Muskie Attack (An Up North Adventure) (2 page)

Uncle Dell rubbed the top of his crew-cut head, then shook it in disgust.

“The county is supposed to be fixing all this,” he complained. “I’ve called, and I’ve called.”

Deeper and deeper into the woods they went. Corbett noticed the SUV’s thermometer, which had read seventy-two in town, had dropped to sixty-six.
This is not good
, he thought. Corbett now understood why Link Bros. Grocery in Minong offered everything in bulk. Corbett had marveled at the gallon-sized jars of mustard, relish, and ketchup when he and Uncle Dell had shopped there before heading to the lodge. There was definitely no 7-Eleven to grab a quick slushy at out here.

Just then, movement on the road ahead caught Corbett’s attention.

“It’s a deer!” he shouted, as the animal bolted off the road and into the woods.

Uncle Dell slowed the car.

“Look, there’re two others,” he said, pointing to a spot just off the road.

One minute the deer were there, and then with a flick of the tail and a leap, they were gone.

“Wow. Cool,” Corbett gushed. “I’ve only seen deer at the Brookfield petting zoo.”

“You’ll see plenty more,” Uncle Dell said. “And maybe a bear or two.”

“Bears?” Corbett asked, his mouth feeling suddenly dry. “Really? There are bears?”

“Yep. Ornery things, too. Kinda look like big black dogs, at first. You’ll see.”

The SUV had bumped its way about a mile into the woods when it crossed over another culvert that led into a small pond filled with lily pads and cattails. Corbett noticed something sticking up out of the water but couldn’t quite make out what it was. It looked like the back of a very large turtle, a tortoise perhaps.
But that is impossible
, Corbett thought.
Tortoises don’t live in the wild of Wisconsin
. He quickly forgot about the large mound as the SUV took a turn that revealed a road spotted with mailboxes and carved signs telling them they were passing Heffner’s Hideaway or Richardson’s Retreat.

Finally, the woods drew farther and farther back. Patches of grass, sand, and pine needles covered the ground. They were now driving on a peninsula, a narrow strip of land that jutted out into the lake. The bright afternoon sun, which had been hidden moments before, sparkled like diamonds on the water surrounding them. Uncle Dell stopped the SUV in front of two behemoth black bears. He smiled, pointed to the sign the carved bears held high, and said, “Welcome to Whispering Pines.”

Uncle Dell unloaded Corbett’s bags, tossing them quickly onto the lodge’s screened porch. Its door banged shut loudly behind him, causing an already skittish Corbett to jump. Uncle Dell smiled reassuringly and placed a hand on Corbett’s shoulder.

“Not to worry, now,” he said. “You’re going to like it here. No question. Come on. Let’s check the place out.”

Corbett smiled back politely and began to walk with Uncle Dell among the cabins and outbuildings that dotted the small peninsula where Whispering Pines made its home. The waters of Lost Land Lake surrounded the mile-long strip of land, which was only an eighth mile across at its widest. The peninsula slowly narrowed to a point that ended in a part of the lake known as Shallow Pass.

Uncle Dell reminisced while the two walked, explaining that Whispering Pines Lodge was built in the mid-1940s—back in the days of master fisherman and world record holder Louis Spray.

“You’ve heard of the good ol’ days?” Uncle Dell asked.

Corbett nodded that he had.

“Well, that was them all right. Eleven-pound bass and thirty-eight-pound northern pike ruled the lakes. Game fishing was at its peak.”

Uncle Dell paused, as if waiting for a reaction. Corbett guessed he was supposed to be impressed by this, but he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know what game fishing was.

“Wow,” he finally responded.

Uncle Dell seemed pleased and continued on. “Our guests don’t require a lot of pampering,” Dell explained. “Peace and quiet. That’s all they need. The lodge holds the only phone and television on the place. The guest phone is for emergencies only. Remember that,” he instructed.

Corbett nodded OK.

“And the TV gets very poor reception—no cable, no satellite hookup here.”

Corbett nodded OK again.

“And no cell phones,” Dell continued. “They don’t work out here. Can’t get the Internet, either.”

Corbett stared at his uncle in disbelief.
This is just like
Gilligan’s Island, he thought, remembering the old TV show he often watched by himself after school. He sang the theme song in his head:
No phones, no lights, no motor cars. Not a single luxury
.

“The radio is always an option,” Uncle Dell was saying, “but the only station that comes in clearly is one out of Rice Lake. It plays oldies country—a lot of Hank Williams, a lot of Johnny Horton.”

Corbett was in a slight daze. He slowly nodded OK yet again. Did Uncle Dell really think he would like it here? Was he nuts? His mom promised a summer of fun. A summer of boredom was more like it. What was he supposed to do without TV or the Internet?

“Here we go,” Dell said stopping in front of Cabin 3. “The Coopersmiths haven’t arrived yet. Come on in and have a look around.”

Corbett and Uncle Dell entered one of Whispering Pines’ twelve brown, clapboard cabins. The rustic cabin featured a kitchen, three bedrooms, a bathroom, and a screened porch. The bathroom held only a toilet. Corbett thought it looked as if someone took an outhouse and simply attached it to the side of the cabin.

“The cabins still have many of their original furnishings,” Uncle Dell bragged as he showed Corbett beds with metal head-and footboards, a table with chrome legs and a hard plasticlike surface, log chairs, and antique dressers and mirrors.

“If you really want to step back in time, poke around the kitchen a bit while I go get my tools. This hinge needs fixing,” Uncle Dell said as he rattled the bathroom door.

Stepping into a Whispering Pines kitchen, Corbett discovered, was like stepping into a bygone era. The old-fashioned refrigerator had a small upper freezer that, when opened, looked like a cave of ice. The gas stove only lit with matches. The cabinets were filled with items long since replaced in modern kitchens. Corbett found a mixer that required hand power to turn its beaters, a toaster with doors instead of slots that required the bread to be rotated by hand, and a cordless coffee pot that had a strange bubblelike knob on top.

When Uncle Dell returned, he had a man with him. “Corbett, this here is Mr. Hugh Goodner. He’s in Cabin 5.”

“So here’s the young man himself!” Hugh greeted Corbett happily with a handshake. “Dell’s in need of a few good hands. My wife won’t let me unload one item from the car until she gives the cabin a good cleaning herself. Isn’t that right, Dell?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Dell answered. He rolled his eyes as he walked by so only Corbett could see.

Dell went to work on the bathroom door as Hugh pulled Corbett aside. His hair was greased back, and he smelled of fish and bad aftershave. Corbett didn’t want to get too close, but Hugh drew him in tight.

He led Corbett first to a window. “See,” he pointed.

Dead flies and spiders filled the windowsill.

Next, Hugh led him to the front door. “See.”

Sand and cobwebs coated the door screen.

Hugh took him to a corner of the kitchen. “See there.”

Dirt and dust clogged the corner.

“Yuck,” Corbett muttered. He really wished he’d packed hand sanitizer. He was afraid to touch anything now. Who knew what germs were growing in here?

“It’s OK,” Hugh whispered. “We’re all used to it. Part of the place’s charm, ya know.” He winked at Corbett conspiratorially. Then he spoke louder. “Good help is hard to find. That right, Dell?”

“Yep. Good help and good wives.”

“So they are. So they are,” Hugh chuckled. “Don’t go tellin’ Vera I said that now, but I know you’ve had your share of wife woes, Dell.”

Uncle Dell reentered the kitchen. The door was now fixed.

Corbett looked at him perplexed. “I had an aunt?” he asked. He had never heard of an aunt before. He didn’t think really old people got divorced. “Did she die?”

“Well, actually you had three aunts. And, no, none of them died. Let’s just say life Up North can be rough.”

“Yeah, I know. There’s no TV,” Corbett replied.

Dell and Hugh laughed heartedly at that.

“No, no. Not because there’s no TV. Well, at least I don’t think it was because of the TV,” Dell chuckled and tousled Corbett’s dark brown hair.

As they walked back to the lodge with Hugh still in tow, Uncle Dell told Corbett exactly what happened to each of his wives.

Wife number one left after her second winter. So much snow fell that the Everses couldn’t see out of the lodge’s windows or open the front door for weeks at a time. Peninsula Road, along with others in the area, became narrow tunnels of snow. Residents attached six-foot-high bicycle flags to their cars in order to see oncoming traffic. That season the Minong area recorded about two hundred inches of snow—more than enough for wife number one to head south.

Wife number two fell victim to a friendly fly infestation the summer of her fifth year at Whispering Pines. Dell explained that the flies were just part of nature’s cycle, sent to control a growing population of caterpillars. The insects were eating away at the surrounding foliage, and it was nature’s way of stopping them. That cycle occurred every ten years or so. It was no big deal. The flies wouldn’t bite, but they did have a nasty habit of regurgitating where they landed. Hundreds of vomiting flies covering her from head to toe were enough to send wife number two packing.

Uncle Dell learned a little with wife number three. He took her to Florida for the winter, and with the friendly flies still dormant, he didn’t foresee a problem there. However, he also didn’t foresee wife number three’s intolerance to insect bites. The summer months of June and July proved to be her undoing. Deer flies, stable flies, no-see-ums, mosquitoes, and other bloodsucking arthropods kept her body covered in itchy red welts that never seemed to go away. She incessantly sprayed herself with insect repellent. It was no help. She covered herself from head to toe with netting. No help. She finally refused to step foot outside. Still, no help. When her bite-riddled ears swelled to the size of red peppers, she could stand no more and hightailed it out of the North Woods.

“And I’ve been happily single ever since,” Dell concluded. “Wisconsin is all I need. The cool, damp mornings; the sun not fully setting until after 9:00 pm; the clean, star-speckled night sky.”

“What about winter?” Hugh asked. “You still up here all winter?”

“Oh, no,” Dell replied. “I spend winters in Florida.”

It was now dusk, and Dell was getting Corbett settled in at the lodge. He took Corbett through the kitchen to a small hallway where Corbett’s suitcases and gear were stacked. The hallway had three doors leading off it. To the right was Uncle Dell’s office, to the left a spare bedroom, and straight ahead a bathroom. Corbett picked up one of his bags and started to carry it into the spare room.

“Hold up,” Uncle Dell said and grabbed Corbett by the shoulder. “That’s not where you’re sleeping.” He took a few steps down the hall, stopped in front of the bathroom door, and pointed up. “I thought the loft might suit you better.”

Corbett hadn’t noticed the ladder running up the wall right next to the bathroom door. Looking up, he saw a square hole cut in the ceiling.

“Go on up. Check it out,” Uncle Dell coaxed. “There’s a light switch down here and one up there.”

So Corbett flicked on the light and started slowly, slowly up the ladder, one rung at a time.

“Wait,” Uncle Dell called out, throwing a bag over Corbett’s shoulder. “Take something with you. Once you get up, I’ll pass the rest of your gear.”

Corbett climbed up just enough to poke his head through the square opening. He quickly looked around like a gopher just popping out of its hole.

“Cool,” Corbett said as he finally hoisted himself up into the room.
Now this I’m going to like
.

The small room held only a bed, a chair, and a table—all made from birch tree logs. Two large, screened windows filled opposing walls and offered views of Lost Land Lake’s Whispering Pines Bay on one side and of the woods on the other. What Corbett found the most interesting about the room was the array of mounted fish and old lures that decorated the walls and peaked ceiling. Corbett would sleep every night with a four-and-a-half-pound walleye over his head.

A loud thud caught Corbett’s attention, and he turned to see that one of his bags had just been flung into the room. Corbett ran over to the ladder to help Uncle Dell get the remaining bags up.

“What do you think?” Dell asked.

Corbett grinned. “It’s awesome, Uncle Dell.”

“Good, good,” Dell said. “Now get settled in up here and get to bed. There’s work to be done tomorrow, starting with filling in some of those potholes.” He headed down the ladder, then stopped and yelled up, “You can meet Pike tomorrow. It’s going to take the two of you, I think.”