The King of Goosey Lake (Part 2)

After years of ecological sleuthing, Den figured out that the melonfish had a preferred hangout spot: the cool, nutrient-rich runoff from Clearwater Creek. His plan as soon as the opening ceremonies concluded was to get in Seabreeze and make a bee-line for that location. He looked out towards that spot dreamily until he caught the sight of something unsettling in the corner of his eye.

There was a crowd of people over by the registration table at the diner who appeared to be standing still and surrounding something. Den squinted his eyes and tried to listen, but he was too far away from them to hear much of anything. 

He then shifted his attention towards the end of the gangway. He saw old Gregory Hanover leaning against a wooden dock anchor post. Gregory was wearing his typical outfit—a ventilated Stetson cowboy hat, blue jeans with a large, Texas-style belt buckle, and a frayed leather coat. He was making smoke ribbons with a cigarillo that he dangled off his bottom lip. Gregory was also a man of few words and kept to himself, usually, which was what Den liked about him most.

“Hi Gregory,” said Den.

“Hi back at you,” he replied with a hoarse voice and Western drawl. The smoldering cigarillo violently bobbed up and down his bottom lip as he talked.

“Say, what's going on over there?” Den asked.

“Well,” said Gregory, looking cool like he couldn't be bothered. “It would seem the Missing Link decided to pay Goosey Lake a little visit.”

“Huh,” Den replied blankly, not at all registering what Gregory had just told him.

“You know, the Missing Link…,” he continued. “Bigfoot, Sasquatch, The Wild Man, Wendigo, the Abominable Snowman. Catch my drift?”

Den furrowed his brow, scratched his scraggly head and continued to look at Gregory blankly. Did somebody lose a sausage?

Gregory grinned unevenly and hoisted himself off that wooden post. He removed the cigarillo off his bottom lip and held it between his index finger and thumb.

“Bigfoot, I said!” 

Gregory had said that so loudly that it made Den jump. 

He then pointed the smoldering end of his cigarillo toward that crowd.

“I said there's a Bigfoot over there.”

Den jerked his head back with immense confusion. He didn't know Gregory for being much of a practical jokester.

But when Den looked back to that crowd, his eyes immediately got bigger and his jaw went slack.

“What the—” he said.

It turned out that Gregory was no liar. There it was. Over by the diner. Bigfoot. It had its back to Den, so he couldn't see its face, but it was quite a sight to behold nevertheless. It was a giant, eight-foot ape with shoulders that had to be a full five feet wide. It didn't wear clothing, but it had shaggy brown fur that covered everything. Den would have noticed the creature earlier had its fur not blended in so well against the diner’s rustic log cabin exterior.

Den slightly repositioned his thick lensed glasses on his nose as if doing that would help him see it more clearly.

“I don't believe it!” Den said finally. “What's he doing here?”

“Beats me,” Gregory said coolly without giving as much as a shrug. He carefully repositioned that cigarillo back on his bottom lip and leaned back against the post. “But I'll tell ya something. That beggar played a mighty good game of hide and seek.”

 

~*~

 

Den weaved his way through the crowd of mesmerized onlookers until he stood behind that enormous Bigfoot. He looked up at the massive beast, awestruck by its sheer size. It had lean, toned muscles that  bulged out of its thick skin that was covered with soft brown fur that rippled as the wind whipped chaotically through it. Den could hear the nylon banner that Belinda had hung up earlier flap behind the Bigfoot.

“Geez Louise,” Den finally muttered to himself.

He continued to gaze unflinchingly at the behemoth, along with everyone else. It appeared to be talking to Belinda who was seated at the registration table.

While there were very few things in the world that could have torn Den’s gaze away from that Bigfoot right then, it just so happened that one of those things caught the corner of his eye.

It was his daughter Annie. She was standing among the mesmerized onlookers, only 20 feet away from Den. She had evidently noticed him first, because when he locked eyes on her, she’d already been casting him a flickering, furtive look.

Annie was a slender, 32-year-old woman who had short hair that looked matted as though she hadn't washed it in days. She wore a brown cardigan over a blue sundress that was speckled with yellow sunflowers. While she was an attractive woman, what made her utterly mesmerizing were her large eyes, which were deep chestnut brown. They looked exactly like Petunia’s eyes used to (that is, before she became a ceramic bullfrog). And just like Den used to get lost in Petunia’s eyes, he’d also get lost in his daughters’. Only, he didn't let himself do that just then. He quickly retreated his gaze and looked down bashfully at his feet. 

Den hadn't spoken a word to Annie since Petunia’s funeral five years ago.

Annie had parted her lips as if there was something she wanted to say, revealing teeth that were just as crooked as her father’s, except they were much whiter. She closed her lips again and then grabbed the hand of her husband Phil who’d been standing next to her. She put her other hand on the shoulder of her four-year-old son Tucker who was looking up as he pointed excitedly at the Bigfoot. He was enthusiastically describing to his parents the various features of the creature that he was noticing.

Den had never met Tucker. In fact, he wouldn't have even known that his name was Tucker if it wasn't for his chatty next door neighbor Trudy Turnbull who told him that.

Den suddenly heard a familiar, twangy voice yell out his name.

“Den Whitaker!”

It was Belinda Davis. She had peaked out at Den from behind the Bigfoot. She was grinning at him so hard that her cheeks seemed to hurt.

“I have a fella I’d like you to meet,” she continued, beaming at him.

Then she looked straight up, nearly 180 degrees from where she was sitting at the towering Bigfoot and said: “Mr. Sasquatch, this is Den Whitaker, the master fisherman I’ve been telling you about.”

The Bigfoot looked behind his massive, furry shoulder to take a cursory look at Den. The creature then let out a kind of relieved sigh before he started to turn his entire body around, lumbering as his feet made tiny earthquakes against the dirt.

That was when Den finally got the chance to study the Bigfoot’s face. He had large, amber colored eyes and such an adorable, eternally curious look about him that was almost unsettling. The creature then let out a smile, which revealed a set of neatly arranged, ivory white, tablet-sized teeth.

“Den,” Belinda continued. “I'd like you to meet Mr. Sasquatch. He’d come all the way from the outskirts of Willets, California to participate in our little shindig.” She then crossed her arms and added with a haughty gait: “Seems like you'll have some friendly competition this year.”

Den, who was already in the midst of staring into this fantastic beast’s eyes gave Belinda a double take.

“What?” he said to her, raising his eyebrows. “Did you just say this thing came up here to fish?”

The Bigfoot’s smile suddenly disappeared and it looked down at its feet dejectedly. 

Den, now letting out a frightful, wide-eyed look, said to Belinda with a trembling voice: “What did I do?”

It was then that Den noticed the creature had an edition of the Goosey Lake Gazette rolled up in his hands. He knew exactly what edition it was, too. It had come out shortly after Bob Hargrove’s death. It had a full page photo of Bob and a write-up of his life, including a detailed description of the melonfish. Den had used his own copy to swat houseflies with before he finally burned it. 

Belinda clicked her tongue angrily at Den.

“Now why did you go and do that?” she said sternly. “Mr. Sasquatch is a he! Not an it.” The creature then let out a quiet and miserable groan.

“Err…,” Den said, now squinting his eyes awkwardly at the beast and then back to Belinda. “Is he being serious?”

She shot him back daggers and barked sternly: “Does it look like he’s joking.”

Den looked up and down the dejected creature tentatively a couple times before he finally said to him awkwardly: “Sorry there, big fella. You know, I didn't mean anything by that.”

The spark suddenly reignited in the Bigfoot’s eyes, and he let a doughy grin manifest on his face.

Then Den let the thought of this creature fishing course through his mind. He scratched his scraggly head of hair as he looked at Belinda and asked: “Does he even have a fishing pole?”

Belinda then looked up at the creature who shrugged and appeared to grumble something at her.

She flicked her eyes back to Den and said: “No, so what?”

“So what?” Den repeated incredulously. “How is he going to fish without a fishing pole? Is he going to just reach in the water and scoop them up?”

It was then the Bigfoot gave him a wide smile and cracked his knuckles.

Den gulped.

 

~*~

 

It was a warm and jolly atmosphere at the kick-off ceremony that morning. The dawn sky had morphed into a bold, clear blue color as a crowd of hundreds gathered around the covered stage at the marina's grassy park. 

Aromas of cinnamon cider, hot chocolate, minty tea, and coffee emanated from paper cups that nearly everyone held in their hands. Belinda had been offering those various forms of hot liquid to festival goers free of charge from her diner, as a means of helping keep everyone warm until the Sun would get higher in the sky and start doing the trick.

A couple Goosey Lake teenagers had a brilliant idea of removing the red, green, white and yellow ribbons from the maypole and attach them instead to Mr. Sasquatch at his neck. The Bigfoot giggled as a dozen children flounced and frittered their arms as they weaved the decorated ribbon around him.

Den watched this curiously while he leaned against a ponderosa pine, which grew out of a high-point at the grassy park. He saw old Gregory Hanover walk by and give him a bit of a sour squint. He took a puff of his cigarillo before he walked over to a neighboring pine tree that he could lean against.

As much as Den would have preferred to skip the formalities and get on with the fishing, he was secretly looking forward to it. After all, the opening ceremony would begin, as it had for years, with a musical performance from his daughter and her husband Phil. Together, they were a folk duo known as Dalis Alliance.

This tree was a good spot for him to stand—not only because he’d get to see his daughter at a safely unnoticeable distance, but it was also a rather short walk to the docks. 

Den continued to watch the Bigfoot, who was then twirling around as the children tried to free him of the maypole ribbon. Den tried to convince himself that even though the Bigfoot likely had some natural advantages when it came to fishing, there was no way that he could best him at his own game. After all, Den had an lifetime behind him spent fishing at that lake. He knew all its best spots. He knew what kind of bait the fish were attracted to.

It was then that Annie and her husband Phil walked onto the stage. Annie had gripped her Roosebeck Mountain Dulcimer by the neck while Phil carried his fiddle and bow. Trailing behind them was their four-year-old son Tucker, who had a harmonica lodged in his mouth and was breathing in and out of it aimlessly. 

The children who had finally freed the Bigfoot of the maypole ribbon convinced him to sit down on the grass next to them in a spot right in front of the stage.

Annie tapped on the microphone to make sure it was on before she spoke into it.

“First of all,” Annie said. “Welcome to the 47th Annual Goosey Lake Melonfish Catch!”

Cheers and whistles erupted from the crowd.

“And next I would like to extend my warm welcome to our guest,” she continued as she gestured towards the Sasquatch sitting in front of her. Even more cheers and whistles erupted from the crowd. 

Den rolled his eyes.

“And now,” Annie continued, “if we may, let’s kick off the event with a little rendition of The Star Spangled Banner. Because through all of our differences, we are all still American.”

Annie then squinted, brought her index finger to her lips and looked at the Sasquatch.

“Wait, are you—” she started.

The Sasquatch then wrinkled his nose and scratched his chin for a few seconds before he finally looked back up at Annie and gave her a thumbs up.

“OK, good,” she said, letting out a bit of a relieved huff. “And now without further ado, would you all please rise.”

Annie then proceeded to sing the national anthem while she strummed her dulcimer and her husband Phil followed the notes of the main melody reliably with his fiddle. Tucker, who was still playing with that harmonica, leapt and twirled around on stage, doing some kind of interpretive dance. Everyone, including Mr. Sasquatch, had their hands pressed solemnly against their hearts.

Once the anthem concluded, Belinda rushed on the stage while the park continued to be inundated with the sounds of jingoistic whistles and cheers. Annie scooted to the side of the stage so that Belinda could take command over the microphone.

 

“How about Goosey Lake’s very own Dalis Alliance? Aren't they wonderful?” she said.

 

Then suddenly, Belinda’s poise on stage became more somber, prompting the audience’s cheers to die down to near silence. En masse, people including the Bigfoot sat back down on the grass.

“Now, before we all go about enjoying this wonderful day, let’s first take a moment to acknowledge the terrible loss suffered by our community this year.”

There were a few scattered yells of “Bob Hargrove!” from the crowd.

Belinda, with her watery brown eyes, looked up to the blue morning sky and pointed up.

“I know you’re up there, Bob, looking down on us,” she said with her bottom lip trembling. “And I know what you want me to say to all the fine people of Goosey Lake.”

She reached her hand into a back pocket of her blue jeans and pulled out a cigar, a gesture which the audience reacted by letting out tentative whistles and claps. She then put the cigar in the corner of her mouth and outstretched her arms. With her voice brought down to a gravelly timber so as to imitate the way Bob used to talk, she yelled out: “Let the festivities begin!”

The place erupted in cheers—apart from Den who was already jogging over to the docks to good old Slip No. 9. As he stepped onto the gangway, Den could hear Annie and Phil perform their version of a song called “I Will Live on Islands” by Josh Rouse. The majority of Goosey Lake citizens remained there to dance to it, including Mr. Sasquatch.

Once Den climbed back into the Seabreeze he looked over to see that the beast not only continued to dance, but he was treating children to piggy back rides.

“Ha,” Den said to himself excitedly, now clasping and rubbing his hands together. “It’s not even taking this seriously! This competition is mine.”

He beamed at Petunia, who was still sitting on the faux-wood controls panel beneath the acrylic windshield. As he looked deeply into her froggy eyes, she winked at him.

With deft fingers, Den turned the key of his ignition. He took a moment to close his eyes and listen to the sound of his motorboat making bubbles in the freshwater lake. That was a sound that he felt was more utterly soothing than anything else in the world. He let out a blissful sigh. 

When he reopened his eyes, it seemed a blazing fire had been ignited inside his pupils.

“Let’s sail,” he growled, as he started to back his motorboat out of Slip No. 9.

Link to Part 3