Rusty Flathers

Both Nev and Celine waved goodbye as they pulled from the harbor at Flathers and Scales Fishy Outfitters. But Rusty did not return their farewells. Instead, he stood motionless on the deck of his bunkhouse, like a spring walleye that had just been electro-shocked.

“Sure is great that Rusty gave me the day off, eh, honey?” Celine said. “Must have been in a really good mood.”

          “Huh?” replied Nev. Because that was not the body language he was reading. The guy who told them a half hour ago, go and enjoy a day on the lake, appeared to have zero joy in his world at this moment.

“C’mon Nevvy… Let’s go fast. I can’t wait for you to show me how to catch a fish!”

          “Good enough, my dear. Hang on to your hat.” And with that—Nev cracked the throttle.

Spring fishing on Lac des Bois has its advantages. First and foremost, after a long winter they (the fishies) are hungry! As in, H—U—N—G—R—Y you ain’t got no alibi. You hungry! You hungry!

Early on it is best to work deep points. This was something Nev had just enough knowledge of to be dangerous.

“What’s this spot called?” Celine asked. She was holding an obtrusively large lake chart across her lap while the boat came to idle.

          “Um… Shipwreck Point. I’m looking for 28-30 feet of water. Celine, you’ll need to turn the map around if you want it to read correctly.”

“Oh… There it is. Aren’t you the smarty-pants. And why Shipwreck Point?”

          “Well… Because…”

“To me, Nev, here, look… Looks more like a penis to me.” She drew an outline on the map with her index finger. “Maybe we rename it Penis Point.”

          “Ok. That’s enough,” Nev snapped. “Need I remind you that many of God’s disciples were fishermen? And I, a Fisher of Men.”

“Well, you certainly weren’t fishing for a man this morning,” Celine countered under her breath. “Hey, this bait tastes funny. Are these minnows salted?”

One-two-three. One-two-three. One-two-three. Fishing for Nev and Celine was literally the Watusi. Bait your hook, drop your jig to the bottom, get a bite. One-two-three. One-two-three. One-two-three.

“Wow, hey, is fishing always this good?” asked Celine.

          “No, dear, it’s not,” answered Nev. “But as a good friend of mine Tor used to say: The walleye fishing on Lac des Bois isn’t always good, but when it’s good? It’s really good!”

“Meh… That doesn’t make sense,” Celine responded. “But hey, neither does squirrel stew. I’m thirsty. Did you bring any Clearly Cana…” And before she could finish saying Canadian, her rod buckled in half, and she found herself hanging on to the butt end of the rod with ten-pound monofilament line screaming off the spool of the reel.

          “Good gravy, my dear. Are you caught on bottom?”

“Whaaaaaaaa!!! I think I—I think I hooked an Atlantic Wolffish… BIG… UGLY… Like my cousin Phonse. Massive head—the fish—but so was my cousin’s. Nicknamed him A-Dub.”

“Huge—HUGE teeth on these Wolffish,” Celine continued. “Same as A-Dub. Dude could open a can of Bush’s Baked Beans with those choppers. And then his—Whoaaaaaaaa! I’m running out of string, Nev!”     

The anchor was pulled and the motor was already started. Celine, with her hands full, had not noticed Nev scurrying about the skiff preparing to give chase.

          “Rod tip up, my dear!” he shouted.

Celine looked over her shoulder, locking eyes with her fishing partner: “Not a time for foreplay, Nevvy. Get after this damn fish!”

The motor slammed into gear and Nev twisted the throttle while simultaneously pushing the tiller handle away from himself. This catapulted the boat to starboard and allowed the couple to track down whatever this was, below the surface.

“It’s getting away—it’s getting away,” she cried.

          “You must REEL, Celine. Put the rod between your breasts and REEL!”

“I’m not talking to you right now, Fisher of Men. Get your mind out of the fish guts. Fish-gut-soup? Hmmm. And Phonse never had a girlfriend—you keep yelling—neither will you.”

          “Celine, my dear. I am trying to help. We are following the fish. Just crank the reel.”

“Oh, so now my breasts are ugly? Well, so was Phonse’s face. Couldn’t get all his buckteeth to fit inside his mouth. Just like this Atlantic Wolffish. You’ll see. And that’s the only thing you’ll be seeing the rest of the day,” she hummed.

Nev cut the throttle as they were now positioned above the fish in sixty-eight feet of water. The line had stopped singing from the reel. There was silence—an eerie silence—one with Celine not filling the void with her incessant rapid-fire rambling. The second with this massive fish lying motionless on the bottom of the lake. Perhaps both were regaining their strength.

“Get the net, Nev. It’s coming up,” she called out. And in fact, the giant of all giants was making its way to the surface. Done running, it was now stalking.

          “Christ on a popsicle!” shouted Nev. The magnificent fish surfaced. It was most certainly NOT an Atlantic Wolffish—he had known better—they are only found in saltwater—of which Lac des Bois was not. But. But-but-but… It was THE largest MUSKY he had ever witnessed in the waters of Lac des Bois. Big silver himself. A sixty-plus-inch fish appearing from the depths like Satan himself showing up for Sunday service.

The one-quarter ounce jig was hanging on by a proverbial thread, with the barb of the hook protruding through the skin in the corner of its upper jaw. One twist, one turn, one headshake, and the king of the freshwater would be gone.

“That’s no Atlantic Wolffish,” Celine exclaimed. “This thing has eyeballs on the top of its head.”

          “It’s a musky, Celine. A gi-hu-gic musky. Look at the length and the girth. Possibly the biggest I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s what she said,” Celine said. And that was enough—enough to distract Nev into losing his footing, falling to the side of the gunnel, whacking the nose of the musky with the hoop of the landing net, and then watching in disbelief as the great fish swam away.

“Damn glad we didn’t have to get that thing in the boat,” said Celine in celebration. “Fricken fangs were sharper than A-Dub’s.”

Rusty took a breath and returned to his bedroom entry. He then tapped twice on the wall and cautiously pulled the curtain open. Inside, Sally was gathering herself. Along with her belongings.

–To Be Continued–