SEASON 3, EPISODE 36

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’s strong suit. Just like the Eagle.

 

“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—

SEASON 3, EPISODE 35

Season 3 – Episode 35 (The Witch’s Broom)

Remember the submerged vault…. The coffer discovered by Too Tall and Shorty Short…. The lockbox under the boathouse that Hazel Brown and Too Tall pulled up floorboards to expose…. The military-grade waterproof case that Australian secret intelligence, led the Three Eagles to believe there were Kraken eggs within its interior??? Yep, that one.

“Well—Here’s the tournament Sally,” began Ellie Waylayer. “While Rusty and Tawny and Cos were making you cozy here by the fire…. Hazel and I went to the boathouse and popped the frickin’ case with the quadruple biometric locks. And then we found zip. Yep, zip… As in ZIPPO. As in, what the hell, HQ.”

“So, I guess you could say that technically, we found the box that was supposed to be housing the eggs, but there were no eggs.”

          “Am I involved in some sort of weird Easter Egg hunt?” questioned Rusty aloud to the fire pit crowd.

One—Two—Yep, count ‘em…. Three eye rolls. One from each of the Three Eagles before Sally explained, “Honey, Rusty, we’re potentially going to need you to keep a lid on some fairly dicey international special ops intel. But for now, yes, let’s just say we’re on a special Easter Egg hunt.”

  “So, this could also be like a mushroom hunt? You know Sally, mushrooms, I’m pretty good at mushroom hunting.” Rusty quipped with helpful enthusiasm.

If Rusty Flathers had five-bucks for every time he got lost in the woods as a kid…. He would not be starting up a Canadian fishing camp in NW Ontario in effort to make a dollar. His bank account would already be full. As in FULL-FULL.

Example: When he was thirteen years old it took him two days to find his way out of a spring mushroom hunt. “Morel” of the story? Keep your trails clearly taped with ribbon, and do not lose sight of the lake shore when you are exploring potential mushroom ridges. Truth be known, Rusty could barely find his way out of the woods, let alone find a morel mushroom.

Consequently, Sally was like a morel…. She could be hard to find, a little dirty if she needed to be, and could mess you up if you didn’t handle her properly.

“We are all going to look for the eggs, Rusty.” Sally continued. “But if you want to think of it as a mushroom hunting party, then that works for me.”

          “Great! Where do we start?”

“There are some old abandoned mine shafts in this area,” offered Tawny Bishop. “I could lead us around, if you thought you wanted to explore those sorts of options.”

          “That seems random,” infused Ellie. “And I’m not being a downer here, but maybe we’re overthinking this? Maybe there’s another place right here on the island?”

“Hard to tell what that witch Ophilia Barnacle might have done with those eggs,” commented Professor Cosmoid Scale. “And while where asking a bunch of questions in this little group chat session, I’d like to know which one of you was responsible for putting her in this septic tank, that started the whole domino effect with our current EGG situation, as you call it!”

          “Easy Cos,” countered Ellie. “Remember, we’re all on the same team here.”

“Are we really? Seriously? We’re all on the same team?” questioned Tawny Bishop. “Because I can remember SOMEONE, not too long ago, that wasn’t much of a teammate.”

Obviously, she was referring to Sally and their abysmal ending in the bass fishing tournament. Then she continued, “And you know what Ellie, my idea might be random, so why don’t you and Ms. Drowny McDrownalready figure it out on your own. I’m outta here!”

          “Seems about par…. You…. Still talking,” snarked Sally. “I thought bitterness died along with your dreams of ever winning a fishing contest.”

“Whoa! —Whoa! —Whoa!” pleaded Rusty. “Can you two NOT start this again.”

          “Careful Flathers…. It’s not me….” countered Sally.

But before she could continue, Rusty stood from his chair and shouted to the skies, “Enough!! Everyone!! Enough!!” And that’s when he saw IT.

IT was beyond the boathouse—far to the west, the peak of the ridge at the furthermost distance from the main lodge at the camp. There IT was.

Rusty Flathers may not be able to find his way out of forests…. But being lost in them on numerous occasions gave him a strong base for identification of trees. And the tree he was now seeing was a huge Norway pine.

This was no ordinary tree, mind you. This hundred-plus-year-old creation had a massive Witch’s Broom at its peak. Rusty stood viewing it as strangely dense, with a tangled cluster of branches that were big and snarly and creepy looking.

But he also considered it to be an EGG!!! A perfectly molded, yet chaotic, dark looking singular egg, formed out of this weird growth, most likely shaped by some crazy genetic mutation.

His timing seemed appropriate. There was too much cursed energy happening in Rusty Flathers world. So, he made this announcement, “I know where your goofy-ass-eggs are hidden, but I’m only going to lead you there if everyone shuts the hell up and then gets the hell off mine and Cos’s Island!”

          “Even….” Sally started to say. As in EVEN ME but was quickly cut short when Rusty shot her a look with two raised eyebrows and some laser shooting pupils.

“I am taking you all to The Witch’s Broom, and then this tournament (as he recalled Ellie referencing) will be over, for good,” he exclaimed.

Then, with Cos proudly patting his confident business partner on the shoulder, Hazel started to portray some self-assurance, albeit wildly inappropriate. Her head was flinching to the right, and her left eye was twitching uncontrollably.

          “Yeah—you go Rusty! Let’s kick some witch’s ass!” she offered (overly enthusiastic / borderline freaky). “Let’s keep chasing these eggs—maybe I can get a third kill for the day—get me classified as some sort of jacked up Golden Eagle.”

Next, she looked blindly into the most heated embers at the base of the fire and smiled faintly, her voice dropping to a low guttural monotone, “Maybe we could start committing some war crimes too…. Get us all a medal from the RAN (Royal Australian Navy). You think they give medals for war crimes?”

Ellie turned to Cos, mouthing silently: “Should we be worried?!” The she checked the pulse of the rest of the viewing audience with a quick side to side glance—then again side to side—while muttering “WHAT IN THE ACTUAL—”

–To Be Continued—

 

SEPTEMBER 6 FISHING REPORT

Hey Sportsfans —
 
 A Labor Day so warm kids were jumping in the pool on Monday —  to — winter coats shuffling down to the docks on Wednesday. 
 
That sort of temperature swing could only mean… It’s FALL FISHING on Lake of the Woods.
 
Over the holiday weekend, boats were trekking across the lake to drift spinners in the mud. Finding great “lunchers”, guests were boasting of full coolers as they stepped off the boats. 
 
Just as the temperatures started to drop, so did the jigs over the side of the boat. Chartreuse was the ticket to success! 
 
With the cold front late this week, came high winds… keeping the charter boats in the river. Too early in the fall for a hot river bite, many charter guests opted to come in early and enjoy a warm cup of soup.
 
—
 
Fall Classic Specials run from now to the end of the season! Give the office a shout (#218.634.1849) if you would like to make one last trip up before the winter season. 🙂
 
​SET THE HOOK!
 
The Ultimate Canadian Fishing Adventure - Ballard's Black Island

SEASON 3, EPISODE 34

Season 3 – Episode 34 (Kiss A Quillback Carpsucker)

Ellie fell to her knees and embraced Hazel with the strength of ten thousand men. There is no amount of training in the espionage world that prepares you for your first kill—and Hazel had done it twice within minutes. 

Short of big game hunting…. Ellie herself had never been pushed to the extreme of combat in which you take another being’s life. And she continued to hold Hazel. And she wanted this new, raw emotion to loosen its grip on her Eagle Three partner.

The river bottoms of Tannis Falls were overflowing with whitetail deer and at age sixteen Ellie had joined the family tradition of making big game drives in heavily wooded, rolling bluff country. On opening day you would set up alone in a tree stand for the morning hunt—climb down a half hour prior to noon dinner—be back in the woods by early afternoon for the group PUSH.

Sitting alone in the woods was both eerie and enchanting at the same time for her. Hearing a twig snap or thinking you heard the BIG BUCK trouncing your way—only to be astonished that it was twin moose cows busting their way over leaf and limb in your direction, none the wiser of your existence. Captivating… That’s how she would pen the experience in her journal.

But the group PUSH, or deer drive as her uncles would declare it, was much different. This was daredevil—bullets flying from slug barrels—grown men tripping and falling over logs—shooting, hollering, marching non uniformly as they push anything and everything in the direction of their wide-eyed hunting-party members on post duty.

To be on post duty (blocker) required courage, utter blind faith that no one would shoot you through a dense patch of forest, and let’s face it—a bit of recklessness that a deer hide was more valuable than your own skin. And the game (animals)? Yes, they would come in your direction, charging out in hoards! From raccoons to coyotes to rabbits to EVEN a huge boar of a black bear—everything including the deer stampeded the woods as if being chased by a blazing fire ball.

At one point…. Ten minutes into the drive…. Ellie watched Uncle Clark, who was posting fifty yards down the line from her, shoulder his gun and shoot at what she identified as a stump. “It must have been looking at him funny,” she thought without hesitation.

On the first afternoon of opening deer season, the big PUSH, was strictly a brown it’s down meat hunt. With doe tags to fill this was when the family put venison first and foremost. Long winters required full freezers, and these guys would fire at anything that wasn’t wearing a blaze orange vest or carrying a bright and shiny Stanley stainless steel thermos.

Three legs…. That was the first deer that Ellie shot. She didn’t realize it until after the fact. Until after she had unloaded five rounds from her Browning semi-auto rifled slug gun. Until she watched it attempt to hurdle a barbed wire fence and fail hopelessly, kicking and flailing, entangled in the barbs until giving up the ghost.

Rabbits and squirrels and grouse she had bagged in previous hunting adventures were less emotional—a mere warm up to greater game. The size of this doe with its strength and agility made killing seem more like—well—killing.

Too Tall and Shorty Short were lifeless. Like the doe. Ellie pulled Hazel to her feet and away from the deer caught in the barbed wire fence.

“You’re going to get through this Haze,” was the best she could offer—short of yelling welcome to the espionage club!, which seemed enthusiastically inappropriate—and they gradually made their way toward the rescue attempt taking place below the floating dock.

Once, twice, three times now, Rusty kicked and pulled his way toward the bottom searching for Sally. The stained water allowed little for visualization. He would go under—come up below the billets of the dock—feel his hands under the plastic forms of the floats—resurface for air—nothing.

“Keep going!” was Cosmoid Scales encouragement. Even if Sally was unconscious below the surface, he knew of a case where a near-drowning victim had survived approximately sixty-six minutes in cold water. It gave him hope. At least enough to keep yelling.

On his fourth attempt…. Rusty did not resurface…. But instead chose to remain below the docks with his beloved. This time he had found his path between the billets. This time he had found air to suck barely above water level. And this time he screamed for all of NW Ontario to hear, “I’VE FOUND HER!!”

Sally was pinned between two sets of floats, non-responsive, and lifeless in his arms. Either from exhaustion or hypothermia she had been unable to keep her head above water.

“Hang onto her Rusty!” shouted Tawny as she joined the rescue and plunged below the surface—coming up for air only after she had identified Rusty’s location and an area in which she too could squeeze between the billets.

“We have to pull her below, and then to the surface!” she screamed into Rusty’s water filled ears.

“It’s our best chance! Take a deep breath on three!”

          “One,” Rusty counted, “Two, Three!”

With the duo pulling in unison, they freed Sally on their first attempt and brought her to the surface away from the danger of the docks. Now it was toward shore where Hazel and Ellie waited to hoist her from ice-cold water.

The fire in the stone pit raged. Sally sat three inches from the blaze, wrapped in wool blankets and sipping a scolding hot cut of coffee.

“Tastes pretty good,” she commented, “After being submerged for what, forty-three minutes?”

          “Yes, approximately,” agreed Cos. “And we have the mammalian diving reflex to thank for your still being with us! Along with the fact that you…. Ms. Squatsnfishes…. Never lose a fight!”

The cold water had been a blessing for Sally. In this case the drowning allowed her body to take over a slowing metabolic process that protected the brain from anoxic damage. It had also stopped the blood letting from her wounded shoulder. Two negatives (drowning / wounded) became a positive.

Giving Sally mouth to mouth resuscitation was less than appealing to Rusty. Necessary, but unattractive. Later he would tell her it reminded him of losing a bet to cousins Skip and Scoop, in which the loser (Rusty) had to French “Kiss a Quillback Carpsucker” for a period of one minute. It tasted like a combo of aged green algae and sandy river loam. But that’s a story for later.

“So, while I was away drowning like a champ, did you guys find the Kraken eggs?” Sally asked, her voice unmistakably back to its usual tough-ass sass.

          “Yes,” Ellie answered, “and—”

–To Be Continued–