed the necessary paperwork to petition for non-Canadian Temporary Work Permits?”
That pretty much sealed the deal for the two would be northbound boys. “Go ahead and park that truck under the canopy and come on inside” were his next instructions.
“Do you think we’re in trouble?” questioned Rusty, as he and Cos made their way toward the Customs and Immigration building.
“Not unless you’re hiding a voodoo doll!” replied Cos. “What the heck is that all about?”
Rusty stiffened as they entered the building and were greeted by two more officers stationed behind the counter. They appeared to be in a heated debate glowing over the intricacies of an NHL Fantasy Hockey statistics sheet.
“Right over here gentlemen… Please have a seat…” instructed one of the uniformed officers. “Without an appointment you’ll have to wait to meet with the Port Director. In the meantime, we will search your vehicle and have you fill out some paperwork.”
“Is your truck open Mr. Flathers?” questioned one of the accompanying officers.
“Ah, ya, and there’s also a lab pup in the cab, just to give you a heads up.”
“Do you have paperwork for the dog Mr. Flathers?”
“Um…. Strike two, I’m assuming?”
“You are correct sir. Proof of ownership… Title… Vaccination report… We’re going to need to see some paperwork on this animal.”
Rusty’s hands were sweating… NO work permit. NO papers on Link (home in his dresser drawer).
They were about to search the interior of the Chevy C10, when the smell of stale perogies and poutine inside the Customs building overtook his sensory nerves. The pack of beef jerky he devoured on the way over from Skiff Falls early that morning, quickly found its way into the garbage pail in the corner by the entrance.
“Geez Rusty are you ok?” asked Scale. And before Rusty could reply, an alarm went off in the building that sounded like a European war signal.
When the blaring noise subsided, a voice came over the intercom requesting a “cleanup at the main entrance.” Simultaneously, Rusty passed out near the sight of his spew.
Sally had been wheels up for a little over four hours and removed a yellow legal pad from her carry-on bag. There would be a lot of airtime today, and she needed to draft a timeline for her showdown with The Kraken.
First on her list was getting in and out of Perth International airport undetected. She had a pair of Maui Jim Good Fun Fashion shades with green mirrored frames… A Soaker wide brim sun hat… And she would be putting her hair in a low bun to disguise herself from the likes of any would-be paparazzi.
Next on her pad… Once on the ground a meeting was scheduled to take place outside of the luggage terminal. It was at this location where she had been instructed to look for a tall, dark tanned, muscular build, hazel eyed, blond-haired woman.
This person, her cabby, would be identified with the code handle of “Eagle Two”. And the name she would be holding on her cabby poster board would read “Eagle One”. Sally had no clue who she was being paired up with.
Again, everything from the Australian Commonwealth Government was being communicated on a need to know, triple-top-secret, step by step basis. A sort of “get boots on the ground first, and then we’ll go from there” gameplan. Not Sally’s favorite way to fly, with such a dangerous assignment.
Third on her list… Travel the Stirling Ranges. There would be a safehouse in Woodanilling. This would be the drop point for her cabby (Eagle Two) to depart company, and from the looks of the map on her iPhone this would put her about halfway to Bremer Bay.
At that point Sally was hoping to partner up with a certain individual she had requested to join her team. Prior to leaving the States this person had yet to receive security clearance from the Commonwealth. A trusting partner is like a Saucony RunDry mesh ventilating comfort fit performance no-show sock that pairs perfectly with a Nike Air Pegasus olive aura colored running shoe. It “just works”.
The mode of transport to get from Woodanilling to Bremer Bay was TBD. Sally had requested a low-cruising sniper helicopter. Something like an AH-64 Apache or the Bell AH-1 Cobra. But flying under the radar into a touristy resort setting with this bird would be the most diluted approach for remaining inconspicuous. Possibly a Jeep would surmise, but the precise firepower of a gunship helicopter was enticing. She would have to wait and see what was parked for her at the drop point and then get creative from there.
Getting more into her notes… It appeared they would have her checking into the Blackfin Phantom. This was the most expensive hotel in the world. Also, it was an elite offshore submarine that just happened to be cruising nearby in the Sir James John Port.
This submarine offers rooms to exclusive guests to the tune of $180,000 per night. Sally was more inclined to find a surf shack along the beach, but government spending would include a private captain, personal chef and butler, and potential panoramic views of marine life. Also, there was the potential for her to use this underwater vessel, if the opportunity presented itself, to track The Kraken!
Returning the legal pad to her backpack… Sally reclined in the comfort of her plush first-class seat and drifted off into a jet-induced sleep. Her first vision was of Rusty and Link and their departure earlier that day from Wisacode, MN. And then it was Ellie Waylayer. Her newest best friend whom she’d met at the Gold Rope Ranch in Montana.
Ellie had been a saint in providing support for getting her and Rusty back on track. In her dream she could reach out and touch her hand. But for now, “she’s gone… I better learn how to face it”.
– To Be Continued –