Everything about the trip and the week before had turned Clint on, and why shouldn’t it? He was now lying under the tall pine trees watching the stars come out and listening to the coots on the water one hundred and fifty miles north of the Minnesota border having the time of his life. He and five others had worked all winter saving money for the trip, and now they were there. He had trouble believing it had finally happened. He was rather proud of the fact that at seventeen his family thought he was old enough to spend two weeks on an island in the middle of a lake in Canada. Of course, there was always Steve Cannon who was twenty-four. Steve had fished that part of Canada ever since he could remember. His old man had guided hundreds of people to the good fishing holes while they were in the business. Steve was really the guide this time, but Clint was just as happy. The other three guys were his closest friends that he and around his age, except for little Gene. He was only fifteen, but he had always gone with the older kids for one reason, and it wasn’t for fishing or anything else they happened to do in public. Gene was sort of a pet to the other four, and he loved every minute he could be with any or all of them.
When Gene was small, his brother and he had to share a room together, and, seeing how Mick was older and Gene idolized him, Mick always got his way when it came to bedtime activities. Ever since the guys found out Gene could take a cock in the ass, he had always been at their sides.
As Clint watched the stars that night by the pine tree with the others, he remembered the first time they had all had a little of Gene’s ass. He chuckled out loud as the thought flashed through his mind.
“What the hell ya’ laughing at?” Greg asked. Greg was the same age as Clint and had always been the best of asshole buddies.
“Shit, I was just thinking about the first time we all had Gene. Do you remember?”
All the guys looked at Clint, and then at Gene who was smiling more than any of them.
“You better believe we do!” Mick exclaimed as he patted his brother one the back.
“Me, too!” Gene stated. “It was kinda fun wasn’t it. I was only a little kid then, too.”
“Yeah, all of thirteen. Just a baby!” Mick retorted.
Steve sat back, listening to the conversation. He remembered the first time he had gotten into Clint’s pants. He liked those memories better.
“Hey, Gene. Do us a favor; take off your clothes!” Greg coaxed.
“Not yet. Let me relax awhile, and then I will. Okay?”
“Whatever you want to do, little one.” Greg replied.
Clint rolled over on his side and watched the water lap the pebble-strewn shore. The moon was dancing across the broad lake in a way he’d never imagined it could. It was like one big drug-free high. It was more peaceful than anything he had ever experienced, and having his closest friends with him made it all the better. Nothing in the world could wreck the next two weeks.
“Hey, Clint!” Gene yelled, “Would you like me to sleep with you tonight?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, if you want to. I haven’t had you in a couple of days, come on over and sit,” Clint said, after waking from his thoughts. The cute, dark-complected lad came to Clint’s side, and after fluffing up some pine needles, sat beside the guy he secretly liked most.
“Thanks for bringing me along.” Gene said softly. “Not only for the sex and stuff, but things are getting a little down at home and I needed a vacation. My two sisters are going into heat, and when they do, fuck you can’t walk within a mile of them without getting yelled at.
“I know what you mean. Before my sister got married, she was the same way.” Clint said as he moved his hand over to the lad’s thigh. That was the way he always started. First the leg to see what the resistance would be, and then he would get serious.
Gene’s thighs were firm and well muscled for the kid’s age, and Clint spent several minutes working gently up and down until he stopped at the top and slipped his hand swiftly over Gene’s crotch. Gene would always look up at Clint, but he wouldn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. His eyes did all the talking. Those deep brown warm eyes that seemed to say, Go ahead, I belong to you.
“What are we going to do tomorrow?” the boy asked as he felt his fly divide under the influence of Clint’s deft touch.
“Anything you damn well please. You can fish or swim or fuck!” Clint announced, “There aren’t any work schedules around here for the next two weeks, except what everyone’ll do when things need cleaning up.”
“Yeah, everyone does his part, like in scouts. Right?”
“You got it, kid!” Clint worked his hand between the faded Levi’s to the solid flat stomach and let it suck up the warmth there before moving on to the main goal. He could feel the beginnings of a trail of hair. It wasn’t really more than heavy fuzz, but it still turned Clint on.
Gene fidgeted a little, giving Clint a little more room to move his hand.
That would be Clint’s signal to move on which he did. Right to the base of the throbbing hard-on Gene had sprung minutes before. His hand wrapped around the elongated tool feeling every vein and ridge from the flaring crown and crest to the hairy base at the bottom. Gene closed his eyes dreamily and sighed softly as his friend moved over every inch his joint. He lifted his hips, allowing his pants to slide down under their own power as Clint got more of his arm in the loose material.
Slowly, Clint began jacking the kid off. If he felt like he was going to pop his nuts, he would tell him and the hand would stop. They would do that for hours almost every chance they had. Clint was certain that if anything ever happened to the boy he wouldn’t be around much longer himself, and as far as that went, God have mercy on the poor bastard who fucked with the kid. Clint could take care of himself and would make life rather difficult for any sonofabitch who hurt his young lover. That thought quickly left his mind as he felt the kid’s cock expand. Gene had done that a lot to himself, thinking it would give Clint a buzz. It did! Clint began stroking the tool faster until he could feel the slick creamy seminal liquid ooze. The cock-fluid went to good use as Clint spread it over the taut-stretched helmet. He stopped beating him off and concentrated on the crown. With the tip of his finger he began rubbing the hot flesh which was slippery with the liquid.
Gene let out another moan of delight during the brief respite. He slid further down the tree trunk as he enjoyed the dancing fingers roaming over the top of his joint.
Clint turned his head from the water and saw that the others had gotten tired of watching them and were madly flailing each other’s dongs in what was another of the games they all played. Who could come the fastest? He wasn’t about to rush things with Gene as he dropped his hand back over the long shaft and began the slow pistoning motion again.
The little kid was now down all the way, lying next to Clint and doing his damnedest to get his shirt off. He was now in the mood to strip down all the way, and Clint was willing to let him as he removed his hand watched the boy quickly peel out of his sweatshirt and then his Levi’s. After he had neatly thrown his clothes into a heap by the tree, he climbed into the double sleeping bag and waited until Clint had shed his clothes and joined him.
Once inside the bag they let their warm bodies slide close together as hand began to roam hither and yon over each other.
Gene was in his glory as he squeezed closer to Clint and working his fingers over the seventeen year old’s body. This was the one thing that was a real turn-on for the kid, and Clint had no aversion to it, either. The kid’s warm, smooth body made it even more enjoyable as he replaced his hand on Gene’s whang and started bringing him back up to the hot sexual need he had achieved outside the bag. Gene was the first to attack with his tongue, sending it deep into Clint’s eager mouth. Darting back and forth, in and out, battering merrily into Clint’s hot mouth seemed to be a way of telling him that he really dug him. He would never do it with the others, only Clint.
Gene and Clint made out for a while, and Gene broke off and pulled back. In the moonlight his eyes looked like warm shimmering pools. He had a sensuous look about him that would have made Clint want to rape the kid, if he hadn’t already been in the sack with him.
“Do you want me to suck you off now?” Gene asked with his soft sexy voice.
“If you want,” was all the answer Clint ever gave to the question.
Gene would slither under the top layer of the bag and start at the navel with his tongue. He would follow the hairline to the base of the monstrous rod and lick his way to the top. Once there, he would play with the crown like a lollipop, licking it and sliding it into his mouth and then licking it again until all at once he would gorge himself on Clint’s cock meat, and it would sink deep into his mouth until its silk, pulsing glans pushed against the back of his throat.
After the first assault on the knob, he would ease it back to a point that the throbbing head was just inside his damp cavern and he began the oral treatment in earnest. Up and down the pole his mouth bobbed, faster and faster until either he would end up with a fantastic load of jizz or he had two hands on top of his head stopping him for a while. This was the case tonight as Clint reached down gently and stopped the aggressive lad just in time.
“Take it easy, little one,” Clint moaned as he relaxed again. “Let’s make this one last awhile, okay?”
From below the bag he heard a grunt, then felt the hot mouth begin again slowly. What a mouth!
For several more minutes Gene bobbed over his huge cockpole, stopping when he felt Clint’s hand put a little pressure on his head, and then starting up again.
“How about this time, Gene?” Clint asked.
Gene didn’t make a sound, but increased the tempo of his bobbin head. He began working over the two hot, surging balls with more vigor than he had before. This time it would be! he thought. He could hear the soft groans as Clint once again approached the point of no return and felt his body jerk uncontrollably. Then he went stiff and the sucking boy felt Clint’s spawning balls pull tighter to the rigid, throbbing shaft, and he knew it wouldn’t be much longer.
Clint knew it, too. The kid was wreaking havoc with his body as usual, and he loved it. He was breathing deeply now, almost panting as the split second came closer to the mark. “AAAAHHHH, AAGGGHHH! GONNA CUMMMmmm. OH, OHHH, NOWWWwww!!”
Gene’s mouth gave way as the rod expanded the last time, and he felt the hot blast of thick, sweet jizz smash against the back of his throat. He swallowed fast, trying to get all Clint’s creamy load down. The hot load gushed down his throat, but a tiny little drop that didn’t like to cooperate worked its way to his lips and slid out.
As Clint’s ecstatic ejaculation began to subside, Gene sucked all the harder. He wasn’t about to let a single drop return to its hiding place, not after what he had to do to get it out. He sucked on the softening cock until it began losing interest, and then he allowed it to slip out of his mouth. Working his way back to the top and to Clint’s face, he licked the sticky remnants from his lips. Once at the top, he smiled and asked, “How was that?”
“You KNOW how it was. Fantastic!”
“You know I would rather do this with you than with anybody else.”
“So would I!” Clint replied.
“I wish the others didn’t want me so often; then I could be with you more.”
“Thanks, I wish they would find their own lovers, also.” Clint agreed. “When we get home, you and I can go away for a couple of days camping and we can do it all the time, if you like. Now we have two whole weeks to do nothing but fuck around and do whatever we want to do. You kind of like doing it with the others, don’t you? Well, make the most of it, and if you want to sleep with me after you do it, then come on over.”
“You mean that?” Gene asked.
“You’re damned right I mean that,” came Clint’s quick reply.
Gene rolled over and kissed Clint lovingly on the lips as if he were thanking him for what he had just said. It wasn’t a long kiss, but a meaningful one which he broke off and then nestled his head in Clint’s shoulder.
Clint knew the kid was tired and let him fall asleep. Clint and Gene woke up simultaneously as the aroma of bacon and eggs embraced their nostrils. Opening their eyes, they looked in the direction of the fire and saw Steve tending breakfast. A blackened pot was sitting on the edge of the iron grate, billowing steam from its spout.
Coffee! That was the only thing that would have roused him this morning, but he also had what felt like an empty cavity in the place where his stomach used to be, and the smells coming from the tire made it bigger and bigger. Grabbing his pants, he squirmed out of the warm cocoon and pulled them on at the same time he grabbed his coffee cup and started walking for fire.
“Good morning, Clint. How did you sleep?” Steve asked as he reached for the pot.
“Outstanding! This is the only place in the world to sleep,” he stated as he held out his cup while Steve poured the hot, black brew.
“Think you’ll be ready to eat breakfast shortly?”
“And how! I feel like I haven’t eaten for a month. It must be the air up here. I’m starved.”
“How about you, little one?” Steve asked Gene as he approached the fire.
“I could eat a horse,” came a hasty reply.
As the others joined the group, Steve rustled up more food and added it to the already full griddle. It was going to really be a feed.
“Tonight, if everyone cooperates, we will have our first fish fry. That is, if everyone cooperates,” Steve said.
“The fish, too!” Gene stated. “Don’t forget them.”
“That was the last thing I was forgetting. This time of year the fish should be quite happy to join the little party we have planned. We have two boats and we can cover any place in the lake we want. If you see any wardens or Royal Police, give them a wave and show them your licenses if they ask. These guys aren’t like the cops in the states. They’re all really cool, and some of them like a little extracurricular activities, so if we can keep them off our backs, all the better.”
After the morning dishes were washed and everything squared away in camp, they piled into the two boats and started off. Steve led out in the first followed by Clint and Gene in the next.
Mick was the first to land one of the long, green speckled Northern Pike that used the lake for a home. He wrestled with the beast, letting it take out line and then pulling it back in. Then his pole bent double and the fish began to run out the line. He managed to work it to the rear of the boat where Steve was waiting with a net to scoop it out of the clear, cold water. After weighing it they worked it into the large styrofoam ice chest and they all returned to the pleasant venture of catching more fish. Steve was right when he’d told them there were big bastards in the hole—and plentiful. They each caught three, with Gene’s weighing in at a rather nice fifteen pounds.
When the fishing slacked off their attack on the artificial and real bait the guys were using, Steve motioned to Clint that they should move on to another hole and let the little ones grow up.
For the rest of the morning the boys moved from place to place fishing as they went. Ninety percent of all the fish they caught they respectfully returned to the deep, not because they were all too small. Some of them were, of course, but the others they returned after judging they had put up a nice battle and deserved to be caught another day. They returned to the island around noon, cleaned and fried up a decent mess of the catch and had the first fish of the trip in their bellies before returning to the lake.
As they were about to board the boats, they saw another boat approach the island. As it drew closer, Steve noticed the big letters RCMP prominently placed on the bow.
“It’s okay, guys, he’s on our side,” he said as he crabbed the mooring line from the prow of the vessel. “Good afternoon, Officer!”
“Good afternoon to you, too!” Replied the dashing young man.
The boys’ mouths almost hit the ground when they saw the policeman climb off the launch and greet them all with a strong handshake. The first thing that crossed their minds was: What a trick to get in bed! He was the epitome of what a Royal Canadian Mountie should look like. Tall, muscular, and handsome. He was definitely the model for the recruiting poster in every Canadian town and city. He wasn’t in the traditional red coat, but everything about him radiated RCMP.
“How’s fishing?” he asked.
“Great!” Steve answered. “Would you like to see our licenses?”
“No. I’m not the game warden. You fellas are from the States, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir. We hope to spend about two week up here,” Steve explained.
“Don’t I know you from someplace?” The mountie asked.
“I don’t know. You may have known my father, Lance Cannon. He was a guide up here until about two years ago.”
“That’s it! You’re his son, Steve, eh?” The man recalled.
“Yes, sir.” Steve replied somewhat bewildered at the man’s memory.
“I used to know your father quite well. Let me see. I’ve been on the force about eight years, and the first time you and your father and I met was in this same lake about ten miles farther north. You were about fifteen or so, then, and we had quite a time.”
A light bulb flashed in Steve’s head as he, too, recalled the man and the time they had shot an afternoon bullshitting about the fish they had let get away. “You’re Officer English!”
“Pete, to my friends,” The mountie replied.
Steve introduced all the others to Pete and he shook hands. They all sat around the boats and talked about old times and caught up on the new. All this time Pete was eyeballing each of the boys like he had a special interest in each of them—an interest that men like him were technically not supposed to have. He showed special interest in Gene which the others picked up quickly and let ride. There wasn’t one who wouldn’t give a big toe to crawl into a sleeping bag with the strapping dude. He concentrated on Gene for quite awhile and then changed back to Steve. Neither Gene nor Clint minded the change in attention and as Pete moved over a little closer to the guide.
“How long can you stay today, Pete?” Steve asked as he sensed Pete’s desire to spend more than he should with the boys.
“I’d like to spend the day; however, I have to get on with my patrol. That reminds me. The reason I stopped in the first place was to tell you to keep an eye out for a twenty-foot Evinrude with twin seventy-fives on the back. It’s blue with white trim. It’s been stolen and the three men on it escaped from custody, night before last from jail. They’re pretty rough characters, and I wouldn’t want you tangling with them. They’re all wanted for murder, kidnapping and rape. If you see them, get the hell under cover and stay there until they move on. Here’s a picture of them,” Pete explained, handing a “wanted” flier to Steve.
“Sounds like they’re pretty bad,” Gene commented.
“That they are, son. The last group they came up against were robbed of everything including two rifles and a shotgun. After they made off with all the grub and supplies, they raped one man’s twelve-year-old son and castrated the father. The other man got off easy with a brain concussion and forty-five stitches in his head. Whatever you do, for God’s sake don’t fuck around with them. Just get under cover,” Pete admonished as he got up and began walking toward his boat. “Now that I know you’re here and will be staying awhile, I’ll stop around every once in a while and make sure everything is okay. I have to come by here on my way back to base tonight…”
“Why don’t you join us for supper? I’m certain we’ll have enough food,” Steve stated, knowing what the man had on his mind.
“You won’t mind?”
“Hell no! I’ll make it an official invitation. How’s that?”
“Great! I’ll see you later, then,” Pete said as he climbed over the side.
Greg untied the tow rope and threw it on board as Mick and Clint pushed the mountie’s boat into deeper water.
“See you later!” Steve yelled as Pete started the big engines and sped off.
“I think you have a trick going,” Mick announced. “You ain’t wrong, my friend. For a minute or two, I thought he was going to want Gene.” Steve replied. “Have you and he ever done anything together? I mean before?” Greg inquired.
“Only once, and that was a trip. He thought I was some kind of virgin. Hell, I was sixteen at the time and probably knew more than he did. Anyway, I played dumb and let him take whatever he wanted. He didn’t want much—just a load in the mouth. He wanted me to strip for that, though, and he did, too. That man has got to have the biggest cock I’ve ever seen. I hope he doesn’t want to fuck me this time.”
“Boy, if you don’t want to get screwed by that guy, I’ll let him fuck me. Mick said anxiously, “Just how big was his cock?”
“Hell, I think it was about—oh, I don’t know, maybe a foot long.” Steve replied.
“Sonofabitch!! Maybe I will change my mind.”
“What’s the matter? You scared to take the rod?” Greg asked.
“Fuck, no. I’ll bet you are, though!” Mick retorted.
“You’re on! We’ll see who can take more cock in the ass and the loser has to…”
“Blow everybody else!” Mick said.
“Bullshit! That’s what the first prize is. The loser had to let everyone fuck him twice.”
“Fair enough! Come to think of it, that’s not so bad, either.”
“You asshole, what would you rather do then?” Greg asked.
“Okay, guys. Hold on a minute. I didn’t say I wasn’t going to let him screw me. If you want, I’ll ask him if he’ll fuck both you in a contest, and I’ll be the judge. Fair?” Steve enjoined.
The answers were both the same on agreement to the plan and with that they all climbed into the boats and putted off to another of Steve’s hiding places. Both Mick and Greg bickered back and forth about which one could take the biggest joint until Steve had had enough and promised to ask Pete to fuck them both when he came back if they would only shut up.
The afternoon sun was warming up the lake and the boys to the point that they began shedding their shirts for the typical Canadian tan which would usually be a burn. Steve and the others in his boat began fishing as soon as they got to the place, but before long they were horsing around and were content to tie their poles down and let the fish come to them if they wanted. They were getting the horns and being the only people on the lake they didn’t have to worry about concealing themselves.
Greg was the first to make a move as he swung around from the bow of the boat and ask Mick if he would mind getting fucked.
“You mean you want to fuck me with your little pee-pee?” Mick retorted jokingly.
“Well, if it’s too large for your little poop chute, I could finger-fuck you with my little finger.” Greg replied.
“Now you are getting serious.” Mick said as he started messing with his Levi’s. It wasn’t long before he was bare-ass naked, kneeling in the bottom of the boat in front of the middle seat facing Steve in the rear. Greg was right in back of him with his pants down still rummaging through his tackle box for the tube of Vaseline. When he finally found the elusive lubricant, he dabbed a small amount on his outstretched hose and rubbed it on. Greg’s eyes fastened to the gorgeous mounds that were lined up with his prick. He ran his greasy finger between them and smiled as Mick jumped when he did. It was all ready for his hard cock and Greg was ready to introduce it to him. Arranging the flotation cushion under his knees, Greg moved in for the kill and nudged the head of his elongated joint against Mick’s cleavage. “I’m going to split you right in two, so hang on!” Greg chided.
“Fuck away, dinky dick!” Mick replied.
Greg worked himself forward a little more and then applied more pressure to the resisting aperture until it gave way. He was in and he wasn’t about to stop there. Without pausing for an instant, his randy joint slid to the depths of Mick’s tight, pleasant channel.
“Have you got it in yet?” Mick asked sarcastically.
“Bastard! You know it’s in and the excruciating pain on your face shows it. Just hang on a little more and I’ll see if I can’t finish this fuck up in an hour or so.”
“What in the fuck am I supposed to do in the meantime? Twiddle my thumbs?”
Steve is right in front of your face. Why don’t you blow him?” Steve exclaimed.
“Yeah! Why don’t I blow him.” Mick stated, making certain the idea was fully covered.
Steve was the first to cooperate as he worked his jeans down over his knees, exposing the magnificent tool that every one of the guys liked to work over.
His was the largest in the group in length and diameter, so naturally he was the one who had the most fun with the tight asses the others had to offer. He also seemed to enjoy a good blow job more than the others.
The one thing about Mick was that he liked to give the guide his share of tongue and the two got along in that respect better than any of the others, save Clint and Gene.
Greg had begun working his hard shaft in and out of Mick’s receptive ass by the time Mick had finished with the foreplay and gotten Steve’s cock into his mouth. Things were beginning to get in motion as Mick timed his gobbling to the lunges Greg was making in his rear.
With each of Greg’s strokes, Mick was struck with the tingling sensation of an attacked prostate and he loved every minute of it. No matter what he had said, he really dug on getting screwed by Greg. Greg was the right one for him, but he wasn’t about to let him know and fuck up the whole thing. The long, even strokes with the enlarged helmet working over his hot little gland the rest of his anal chamber were all he needed.
It was all Greg needed, too. His rod seemed to meld with the tight engulfing sheath that he had entered. The long piston was feeling every muscle contraction around it and as it slid back and forth over the silky soft membrane of his colon everything about him seemed to be at peace. A frantic peace, but relaxed. He wasn’t about to mention that fact to Mick, either, but he was enjoying the fucks they had more than with anybody else. He could feel the pressure build in his nuts as he worked, and on and off he would slow the place down to a point that everything would almost stop. After a slower respite he would bust ass at full throttle giving everything he could to the beleaguered orifice. Off again until he could beady hold back the onrushing tide that was trying so hard to blast out of the confines of the silken sac.
With each ebb and flow of Greg’s emotion, Mick would increase or decrease the speed of his bobbing head over the magnificent rod that was sliding in and out of his mouth. He would attack the tender nerve-ends with his wet tongue at the top of each stroke and then sink it deep into his mouth, bashing the cock-head into the back of his throat. Again and again he would repeat the process until he was certain that Steve was either about to come or was a blithering idiot from the mental strain of holding back his huge load.
Steve still had the engine putting away and was barely able to steer the craft as he concentrated on the swollen rod that was being molested, but nicely, by Mick. He enjoyed it almost as much as he did a good fuck. Several times during the episode he felt like he was ready to fill Mick’s suckling mouth with his hot jizz, but then, as if the kid was reading his mind, he would slow down or stop.
Mick could taste the delicious pre-seminal fluid as it explored the reason for the excitement. He wanted more and more as he continued. After several interruptions he said the hell with it and didn’t stop again. The faster he went the more fluid flowed until he was certain the steady stream of the sweet stick lotion was going to turn to come. Short sporadic jerks signaled his soon-to-arrive climax, and Mick gave it everything he had. He wanted that load so bad he would have sucked his way to China for that load. Steve braced himself on the gunwales of the boat as he felt the mighty surge in his nuts explode with the force of a volcano. He shot his hips forward, driving hard meat into the receptive cavity. As Steve’s cock smashed against his hard palate the boiling sperm splashed over his tonsils. It repeated itself over and over, gushing like an eternal geyser. Steve was groaning softly as he lost control of the boat. “Ahhh, ohhh—TAKE ITTT!!”
Mick sucked and swallowed as fast as he could as the hot juice pelted his mouth. He loved every minute of it and was ready to suck Steve dry as he felt two powerful hands tighten around his waist. Greg is about ready. He thought as he felt the hands tighten even more while the stiff rod bore deep into him.
“OH, FUCK! Right NOWWWWW!!” Greg moaned as he delivered his load to the other end of a delirious receiver. “AHHH, CUMMMIIINNNGGG!!!”
Steve regained control of the craft and let Mick finish off his cock after the initial shock had subsided. He watched the ecstasy and agony in Greg’s face as he blasted his nuts free of their heavy burden.
As the emotions dwindled to exhaustion the three remained in the basic positions until they had regained the energy to return to their seats.
Within seconds of the watery threeway the air was filled with the applause and hurrahs of the only two spectators, Clint and Gene.
The three actors modestly bowed, accepting the loud reception like real showmen. Soon the surrounding water was filled with the chatter and callings of the native birds and animals who were aroused by the shouts and hand claps of the two as if to acknowledge.
“Well, with all that noise, I guess this fishing hole is one that we’ll have to try tomorrow.” Steve commented after pulling up the tab on his fly.
“Do you know any other places around here that are good?” Greg inquired.
Steve motioned for the others to join them for a council in the middle of the lake. When Clint had maneuvered his craft to the side of Steve’s, the guide began, “We have a choice of things we can do. There’s a place about two miles up the lake that’s real great for Walleye or the place we were this morning that’s on the other side of the lake. The other choices are yours. Do I hear any other suggestions?”
“Makes no difference to me.” Clint said. “We’re having fun doin’ whatever happens to be going on. If that Mountie is coming back this evening, I think we should have some fish for him and us.”
“Agreed!” Mick stated, “But where would be the best place for the most fish that’s close to the island?”
Steve thought for a couple of seconds and then pulled the starter cord on the motor and sped off, leaving Clint in his wash.
Clint looked at Gene and then pulled the cord on his motor and charged after the first boat, which was now almost one hundred yards to the left of them.
It was a little weird, the way. Steve knew his way around the large lake, for when he started the motor he made one turn and then kept the craft on a straight course until they had reached the place Steve had come up with. There wasn’t one change in the course once he began the five mile trek to the other side of the lake.
Gene and Clint moved within thirty feet of the others after they arrived at the place Steve picked. As the guide pulled a lure from his tackle box to show the others, Gene already had cast his own line out with the artificial device he thought would fake out the finned residents of the area. Slowly he reeled the flatfish in and within five feet of the starting point the tip of his pole dipped sharply toward the water. After setting the treble hook he began the battle. Reeling in and then letting the fish take out the line on the run and then back in over and over again until they had almost reached a stalemate in the action.
The others yelled various instructions to the lad, but Gene knew what to do and kept at his style of playing with the fish. Five, ten, and then fifteen minutes of give and take passed as sweat flowed freely from the kid’s brow. It was obvious he had latched onto some old granddaddy of a fish as he finally began gaining on the other combatant. Clint was ready with the net the instant the catch was close enough to the boat to scoop him up. Time and again the mighty tail fin would break the water, causing a maelstrom in the water and then dive to the bottom again. Any trick that the fish could think of, it would try, but with no success.
Finally, it made the mistake of coming too close to the boat and Clint was ready. Into the net it went, and the muscles of Clint’s arm bulged as he lifted it in to the security of the aluminum craft.
Huge, scared, and tired, the green Northern Pike lay. He was a granddaddy! His scarred and battered body showed the signs of many battles with other fish and fishermen. He was definitely a prize worth keeping.
Gene wasn’t certain what to do next, but finally threw his line back into the water and tried again, glancing at the huge Pike in the ice chest once in awhile. It barely fit in the large container, but Gene was still trying for a bigger one. He wasn’t picky about how much bigger the thing would have to be, because he knew he already had the record for the week. At least he hoped so!
