Season 3 – Episode 36 (Egg Salad From Kraken Eggs)
There was no direct path to the backside of the island and most of the hike was uphill through treefall surrounded by dense patches of thorny buckbrush. Tawny Bishop, of First Nations origin, led the charge with the Three Eagles (Sally-Ellie-Hazel) directly behind in pecking order.
Unbeknownst to those following her, she found this both empowering and ironic, seeing that she herself was Migizi Dodem (Eagle Clan). She viewed the bird as a significant spiritual symbol and totem for the Anishinaabe (Ojibwe). Strength—courage—wisdom—Tawny’
“You keeping up back there, Squatsnfishes?” Tawny inquired. They were less than fifty yards into the bush but in blindingly heavy cover they were on all fours as much as they were on foot.
A little over an hour ago Sally was roasting by the fire… A post drowning victim with a bullet hole in her shoulder. Now her response was, “If this walking stick is up your ass you’ll know I’m keeping up.”
Tawny forged ahead, hiding a smile she didn’t want Sally to see. She was thinking about how competitive her nature was due to her siblings. There were five brothers in total, and then she was the youngest, only girl. Sally’s snarky comment reminded her of how older brothers can be. Pushy… Relentless… Challenging… And that was a good feeling.
Ellie stepped high, crawled, rolled, and walked continuously in Sally’s footsteps. As they moved slowly through the entanglement of hell she was thinking back to their days at the Gold Rope Ranch in Montana. She and Sally had been in a fierce competition like what she was witnessing with Tawny. “We fought it out in a trout stream,” she recalled. “And I’m fairly certain I kicked her— “.
But before she could finish her thought it was Hazel, from behind, now singing loudly, “Hidey hip—Hiday hop—It’s off in search of eggs we go…. We’re hungry for egg salad…. So why not find us some Kraken eggs…. Hidey hip—Hidey hop! To the Kraken eggs we go!”
“Haze, are you OK back there?” asked a much more than level ten concerned Ellie Waylayer. TEN being the highest level of worry for an Eagle.
“Sure dude! Just hoping we can get Egg Salad From Kraken Eggs!”
“Ok…. Maybe let’s NOT think about eating right now…. And also…. Could you maybe holster that Glock?”
“Ellie, I’ve already killed two people today, and it’s not even lunchtime. I got to be ready to shoot myself some egg salad, hey.”
And then Hazel, quietly to Cos who was further down the line, “Maybe we will get egg salad…. What does she know…. Or maybe these eggs are magical…. Maybe they’ll tell us who Ellie was really crushing on at the Gold Rope Ranch.”
Maintaining composure—With no real thoughts per this statement—Cos had zero response. He and Rusty were bringing up the rear and neither had a clue yet, as to the nature of what they had gotten themselves involved in. All this chatter of Kraken’s and eggs and dead bodies lying around the camp. They had SEVEN days before their first guests arrived. Not exactly the best time for a north woods homicide scene.
And thank goodness Stash McGivern, area boat patrol – police officer – mailman – general wearer of multiple hats hadn’t arrived unexpectedly. And what about their neighbors? The fellow camp owners. This was a fishing tourism destination, not a playground for espionage fanatics getting their kicks off egg hunting.
The sun was now at 1’oclock. The march continued deeper into the wilderness. Rusty’s stomach was rumbling “have I eaten yet today?” And Tawny’s eyes were glancing through the canopy of the forest with her mind thinking, “I can’t remember if we had eggs for breakfast?”
Then another hour passed. Uneventful—excluding the twenty-minute delay it took to unwedge Rusty after a toppling fall placed him betwixt two boulders. His oversized backpack made for an airtight fit like a nut inside a shell.
Finally, the group hike came to a much-anticipated screeching halt. “Hey you guys! Look to your right!” shouted Cos from the rear of the pack. The aging fisheries biologist was pointing his index finger at what appeared to be the thickest, tallest, and oldest Norway Pine on Lac des Bois. “That’s got to be our tree.”
And he was correct. At approximately 204-feet in height, this monster of monsters in the bush was supporting a “witch’s broom” that appeared to be 8-feet in diameter when you stood at the base of the trunk and peered upward towards the sky.
“Now what?” asked Ellie. “And Haze, I asked you to put the Glock away. We can’t make Egg Salad From Kraken Eggs. There’s no danger here. Put it away, please.”
“Fine, but if that tree attacks us, you’re Eggs Benedict.”
“I say we chop it down,” suggested Rusty. “If we can keep things moving along…. Let’s keep things moving along. Copy that?”
“Whoa—Whoa—Whoa there, Big Joe Mufferaw (Ontario’s answer to Paul Bunyan),” was Tawny’s quick reply. “If you take a hot second to look, there are three eagles circling above this tree. A sign from my people. Let’s take five. Have a smoke. Figure this out.”
“She right” gasped Cosmoid, who was winded, but already lighting his favorite pipe. “This tree is one of a kind… It’s likely survived forest fires, sixty below zero temperatures, mega storms, you name it. We are NOT cutting this tree down.”
“Fine, then who has a better plan?” continued Rusty.
“Yeah…. And how do we even know if the eggs are up in that tree?” added Ellie as she leaned an arm against the base of the trunk.
“Because WE are the Three Eagles!” sounded Sally. “WE figure things out! WE….” And then she started poking and prodding her stick at the base of the tree. Very near Ellie’s feet—Adjacent to an exposed root—A nub on the base of the Norway that was shaped like a face-down salad serving spoon.
–To Be Continued—
