August 16th

Hey Sportfans,

“ The bugs are really bad out there.” — Capt. Chris
“ What kind of bugs are they?” — Anna
“Annoying, Anna. Really annoying.” — Capt. Tim

Yes, everyone—the bugs were really bad this week, and nothing seemed to help much.

The good news? Since the bugs have hatched, the fish have been getting fatter and healthier, making for some great photo opportunities when they make it to the boat.

Right now, the guides are finding the best success on the south side of the lake, fishing in the mud about 4 miles out. They’ve also been moving into shallower water to find molting crawfish and minnows, which the fish have been keying in on. 

Side notes the leaves have already started changing. How is summer almost over?

And, as the Japanese would say… Ewe Zaii! (fish on)

Stay save out there, 

SET THE HOOK!

SEASON 5, EPISODE 16

Season 5 – Episode16 (She’s Got Legs)

“What are we looking at ladies?” inquired Win.

          “The woman on the tarmac,” replied Sally. “But not so much her, it’s the guys lined up around her.”

 “Are you talking about Sage Golden? That woman is Sicily’s version of you,” said Win.

          “Wait a hot sec… No, you’re right. Her hair’s different… noticeably shorter. But now I see the rumored battle scar on the side of her neck.”

“What’s happening right now?” chimed Hazel.

          “Win’s positively ID’d the chic on the runway parked next to us. It is Sage Golden. Two years ago, she took a dorsal fin to the neck—missed her jugular by four inches—at an offshore photo gig in Panama. Left her with a scar, but the yellowfin tuna took the worse of it and bled out on the deck after she slit its throat from gill to gill.”

“So, she’s a friendly?” asked Hazel.

          “Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” replied Sally. “But as peers go, in the outdoor fashion modeling biz, we’re cordial.”

“Scar or no scar,” chimed Jackie Loonsuckle from the cheap seats with his head now bopping between the trio of peepers, “She’s Got Legs.”

          “OK… that’s enough—everyone off the plane—we get refueled—in thirty minutes we’re wheels up again,” ordered Sally. “I’ll assume Sage, traveling with this armed entourage surrounding her, is a Sicilian thing.”

“I wonder where she’s headed?” queried Hazel.

          “Most likely the Kariba International Tiger Fish Tournament,” answered Winifred. “She’s always a top contender.”

“And how did you garner this piece of intel?” questioned Sally.

          “Well, for one—I’m from the Lake Kariba area—small lakeside town called Binga. It’s on the south shore. And for two—other than fishing my whole life—I guided Sage’s team during the KITFT the past four years.”

“What is happening right now?” said Hazel… again.

          “We’re getting off this damn plane!” stormed Sally.

Winifred raised her eyebrows questioning if she had said or done something wrong. Hazel winced for what she felt was about to happen outside the plane. Jackie drooled in anticipation of meeting this Sicilian with jet-black hair, a Mediterranean tan, legs up to her shoulders, and a battle scar from a deep-sea fishing excursion.

Sally was last to deplane… allowing Team Eagle to break trail. There was no way of getting to the private terminal for passenger arrivals without passing through Sage and company. Weirdly, or not… Jackie was the first to march into the lion’s den. Nary a zag or a zig.

Fifteen paces away he reached out a welcoming hand to a total stranger. It took less than a second to have five unholstered pistols leveled, three short-barreled submachine guns raised, and two stiletto knives pointed in his direction.

And although he had done nothing wrong but encroach on the space of an ultra-popular European modeling star, his hands instinctively went above his head and the drool on his chin quickly dried. This was two seconds before Winifred could get to the head of the pack in attempt to allow cooler heads to prevail.

Speaking of prevailing… our main man Rusty Flathers was finally able to escape the loveable grasp of Ms. Ellie Waylayer and make his way to the harbor exactly three minutes before the fleet of guide boats and rentals returned from their day on the lake. Having been kissed so many times… he was now sure how a smallmouth bass felt after it has attempted to eat an above normal number of Berkley Flicker Shads with razor-sharp hooks. In the biz you say, this one has sore lips!

If Rusty could do anything right, it was being a cordial host. His five-o’clock hour on the docks was one of his favorite moments of the day. His lines with the customers varied, because he had quickly learned to read the crowd.

First and foremost, never ask the loaded question: How was fishing? This could backfire on a camp owner quicker than the exhaust on a burnt-out Honda three-wheeler.

The key was to start slowly: Good afternoon, everyone. Now came his chance to read the boat. If there was a Frowning Frank on board… Rusty dare not ask about the success of fishing.

But if the good afternoon, everyone triggers a Bragging Bart… Then he knows it is safe to cut loose with a plethora of camp owner one liners: Did you fill the boat—catch a thousand—wear ‘em out… or ultimately, go with who caught a trophy today?!

Tawny Bishop’s boat was all high-fives as their feet hit the dock. Not uncommon when your guide puts you on walleyes—musky—bass—northern pike… all in a single day.

“Wednesday night, boss. You frying fish tonight?” asked Tawny.

          “Yep, that’s the plan. I won’t bother asking if you have enough fish,” replied Rusty.

“Plenty. Even kept a couple of rock bass for Celine. Something about Nev and aphrodisiacs. You know anything about that?”

Before Rusty could respond… he felt a swat on his behind. Oh hell, he thought… trying to quickly come up with some way of telling Tawny why Ellie was at the island. The plane had to have been a dead giveaway.

Fortunately, the slap on the butt came from Celine. “You just get your ashes hauled, boss?” she smirked.

Now, eighteen shades of red… Rusty spun a one-eighty to face Celine… placing one foot on the gunnel of Tawny’s boat and one on the dock. A perfectly fine scenario… if the bow of the boat had been secured to a dock cleat. Of which in this instance it was not.

Never being good at doing the splits, Rusty’s frantic arm motions allowed little assistance for balance. His water entrance, albeit with a half-twist, was given a very low diving score of two by Tawny.

And then… with the entirety of his camp guests now spectating… Rusty spit a stream of water and a line of expletives from his mouth. Ever the opportunist Celine was kind enough to reach out a paw, saying, “Here, take my hand Mr. Afternoon Delight!”

Speaking of being delighted… This was NOT Sage Golden when she saw Winifred Dixie bounce between her and Jackie Loonsuckle.

“Hi Sage,” said Win… with as much of a fake, plastered on smile as she could manage.

          “Well, look gang, if it isn’t my former fishing guide,” replied Sage.

“Can you please have your security stand down?” asked Win. “This is Jackie Loonsuckle—just an excited fan—overly excited to meet you.”

Then, between moments of conversation, Sally Squatsnfishes made it to the forefront of the activity. “Hi, Sage. How nice to see you. What brings you to Dakar?” she asked while extending a formal hand and biting down on the right side of her lower lip.

          “Oh, well hello, Sally. I could say the same for you,” replied Sage… while reaching for Sally’s hand and then securing it with a vise-grip.

Hazel was right… about something happening. She had seen that look in Sally’s eyes before. But had never seen anyone brave enough to return the look with teeth gritted—while continuing to clamp down on Eagle One’s hand.  

“Been in the gym lately, Sage?” chirped Sally. “Your handshake is feeling a bit limp.”

Then came a left hook from Sage’s waist to Sally’s chin. Instantly there were more triggers cocking than a farmyard full of roosters. Hazel, already having drawn her weapon, watched in disbelief as Sally’s head reverberated from the blow. Her finger twitched on the trigger just as…  

–To Be Continued—

AUGUST 10TH

🎣 Hey, Sportsfans!

“Have fun, it’s vacation!” — Captain Nick

Life has been good here on Lake of the Woods! The guides didn’t have a whole lot to report this week, but that doesn’t mean there haven’t been plenty of fish hitting the boats and good days being had on the water.

The mud has continued to be a good place to spend some time. Our drifts have been a little inconsistent lately, keeping the guides on their toes. One day we’ll make a good drift and catch a nice run of fish, and the next day we’ll head back to that same spot only to find they’ve moved on to brighter seaweed. It’s been a matter of moving around, trying different areas, and finding where the fish decided to hang out for the day.

If you’re heading west toward Long Point, the schools of fish have been a little harder to track down and stay on. You may find them one day, only to have them move by the next. A little patience and willingness to keep searching have been the name of the game.

We’ve also been seeing a good number of pike in the northern parts of the lake. They’ve been super aggressive, putting up quite the fight once you get one on the line! Getting them all the way to the boat has been the real challenge, with plenty of them making one last run before we can get them in. They’ve definitely added a little extra excitement to the day!

Even when the fish make us work for them, there’s still no better place to spend a summer day than out on Lake of the Woods. Good company, beautiful weather, fish in the boat, and plenty of stories to bring back to the resort.

Set the Hook! 🎣☀️

SEASON 5, EPISODE 15

Season 5 – Episode 15 (Hook Line And Sinker)

Coconut sunscreen and jet fuel… she smelled the same as when they had last embraced on Moose Island… working on the Biggy Pescatore case. Only now, his lips were locked with Ellie’s, and he held her face impossibly close to his with hands grasping bleach blonde strands of hair.  

Looking into her jet blue eyes he could see embers. The same ones that roared to life every time he stared at the base of a lakeside campfire.

Ellie was the first to come up for air while Rusty barely managed to maintain consciousness. He was a musky roaming the shallows near pencil weeds. There were multiple baits bombing the water. Fat Bastards… Suick Thrillers… Bull Dawgs… Whopper Ploppers… he stayed hidden.

But suddenly the musky was caught off-guard. Ellie’s cast was beyond wild… she was throwing a Sexy Shad. Rusty had no time to react… the bite was instinctual… and without knowing the consequences he flared his gill covers and crushed the fluttering bait Hook Line And Sinker.

“There… how’s that for a grand entrance?” Ellie broke the silence.

          “Um… Yeah…” Rusty stuttered.

Then she placed an index finger to his lips and said, “Look, when I left camp to Baha my way back down to Australia via Winnipeg, it gave me a lot of time to think.”

          “Yeah, but…” Rusty attempted to interject.

“No, let me finish, please… I could feel the way you’ve been carrying yourself in my presence. I am not oblivious to the vibe. And you know what? I’m… interested.”

          “But Ellie…” Rusty began to say… only the drag on her reel was tightened down and the barbed hooks in his jaw were buried.

“Now, according to my aviator’s watch, we have exactly thirty-eight minutes before your guests return to the docks from their day of fishing. So, let’s take a little walk… I want to see what the inside of your bunkhouse looks like.”

At that point, dragging Rusty by one arm, Ellie marched past the lodge with her catch in tow. Behind drawn shades of the front picture window, she identified Celine’s silhouette sneaking a motionless peek. She lifted her free hand to the sky, acknowledging her friend’s presence, and both women immediately shared the nonverbal “V” peace sign.

Minutes later Minister Nev arrived at the dock, inquiring as to the presence of the floatplane, and consequently found himself gasping for air. Apparently, there would be another musky attack.

“Get in here, you white collared man of the cloth,” Celine ordered as he politely knocked on the screen door.  

          Nev was standing at the lodge entrance peering through the mesh with his crucifix in hand. Then he asked, “Who showed up with the fancy plane?”

“Sure’s hell no angel, ha! Do you know what BFFs are, padre,” Celine began. “Normally, with myself, it’s someone from the same gene pool. The Cramshaws are descendants of royalty… I think… or was it hobo royalty? Anyway, when in Rome… comme ci, comme ca, but I’ve expanded my boundaries.”

          “My lovely dear, what are you…” Neville attempted to interrupt.

“But sometimes relatives can’t be trusted. Like the time my cousins let the goats eat my friend Melvin. And you know what?” Celine continued… now squatting on all fours inside the entrance, “Leap frog is a popular game.”

Nev remained outside the door. His crucifix gripped tightly in the palm of his hand.

          “Celine, I’m not…” and before he could say the words “following you,” she sprung from her crouched position, burst through the screen door like a ball from a cannon, and tackled him outside the entryway. His crucifix, now being used as a guard for evil spirits, suffered epic failure and was cast blindly with the wind.

“Listen Pastor Perfect… Sally’s gone… our main boss man Blather’s is afraid to jump lily pads. I couldn’t wait for you to do REVELATIONS—so I audibled and shouted at Ellie. She wouldn’t trade blood with me… get it… to consummate our BFF status… but we will spit in each other’s bowls of fish head soup. And finally, Rusty’s bunkhouse is rockin’ so don’t bother knockin. Ya copy?”

          “Uncanny… Your innate ability to…” replied Neville.

“My ability to what?” Celine interjected. “Get a frog to jump, or take your breath away with a big ‘ol smoocher?” Which—the latter—is exactly what she proceeded to do.

Neville cried UNCLE three times to no avail… then switched to a trio of HAIL MARY’s as Celine straddled him and pinned his arms to the floor of the cedar decking. Ultimately, he gained splinters in his behind with each failed attempt to inch away… and baring any stain remover his affixed dog collar would forever run red with Ruby Woo lipstick coloring—tough to explain to the congregation.

Speaking earlier of taking one’s breath away… Sally and Team Eagle peered out the windows of the chartered jet as they approached their refueling destination in Dakar. Perched on the westernmost tip of Africa, this astonishing view with its sprawling landmass and vibrant colors, garnered multiple comments from the crew.

Most notable was from the never mincing words Jackie Loonsuckle, “Damn smokie—that there looks a whole frickin’ lot like Monfrickintana! Big—bold—beautimous!”

“What is it with these cowboys?” asked Hazel, to Sally. “Is this dude all big hat, or does he have some cattle?”

          “Enough cattle, at least at one time, to warrant the attention of our Eagle pal Ellie Waylayer,” responded Sally.

“Seriously?”

          “Yep, for a while, back at the Gold Rope Ranch they were a thing,” answered Sally. “But I think she grew weary waiting for him to grow up… lovable fly-fishing bum that he is.”

“Yeah, I could see that,” said Hazel. “Or maybe it was just time for her to move on to another fish.”

          “Doubtful,” countered Sally. “I know Ellie… there’s no one else…”

Just then Win Dixie’s voice came over the intercom from the cockpit, “Team Eagle we are about to go wheels down for our scheduled fuel stop… Please buckle up for the landing if you have not done so already.”

“Hey,” asked Sally, “have you heard anything back from HQ… on this gal Win?”

          “Not a peep,” replied Hazel. “I’ve left three threads on the satellite phone and I’m getting zip in return.

“It’s possible someone is mixing our signals,” said Sally. “And if that’s the case—brace yourself if we start circling Blaise Diagne International. Before takeoff—I specifically requested a hot-pit refueling at Leopold Sedar Senghor. It’s a safer location for private charters, but I haven’t got confirmation on that either.”

Then the jet carrying Team Eagle banked right and dropped through the clouds with a hard-throttled descent over (BDI). There was no pulling back… a welcome party stood on the tarmac as the plane touched down. Both Sally and Hazel purposely fogged up their respective windows. Their greeters appeared to have open arms, of the firearm variety.

“Shit,” exclaimed Sally. “We’re gonna need a quick plan-B, Hazel.”

          “What’s the problem? Signals? What mixed signals?” asked Ron Heimburg to Jackie, overhearing Sally’s earlier conversation.

“Nothing as far as I can tell,” replied Jackie. “Some dudes with guns and a hot chic standing on the runway.”

There were ZERO mixed signals within the confines of Rusty Flathers bunkhouse. Z—E—R—O.  

Lacking bodily fluids Rusty was a fish held too long out of water. Clearly, Ellie came in with a bulletproof plan of attack… strike quickly and throw the entire tackle box at your game. This technique, obviously mastered, left her trophy fish incapable of sustaining a fight.  

“I think I hear boats coming into the harbor,” said Rusty with an exhausted voice.

          “Ahhh… Pretty sure you didn’t, Flathers. I’m not releasing you—yet.” 

–To Be Continued–