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SEASON 3, EPISODE 3

LAKE OF THE WOODS ICE FISHING. COUPLES TRIP.

Season THREE – Episode 03 – “Off the deep End”

She was more than a toddler but not a teenager. The sun was bright in the sky, and she begged and begged her mother to take the rowboat out by herself after lunch. It was an offshore wind. Tricky for a ten-year-old.

No sooner than she cut the ropes from the dock cleats, the bow caught a gust and spun toward the middle of the lake. Now she pulled and strained and splashed with the oars in a futile attempt to get back to shore.

The dock got further and further away as tears welled in her eyes. She was out of breath and her lungs burned for oxygen. How quickly she had been blown from the shallows and pushed away from the shoreline “Off the deep End”.

A grouse drummed high up on the poplar ridge. Her English setter found its way up the hill through the treefall, but she could not get out of the ravine. Her Dayton ’64 logger boots, hand-me-downs from Cousin Minnie, were bogged down with mud.

With each step the weight of the boots implored more strength than she could muster with her youthful stride. The hillside, with a freshly covered drizzle, made it impossible to ascend the steep slope. Her dog would not return to heel, and she was spinning her wheels at the bottom of the ridge.

On her next attempt she fell face forward and landed on a surface boulder. The knuckles on her left hand were scraped raw. The metal of the .28-gauge side by side took the brunt of the hit and the bluing had been exposed by the rock.

The river raced at an alarming speed. Her grandmother warned her of the high bank and the potential danger of getting too close. But her mind was set on fishing in the fast waters, so with baited nightcrawlers she cast her hook and planted her fanny in the dirt with feet dangling over the edge.

A light bite… Tap… Tap… Tap… And she was caught off guard by the early action. Impulsively she attempted to stand with a rod in hand, lost her balance, and tumbled headfirst into the river. Underwater, her eyes were open, and everything was brown. She hit the surface gasping for air, while freestyling toward shore. The fishing rod was gone, and she swam and swam and swam, but could not reach shore.

She was playing shortstop, crouched low in the fielder’s position. They seldom let a girl play this spot, but she had a strong arm and could cover territory.

The ball was hit sharply and because they were competing on a makeshift diamond in Jimmy Blowdust’s backyard it took a wild hop. She knocked it down, accidentally, with her face. Right below the eye socket on the cheekbone. Then she reached down with her mitt and scooped the ball, but when she tried to grasp the laces, she could not pry it loose.

The runner kept running and running and running. And she kept pulling and straining and clutching, but the ball would not come out!

Sally Squatnfishes sprang upright in her first-class seat, still bound for Australia. There were beads of sweat on her forehead and her stomach was doing backflips. She had just relived a few adventures from her youth… With more ahead in her adulthood.

She had awoken halfway into her flight… From a quick glance at her watch this would put her approximately fourteen-hours-and-some-change away from where she had left Rusty Flathers, their lab puppy Link, and Professor Cosmoid Scale.

Coincidentally, Rusty and Cos were still being detained at the US / Canadian border crossing station. Most of the issue derived from Link, who accidentally hit the auto-lock button on the inside of the pickup cab on the door panel.

When Rusty was asked, “Sir, do you have a set of keys for your pickup?” and his keys were still in the ignition, he knew there was going to be further delays. Thankfully, Link remained playful as they waited for a locksmith from Fort Genevive to arrive.

Inside the cab the pup stayed busy bouncing like a ping pong ball on steroids. First, it was the cloth material of the backrest on the passenger side that he chewed to shreds. Next, he attacked the knobs on the face of the AM / FM radio and found them to be quite tasty. Then it was time to mark his territory on the bench seat… No less than a half dozen times. And finally, he settled on the steering wheel, as content as a beaver, gnawing gashes into the rubber molding with his baby teeth.

By the time Cecil Forrest from the Moose Valley Auto Shop arrived at the scene, Link was plum wore out, sleeping soundly on his back with all four legs pointing up in the air. Much calmer now in relation to what was happening back inside the Customs and Immigration office with Flathers and Scale.

“Gentlemen, while we are waiting for your work-permit papers to be processed, we need you to visit the Non-Resident Language Center… Third door down the hall… On your right,” instructed the attending Port Director.

“What’s this about?” countered Cos.

The Port Director replied, “Well, now that you’re about to take temporary residency in Ontario, we deem it necessary to assist with any potential language barriers.”

Rusty and Cos exchanged glances… Proceeded down the hallway… Knocked three times for admission… And were greeted by a rather Dungeness looking fellow. He was crouched over at the waist with his arms hanging out directly in front of himself. Very much holding a crab-esk posture.

“Gentlemen. Please come in and be seated. My name is Vincent Pardon,” he said with an impeded slur.

Rusty could not make heads or tails of what this man had just said and replied honestly, “pardon me?”

“Yes” replied the Non-Resident Language Director, and the three men took a seat at the conference table.

Mr. Vincent Pardon had a half-inch spitting gap between his front teeth and each time he spoke, you could see his tongue curled at the tip. This was also accompanied by a froth of saliva that jetted out intermittently in various sized bubbles, notably air bound for a stretch of two to four feet in distance.

Professor Scale was fine. His glass eyewear protected him from the grotesque barrage. Rusty on the other hand… Lenseless… Was left at the table taking direct hits of shrapnel at close range.

“Ok gentlemen,” foamed the Dungeness crab man with the wide gap spray machine mouth, “I will post some words for you on the overhead projector, and then you will repeat after me.”

The first word on the board was “YES”. Correct pronunciation? “NO, YEAH… NO, YEAH”.

Next word “NO”. Proper diction? “YEAH, NO… YEAH, NO”.

And then this class got tougher… “ABOUT”. Appropriate language? “ABOOT”.

Favorite                             Favourite           

Program                             Progrum

Labor                                  Labour

Defense                             Defence

Realize                               Realise

“Now, these are just the basics gentlemen,” spewed the Crab Director. “If you find yourself having difficulties communicating… When in doubt… Use the word: EH

“Don’t you think this is a little “Off the deep End?” Rusty whispered to Cos, as their instructor removed himself from his seat and ventured to the corner of the room.

“I don’t think we’re out of the proverbial woods yet, my friend,” returned Cos. “I recognize that machine in the corner as a 1952 RCA Victor 45-J-2. For a youngster such as yourself… That means it’s a record player built to produce sound from a 45-vinyl copy.”

And then… Without notice… The arm with the needle hit the spinning wheel of the 45, and Anne Murray could be heard up and down the hallway of the Customs and Immigration building, belting out the best-selling vocals of “Snowbird.”

If only Rusty and Cos could “spread their wings and fly away!”

–            To Be Continued –