Four days remaining in prep week until the first guests arrive at FSFO (Flathers and Scales Fishy Outfitters), and with newly trusted camp assistant Clarence Bishop providing leadership there was now a famous chance in hell the island would be ready. Currently, per this written level of readiness? This is TBD (To Be Determined), as you—the faithful followers of Rusty—are extremely aware of how instances can pop up and quickly go awry with our main man at the helm.
“The fishing is always first and foremost, Feathers,” began Clarence Bishop, as they made their way from the boat house to the main lodge in search of mid-morning coffee and some fresh oatmeal chocolate chip cookies that Sally had been prepping post-breakfast. This was Clarence’s third day on the job, and each time he referenced Rusty as “Feathers”, it made Rusty think he may have a hearing impediment, as Rusty continuously corrected him. Meanwhile, Sally and Cosmoid had basically joined the bandwagon, also choosing to inappropriately call him by the incorrect last name.
“So, I guess this is a thing now?!” asked a perturbed Rusty to Sally, after receiving a peck on the check, a fresh cup of Timmie’s, and a “How’s it going out there Feathers,” from her.
“We’re just not going to call people by their real name?” he continued.
“Aw, I think it’s cute Rusty, and hey Clarence means well.” Sally replied. “I’ll speak to him about addressing you appropriately (or not hahahaha she thought).”
“Alright, thanks Sal. And oh hey, do you want to run with me to the mainland tonight at 700pm, and do the meet and greet with Celine?”
Celine Maple Cramshaw…. French Canadian. Born of the French settlers originated in the north and west of France. Her language was dual—her residence Quebec City—the primary culinary scene for aspiring chefs.
“Tell me again, how did you come across this gal, to head your kitchen staff?” queried Sally.
“She took a bronze in the Cretons cook-off held annually near her market quarters in the city. I saw a social media post online (ColdPorkSpread.com).”
“Ok—guess I didn’t realize you were a connoisseur of spreads served on crusty bread with mustard.”
“I’m not…. What caught my attention was that her only points deduction in the contest were because she used horse meat for her animal fat ingredient. Super authentic—back in the day—but more so frowned upon in modern times.”
“And how does this get from a Creton contest, being a breakfast staple, to joining you at Flathers and Sons Fishy Outfitters?” Sally continued.
“She responded to our Facebook AD (Rusty’s ONLY applicant), and I thought if she has the ability to use horse fat as an ingredient, no telling what she might be able to conjure up out here in the wilds of NW Ontario.”
“Fair enough,” Sally wrapping it up, “I’ll go for a ride with you this evening and we’ll pick up this gal from the glue factory.”
“HA—HA—HA,” in a not funny tone was Rusty’s response. “She’s going to be great. You’ll see (he prayed).” Then, he exited the lodge and made his way back to the boat house where Cosmoid was putting the finishing touches on multiple rod and reel combos.
A plethora of sticks is required to run a successful multi-specie fishing operation of the freshwater variety. Spinning rods to be waved like wands when coaxing walleye—Medium heavy baitcasting poles for northern pike that carry attitude—Spinners and casters to chase the devils with small mouths—And banger heavy cues for the king musky.
“I believe they refer to it as the Grand-Slam,” offered Cosmoid to Rusty.
“What’s that?”
“It’s when an angler is successfully able to land and record specific lengths for ALL four specie in a single day (walleye-pike-bass-musky)…. And then, you have the ROYAL GRAND SLAM, when an individual can run the table by using the SAME lure to catch each fish!”
“I’m just hoping Clarence will teach me how to be adequate with each. Speaking of…. Have you seen him since our coffee break?”
“He’s on the far dock.” Cosmoid answered. “Look, out there.”
From the window of the boat house, Rusty inched up on his tip toes for viewing through the dust laden glass. And sure enough, there was Clarence, legs crossed at the heel, sitting comfortably with his back against a dock post. His company? The three eagles—two whites and a golden—also enjoying a complementary oatmeal chocolate chip cookie from the kitchen.
“Who is this guy?!” Rusty announced in awe, more so than he questioned.
“I’m thinking he’s going to be our top-gun-sniper here at FSFO,” answered Cos. “Now help me get these rod and reel combos rigged and maybe we can talk him into taking us fishing!”
Eight hours later, after another long workday was in the books, both Rusty and Cos made the ask and were splendidly responded to. “Sure, we can go check some holes,” offered Clarence. “Probably a good idea you two learn a few spots before these new guests come knocking.” And with Sally volunteering to go and pick up (and size up) Celene that evening, this gave the fellas ample time to explore a bite, at least until dark.
Pulling out of the harbor in one of their NINE boat rentals, Rusty asked “Aren’t you going to turn on the electronic Global Lake Mapping / Fish Finder Graph, Clarence?” The same exact unit Rusty had successfully installed on each of their camp boats.
“You, you want me to Read the Teleprompter? Well, that’s not happening Feathers. I’m old school,” chirped Clarence. “Don’t need the map—Don’t need the depth—Don’t need no machine telling me how to find a fish.”
“PLUS,” he continued, “This afternoon while you and Cos were in the boat house, I went around and disabled all of them units. Fricking electronic boxes should be illegal, and I’m not about to piss off the fish gods.”
Cos, appearing rather upset with this new and uninvited business plan, countered, “You do know we are in the fishing business and want our guests to have every modern advantage.” This was not a question to Clarence, but very much an alarmed statement.
“Yes sir, Mr. Cos, I do understand. But just give me a chance to show you.” And then he spun his ball cap backward, nodded at the three eagles perched in a tree, cracked the throttle on the outboard motor, and forced both Rusty and Cos to hang onto their seats.
–To Be Continued—