Muskie Attack (An Up North Adventure)

by Moore, G. M.

  “Excellent choice, Grif. To Twin Pines, Captain,” Pike ordered, and he began pulling up the anchor.

  “No,” Gil shook her head. In Whispering Pines Bay, Twin Pines was as far away from the lodge as they could get. “How about Suicide Rock? It’s closer to home.”

  “Come on, Gil. Twin Pines. It’s deeper over there,” Griffy argued.

  “But it is getting late …”

  “And you are wasting our time,” Pike finished for her.

  Gil reeled in her pole and cast out again.

  “Don’t cast!” Pike yelled as he heaved the anchor into the boat. “We are moving. Get your pole out of the water.”

  Griffy was fed up with the constant bickering. Enough was enough.

  “All we asked is to go across the bay. It’s not that big of a deal. If you would have just started the motor, we could be halfway there by now. ”

  Pike looked at Griffy with surprise. Griffy usually stayed out of their arguments.

  Gil started reeling faster. “Fine. We’ll go. But I’m doing it for you, Griffy. Not Pike.”

  “I’m OK with that,” Pike said smiling. “To Twin Pines it is.”

  Griffy was shocked Gil had actually given in again. That, like, never happened. Pike often joked about his sister’s split personality. And, boy, was he right. Sometimes she watched their backs, and other times she stabbed right in them. Griffy chalked it up to her being a teenager and a girl.

  Gil started the motor, turned the boat toward Twin Pines, and away they went.

  About a third of the way there, Griffy noticed a dark trail of debris in the water behind them.

  “Hey, what is that?” he asked pointing out to the water. “Gas leak?”

  Gil looked over her shoulder and quickly cut the motor.

  “I don’t know.”

  She leaned over the back of the boat and peered down at the motor’s propellers.

  “It’s not gas. It looks like … Oh noooooooooo!” she cried. Gil reached over the side of the boat and pulled up the fish stringer. It and the fish it held had been chopped to pieces by the sharp blades of the motor.

  “You forgot to bring the fish in?” Pike questioned, shaking his head in disbelief. He had moved from the front of the boat to the middle to get a better look. “Good going again.”

  Griffy and Gil looked at the fish stringer in dismay.

  “You mean all of that,” Griffy asked looking out behind the boat, “is blood and fish guts?” He grimaced.

  “This is not my fault,” Gil whined. “I cannot be responsible for everything. We all forgot to bring a fish basket, and you two wanted to go across the bay, not me.”

  She looked the bloody, mangled stringer up and down. “Poor, poor fish.”

  Their catch of a dozen or so fish had been reduced to about three. Mutilated parts—heads, gills, fins, and flesh—hung haphazardly from the frayed stringer.

  “Well, look on the bright side,” Griffy said. “We won’t have to clean them. That fish house creeps me out.”

  “That is creeping me out,” Pike chimed in, pointing to the stringer. “Drop that thing back in the water.” Standing, he cast the double-eyed cane, letting the muskie lure fly past the back of the boat. It dropped right in the middle of the trail of guts and blood.

  Gil put what was left of the stringer back in the water. She and Griffy sat in depressed silence, staring at the spot where the knotted stringer was tied to the boat.

  Suddenly, The Lucky 13 rocked sharply to the right. The jolt threw Griffy off his seat. Pike, who was standing, fell backward and nearly went overboard. He, Griffy, and the muskie pole all landed at the bottom of the boat. Gil barely stayed seated.

  “What was that!” she shouted when the boat righted itself. “Did we hit something? It felt like we hit something? Did we hit something?” She looked wildly at the water surrounding them.

  Pike pulled himself up. Griffy stayed where he was.

  “We aren’t moving, Gil,” Pike answered. “Something hit us.” He leaned over the side of the boat, searching the water.

  “Don’t do that!” Griffy yelled at Pike. From his spot on the bottom of the boat, he grabbed Pike’s shirt and pulled him back. “Do you want to fall in?”

  Just as Griffy said that, The Lucky 13 rocked violently to the right again.

  “Holy chedda cheese,” Pike called out as he found himself on the bottom of the boat again.

  All three now sat with their rear ends firmly planted on the bottom of The Lucky 13 and their hands clutching both sides of it. No one said a word. They just rocked back and forth with the boat, waiting.

  Gil was the first to break the long silence. She began to quietly sing: “Don’t rock the boat. Don’t rock the boat, baby.”

  Pike joined in: “Don’t rock the boat. Don’t tip the boat over. Don’t rock the booooo-oh-oh-oh-oat.”

  “Funny, guys.” Griffy smiled in spite of his fear. He was thankful for the comic relief.

  As the boat’s wild rocking calmed, so did the kids, and they pulled themselves back onto their seats.

  “I don’t know what that was, and I don’t want to find out,” Gil said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “I second that,” Griffy said.

  “It’s unanimous then.” Pike nodded.

  As Gill turned to start the motor, she stopped short. “Good Gouda,” she gasped.

  “What? What is it?” Pike asked, his voice raising an octave. From his seat at the bow, he strained to see what was going on.

  “The stringer. It’s gone.”

  She untied what was left of the stringer and held it out for Pike and Griffy to see.

  “It looks like it’s been cut,” Griffy exclaimed. “How …”

  The three surveyed the water around them, fear growing on their faces.

  “Vamanos, Gil. Vamanos,” Pike ordered.

  She jumped to action, cranked up the motor, and turned the boat toward the lodge and Suicide Rock. Luckily, the rocking boat had moved them a little closer to home.

  The Lucky 13 sped—as fast as a four-horsepower motor allowed—for the dock at Whispering Pines Lodge. They almost made it, too, but the muskie pole, resting against the side of the boat, suddenly slipped and caught on the underside of Griffy’s seat.

  “Whoaaaaa, Gil. Whoaaaaa,” Pike called, waving his hands back and forth over his head.

  Gil cut the motor.

  “Muskie pole’s still in the water,” Griffy explained as he reached down to dislodge the reel. As soon as he got it free, the pole jerked sharply backward. Griffy wrestled it with both hands before being pulled spread eagle toward the stern of the boat.

  With only seconds to react, Gil jumped away from the motor as Griffy and the fishing pole flew at her. As it had with the muskie pole, Griffy’s bench seat stopped him. His feet caught on its side saving him from being pulled out of the boat.

  “Hit the drag! Hit the drag! Give it line!” Pike ordered.

  But Griffy couldn’t move. All he could do was hold on.

  “Don’t let go, Grif!” Pike pleaded as he leaped to Griffy’s aid.

  With one hand, he grabbed the muskie pole just above the reel. With the other, he pushed the drag button and released the line. He wasn’t quick enough to save Griffy, though. With the tension gone, Griffy dropped—kerplunk!—to the bottom of the boat.

  “Sorry, dude,” Pike winced as he took the fishing pole from Griffy.

  Griffy moaned and pulled himself up. He flexed his hands back and forth. They hurt, bad.

  “Do you think we snagged a log?” Gil asked quietly as she settled back in at the boat’s helm.

  “I don’t know,” Pike answered. He started reeling the line in. “We’ll soon see.”

  Griffy watched Pike in tense silence.

  With the pole held high, Pike reeled and reeled. He heaved the pole back. It bent dangerously low. “Ugh,” he gasped. “It feels like a log—dead weight—but it’s moving.” He kept reeling, but it was difficult and slow g
oing. “Here, my arms are killing me,” Pike said, passing the pole to Griffy.

  “Geez!” Griffy exclaimed. “It weighs a ton.” He reeled and reeled, heaved and heaved working the log closer and closer to the boat.

  “Let’s just cut the line and go in,” Gil stated. Her hands were shaking.

  “Take over, Pike,” Griffy called out. “My arms are about ready to go.”

  Pike grabbed the pole and started reeling again. Strangely, the line became very slack, gathering in curls at the water’s surface.

  “Hey, I think we lost it,” Pike announced and reeled faster.

  Curious, both Gil and Griffy peered into the water.

  “I don’t see anything,” Gil said.

  She spoke too soon.

  A flat, reptilianlike head almost as big as hers broke water about four feet from the boat. The beady-eyed muskie flashed its cream-colored belly and then disappeared.

  “Ohmigod!” Gil gasped.

  “Did you see it! Did you see it?! What was it?” Griffy shouted.

  Pike stopped reeling. “Mu-u-uskie,” he stammered.

  Somehow, seeing the five-foot monster muskie didn’t frighten Griffy as much as it excited him. He yelled at Pike and Gil. “Wow! Did you see it?” He punched Pike in the arm. “Keep reeling! Keep reeling!”

  The punch seemed to get Pike back on track and in fisherman mode. He quickly got the slack out of the line and gave the pole a heave. The muskie, playing dead before, came alive. It frantically jumped out of the water and flipped violently in the air, trying to free itself from the lure lodged in its mouth. Its massive body crashed back down, spraying the kids and The Lucky 13 with cold lake water.

  “Holy chedda cheese!” Pike and Griffy yelled.

  Gil didn’t ask anyone’s permission this time. She sat down at the motor and cranked it up. She was getting out of there—fish or no fish. Out of the corner of his eye, Griffy saw Gil pick up the wooden club that Mr. Hanover had given them. “When you see that muskie, hit it and hit it hard,” he had told them. Griffy saw her place the club’s leather strap around her wrist and, with her other hand, grab the handle of the idling motor.

  “Brace yourselves, boys,” she warned. “We’re going in.”

  Pike and Griffy battled the muskie as Gil inched them closer and closer to shore. The muskie fought vigorously now. The small motor was barely a match for it. The fish kept pulling the boat sideways.

  “The pole’s holding up. The line’s holding up. Our only hope is to wear him down,” Pike instructed as he wiped sweat off his face and onto his T-shirt. The double-eyed cane pole showed amazing flexibility against the muskie’s weight. Griffy didn’t know how much longer he could battle this monster. His arms ached. The thought of winning that five-thousand-dollar prize and showing his dad was all that kept him going.

  Gil seemed to have her own agenda. “I see bottom!” she yelled. She cut the motor, grabbed the anchor’s rope, and jumped out of the boat.”

  “Gil! Are you crazy!” Pike screamed after her. “You’ll drown.”

  “Will not! I’ve got a life jacket on. Duh. I’m anchoring us on shore.”

  She took a couple determined steps through the shoulder-high water, but without the pull of the motor fighting against it, the muskie was too strong. The fighting fish pulled her and The Lucky 13 into deeper water. Griffy noticed Gil treading water instead of walking. She obviously couldn’t touch bottom anymore. The anchor looked like it weighed a ton.

  “Hold on, Gil,” Griffy commanded. He passed the pole once again to Pike and readied the oars.

  Griffy oared with all his might, trying to push The Lucky 13 back to shallow water. With Gil kicking hard and fast, she was soon able to stand again. She lowered her head and, with determination, began dragging the anchor to shore. Griffy stopped oaring and instead used one of the paddles as a wedge. Digging it into the lake’s bottom, he pushed off again and again with as much force as he could muster. Gil struggled against the now waste-high water, lunging herself closer and closer to shore.

  Underwater, less than seven feet from The Lucky 13, the muskie whipped its head back and forth trying once more to dislodge the lure implanted in its mouth. Go deep, its instincts said. But the muskie couldn’t. The water was too shallow. Find a weed bed. But in this part of the bay, the weeds weren’t plentiful enough for a five-foot, seventy-pound fish to tangle itself up in. Get to open water. But whatever had hold of it wasn’t letting that happen. Escape, its instincts cried out. Find a way to escape. Any way. So the muskie changed its tactics. The massive beast turned away from the depths of Lost Land Lake and swam with torpedolike speed toward the bottom of The Lucky 13.

  One final lunge put Gil safely on shore. She ran to the nearest tree and swung the anchor around its trunk. Gil wrapped the end of the twenty-five-foot rope around several times to secure it.

  “OK. Anchor secure!” she yelled as she gave it one last tug. Gil turned back toward the boat and gave Pike and Griffy the thumbs-up signal. Griffy waved back and put his oar down.

  Gil sighed with relief and sat down on the rocky shore. Now all Pike and Griffy had to do was wear that muskie down.

  But the kids didn’t know that muskies never gave up a fight—ever. Giving up wasn’t in their predatory nature. As Gil rested on shore, the massive fish sped toward The Lucky 13 and hit it with such force the small boat capsized.

  Griffy never saw it coming, and he was sure that Pike hadn’t either. The boys barely had time to scream before being thrown out of the boat and into the water.

  Griffy’s life jacket did its job, and he quickly resurfaced unharmed. Relieved, he saw that Pike had come up, too. Standing in the chest-high water, Pike looked at his hands in dismay.

  “The pole! The pole!” he panicked. “I dropped the pole! Griffy! Help!”

  Both boys looked down, searching the water frantically.

  “I don’t see it! I don’t see it!” Pike cried out.

  Simultaneously, the boys removed their life jackets and dove underwater.

  During the commotion following The Lucky 13’s capsize, the muskie readied for another attack. It swam under the lodge’s dock and circled back. In doing so, it wrapped the fishing line around one of the dock’s posts, snapping the line and setting the ferocious beast free. If the fish knew it was free to swim away, it gave no indication. It was a predator, and its prey was in the water just a few feet away.

  Griffy came up for air briefly, then dove underwater again. He spied the cane pole and needed a little more air to retrieve it. Breaststroking through the water, he snatched the pole and prepared to resurface when movement caught his eye. The muskie swam past him with a force that sent waves through the water. Griffy bobbed backward against it and watched in horror as the beast headed for Pike. The fish’s stalking pattern made Griffy think of a wolf, a long, spearlike wolf hunting the waters.

  Griffy swam underwater toward Pike but had to resurface when his lungs felt they would burst. He saw that Pike had resurfaced near the dock in waist-high water. Griffy held up the pole and yelled, “Pike! Look out! Get out of the water!”

  But Pike didn’t seem to hear or see him. He appeared to be in a trance, staring blankly at the cane pole and the broken fishing line fluttering in the sky.

  “Pike!” Griffy screamed again waving his arms and the pole back and forth. “Muskie coming! Move! Now!”

  Pike’s face finally wrinkled in puzzlement. “What?”

  Too late.

  Pike let out an agonizing yelp as the muskie, with a fast, powerful lunge, sank its razor-sharp fangs into his thigh. He fell back into the water. Streams of blood rose to the surface.

  Griffy struggled against the weight of the water to reach his friend. He saw Gil racing into the water from shore to help. Griffy reached Pike first; he jabbed the muskie with the bottom of the double-eyed cane and pulled Pike, gasping for air, up out of the water.

  The muskie didn’t let go. Instead, it whipped its sleek body around and stabbed
Griffy’s arm with one of its spiky side fins. Blood oozed down his arm, but Griffy didn’t let go either. He locked his hands and arms around Pike’s chest. With all the might he could gather, Griffy slowly heaved Pike and the muskie clamped on his leg into shallower water.

  The muskie shook its head frenetically. Pike screamed in pain as his puncture wounds ripped wider. Griffy lost his footing, fell backward, and landed on the lake’s bottom. Gil reached the scene just as Griffy went under water, trapped by the muskie and Pike’s body. Struggling to keep his face above water, Griffy motioned toward the cane pole. “Grab the pole and jab!” he ordered.

  Gil stabbed the monster fish as its tail whipped violently side to side. “Back off my brother!” she screamed.

  Her blows helped Griffy escape, but still the beast held on to Pike. As Griffy struggled to regain his footing, he had an idea.

  “The club! The club! Where is it?”

  Gil looked confused for a moment and then exclaimed, “It’s here! I forgot!” She had run from shore with the club Mr. Hanover had given them still strapped on her wrist.

  Gil thrust the club at Griffy. With both hands, he raised it high overhead and swung down hard striking the scaly monster right between its beady eyes. He raised his arms and swung again. Splat! Bam!

  The heavy blows dazed the beast but did little to loosen its grip on Pike’s leg. Griffy and Gil grabbed Pike and dragged him and the semiconscious fish closer to shore. As the lake water receded around it, the muskie seemed to find a new life. It released Pike and thrashed out of control in the now knee-deep water. Its long, lean tubular body flipped and jerked in a fierce show of aerial acrobatics. Its fanlike tailfin and sharp side fins sliced at Pike, Griffy, and Gil as they rolled, jumped, and dragged themselves out of the crazed animal’s destructive path.

  Then, out of nowhere, Spinner came running full speed down the Whispering Pines dock. In an aerial show of his own, Spinner leaped from the dock and flew through the air landing directly on the muskie. He sank his teeth into the muskie’s spine, partially paralyzing the beast. Its mighty tail no longer fully functioning, the fish rolled violently side to side trying to shake Spinner off. But the dog held on and actually seemed to enjoy the turbulent ride.