The Big Snapper (5 page)

The Northorpes leave the island three days later. They have never seen so much rain in all their lives, and they have no idea how people can live in a place so damp. Eddie is relieved.

He imagines Becky at home talking to her friends over her computer, taking bites of a Big Mac as she types. She's just had the most hideous vacation. They traveled all that way and there was absolutely nothing to do. No proper restaurants, no theaters or shopping malls, and the walking paths were absolute death traps. It was so wet you could rarely leave the cabin, and everything smelt like fish!

Granddad says Mrs. Greenshaw's medicine has helped him and he is feeling more chipper.
He sits at the kitchen table wearing his fishing vest on the morning after the Northorpes leave.

When Eddie sees this, he immediately runs back to the room they share for his own fishing jacket. He had just assumed they wouldn't be going fishing again today. He then bolts down his breakfast while Grandma tells him to stop wolfing down his food and that even Flounder has more manners.

When they are ready, Grandma hands them the thermos and the basket of sandwiches she has made. “Now, Granddad,” she calls after them as they head out the door, “you be sure and mind Eddie.”

Eddie isn't sure why she says this, but she does, every time they leave the house.

Eddie and Granddad carry their gear down to the wharf. It has stopped raining, although a heavy layer of fog hangs low in the sky. They nod to the other fishermen. Granddad listens to remarks about where the fish are biting and what type of bait they're going for. They then climb aboard the skiff. Once the gear and baskets are stowed, Granddad starts the engine, and thirty minutes later they are drifting in the foggy bay, waiting for a tug on the line.

Eddie's heart is much lighter now that Granddad is feeling better. He had been worried that something was seriously wrong. When Granddad had told the Northorpes about the bear he'd seen, he hadn't done much explaining. He'd just said that the bear had stopped coming around. This was not like Granddad, and again, Eddie remembers what Mrs. Greenshaw said about not getting worried until the stories stopped.

“You've never told me about the bear you saw behind the cabin,” Eddie says. “The one you told the Northorpes about.”

Granddad laughs. “Well, perhaps I haven't. Probably because you were just a little trout in diapers at the time.”

“Was it a black bear?”

“Of course it was. It was Trotter. The old black with the gray snout we see down at the mouth of the river. He and I have been fishing side by side for more than thirty years.”

“Oh,” says Eddie. But he wonders why Granddad hadn't insisted it was a black bear when Mr. Northorpe had doubted Trotter's size.

Granddad reels in a little line. There is no resistance. “Do you want to hear the story?”

“Yes,” Eddie answers.

“It was, as I said, when you were a little guy. About ten years ago. I was down on the wharf loading my tackle when I spotted Trotter loping down the road past the cabins. I didn't think much of it at the time. Not until I was done for the day and coming back in when there he was again, only this time, he was going the other way. The next day the same thing happened. And the day after that. I began to keep a careful watch. Nearly a month went by and Trotter was making the trip back and forth at least three times a day. You know those ruts in the road?”

Eddie nods.

“They were caused by him—all his pacing. Well, it got to be near the end of December and I wondered why he hadn't turned in for the winter like all the other bears. So the next day, I followed him. I kept some distance back, ducking behind bushes when he turned. But even as far back as I was, I could see that his eyes were bloodshot and the skin beneath puffed and sagging. Under normal circumstances he would have sensed that I was there, but he was preoccupied, and I realized he was too tired and grumpy to care. He lashed out at branches
that annoyed him and he grumbled at anything that crossed his path.

“I followed him to the foot of a rock overhang. The cliff was undercut. Beneath it was a cave with a mass of twisted roots hiding the entrance. It was Trotter's den. While I watched from behind a tree, he stood before it and let out the most distressing bellow you can imagine an animal made of flesh and blood could create. He then turned and headed back in the direction from which we'd come.”

“Why didn't he go inside?” Eddie asks.

“Exactly what I wondered. So, once he had left, I got closer and peeked inside the den. There was nothing in it other than his bed of trampled branches and leaves. But while I was in there, the earth began to rumble and the walls began to shake. Well, you can imagine, I got out fast. The sound of machinery grinding and timber cracking became louder. It was a bulldozer, followed by the scream of a chainsaw. They were logging the forest above Trotter's den. He couldn't sleep because of all the noise.”

“Poor Trotter.”

“Yes, poor Trotter. But it also occurred to me
that if Trotter didn't get his sleep, he might not be so agreeable about sharing his fishing ground in the spring. I couldn't exactly move his den. The only thing to do was to get the loggers to move away. I climbed the hill to the part of the forest where they were logging and approached a fellow who looked like he might be in charge. Well, he laughed when I suggested they move somewhere else because they were disturbing the sleep of a bear. So did all the men working with him when he told them what I'd said.

“I didn't want to resort to anything nasty, but I knew I'd have to force them out. I watched how they went about their work. The fellow I'd talked to—he was, indeed, the foreman—would go ahead of the others and tie markers around the trees he wanted cut. I knew exactly what I had to do. I went home and had your grandmother sew me a costume of hides. ‘I want it fifteen feet high,' I said. ‘What on earth for?' she asked me. ‘That's nearly three times as big as you.' I told her to never mind, she'd find out.

“While she was doing that, I carved a mask—a hideous face with long teeth and bulging eyes.”

“What were you going to do with it?”

“Just wait. You'll find out. When that part of
the costume was ready, I covered my snowshoes in rubber from an old tire so they looked like very large boots. Then I gathered everything together. Well before dawn, I started toward the area where they were logging. At the edge of the woods where I found the last cut tree, I pulled on the snowshoes and walked through the trees in the moonlight, leaving enormous footprints in the snow as I went. I found a cedar tree about fifteen feet high and dressed it in the costume your grandmother had sewn. I fit the mask I had made in place. I had brought along some long poles. With these, I could manipulate the branches to give the impression that the arms and legs were moving. I then waited for day to break and the logging crew to arrive.

“The sun was barely up when they pulled up in their trucks. The men working the equipment got it ready, while the fellow who selected the trees started out. I could see him from where I waited behind the cedar. He came across my first footprint and stopped. He looked ahead and saw another. Slowly, he followed them, glancing around as he walked. He was maybe a hundred yards away when he spotted the cedar dressed in the costume your grandmother had
made. I jabbed hard at the branches with my poles so that the arms and legs began to dance. The foreman's eyes opened wide. ‘Sasquatch!' he hollered, loud enough to be heard on the mainland. ‘It's a sasquatch! Everybody, clear out!' He then turned and ran faster than a swift fox.”

Eddie laughs loudly.

“Well, there was no question if the others believed him or not. He was so terrified they knew he must have seen something. After all, he was the boss and they had confidence in him. So they packed up their equipment and left the site. And Trotter didn't come around anymore. When I checked on him, he was fast asleep.”

When Granddad is finished, Eddie thinks about what he has said. “Granddad, why didn't you tell Mr. Northorpe you knew it wasn't a grizzly and that there aren't any grizzly bears on the island?”

Granddad considers his answer. “Because, Eddie, Mr. Northorpe likes to read and he is proud of all he knows. And he was a guest in our house.”

Eddie is reassured that Granddad is still telling stories. But he also wonders if the Northorpes would have thought their island was less boring if they'd heard about Trotter, the sasquatch and how the ruts came about.

By noon, Granddad and Eddie have landed five silver salmon between ten and fifteen pounds each. After they eat their sandwiches, Eddie takes the rod while Granddad settles in for a snooze.

“Now remember, if you get a strike don't pull too hard or too fast,” he tells Eddie. He plumps up a lifejacket and lies back on it, folds his hands over his chest and closes his eyes.

The fog has burned off, and Eddie waves at a passing tour boat. He looks toward the shoreline where he watches Jake and Fred tie up at the wharf. He is too far out in the bay to distinguish everyone, but he recognizes Fred, who towers above all the other fishermen, and Jake, who is
wearing his Masset fishing derby hat. Flounder bounds from the boat to the wharf.

Eddie is adjusting his own hat when he gets a hit. A bit of a tug and a moment of slack, and then the fish strikes again. In a matter of seconds the line is taut. Eddie allows a little more line to peel off. He doesn't pull too hard, or too fast—in fact, the fish quickly uses up the extra line he gives it, and it's all he can do to hold on to it. “Granddad, you'd better wake up.”

Granddad opens one eye. Eddie is hanging on to that rod with all his might. His upper body pivots in the direction the fish takes. Granddad sits up and quickly slides next to him. “Let him take it, Eddie. Give him lots of line and lots of space. We've got the whole ocean to wear him out.”

Eddie realizes this is true. He lets the reel free-spool for a time.

The fish changes directions again, pulling Eddie's arm at an unnatural angle as it crosses to the other side beneath the boat. Granddad takes the rod. This allows Eddie a chance to straighten up and shake the tingling out of his arm. “Let me have it back.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Granddad passes the rod back to Eddie. The short break has renewed the strength in his arms as well as his determination. He listens to Granddad's directions, but he is also taking directions from the fish. After a time, when he has given the fish as much line as he can afford, he tries to raise it just a little, but the line will still not yield.

Fifteen minutes pass. Eddie's arms are numb and his shoulders are feeling the strain. He wants to pass the rod to Granddad again, but this is his fish and he is determined to land it himself. It is a big fish, Eddie can feel it. The biggest he's ever hooked.

“Are you okay?” Granddad asks.

Eddie nods. The effort to answer would take energy away from what he needs to land the fish.

Thirty more minutes elapse and looking up, Eddie realizes they have moved some distance out into the bay. His back is cramped and he cannot feel his arms. But at least he's now able to gain a few feet of line back from the fish. And by the angle of the line it appears the fish is rising—slowly, but it's happening.

“Don't give up, now,” Granddad tells him. “Keep the tension on him. Let him know who's boss.”

“I'm trying to, but he's really strong.”

“And so are you. At least you can make him think that you are.”

“He's big, Granddad.”

“Yes, he is. But he doesn't need to know that you're not. He doesn't need to know you're just a boy. Make him think you are a very big man.”

Eddie stands tall and tries to make him think just that. He also tries not to let the fish know that he is scared and very sore.

He is able to gain line steadily now, a small bit at a time. He guesses the fish still has about twenty yards. Granddad stands at his side ready with the gaff and club, although they have still not seen the fish. It has been an hour since Eddie felt the first tug.