Rusty Flathers

Season 4—Episode 14 (Which Way Is This Wind-Go-Ing)

Strength in numbers… The search party (less Sally Squatsnfishes) had now doubled in size. Stash McGivern was on site, wearing his official CAO cap (Chief Administrative Officer) as manager of law enforcement for the municipality of Lac des Bois. Stash was accompanied by Rod Gill, head wrench for Raker’s Marine, sworn in this morning as an assistant officer—his badge still warm from the sheet metal press in the shop at the marina.

This duo would be taking charge of the dragnet soon to be wrapped around the area of Moose Island.

Running the second boat and following the lead would be MNR Officer Marlin Salty. Officer Salty had requested Professor Cosmoid Scale to accompany him on board his patrol skiff, but Cos politely opted out—

(A) feeling he should provide emotional support for Rusty.

(B) not in the mood to deal with Salty’s overbearing brashness so soon after breakfast.

(C) hoped to find his two missing guests and missing employee on his own bearing.

(D) all of the above.

Salty would stand alone in his vessel. For now.

Batting third in the lineup was Minister Nev Thorne, whose blessings alone provided spiritual encouragement for the entire search team. Ms. Celine, refusing to be “left alone” again on the island, insisted on joining him as a boat partner and brought along some All Dressed potato chips, Ketchup chips, Toutons (fried dough), and a local Beaver’s Tail she had purchased previously that week from Tremblay’s General Store in Jackfish. She planned to serve it with maple toppings, perfect for snacks on the water without a mess.

Batting cleanup in search boat number four was our very own Rusty Flathers. Cos rode with him, as expected. Link stayed glued to Rusty’s side (without protest from Sally, who had already made her exit). 

Rusty carried himself with a new edge this morning—chin slightly higher, shoulders back.

Since pre-dawn he had—

(A) Revived the generator.

(B) Recovered and installed a perfectly good toilet seat.

(C) Delivered Ms. Squatsnfishes to the mainland dock—with her complete line or outdoor fashion model luggage.

(D) Executed a flawless reach-in, butt-out, I refuse to cry but please heal quickly—HUG.

(E) All of the above.

All things considered… A banner morning in the world of Rusty Flathers.

In single file the boats paraded towards Moose Island. This was the last place that guests Grover and Oscar, along with fishing guide Clarence Bishop had been seen and Stash wanted to canvas the property before spreading out to search multi-directionally.

Local weather conditions this morning had turned out to be extremely cold. Winter parkas and insulated boots had replaced spring outerwear and breathable rain gear. If anything, it felt like it could snow.

Now, within one mile of their target destination, a stiff northerly wind braced them head on. Twenty-eight knots to be exact. It was the type of breeze that makes you pull up on your collar, pull down your fleece cap, and turn your nose away from the wind if you are the individual captaining the tiller motor on an open bowed fishing skiff.

The pace of the four charging boats slowed as they neared Moose Island. Their conditions were becoming more impenetrable with harsh winds now becoming violent. To Stash McGivern this seemed quite unnatural and he completely backed off the throttle of his Yamaha tiller, less than a two hundred yards from the beach on the shoreline. The same beach where the last two previous landings ended with missing people.

“What’s the hitch?” Salty called out as he approached Stash and Rod’s now idling boat.

          “Listen!” Stash replied in response. “Can you hear it?”

The wind was now moaning. A phenomenon unlike anything he had experienced.

“I don’t hear a thing, other than this blasted wind… Let’s get ashore and get where it’s protected.” Salty commanded.

          “Protected from what?” Cosmoid called back. “The wind? The weather? Or your leadership style?”

Salty shot him with a piercing look. “Keep chirping, Professor. Someone needs to oversee you camp-owning-wanna be’s.”

“Guys—STOP!” shouted Rod Gills. “You have to listen to the winds!”

All four of the boaters were now collected in a semi-circle, drifting at idle, being pushed away from Moose Island by the roaming winds. There was a sudden chill cast upon them. An eerie—cold wind. One that brought along a foul odor.

“What is that smell?” Cos called out over the harshness of the wind.

          “It’s quite unnatural,” responded Celine.

“God awful!” chimed Minister Nev.

          “It’s like a vat of week-old water that was used to boil hotdogs,” continued Celine. And thus, the standard gag reflex kicked into high gear for Rusty Flathers as he put together this visual to go with the tremendous stench.  

“This is worse than hot dogs!” declared Stash. “I’ve been on enough rescue missions to identify the odors that accompany decomposition of bodies.”

          “What’s our plan McGivern?” asked Salty. “We have three missing bodies to recover, and I understand that you are refusing to go ashore (Moose Island)?”

For the next minute there was complete and utter silence among the search party members. Like a washing machine in full-agitate-mode the winds dipped and dived, pushed and pulled, accelerated and came to screeching halts from every direction nautically possible.

“Which Way Is This Wind-Go-Ing?” hollered Rusty toward the crowd of aimless drifters.

          “Exactly, Flathers!” called out Stash McGivern in response to the question. “It’s a WEN—DI—GO! —Retreat—Retreat! Fall back—fall back!”

And with Stash McGivern leading the charge, bent on full throttle, all four boats quickly and efficiently spun out in a one-hundred-eighty-degree direction and fled the impending consequences of Moose Island. For Indigenous communities the cautionary prospect of invading Wendigo territory was the ultimate taboo!

–To Be Continued—