After the Great Muskie Hunt Read online

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  The boat moved silently across the surface of the lake. They had turned the motor off and as they drifted through the inlet, they worked the shoreline and the weed beds carefully. Concentric circles marked the ingress of their lures. Beyond the dead brown cattails, spruce trees scrambled for a foothold in the rocky soil.

  David hooked his spinner on the eyelet of his rod and stretched out in the stern. He was cold, tired. They had already caught their lunch and he was anxious to relax, to build a fire and fillet the walleye. There was nothing like the taste of flaky white fish fried up in lard in a cast iron pan over an open fire.

  He watched his father cast his spoon beyond the tree stump near the water’s edge. It was uncanny how the old man timed his casts. David had never equaled his precision, the smooth unhurried movement of his arm, the way he jigged the rod so that the spoon looked more realistic.

  “What do you think?” said David as his father cast again. “I’m starving.”

  Joseph looked up at the sky. Fat bands of imbricated clouds moved lazily across the sun. “Some people go hungry for days in order to catch a fish,” he said. “You’ll never hook a muskie if your line’s dry.”

  David shrugged. Across the lake, a flock of seagulls floated on the water. “I got my share of pike,” he said. “Besides, look at this place. I don’t care if I ever catch a muskie. It’s worth it just to be here.”

  Joseph shook his head. “There are two kinds of fishermen, David. One is content to throw his lure out and see what happens. The other one hunts muskie.”

  David pulled his watch cap down below his ears. “Jesus, Dad. It’s just a fish,” he said.

  Joseph hooked a finger around the line and cast his lure toward the shore. It landed just beside the stump. David watched his father work the rod. He swept the tip from side to side, his left hand turning constantly, the line retreating to the spool. Then, suddenly, his movements stopped. The thick rod bowed and, in the distance, David saw the water swell.

  The old man snapped the rod back violently to set the hook. Once, twice. There was a splash and David heard the nylon singing as the spool reversed itself.

  “What is it?” David asked excitedly.

  “Don’t know.”

  David slipped his own rod against the gunwale and reached down for the landing net. The fish was running for the rocks. “Looks big,” he said.

  Joseph twisted on his seat, swinging his line across the bow. The fish ran once again, then slowed. Joseph pumped the rod, the nylon shivered, and David saw a dark shape crack the water for an instant.

  It was a northern pike, and judging from the movement of the rod, the way its dorsal fin had slashed the surface of the lake, he knew that it was huge. “It must be twenty pounds,” he said excitedly. “Or more.”

  David felt his heart race as he slipped the net into the icy water. Joseph turned the fish at last; it headed for the boat. He pulled the rod up, trying madly to retrieve the line, to keep the nylon taut. The fish drew closer.

  David could see it clearly now. Its body shivered in the deep. The spoon was hooked clean in the upper corner of its mouth, forcing the pallid jaws apart. “This way,” he told his father. “Just lead it to me.”

  “I’m trying,” Joseph answered with a smile. “Tell him!” He paused and suddenly the smile was gone. “Jesus,” he said. “What’s that?”

  His son looked deep into the lake. The pike had twisted to one side and, clamped across its back, primordial and huge, David could see the thorny jawbone of another fish. There was a flash of golden stripes. A splash. The frigid water heaved. The reel began to sing again and David saw the pike collapse upon itself, the massive body cut in half. He pulled his hand into the boat reflexively. The pike began to sink, its severed head concealed behind an amaranth of blood. The second fish advanced. It swam lethargically beside the boat, the jaws maneuvering the remnants of the pike along its bony throat, the hackled fins extended and blood discharging through its gills.

  For a moment it was still, its left eye fixed upon the fisherman as if in recognition. The fish was as long as the boat. Then, slowly and deliberately, it sank into the depths.

  David looked up at his father. The old man’s face was ashen, but his eyes were clear, and his lips were pulled back in a grin. He fixed his gaze on David and began to laugh.

  “Muskie,” he said. Then he began to reel his line in frantically. “Well, don’t just sit there. Fetch me that damned Torpedo.”