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EPISODE 24

Ballard's Resort. Lake of the Woods.

Part TWENTYFOUR – continued from last week’s episode –

His arms strained from the tug-o-war. The magnificent Blue Marlin took drag at will and Rusty combated against both fish and fatigue. This was one of the last trips he and his father enjoyed together along the shores of Costa Rica during the prime years of offshore fishing.

“Reel, reel, reel. Don’t give him slack son!” encouraged his father. “You can beat this fish!”

“Stay with it… Keep fighting… I need you…” whispered Sally as she sat on the floor of the shack holding Rusty’s head in her lap and caressing the fallen shape of a man lying motionless on the floor of the fish cleaning house. His right arm had taken more than a significant graze from Buzz’s bullet, and then the butt of the revolver had sent Rusty to an unfathomable darkness.

As the mighty Blue Marlin took line from the saltwater reel Rusty’s right arm ached from the pressure of holding the rod. Doobie continued offering encouragement, but his son was truly on his own to do battle with this great fish. “Women and fishing son… Never two greater challenges in this world… Remember that!” was his donation of advice.

The hope for Sally and Rusty to be reunited had come to fruition. But the situation at hand had them held caged inside a dark rank shelter amid buckets of rancid fish guts. Sally blinked a single tear, her first in imprisonment, and it broke into a mist as it fell to Rusty’s left eyelid.

Feet digging into the fighting chair Rusty gained traction on the Blue Marlin.  Every fourth rotation of the spool he would lose one spool length, but there was promise. As the fish took another jump, Dooby predicted this would be a six bottle Miller High Life pony battle, and he had just finished his fifth.

Head down… Cranking… Right arm numb… The gi-hu-gic fish finally surfaced and gave up the ghost.

In hysterics the charter boat crew opened the gate at the stern of the vessel and towed the magnificent fish aboard. Rusty bailed from the fighting chair and lie parallel with his trophy, hugging the glorious beast.

Looking up at his father he queried, “How about a beer for me pops?”

Dobbie’s eyes gleamed proudly… “Sorry Rusty, I just finished the sixth in the pack. But that’s a hell of a fish son!”

The eyelid twitched. Rusty slowly came to consciousness. The excruciating pain at the back of his head reminded him of what a barracuda must feel after being struck smartly with a club. He instantly vowed to never accept the role of head-fish-knocker aboard any fishing vessel.

His right arm was wrapped tightly with one of Sally’s Helly-Tech warm weather sleeves she had torn from her layering. There was numbness in the arm, but it was usable.

Together in whispers, Rusty and Sally put the existing equation in order. Antoine Fishbeard aka Buzz was the twice removed nephew of fisheries biologist Professor Cosmoid Scale. This was the man directly involved with the introduction and experimentation of the double-top-secret Canadian Mangrove Killfish project. The same fish Rusty had done battle with just mere hours before.

Had Buzz somehow gained access to the experimental training information collected by the (RCN) Royal Canadian Navy? This possibility was yet to be confirmed by Sally and Rusty. Bottom line they needed a hail Mary cast to bring this fish tale to an end.

Visible by moonlight, with Rusty on her shoulders, Sally inched her way toward the rectangular window of the cleaning house. The latch on the wood framed base was removed with the use of a knife sharpening tool discovered on the cleaning bench. Rusty was now attempting to pry the hinges loose from the frame.

“Hurry up Rusty, I can’t hold you here forever” as the entire window mount popped loose from the wall and his HANDS. Sally shucked him from her shoulders, like a bronzeback bass spitting out a Fat Brat lure, leaving Rusty to flail backward to the floor. The silence remained deafening… Thankfully he had landed flat on his back.

And thanks to Sally who dove with arms stretched and caught the window (mid-air) in its entirety with steadfast hands high above her head (high hands / Great-Great Grandmother Molva Squatsnfishes would have been proud!) The pane of glass remained intact…

The two lay on the floor in a mess of fish entrails. Exhaling, Sally rolled on top of Rusty with what appeared to be a three-day old perch carcass entangled in her flowing locks. Then the two embraced in one of the fiercest kisses Rusty had ever received from Sally. “Women and fishing son, never two greater challenges in this world,” fatherly advice from Doobie Flathers.

–            To be continued –