Season TWO – Episode 5 – “Where the big fish live.”

The Day One photoshoot for Sally Squatsnfishes was an enormous success. Helly Hansen had come out with a new line of waterproof big game hunting apparel for women, and from head-to-toe Sally’s camouflaged wardrobe was extravagant. This was cutting edge camo-pattern imaging. You become a ghost-like figure when you wear this suit.

The secret was twofold. First…There was a bushman from Zimbabwe who had learned to create untraceable patterns by templating a combination of elephant skins and water buffalo hides. Secondly, there was a goat herder who’d been recruited to extract milk from goats at exactly 1874-feet above sea level in the Himalayas.

The frothy milk was used to start a (never-before-heard-of) synthetic coloring process for thread production. When you mixed in the bushman’s patterns with the herder’s goat juice, the clothing became very close to invisible to the naked eye.

Helly Hansen had the bucks to see this project though… But it would take a niche market and Sally Squatsnfishes to move these outfits at the extravagant rack rate of $12K per suite.

All necessary still shots had been captured by the camera team on day one… Teasers were prepared for immediate social media release… And soon her mass of followers seeking the latest in outdoor fashion design would see Ms. Sally peacocking the latest and greatest in high tech women’s hunting wear.

This project was a new pinnacle for Sally… Her highest paying contract to date! With her current win streak, she continued to be THE FACE of multi-million-dollar ad campaigns, swimming WHERE THE BIG FISH LIVE.

Plans for Day Two were being bumped up a considerable notch… True to life action filming… Sally scheduled to chase a two-thousand-pound bison with her custom Bear Archery RTH Adapt 2 mainline compound bow (draw weight 70 / 320 feet per second).

Presently… Evening happy hour had started early at the ranch. The princess of the ball was fenced in by ranch hands in the Ropers Lounge… And Rusty, awakening from his sleep-coma, made his way from the lodge bedroom to the party lounge.

     “Well, there he is!” exclaimed Sally. “How are you feeling dear?”

     “Ah… Yeah… A bit out of sorts,” Rusty returned. “But I’m coming around. Just tired I guess.”

The corral of cowboys parted as formal greetings were made, more frothy beer mugs were poured, and chatter about tomorrow’s BIG hunt continued. “Sally… Tell us what your plan is to stalk this massive bison,” they all queried for details.

     “Rusty… Come meet Jackie Loonsuckle… His father is part owner of the ranch, and he spends his time fly fishing from here to across the globe. You need to meet him.”

     “Sure, just give me a hot second and let me grab a beer.”

Standing 6’4” and chiseled from granite… Sally led him toward this mountain of a sun kissed man. His outstretched hand was half-again the size of Rusty’s, and when they shook, he momentarily thought his paw was caught in a conibear trap.

Jackie’s grin was the size of Montana when he let go of the meet and greet. His razor-sharp look said “don’t even think about messin’ with me pardner. I play for keeps.”

Flawless… That’s what Rusty saw… Flawless… As the blood flow returned to his right hand.

After niceties were exchanged… The crowd moved toward the dining hall in preparation of the great feast. There were 24-ounce Montana grass fed elk steaks, fresh 18-pound saltwater lobsters flown in that day from Maine, and enough mashed potatoes that the silver serving platter they were piled on darn near reached the ceiling.

     “At toast to our guests,” Jackie Loonsuckle announced, by clinking the side of his beer mug with a table fork. “We’re gonna put Sally and… I’m sorry, what was your name again? Oh yes, Dusty. We’re going to put Sally and Dusty on the hunt of a lifetime tomorrow. Cheers to their success!”

As the applause and boisterous shouts lifted the ceiling… Sally sat glossed over and starry eyed. Rusty (pissed that Jackie referred to him as DUSTY) couldn’t tell if she was half-in-the-bag, or ogling her damn self at this newfound cowboy, fly fisherman, big game hunter, master of all, whatever the hell he was!

     “I’m gonna grab another beer from the lounge,” Rusty needed air and pushed himself away from the table.

While he sat alone at the bar… Thoughts of joining Professor Cosmoid Scale and taking him up on his offer to start up an abandoned fishing camp in northwest Ontario, became a focal point.

“Maybe it’s time to get off the coattails… Start my own gig. I wish I knew what Sally was thinking,” he mulled over while swishing an olive in the bottom of his mug.

Rusty had never been a good decision maker. To the point of oblivion, he could never make up his mind.

In his younger days, his father (Doobie Flathers) had proclaimed him to be “lost”. And there was more than one occasion when he literally was.

Rusty had joined Boo Boo aka Beeby Haywire on a mushroom hunt on Wallbanger’s back forty when they were teens in middle school. The ‘shrooms were prime for the picking, and the boys could get three-bucks for a full ice cream pale at the local vegetable market.

It was suggested by Boo Boo that money could be made faster if they separated in the woods, and each sought out their own bounty… To be combined and cashed in later.

Rusty headed east across a ridge… Boo Boo disappeared down a valley toward the west.

Riding their bikes out to Wallbanger’s after school on a Thursday gave them an already late start to their task. And when you’re thirteen with money making on your mind… Who has time to think about sunset.

Rusty was about seven-eighths of a mile into the bush when he hit paydirt. There was an absolute grove of mushrooms on a heated knoll that he spotted near a stand of poplar. His bucket wouldn’t be big enough!

The clock ticked and the sun set. Yes, he had his pail of mushrooms (and then some), but his path back to the west and across the ridge was gone.

“Panic… Don’t panic if you find yourself in the woods after dark,” he could hear his father’s reminder. “Excellent reminder,” Rusty thought… “If you have a flashlight!”

Rusty was not panicking. He was at a dead sprint, in the WRONG direction. And he had also left his proverbial pot of gold behind.

Then he heard a wolf howl… And double timed his pace…

Luckily, in his delirium, he hit a patch of multi flowered rose the size of a semi-trailer… Felt its thorns snarl their way through his clothing… And slam him to the ground.

It was a gi-huge-ic snare trap… The more he fought the more entangled he became. He then chose to lie still like a sloth, catch his breath, and allow the howling timber wolf to eat him like a bacon double cheeseburger.

     “None of my business, but you seem a bit lost.” Rusty snapped out of his trance when the bartender asked him if he was ready for another go.

     “Sure… I’ll take one for the dining room,” he replied. “Time for me to get back to WHERE THE BIG FISH LIVE. I can navigate my way.”

-To be continued-