Muskie Attack (An Up North Adventure) (6 page)

“It’s a scavenger fish, a bottom-feeder,” Uncle Dell explained as he reached down, grabbed the line, and pulled up the fish. “See its mouth.” It was white and puffy and made a constant sucking motion. “Fun to catch, but not a keeper. Too boney. Here.” Uncle Dell shoved the fish at Griffy. “Take it off the hook. Good practice.”

Repulsed by the ugly, sucking fish, Griffy quickly stepped back. The fish fell and flipped itself off the hook.

Spinner, spying the much more lively prey, dropped Gil’s pumpkinseed and chased after the sucker. He nipped at it, grabbed its tail, and shook.

“He thinks it’s a chew toy,” Griffy said, amazed.

“Well, he’s not playing with
my
fish again,” Gil said and ran to pick up her pumpkinseed. “Sorry about that, little guy,” she apologized. Then she dropped the fish in the basket and the basket into the water.

About two frustrating hours later, Griffy picked up the worm container and sorted through it. Annoyed and disappointed, he was ready to give up on fishing. Everyone was having fun and catching fish but him. He had caught only two fish since the sucker, and he kept getting his lure snagged on the rocky bottom. He’d lost three lures before Uncle Dell had switched him to a hook. He’d lost two of those so far, one on a tree across the river.

Uncle Dell tried to cheer him up. “There’s a knack to it, a feel,” he explained. “You’ll pick it up. Give it time.”

Yeah, right
, Griffy thought, and he watched Pike dodge Spinner as he carried another fish to the basket.

Griffy pouted. No one was even paying attention to him. They were all too busy casting and yelling at one another to stay out of their spot.
Typical
, he thought. He had been starting to feel like he belonged, that Uncle Dell and Pike really wanted to spend time with him. Now he felt like the invisible kid again.

Griffy put another worm on his hook and placed the container in the shade of the only tree on the small island. Bushes and underbrush surrounded the yellow birch.

The sound of cascading water drew Griffy’s attention, so he ventured alone down a narrow, overgrown path that led to the dam’s waterfall-like spillway and its overflow basin. It was much cooler on this side of the dam and a little spooky. The rushing water blocked out all other sound. Moist moss covered the ground and rocks. The overflow basin was strangely calm. Water bubbled only at the base of the waterfall and where it spilled over into the rock bed.

Griffy peered into the water. He could see mossy rocks covering the bottom for about three feet out and then nothing.
A drop-off
, he thought. It must be deep out there. He spotted a large rock about a foot off the bank. It looked like a good place to fish, so he stepped onto it and cast his pole toward the waterfall. He carefully cast between two concrete pilings that jutted into the basin from both sides of the spillway. He didn’t want to get caught on one of those and lose his hook and worm again.

He reeled in his first cast. No bite. He cast again. Nothing. He wasn’t paying attention, just sulking, on his third cast when he felt a tap, tap, tap on the end of his line. Griffy snapped to attention, but it was too late. He missed the fish. He cast again. Waited. Slowly reeled in. There it was again: tap, tap, tap. He jerked his pole. Missed it! Exasperated, he let out long sigh. Then he remembered what Uncle Dell had told him. “Let out your line until your bait hits the bottom; then reel in a couple times. That’s where the fish are.” So he cast out to the same spot again, let out a bunch of line, and waited. The line wouldn’t go down—not enough anyway. He had too far to cast, but still when he reeled in, there was that same tap, tap, tap.

He needed to be farther out, closer to the waterfall. He looked up and down the short embankment. He didn’t see another rock any farther out.
The cement piling
, Griffy thought.
That’s the answer
. It was about a foot wide and about seven feet long. He could walk on that easily enough. But he couldn’t see a way to get across the water to it.

Griffy walked over to the concrete wall that divided the gatehouse and the spillway. The piling dead-ended here. He saw a rock nested against the concrete wall about halfway between himself and the piling. It was too far to jump to, though. Griffy had an idea. He searched in the underbrush and found a good-sized rock. He dropped it near the wall close to the bank. He took a big step out onto it. It held, but the rock, covered in moss, was slippery, and Griffy lost his balance. Terrified at the thought of plunging into the murky water, Griffy flailed his arms wildly trying to save himself. He didn’t know what the current in that drop-off was like or how strong it was. He could be dragged down, down, down. Using all his will and strength, he threw his body against the wall and hugged its cold cement tightly.

Whew! Close call. He would have to be much more careful. Griffy cautiously stepped back to shore, retrieved another rock, and dropped it in front of the first one. It held. He continued this, growing more confident each time, until his stone path reached the piling. By the time he placed the final rock, he barely had to touch the wall for balance. He came back to shore, grabbed his fishing pole, crossed the rocks again, and walked to the end of the piling. It was just wide enough for Griffy to walk on with ease. He glanced over his shoulder. Turning around was going to be a little tricky, but he’d manage.

Griffy cast out into his spot. Now it was just a few feet away. He let out his line, reeled in a couple times, and waited.

Tap, tap, tap.

He jerked on the pole.
Missed, darn it
. Whatever was out there was playing hard to get. He reeled in to check his worm. It looked good. He cast again.

Tap, tap, tap.

This time, Griffy didn’t jerk; he waited—patiently.
Take it; take it
, he chanted to himself. When he thought the time was right, he gave the pole a slight jerk. The fish jerked back. He had it! Griffy eagerly reeled in. He didn’t trust himself to bring the fish in on the narrow piling. It’d flip off the hook before he could get a hold of it for sure. So he kept it in the water, walking slowly with it down the piling, across the rocks, and to the shore where he brought the fish in.

Another ugly fish
, he thought. He had no idea what it was. It had large, cloudy eyes with a dark green back, olive sides, and a long, spiny dorsal fin.

“Hey!” he yelled out. “I caught something! Ugly! Hey! Uncle Dell!”

No one answered. No one came. The rushing water muted his cries. Griffy shrugged.
Oh, well
. He was the invisible kid after all.

Griffy wasn’t sure if this was another scavenger fish or a keeper. He took the fish off the hook and laid it in the underbrush for safekeeping. Griffy adjusted his worm and went back out to try again.

Tap, tap, tap.

This time, he knew exactly what to do and snagged the fish easily. “Ha! Got you!” he cried out. As Griffy turned around to bring the fish to shore, he stopped short. There, standing right in front of him and blocking his way was Spinner. Griffy hadn’t heard the dog walk up behind him.
Oh no
, he thought and froze like a statue. He was afraid Spinner would start his fish grabbing game again and knock both of them off the narrow piling into the cold water below.

The two, neither one moving, just stared at each other. Then Spinner tilted his head to one side as if to ask: What?

“Back up,” Griffy said and motioned slightly with his free hand. The dog, with an agility that shocked Griffy, quickly turned around and headed back to shore.

“Wow,” Griffy sighed, relieved. “Crazy dog.”

Griffy had caught another ugly fish with cloudy eyes: this one slightly smaller than the first. Spinner seemed to have no interest in the two fish lying in the tall grass, but Griffy was taking no chances.

He pointed his finger at the dog and commanded, “You leave these fish alone. Got it?”

Spinner just looked at him. He seemed to be smiling. The fish obviously weren’t Spinner’s concern. Griffy was.

Griffy shook his head. “Looks like I’m not invisible to you, huh?” And he gave Spinner a scratch behind the ear.

Griffy checked his bait situation. “We’ve got enough for another one. Let’s go.”

So Griffy went back out on the piling, Spinner following close behind.

Griffy cast out, but this time the tap, tap, tap never came. He cast again. Nothing. On his fourth cast, Griffy decided to give up.

“I guess there are no more ugly fish to be had,” Griffy said to Spinner, and the two headed in.

Griffy took the overgrown path back to the dam’s gates. He left the fish lying in the grass, afraid to pick them up. What if they were disgusting bottom-feeders or worse? He needed to find out.

“Hey! Hey! You guys! Uncle Dell!” he called as he made his way though the brush.

Uncle Dell met him at the head of the path, concern covering his face. “What were you doing over there? You need to stay where I can see you,” he scolded.

“But I caught something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. It’s got weird eyes.”

“Weird eyes, huh?” Uncle Dell questioned. “Well, show me.”

Griffy readily obliged, taking Uncle Dell to the two fish lying side by side in the grass.

Dell let out a gasp.

That’s not good
, Griffy thought. “What? Bottom-feeders?” he asked.

“Oh, no. Those are walleyes. Behind a muskie, they’re the most difficult fish to catch.” Uncle Dell slapped Griffy on the back. “Two of them.” He shook his head in amazement. “Good fishing. Good fishing.”

Griffy smiled brightly and stood a little taller.

Uncle Dell looked around and asked, “Where did you catch them?”

“Out there, on that ledge.”

Uncle Dell gasped again. This time, it really wasn’t good. “No, no, not out on that ledge. That’s too dangerous. Way too dangerous. What were you thinking?”

Griffy shrugged. “I dunno. It seemed like a good idea.”

“How did you get out there?”

Griffy pointed to the rock path.

“OK, no harm done. Get those fish in the basket and in the water before their gills go pink. We’re filleting those.”

Griffy cradled the walleye in his arms and walked them to the basket. Mitch, Gil, and Pike were still fishing over the dam’s gates, but the run had obviously ended. All were quiet.

“What’d you catch?” Mitch called over his shoulder as Griffy walked by.

“Walleye.”

Mitch, Pike, and Gil jumped for a look.

“Good Gouda,” Pike exclaimed.

“Sweet Brie, Griffy,” Gil praised.

Amused, Griffy chuckled and pushed his way through the group. Being forbidden to swear by their parents, Pike and Gil used cheese for expletives or exclamations instead. They were from Wisconsin after all. Griffy, although used to hearing these phrases by now, still found it oddly funny.

“I’ve got to get them in the water,” Griffy announced with an air of importance, “but I’ll show you where I caught them.”

“Bet you can’t wait to tell your dad about this,” Mitch said and gave Griffy a congratulatory pat on the back.

“Naw,” Griffy replied. “He wouldn’t be impressed. Not like Uncle Dell was.”

“Or like us,” Pike excitedly chimed in.

“Nope,” Griffy smiled.

“Well, more bragging for us then,” Mitch concluded.

When the four emerged from the overgrown path, they found Uncle Dell fishing out on the cement piling, Spinner sitting right behind him.

“Hey,” Griffy scolded. “You said that was too dangerous.”

Uncle Dell smiled back sheepishly. “Had to give it a try. Caught a bluegill the size of my hand but no walleye.” He pointed down to Spinner. The dog had the fish in its mouth. “Take it on in, boy,” Dell instructed, and Spinner turned around and took the fish to shore.

Once the two were back on land, Spinner dropped the fish at Dell’s feet.

The kids stood in shock with their mouths hanging wide open.

“Pretty smart dog, eh?” Dell said and patted Spinner on the head.

“Only when he wants to be,” Gil answered.

“Well, I think we should call it a day. What do you think, Mitch?” Dell asked.

“Sounds good. We’ve got a lot of fish to clean here, and it’s after lunch already.”

“But I want to fish out there!” Pike cried. “Come on, come on. Can’t we stay?”

“Not this time, Pike. You can walk out, but that’s it,” his dad answered.

“Fine,” Pike agreed, scowling.

Once the group returned to the car, Pike swore all to secrecy. “Not a word to anyone about where Griffy caught those walleye. That’s Griffy’s Walleye Hole. Got it? Anyone asks, he caught them somewhere on the lake, not at the dam.” Pike looked over at Griffy. “We don’t want anyone fishing in your spot.”

Griffy nodded and smiled.
No more invisible kid
, he thought.
At least not here
.