SEASON 4, EPISODE 27

Season Four—Episode 27 (LET’S NEVER DO THAT AGAIN)

Rusty’s mouth tasted like charcoal briquettes, but that didn’t stop him from kissing the beach once he and Clarence reached the south side of Moose Island. The steady breeze that hit them in the face provided copious amounts of fresh air—much needed after they were previously engulfed in a forest blaze.

Even the colony of beavers made it beachside. And Rusty being Rusty, shouted over to them, “Let’s Never Do That Again!”

The chief beaver—the same one that had bashed Rusty’s face with a Bruce Lee karate kick—stopped short before entering the lake. Slowly he turned. There was a directness in his eyes. Unmistakable. Angry. Glaring. Then he deliberately lifted his middle claw.

The motion was not herky-jerky. It was rather slow and purposeful. There was thought being given by the beaver. He was playing this scenario out—much as could be—with his intuitive beaver brain.

Then he clicked his four imposing incisors in rapid succession—and the sound matched the paw motion—quite possibly saying, “You had that coming, Flathers.”

He continued marching his troops in single file and then skedaddled once all fours were in the lake. After that, gaining neutral buoyancy, he raised his gihugic tail toward the heavens and came crashing down sending a tropical wall of rain directly into Rusty’s face.

“Must still be sore about me cannonballing on top of him, back in the pond,” Rusty muttered, blinking lake water from his eyes.

With hands on hips—Clarence gave him the glare, “You just had a damn beaver flip you off, Feathers. Is this where we’re at!”

          “I get it—I get it… But Northwest Ontario has been kicking my butt all week.”

“That, and this forest fire that I presume YOU were responsible for?” added Clarence. “Any truth to that, Feathers?”

          “I don’t feel as though we need to get into particulars right now, Clarence. The who dids… The what ifs… The better question is, how do we get off this island? Because it appears as though the boat I’d left here earlier is missing.”

“Just like the HUMOR in what’s been going on the last two days. Working for you hasn’t exactly been a picnic, Rustoleum.”

          “Positivity breeds enthusiasm, Clarence. It breeds it!”

“And I’m positively sure I’m going to punch you in the face, Feathers, if you so much as utter another word. Now let’s keep moving down the beach and figure out a way to get off this hell-torched island.”

It was more than a love tap. It was more like someone walking away from a barbell station in a weight room—heading to a nearby bench to do some arm curls—maybe showing off a bit—carrying more than they could handle—and along the way they accidentally dropped one of the weights to the hardwood floor. KERRRRR—BANG!

That was the sound of Sally’s right wingtip dropping down on Biggy THE BOAT Pescatore’s runaway vessel. If he doubted for a second the seriousness of her actions, it was now crystal clear she was on a mission to destroy his path to escape.

Have you (YES, YOU THE READER) ever been to the Pike Place Fish Market in Seattle? Well… Long story short… As upper Midwesterners like to say… There is a business there that developed a FISH! Philosophy, and our fearless leader Sally Squatsnfishes was a huge fan.

With her left active-engine propelling her forward and her right stalled-engine resting on Biggy’s transom—Sally quickly checked the appropriate boxes for the FISH! Philosophy.

Choose Your Attitude: “I’m going to kick this dude’s ass twice-to-Tuesday. That’s how I’m taking responsibility for what life is currently throwing at me, and it’s also how I’m going to help my team.”

Be There: “I’m certain that I am emotionally present, based on Biggy’s response to me after I mouthed the words, You Are a Dead Man.”

Play: “Oh this is my favorite… I can be creative and fun… Drive the curious mind… Let’s see how many times I can rock his world from port to starboard putting him within inches of capsizing his boat!”

Make Their Day: “As I recall—I’m supposed to serve or delight people in a meaningful and memorable way—How’s this!!”

Now Sally may or may not have been spot on with the four rules of the FISH! Philosophy, but when she raised her wingtip off the transom for a split second—shot forward to the captain’s chair and then BONKED down on Biggy’s head while he was looking forward, wrestling the steering wheel—then we could say she was CLOSE ENOUGH!!

Sally took her best shot and now the plane, less the power of the right wing engine, began to yaw. There was no lift remaining. Plus, the left engine was propelling her forward as the rudder was no longer sufficient to hold a straight line. The Canadair CL-415 Super Scooper was out of control and about to roll.

Link… Still riding shotgun in the co-pilot’s seat… turned to Sally with a final whimper, “Brace for impact.”

The rapid spin and crash tore the left wing off first, and with all the momentum generated, they barreled sideways, rolling continuously across the surface of Lac des Bois. There was no time for recovery. The plane was instantly going to the bottom of the lake.

From two hundred yards away, Tawny and her posse witnessed the entire scene. Sally’s ability to drop down on the transom of Biggy’s boat. Her countermoves that rocked the vessel uncontrollably. And then the final BONK—where she lifted that plane just long enough to launch forward and clip Biggy’s melon. Then the roll. Then the crash.

Tawny cut the throttle on her Yamaha tiller and reached for the marine band radio. “Celine, this is Eagle-Four, DO YOU COPY!”

Radio silence…

“FSFO—Celine—Do you read me! Sally just crashed the water bomber. We need HELP. I need you to….”

Static over the airway. Someone was trying to break into the message.

“Tawny—Taw is that you? Who’s Eagle-Four? I want to be an eagle.” It was Celine. She was in the kitchen with the squirrel stew and overheard mumblings on the camp’s marine band radio. This was also in-between verses of Anne Murray’s “You Needed Me” spinning on her 45RPM Pioneer Turntable.

          “Celine, radio Raker’s Marine, tell…”

“Is Sally doing water bombers? Those are so cool. Just think how fast she could water my garden here on the island. Is Link…”

          “CELINE! The plane is going DOWN. Sally and…”

More static on the marine band. Then silence.

“Tawn—should I still be prepping this squirrel soup?”

Tawny held the mic by the cord, swung it into the air and smashed it into a million pieces. Then she gunned the throttle and headed to where the plane had disappeared below the surface.

Biggy’s vessel was stuck at half throttle, constantly circling like the big hand on a clock, with no boat captain at the wheel. Rusty heard what sounded like the rumble of thunder.

Sally kicked desperately at the pilot’s door with Link treading water by her side. Both pilot and co-pilot gasped their last breaths with faces pressed to the ceiling of the cockpit. Their remaining inch of air disappeared without giving notice.

Looking at Link—then throughout the flooded flight deck—she dove.

–To Be Continued—

MARCH 23

 

 

 

 

 

Hey Sportsfans!

THANK YOU FOR AN AMAZING WINTER SEASON!

This year brought some of the best fishing numbers we’ve seen in recent memory. January and February were nothing short of incredible!

The perch bite – lasting for weeks – was truly something special. What’s usually considered a bonus fish became the highlight of the trip for many. One of our veteran guides, Mer, made the comment that this was the best perch season he’s seen in years!

To all of our returning winter guests—it was great seeing so many familiar faces again. And to those who joined us for the first time—thank you for choosing to spend part of your winter with us. We hope to see you again soon!

What’s Next?

SPRING FISHING!
The Rainy River is open up to Manitou Rapids, and reports from this weekend said there were already a couple of boats hitting the open water.

We’ll be open all spring for lodging… give us a call to take advantage of our discounted spring rates #218-634-1849.

Spring Bar Hours:

  • Thursday–Saturday: Drinks, bar baskets & daily specials (11 AM – 10 PM)
  • Sunday–Wednesday: Drinks & pizzas (11 AM – 7 PM)

SUMMER FISHING
Reservations are filling up fast! While we’re excited for spring, we can’t help but dream about those warm summer days out on the charter boat. Until then, Set the Hook!

SEASON 4, EPISODE 26

Season Four—Episode 26 (FISH OR CUT BAIT)

Sally cut power to the twin turboprop engines and banked hard left… She just cleared the north end of Moose Island… And through the smoke and haze coming from below could barely make out what appeared to be a vessel traveling north-northwest.

Sidekick Link—front paws resting on the cockpit panel—strained forward with ears perked. He then glanced down at the water, and suddenly the hair on his back rose taut. The boat was moving, wide open throttle, and he had spotted the wake being cut through the water. Then with three barks he confirmed to Sally his identification of at least one of the boat passengers. It was the face of his master’s business partner—Mr. Cosmoid Scale.

Maintaining her silent glide Sally had calculated forty-five to fifty seconds on the silent drop from 1000 feet down to 200. That would be close enough to confirm identities of all passengers and hopefully remain unnoticed by Biggy THE BOAT Pescatore.

The water bomber airplane was a large target. Presumably one that would not endure a gunshot to the engine or fuel tank. She needed to be low, and she needed to be stealth-silent. At five hundred feet, it was time for Sally Squatsnfishes to either Fish Or Cut Bait. Either restart the engines or ride this glide down to the deck.

Link turned his muzzle toward the pilot and blinked once with his left eye. Tic toc they were at three hundred feet, let’s do this.

Sally had seen this look before. A flashback from Eagle Two, Ellie Waylayer, down under chasing the Kraken. Link was firing at her with that same expression.

The last time she hesitated they had come up short. It also explained the bullet hole in her shoulder.

Sally did a double take with Link. But his expression was clear, “Lady, I’m your best friend (a dog) wearing an oversized WWII headset in a water bomber plane that is freefalling from the sky. If I’m not being OCD panic stricken, neither should you!”

Then he tilted his head to focus on the target below. Difficult, now that his headset had slipped over one eye. Tic toc. Two hundred feet.

As Sally continued to milk the glide, Tawny and company cleared the north side of the island, with a compass heading north-northwest tracking the plane. Tawny was unable to get a bead on Biggy’s boat, at least not yet, but the bird falling from the sky may as well been the sun crashing to the earth.

Tawny thought momentarily to cut power to the throttle of the outboard motor, in effort to communicate by radio frequency with Sally. But her instincts told her, “Better to get to the crash site first,” and she kept her hand cranked on the engine.

Sally’s last pass on Moose Island had doused the fire ring around the beaver pond. Enough that Rusty and Clarence executed butterfly kicks, while the beaver clan opted for tail blasts and torpedo glides. Either way, both parties made their way OUT of the pond, traveling south toward the original shore lunch beach area. Less smoke… More open water… Hopefully a boat was still parked on the beach.

As they scampered through the remains of charred treefall and ashes from last season’s weed growth, Rusty clung to the tails of Clarence Bishop. With an epic Cheech and Chong brain fog from smoke inhalation, he questioned if he were following a man or a ghost. Either way he was obliged to have a trailblazer out front.

At two hundred feet Sally saw them—Cos, Stash McGivern, and Rod Gills. Their eyeballs were the size of fast-pitch softballs—pleading from below for help from above. Their mouths were bound and gagged… Arms tethered behind their backs with knees to chests and butts to the floor of Biggy Pescatore’s boat.

Three more seconds and Sally would be at one hundred fifty feet. She had confirmed the hostages without Biggy being the wiser. NOW was the time to restart both engines, or brace for water impact. The CL-415 was not suited for an uncontrolled landing.

Tic toc. Every milli-second counted. Sally’s reactions were in high gear—no clutch.

“Altitude,” she checked that box with butt cheeks clinched.

“Fuel levers,” ON like Donkey Kong.

“Starter switches,” hit both like you were handling two ice fishing rods requiring simultaneous hook sets.

“Advance condition levers,” hmmmmm, can’t quite remember that one—skip to final step.

“Monitor gauges,” Link is now whining with anticipation. Waiting for the oil pressure, turbine temp, and RPM needles to JUMP.

Tic toc. One hundred feet. Sally jammed both starters. Port side contact—fired. Starboard engine—coughed once—twice—puked.

Quickly she cycled again. Nothing.

Tawny could not make her boat go any faster. Clarence brought Rusty out to the shorelunch clearing on the sandy beach. Celine was breaking radio silence—questioning as to whether anyone would be returning to camp for squirrel stew.

Biggy caught pitch of the single engine that had fired and turned to glimpse over his left shoulder. There she was—on his tail—bright red with yellow stripes—its right wing tip about to touch his transom.

Link winced and barked once. With head ducked, shoulders braced, and claws buried into the leather co-pilot seat—it came out like he was hacking on a bone.

Sally did not pull up.

–To Be Continued– 

SEASON 4, EPISODE 25

Season Four—Episode 25 (HOT MESS)

Water boils at 212 degrees Fahrenheit. Rusty’s Norwegian relatives allowed 8 to 10 minutes for Lutefisk to cook. Crayfish were given relatively the same amount of time.

Unfortunately for the Lutefisk, and Christmas holidays celebrated at Aunt Dolly’s home… There were tendencies for those in attendance to suffer through meals of fillets not properly soaked in cold water.

As required… Lye was used to conjure a gelatinous texture, in turn making the cod somewhat edible. That was IF the fish were soaked multiple times prior to cooking.

If not? Basically, the fish fillets became a HOT MESS… And this is where Rusty currently “LYED” waiting for his newly found beaver pond to reach a boil. As it stood, he would have much preferred to be eating the crayfish.

Holding the roots of the beaver pond with both hands, Rusty held himself as near to the bottom as possible, being totally submerged from head to toe. The water was muddy… He could feel the presence of the beaver family promoting a similar hide. The flames now surrounded the dugout and even underwater he could feel the pressure of the heat.

Unable to hold out without breathing, he momentarily surfaced to gasp a breath. Huge mistake. But one he would have to endure.

The air sizzled. His face instantly seared. His lips—GOD FOR HEAT—it felt like he was the crayfish. He had exposed himself briefly to the boil, and now he gasped for life. The process of going from boiling back to cold water was a necessary evil. One that he regretted while plunging beneath the surface with the remaining heat held in his throat.

Round two… “ALREADY”, he thought. But he needed to breathe the fire. If only he were the Mangrove Killifish (Season-One), he would be amphibious and afford the luxury of remaining below water level. But this was reality, Peter Pan—He gasped and choked—The heat hitting him and splitting his skin.

One resolute breath. One gasp of fire before swallowing and diving back under.

And then—mid breath—just as he submerged—the silhouette of a human full-on diving headfirst through the ring of fire and splashing down with authority.

The body settled on the bottom, shoulder to shoulder, arm touching arm, leg pressing against leg, against the frame of Rusty Flathers.

“Friend or foe!” raced Rusty’s thoughts. “Too churned, this coffee-stained water.”

Then someone or something reached out—grasping the flannel shirt on his chest—pulling him toward the surface.

“No time like the present,” Rusty returned the favor—a pinned-down fist-locked move. “If I’m going to the top, so are you!”

Simultaneously, both figures broke the surface. “No! Stop!” Rusty screamed.

But the attacker would not release his grip, even though Rusty recognized this ghost of a figure. It was his—former guide—Clarence Bishop.

Back below the surface of the water, they thrashed. Clarence had NOT recognized him.

Then—with an ingenious thought—Rusty released one hand from Clarence’s chest and did his best underwater impersonation of the signature fishing move. Clarence’s move.

His wrist was bent at a 45-degree angle, the slow, purposeful lift of the willow stick with bent nail and no bait. Rusty had watched Clarence do it multiple times. Never rush on the up motion and always snap and speed the presentation on the down motion.

No one in the world fished like that. And only someone from FSFO or Rusty Flathers might be the person Clarence would identify as a person making a failed attempt at mimicking his signature fishing presentation.

Clarence’s eyes noticeably widened in the murky water. “The sacred technique,” he thought, “Only Rusty FEATHERS would be dumb enough to attempt mirroring my patented wand move.”

Without further threat, he released his grip on Rusty’s shirt. “Finally, someone other than the bad guys,” Clarence confirmed.

As the fire raged across Moose Island… Sally continued her aerial water assault while Tawny rounded up the remainder of her posse. Marlin and Minister Nev were located east of the island… Idling safely offshore away from the heat, eyes on lookout, awaiting further instruction from their fearless leader.

“Any sign of Cosmoid—Stash—or Rod Gills?” Tawny questioned as they pulled along the starboard side of Marlin’s boat. “Cos disappeared on us from the west side of the island, and when we lost sight of Rusty, we had to abandon the island and claim his boat from the south beach.”

Neither Marlin nor Neville responded. Both identified Alvin, but they could not place the mystery man Sam Doright. They were also smart enough to recognize a person in shock (Alvin), and held their tongues as to the whereabouts of Cy and Ted.

“We haven’t seen Cos,” Nev finally offered and broke the awkward silence. “And I’ve been glassing to the north, saw ONE boat powering away from us, but it was already too far out in the smoke and haze to identify. That was maybe thirty minutes ago, about the time the fire had spread halfway across the island.”

          “So, you saw a boat, but couldn’t make out passengers, the make of the boat, anything?” Tawny countered.

“Yeah, no. Nothing.” Marlin chipped in.

          “OK, well, that’s better late than never Sally Squatsnfishes in the water bomber plane. Hopefully she’ll have this blaze contained before it jumps. In the meantime, you guys follow me and we’ll check the north side. Maybe get a read on Stash and Rod.”

“Hard to believe they would have stuck it out with the smoke rolling,” responded Marlin.

          “Trust in the Lord,” added Minister Nev.

“I’d rather trust in myself,” finished Tawny.

Before hitting the throttle, she keyed the mic on the marine band radio. “Celine, this is Tawny. You copy FSFO? Come in Celine. Radio check. Copy?”

First silence… Then constant static with intermittent sounds of a voice being spliced into play. “Celine, do you read me? Keep your thumb held down on the mic bar while you’re talking. Over?”

Still crackling… Then clear. “OH! AHOY! Yes! Tawny! It’s FSFO, it’s me Celine!”

          “Yes, copy, I read you now Celine. Have you heard from either Cos, Stash or Rod? Over…”

“Tawny, I haven’t heard from anyone but Sally. She was HERE to pick up Link with a crazy huge plane. And Tawny, you should have seen the squirrels on the island dropping out of the trees when that roaring beast, and I know what you’re thinking but I’m talking about the plane, came into the harbor.

Did you know that squirrels can fall from ANY heights and survive? I’ve been watching Link’s squirrel buddy Cracker Jack, or is his name Gerald? Either way, I’ve been calling him Cracker Jack—but from a distance I’ve been watching and that dude can freefall from the tallest Norway Pine on the island and land on all fours. And it’s not even a….”

          “Celine, stop! Take your thumb off the mic,” Tawny growled.

“Even a tumbling or cartwheeling situation,” Celine droned. “It’s as if they….”

Tawny stared into the marine band radio wishing to cast a curse on Celine. She pressed the mic button continuously to break up her endless story.

“Anyway… How’s the fire out there Tawn? LOTS of smoke, eh? I made popcorn. Are you guys having shore lunch with Rusty?” Celine rambled. “And you know how people say everything tastes like chicken… Because I’m looking at all these squirrels and wondering….”

Tawny clicked off the radio. “Let’s go.”

The band of boats traveled north and were about to go around the island when they heard it—the Super Scooper engines—sputtering. Then silence. Tawny was the first to look up and see the red plane with its yellow stripes, banking hard left, losing altitude.

“She’s going down!” Sam hollered. 

–To Be Continued—