The Westchester County Airport in White Plains had the coffee brewing when Team Eagle arrived at O-Dark-Thirty. Sally had double and triple-checked the equipment list. The only item still looming was the Nyami Nyami text message.
On their early morning ride into the airport… Jackie drove the foursome while Sally used her burner phone to check in with her Special Operatives Department Leader. The response from HQ was as follows: Eagle One, we believe the thread you received represents a LevelTenDanger. Thankfully, this is the highest the rating can go. Proceed with extreme caution. In your preparedness we highly recommend you bring the kitchen sink. Best of luck with the tournament. Set the hook.
Later in the drive, her research revealed that the Nyami Nyami, on paper, is recognized as the Zambezi River God—sometimes called the Zambezi Snake Spirit. This is the most important deity to the people who inhabit the river valley. Sally compared this creature to Paul Bunyan at the headwaters of the Mississippi River. Only less accommodating.
In appearance Nyami Nyami is described as a scaly river dragon, with a snake’s body and a fish’s head. His teeth are angled inward, like a musky’s. Anything and everything that enters its jaws will not exit.
His list of victims includes gawkers, bank fishermen, and rock skippers—and he has a peculiar sweet tooth for mountain bikers. Somehow, he manages to skin these individuals of their clothes before ingesting them. These articles of clothing can later be found downstream by residents tending to their laundry.
The Tonga people have inhabited the Zambezi for hundreds of years. The dam forced them to relocate… splitting numbers between Zambia and Zimbabwe. As with most folks, there are two sides to a story. Nyami Nyami is no different.
During years of famine the creature would allow pieces of his own flesh to be eaten by the Tonga people. As with any freshwater fishery… add salt to taste. This flesh would then regrow, creating a generous supply.
Where the story flips sides is when the Kariba Dam was built in the 1950s. The dam site angered Nyami Nyami. This sacred location was his eternal birthright and the developers who claimed they were going to “advance the world” were intruding.
The Tonga also believed this offense separated him from his wife who inhabited locations downstream. If you had seen her circular blue eyes and lipstick-red flared gills, you would understand their shared attraction. Penning up any wild fish, let alone Nyami Nyami, would certainly create a serious case of DFSB (Dreaded Fish Sperm Buildup).
Thus, from this point on, anyone who ventured too close to the dam would be dragged under by the 650-foot-long creature. One day it is believed that he will break the dam and reunite with his beloved. “Until then…” thought Sally, “tread lightly…”
Speaking of treading lightly… Rusty was tiptoeing around the lodge on this same morning… hoping not to be hit with repercussions from losing Eleanor’s 20+ pound northern pike the previous evening.
Turns out when you do not remove the plastic safety coating from the barb of a hook prior to casting your lure… the odds of landing a fish are significantly reduced. This was most evident when he attempted to net the big-time-slimer near the gunnel, only to watch it give a single head shake and spit the hook.
Upon closer inspection… YES, there was a barb protector on the spinnerbait. And NO, he was not wearing protective head gear.
“You need a lesson in guiding, Feathers!” hollered Long Ears.
“Um, it’s Flathers, sir… and I’m so so sorry,” replied Rusty.
“Whatever, Blathers. First, it’s my ear, and now it’s my wife’s fish!”
Then Long Ears raised his buggy-whip rod high above his head and tilted it to the right. He clearly came from lineage filled with high-casting-relatives and swung mightily at his fishing guide. Rusty covered up with both hands—not keeping his head down.
On Ears’ downswing, with the botched left lobe stitch procedure sticking out three-quarters of an inch more than normal, incidental contact was made by a mid-level eyelet on the blank as it flew by his ear with a cast speed of 83-mph. This senior league attempt was by no means vicious but traveled with enough speed to leave a welt.
On impact… Rusty winced with slight pain… his curly hair providing minimal protection. But in truth… Long Ears caught the brunt of the pain with the portion of his previously repaired lobe now missing!
YES, it landed on the shank of Eleanor’s spinnerbait hook. NO, the hook guard had not yet been removed. YES, it fell over the side of the boat into the water. NO, the northern pike stationed below the surface would not return the prize.
When the unhappy couple entered the lodge for coffee and breakfast this blessed morning, Rusty knew he had one day of their trip remaining to make up for the uncalculated chaos. Long Ears now looked like a haircut with two right ears… if such a thing were possible.
“Good morning, folks,” greeted Rusty. “Today, you’ll be going fishing with Tawny.”
This was a smart decision for a camp owner with the current confidence level of a kindergartener. A kindergartener who cannot tie their own shoes before attending their first day of elementary school.
“Thanks, Flathers,” replied Mr. Long Ears. “No offense, but I am sure we will much prefer her expertise.” Rusty was quickly making friends in the fishing camp business.
Speaking of making friends… Sally had one more person to add to her list for the fab-four-tourney-team. They were still lacking a fishing guide for the contest. She would need to secure this person sooner rather than later. But first, the flight to Zimbabwe.
One obstacle at a time, she told herself. And then the chartered Gulfstream boogied down the runway. Thanks to Ron Heimburg’s money they would be traveling the first 7800 miles in comfort.
Their first stop for fuel would be in Dakar, Senegal. Takeoff was smooth as butter… wheels were stowed safely in the undercarriage… then all four members of the team received a simultaneous ping on their personal devices: Eagles taste like chicken—a delicacy for Nyami Nyami—enjoy your flight.
Sally and Hazel exchanged cautious glances. Ron’s eyes bulged to a LevelTenDanger size of softballs. Jackie watched as the cockpit door opened and the flight attendant marched toward them… her Glock 19 withdrawn from its holster.
–To Be Continued—