Muskie Attack (An Up North Adventure)

Muskie Attack (An Up North Adventure) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Book: Muskie Attack (An Up North Adventure) Read Online Free PDF
Author: G.M. Moore
Tags: Humor, adventure, Action, Friendship, Wisconsin, Boys, swimming, outdoors, fishing, muskie, musky
Lost Land Lake since about 6:00 am. The elusive fish had so far evaded them. On average, it could take an angler more than forty hours to catch the sleek, tube-shaped fish. Bobby cast his pole again, sending his feathery, six-inch-long lure flying through the sky.
    “Do you see that?” Blake asked, pointing out from the bay they were anchored in toward the middle of the lake.
    “See what?” Bobby replied.
    “That eagle,” Blake smirked. “It just tried to pick something up out of the water—something big, too big. It had to drop it.”
    Bobby strained to see what his brother was pointing at. “Man, you’ve got good eyes. Yeah, I see it.”
    Blake cranked up the motor. “Reel in. Let’s have a look.”
    The eagle wasn’t giving up easily on what it had hoped to be breakfast, and it tried to snatch the object out of the water again. Even the boat didn’t frighten the bird away. It stayed, circling above.
    “Would you look at that,” Bobby exclaimed as the boat closed in. “That’s got to be a walleye.”
    “No way,” Blake cried. “Look at the size of it.”
    Bobby poked at the fish with his hand. It bobbed over, revealing a mammoth, milky white stomach. “Geez! Something bit it. Those are teeth marks.”
    He grabbed the net and scooped the fish out of the water. With its weight, it took two hands. The eagle let out an angry cry above.
    “Sorry,” Bobby said, looking apologetically up at the sky. “Man, this thing is ugly.”
    Blake cut the idling motor and got up to examine the fish.
    It was grotesque looking, deformed by its size. The walleye measured twenty-six inches in length with a girth of thirteen inches and weighed about fifteen pounds. Its gills were still red, which meant it had been dead only a short time.
    Blake shook his head in disgust. “Can you imagine catching that thing? What a waste.”
    “No kidding. But the bite marks, Blake. What could have done that?”
    They both stared at the marks circling the walleye’s belly. Obviously, there had been a violent struggle. Several of the puncture holes were ripped. This monster of a walleye had fought for its life against something very big. But what?
    Bobby looked out across Lost Land Lake.
    “Let’s get this thing over to The Happy Hooker and get some answers. No one is going to believe this.”

Names, Nicknames, and Mischief
    The dead walleye the Lawless brothers brought in intrigued Corbett and created quite a buzz at The Happy Hooker. Fishermen were coming from all around to see the enormous fish now lying in state in one of the store’s freezers. Pike’s father planned to ship the fish off to a taxidermist for mounting after the ruckus died down and the Department of Natural Resources finished examining it. What killed the walleye was still a mystery. Corbett had no interest in fishing until he saw the walleye and its mouthful of thorny teeth. It looked prehistoric. And whatever had bitten it, he was sure, was bigger and meaner.
    Just that morning, Corbett had begged Uncle Dell for a tackle box like Pike’s—except, of course, Pike’s would have a lot more gear in it. After Corbett had picked out his own box and a few shiny lures from The Happy Hooker, he and Pike sat on the lodge’s screened porch sorting through their treasures. Pike was giving him a lesson on lures.
    “This is a surface lure,” Pike explained, holding up a bright blue fish. “I call it the Blue Bomber. Bass can’t resist it. They’ll hit it the minute it lands in the water.” He stopped for a moment. “And northern pike. They’ll hit it, too.”
    He picked up another lure.
    “This,” he said proudly, “I like to call the One-Armed Bandit. It’s my best walleye lure.” Pike held it up, his eyes glowing with admiration.
    “You need a new one of those. That’s taken a beating,” Corbett said. Only a few scratches of black paint remained on its head, its feathery body was tangled, and the arm that held its single silver spinner was bent.
    “And
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