Season 4—Episode 04 (Game Time)
“Good morning, Mr. Camp Owner.” Sally greeted Rusty at the breakfast nook in the main lodge with a piping Canadian cup of Timmie’s.
“Good morning, Sal.”
“Well, it’s a BIG DAY! Are you ready?
Appearance wise…. Rusty Flathers was not ready. He was disheveled. Dark circles under his eyes were bordering on purple. Knotted locks of brown curly hair under his ball cap had taken the shape of a wren’s nest. His general sense of brain fog was so thick it would require a GPS unit with a radar system to travel in a straight line.
His previous forty-eight hours spent on yard beautification—wood splitting—deck staining—supply hauling—all culminated with no less than five anxiety attacks. And Sally’s asking if he’s ready for the “BIG DAY?!”
“It’s Game Time,” he replied. “We’re ready.”
“You’re such a terrible liar,” Sally responded to her man who looked like he had just spent a night trying to sleep under the motor cowling of a revved-up Yamaha outboard motor. “But you guys will get the kinks worked out, and everything’s going to be fine.”
“I hope you’re right, because my stomach is telling me otherwise. And hey, instead of me worrying about myself, I should be asking you, how’s your shoulder?”
“Surprisingly, not bad. I mean, I’m not going to be throwing a javelin anytime soon, but honestly the mobility is starting to come back.”
“Good, because at some point, I’m sure Cos and I could use some help around this place.”
“Camp helper?” Sally thought. A super awkward statement for her mental psyche. Officially, Sally had never signed on in any sort of capacity. She was more-less viewing this as a layover…. A recovery period from an injury received during her covert operation…. A chance to get well and then back to business. The business of being Sally Squatsnfishes.
Her response to Rusty was “Sounds good.” When really…. She was thinking about how the Three Eagles were doing without her, back in Australia pursuing The Kraken. And the biggest question, is twenty-four-seven of Rusty and island life really for her?
Fortunately, or so they thought, there was a slow roll scheduled for the grand opening of Flathers and Scales Fishy Outfitters (FSFO). Their soft opening would begin with two guests scheduled to arrive at Raker’s Marine this afternoon at 500pm. Illinois—first time guests—two brothers looking for a walleye bite on their first ever Canadian fishing adventure.
“Hey Rusty! Great to see you!” offered Rod Gills, head wrench at the marina, as he assisted in tying up FSFO’s passenger boat Hooked on Poutine. “Your two guests arrived about twenty minutes ago,” he continued. “There hanging inside the marina, most likely getting an earful from Minnie.”
“Ok, thanks Gill. Our first guests. I’m nervous.”
“Man, this is one of the best fisheries in the world. Pretty tough to screw that up, eh.”
“Yeah, you’re right. And thankfully we have Clarence out there. He’s incredible.”
“Keep your people on fish…. Keep them well fed…. And keep them in a comfortable bed…. You guys will be fine.”
On the ride back to the island, Rusty learned that his new guests were a periodontist and an elevator mechanic. Grover and Oscar Williams—single bachelors in their mid-forties—big Cubbie fans from Chicago—had fished for salmon once on Lake Michigan but violent sea sickness has since kept them landlocked. At least until now, until they heard about Lac des Bois with its fourteen thousand islands offering protected water and trophy fish.
“You guys are the only fellas in camp tonight,” Rusty explained as he captained the boat into the harbor. “If you’d like to do some fishing before supper, we have boats available.
“Hey, that sounds great!” was their united response.
“Ok, we’ll get your bags to the cabin, and you can meet me back here on the dock.”
Supper was scheduled for 700pm. By 715 there was no sign of Grover and Oscar returning from their afternoon voyage. By 730pm Cos and Rusty wondered if their first guests were going to require a search party. By 745 Celine’s supper was officially “on hold”, and Rusty-Cos-Sally-Link were leaving the harbor in Hooked on Poutine full-on guessing what direction their guests may have traveled.
“The last I saw, they headed south out of the harbor and then most likely went west,” offered Rusty. This was confirmed as Cosmoid had previously pointed out some spots on the map near the Sunrise Channel, suggesting places close by to find fish, while they were filling out their Ontario boating form for camp rentals.
“Wait! What’s that?” questioned Sally. They were two miles southwest of camp, and riding co-pilot with Link in her lap, she thought she could see two human forms on a beach waving their arms.
“That looks like them,” agreed Cos…. Leaning over the port gunnel taking his own view of the situation. “And it looks like they’re fine. Maybe they had boat problems?”
Confirmed. Before Rusty slid the bow of the passenger boat on the beach it was confirmed that there were in fact boat problems. Or more so “gas problems”, as it was quickly explained by both a chattering Grover and steamed Oscar that they had run out of gas and were fortunate to drift ashore.
Rusty, with clenched teeth, “Run out of gas?” Then he thought to himself. “How’s that possible?”
“I felt that my life, along with my brother’s, was in peril Mr. Scale.” This statement, coming from Oscar, as he sat shoulder to shoulder with Cos on their cruise back to the island in the passenger boat.
“And if this is the way you’re going to start your fishing business,” he continued, “by sending guests out with unfilled gas tanks, then I should think you will have a very tough time getting repeat customers.”
Later that evening, before the switch to the generator was turned to put the lights out on FSFO’s catastrophically mediocre opening day, Sally consoled her down and out boyfriend. “Hey, no one got hurt, and it was a mistake,” she offered. Then she handed him a moderately warm cup of tea and patted his back as if he were Link but could feel the sparks of his anxiety.
“Yeah, my total screw-up,” he responded. “A classic not thinking RUSTY screw-up.”
“Well, you have a couple days to make their trip a success. Start tomorrow with a fresh tank. And maybe a checklist written in ink.”
Rusty leaned back and rubbed his eyes. Tired. Too tired for the opening weekend of the fishing season.
“Your right, they’re here for another four days,” started Rusty. “Four days with great fishing, tremendous meals, and overwhelming service. Heads in beds…. People helping people.”
“That’s the spirit,” she said aloud. “Camp Management 101.”
Then she calmly sipped from her cup of tea and nodded through more thoughts of Australia and whether “camp helper” meant a permanent life detour. “I won’t disappear on him,” she concluded. “Not yet.”
–To Be Continued—