Muskie Attack (An Up North Adventure) (7 page)

The DNR

The bell attached to the lodge’s screened door clanked loudly as Taylor Wilson stormed in.

“It’s gone!” he yelled and headed toward Dell, who was standing behind the register counter talking with Pike’s dad and two people Griffy had just met that morning: Andy Gibson, head of the Chequamegon Lake Association, and Jo Patterson, a ranger with the Department of Natural Resources. They all turned toward Taylor. “My jugging line is gone. First, it was dead fish on the line. And now they took the whole thing!”

Pike and Griffy, who were playing bumper pool nearby, snickered.

Taylor snapped around and glared at them. He had stormed right past them, not noticing they were even in the lodge’s lobby.

“So it was the two of you! I figured as much,” he roared.

Fearful, the boys shook their heads no and quickly returned to their game of pool.

“Hold up there, Taylor,” Dell intervened. “Now, what’s going on?”

“I put a jugging line out last night, and this morning it was gone. Three days ago someone,” he shot a look over to Pike and Griffy, “filled the line with dead fish.”

At that, Mitch McKendrick, Pike’s dad, had to stifle a laugh with his hand.

“The boys didn’t take anything, not last night,” Dell explained. “Mitch, here, took the two of them to an Indian powwow over at the Ojibwe casino. And this morning, we all had breakfast at Spider Lake Cafe, which is where we ran into Andy and Jo.” Dell motioned toward the two others in the group. “Jo, by the way, is with the DNR. Jo, this is Taylor Wilson, a guest.”

She smiled at Taylor. “I assume you know that jugging is illegal?”

“Yes, I know,” he snapped back and then abruptly stopped. “You’re with the what?” he asked.

“The DNR,” Jo replied and pointed to the badge on her arm sleeve. “It’s nice to meet you.” She held her hand out to Taylor. He shook it in stunned silence. “I’d be grateful to whoever took your line, Mr. Wilson. They have saved you a hefty fine and the revoking of your fishing license. We don’t allow jugging on these waters, as you know. But since it looks like the evidence has vanished, I’ll let you off with a warning. How ’bout that?” She whipped out a pad and began writing. “Next time,” she announced, handing a piece of paper to Taylor, “the fine will be double.”

Taylor stammered a confused thank-you. Defeated, he gave Dell a final glare, muttered something unintelligible, and left the lodge.

“Dead fish on the line, Pike?” his dad questioned when Taylor was gone. “That had to be you.”

“And Griffy,” Pike replied quickly as he put the pool cues away.

Griffy’s head shot up at the sound of his name. He had been examining a paperback on the overcrowded bookshelves. “It was his idea,” he retorted, pointing at Pike.

“And it was a good one,” Andy reassured them, grinning. He had been chewing on a piece of straw and now took it out of his mouth and pointed it at the boys. “Good work, both of you. I don’t think Mr. Wilson will be jugging anytime soon.”

Everyone laughed at that.

“So Lost Land Lake has another mystery,” Andy continued. Griffy had heard his uncle talk a lot about Andy Gibson and the lake association president’s zeal for promoting tourism. “Interesting, huh? Who—or maybe what—took the jugging line?”

“Let’s not put the cart before the horse, Andy,” Jo admonished. “It could have been anything.”

“Like a gigantic muskie?” Andy taunted.

“A gigantic what?” Pike asked excitedly. He grabbed Griffy by the arm and pulled him over to the counter.

“Muskie. A seventy-pounder could very likely be roaming the waters out there.”

Dell laughed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Seventy pounds? I don’t think so. It would be over five feet long. Not possible. Not on Lost Land Lake.”

“Well, that’s what we came out here to talk about,” Jo said. “It is a possibility. The evidence points toward it. The bite marks on that walleye for one. The jaw span of whatever killed it was about six and a half inches. Only a muskie can get that big. And there have been a few sightings, which we could chalk up to folklore, but …” she hesitated, as if she wasn’t sure she should continue.

Griffy stared at Jo and soaked in her words. Even he had heard the scary tales of a monster fish on Lost Land Lake. The folklore had frightened him, but Uncle Dell had eased his fears by assuring him the stories were just that—stories and nothing more. But now, here was Jo, a DNR ranger, making it all seem very real.

“But what?” Dell asked impatiently.

Jo bit her lip and looked at Andy, who was twirling that same piece of straw back and forth in his mouth. Andy nodded for her to continue. She sighed and went on.

“A seven-year-old girl over at Sunken Island almost drowned three days ago. Something grabbed hold of her leg while she was swimming and dragged her under and out into deeper water. Some teens sunbathing on a pontoon jumped in to help. No one saw what it was, though. There was too much commotion. Whatever it was let go. Scared off by the noise most likely.”

“The bite mark on her thigh, Dell, only showed the front set of teeth,” Andy interjected, excitement growing in his voice. “The jaw likely eclipsed the width of her thigh—so big all the teeth didn’t take hold.”

Griffy gasped.

“Don’t worry,” Pike assured him. “Muskies don’t attack people.”

“Oh, yes they do,” Jo countered. “It’s very rare, but muskies are voracious eaters and fierce predators. They possess an enormous mouth and strong canine teeth. They’ll feast on anything—including other muskies. They’ll attack ducks, frogs, muskrats, and humans.”

This time Pike was the one who gasped.

“Why haven’t I heard about this before now?” Mitch asked, his voice wavering. “Nothing much gets past me at The Happy Hooker.”

“We’ve been keeping it quiet,” Jo answered. “I didn’t want swimmers to get hysterical until we knew for sure. Plus,” she said, looking directly at Andy, “with a trophy fish of this size, well, we need to be prepared for chaos when the story breaks.”

Griffy understood. Uncle Dell had given him books to read on game fishing. The ferocious muskellunge was the most sought after trophy fish in North America. If a fish of world record size was out there, it would draw fishermen—novices and pros—from across Wisconsin, maybe even the country. Chaos was an understatement.

“We need to look at this as a moneymaking opportunity,” Andy urged with a gleam in his eye. “This could be big for the lake, very big.”

“Yes, but what about safety? I’ve got swimmers here. Kids.” Dell nervously adjusted the belt on his jeans and re-tucked the tail of his shirt.

“Exactly,” Mitch agreed. “Folks need to know to stay out of the water. You can’t keep a thing like this quiet.”

“We don’t plan to—not any longer,” Jo assured them.

“There’s going to be an association meeting,” Andy explained. “I’m hoping for your support. Mitch, Dell, we need to turn this into a profit: sponsor a competition. I’ve got it all mapped out. It’s a tourism gold mine.”

“So it seems,” Mitch said. “So long, peaceful summer. Well, let’s hear what you got.”

Just before sunset, Pike and Griffy stood on the banks of Lost Land Lake surveying the water before them in awe.

“It’s out there right now,” Pike marveled. “Can you believe it?”

“No, it’s too hard to imagine,” Griffy answered as he stared at the water. Its surface was as smooth as glass. A monster fish swimming through that still water was unfathomable.

“We have to catch it. We just have to,” Pike quietly pleaded. He seemed spellbound. “I can’t do it alone, you know?”

Griffy nodded. He knew that, for Pike, catching a world record muskie was about the sport, the challenge, just because the fish was there. For him, it would be about something more. The task frightened him, but maybe, just maybe, if he caught that muskie, his parents—especially his father—would take notice.

“It’s definitely going to take the two of us,” Pike stated, “definitely. You in?” His brown eyes sparkled.

Griffy knew what he had to do. “Yep, I’m in.”

The Master Fisherman Muskie Competition

The village of Minong, Griffy had discovered, was small in size but big in character. With a population of only 531, the village saw weekdays that were slow and lazy—the streets deserted, the air quiet. “Sorry, we’re out. Be back at ?” signs often hung from shop doors down the village’s small business strip. At first, Griffy had wondered how anyone could make a living in such a place.

Weekends. That was the answer. Minong woke up for weekends. Come Friday afternoon, the village came alive. It was time to say “good-bye, see you next year” to departing vacationers and “hello, welcome back” to arriving ones. Vacationers stocked up at Link Bros. Grocery for their weeklong stays and lined up for fishing licenses at the Sportsman’s Headquarters. But the real action, Griffy now knew, was down on “the Strip.”

On Friday afternoons, Main Street’s three-block store-lined strip became a three-ring circus. Tourists eating ice cream cones at the Village Scoop passed the afternoon petting Rocky Road, the brown and black cow. Shoppers at Setting Sun Souvenirs got their pictures taken with Chief Running Deer, the ancient Ojibwe Indian who stood watch outside the store in buckskin and full headdress. Tourists passing by The Trading Post applauded the Indian brave and princess puppets dancing in the store’s windows. Across the street, squealing children panned for fool’s gold outside Hi Ho Silver, the village’s silver and goldsmith. The smell of sweet treats lured tourists to the picture windows of Tremblay’s Olde Tyme Candies to watch gray-haired Miss Gertrude stir a copper cauldron filled with boiling chocolate fudge. Next to her, teenagers wearing red and white striped shirts stood behind large marble tables mixing nuts into cooling batches of vanilla, maple, and chocolate fudge.

Tremblay’s was the first stop Pike and Griffy made before heading to Minong Village Hall where the Chequamegon Lake Association was scheduled to meet. The McKendricks, Uncle Dell, and Griffy had come in town early to do some shopping and help set up for the meeting.

Like the tourists, Pike and Griffy paused before the candy store’s picture windows before entering. Gil was already inside purchasing some peanut butter fudge balls. As Pike walked by, he pulled the strap of Gil’s purse, causing it to fall off her shoulder and to the floor. Gil spun around, caught Pike by the tail of his shirt, and pulled—just enough to make him lose his balance. He instinctively reached out to grab something—anything—to regain it. What he grabbed was the arm of a young woman. The force of his grip caused the basket she held to spray jawbreakers and lemon drops across the room like bullets out of a machine gun. Customers ducked and cried out as flying candy pelted them.

Gil bent down to pick up her purse. Her face turned a bright red, and she winced slightly at the calamity she had just caused. She glanced up at the sixteen-year-old boy behind the counter and winced again, her face becoming even redder.

His face was bright red, too, from laughter. “You’ve got great reflexes,” he said.

“Thanks,” Gil answered with an embarrassed smile.

Griffy paid little attention to the commotion going on around him. He was still in awe. Tremblay’s, he thought, was the closest he would ever get to a real-life Willy Wonka’s Factory. The store in fact proclaimed itself “The sweetest place this side of heaven.” Barrels filled to the rim with candy lined the store’s walls. Bags of peanut brittle and almond bark lay stacked high on tables. Homemade chocolates crammed the counter shelves, behind which busy workers took fudge orders. Jars of gumdrops, rock candy, peppermint sticks, taffy, licorice, and much more filled the shelves. The store buzzed with constant activity. Everyone carried wicker baskets as they navigated the store and filled them to overflowing. The queue at the checkout counter never seemed to shorten as customers waited for their candy to be weighed and bagged. In the corner, a man kept the line entertained by banging out upbeat tunes on the piano.

What, Griffy thought, was the hands down best part? Free samples. Everywhere, free samples. They went fast but were replenished even faster. After four helpings of fudge, Griffy got a basket and got busy filling it. Pike was on his own.

An hour or so later, Griffy and Pike met up with Gil inside village hall to wait for the lake association meeting to start. The lobby was filling up, and talk of a killer fish circulated among the growing crowd.