King bear and Phunkle

The bear was awakened by the tantalizing smell of food. ‘King’ Bear, as he referred to himself, was hungry and confused after his hibernation. His name, in bear language, was not translatable to human. So King he was. He rumbled, growled and sniffed his way to fully awake. King rose, shaking his head, looking all around, trying to remember where he was. In his winter cave or as he called it, his ‘winter quarters’. If there was any other critter in the cave, his sniffing, slobbering and growling was sure to warn them he was awake and hungry. Be aware, King was on the prowl.

Big Daddy Phunk (Melvin Phunkle) was a hunter. He imagined himself as the greatest hunter of north America. This year he was a winner in the drawing for a bear license. A bear was exactly what he was going to get. He wanted a bear rug. He was willing to brave the wild to get it. Only a fresh one would be acceptable. No more old or imitation bear rugs for him, no sir. Be aware, Big Daddy was on the prowl.
 
There was a morning chill in the air. King was not affected. He still had a thick coat of fur. Prime fur. He was hungry. He rumbled to the mouth of the cave. Looking first one way, then the other, he sniffed about. Not finding what woke him, he padded outside. still sniffing and looking about. He raised up on his hind legs. It felt good to stretch. If he could have smiled he would have. He was a large bear. He had added some height over the winter. Over the past year he had added some weight. Soon, very soon he would challenge for the rights to a female bear. For Now, there it was. That awakening smell. Faint, tantalizing food smell. The smell tickled his faint memory. It smelled like----BACON! He was now fully awake. He dropped to all fours. He was on his way to find the food.
 
Big Daddy was on a hunting trip in the northern part of the state. He was with his best friend and neighbor, Elmer Phud. Elmer was not licensed to hunt bear, just mule deer. Elmer was nowhere in sight, having decided to sleep in. Today he was traveling along a wooded ridge, on higher terrain. He had his trusty rifle, knife and snacks. This included a LBT (lettuce, bacon and tomato) sandwich. He was prepared for any bear that had the misfortune to be spotted. He was a crack shot, having trained as a sniper. A crack woodsman,having been trained by Elmer.
 
King followed the bacon smell. It lead him across boulder strewn ravines and wooded hill sides. Sometimes he lost the smell. Those times he rose to his hind feet sniffing and found the trail. He came across a rotten log. He dug into the log looking for food. Grubs and insects qualified as food to a hungry bear. He spend some time at the log.
 
Big Daddy spotted a large boulder in the near distance. He decided the boulder would make a nice stop for a snack break. He set out for it. He exited the wood cover and crossed a ravine.
 
King had enough of the grubs. The smell of bacon was nearer. With his dim eye sight, he spotted a large boulder in the near distance. The food seemed to be traveling toward the boulder.
  
Big Daddy arrived at the boulder. He sat his rifle down against a small nearby log. He sat down on the sunny side of the boulder. He took out the LBT, unwrapped it, started to eat it. He finished the sandwich, dug a hole, buried the wrappings and all signs of his short meal. Satisfied, he once again set out to find a bear.
 
At that very moment, King, slobbering with the anticipation of bacon, reached the bolder on the shady side. He looked around. Saw nothing. Smelled nothing. The smell of bacon was gone! He stood up on his hind legs. Turned his head to the left. Nothing. Turned his head to the right. Just missed seeing the greatest hunter of north America disappear into the brush. This was confusing. Having lost the food smell, he wondered off in search of grubs. 
          
Big Daddy did not see nor shoot a bear. He arrived back at camp to find Elmer frying some deer steaks they had brought along on the trip. He allowed how the bear hunting was poor this year. No sign of bear anywhere. Elmer said he had a nice nap with the same hunting result. That evening they packed up for the trip home.
 
King came into bear manhood that year, challenged for and won a female. He populated the woods with his offspring until a few years later, having aged and just about blind, walked off the edge of a cliff. Not good for him. The cliff felt nothing. A year after the cliff incident, Big Daddy, on yet again another hunting trip, found the bones of a bear at the bottom of a cliff. Allowing as how he never shot a bear, he rescued the skull and currently displays it over his home fireplace.
 

The Boat

Sadly the boat was on its last legs. Last legs is not a good thing. For humans or non-humans.

It had a forlorn, lost attitude. It was an older model, long outdated. The paint was scraped, faded, sun blistered and scratched. Dead bugs and field mice resided in the hidden depths of its storage spaces. Dry rot was attacking its wood parts. The metal trim, what there was of it, was tarnished. Tarnished was the kindest thing one could say. The motor, a 110hp merc, was long pass saving. A remnant of orange tarp hung off the open bow, reminding everyone who walked by of open mouth and tongue. The boat had one broken spotlight which looked the passerby right in the eye. It was leaning on its side next to a very rusted and faithful trailer which had hauled it around for many miles. The trailer had lost its running, brake and stop lights years ago. One tire was in shattered strips. The other could not be found. It reminded any potential new owner of a lost, injured, friendly animal laying next to its hurt companion. A very sad boat indeed. The boat and trailer was in line at the recycling plant to be destroyed, if no one in the current visitors group was not up to adopting it. The boat and its companion had about two hours to live. 

Elmer Phud, a summer/weekend resident of Woody’s Bagels an’ Bait resort, was in the market for a boat to refurbish during the long winter months. He had decided to rebuild a boat. By doing so he could add features he would use. Not get some pre-packaged doodads he may never use. At the recycling plant, the public could adopt (buy) certain items that had been separated and categorized as maybe salvageable. “Maybe” and “salvageable” were up to interpretation. The price was just the cost of state and county paper work to do the title transfer. The county was up for just about anything that would bring in a buck or two. This program was called “Junk Adoption.” Just about everyone referred to it as “Adoption”.

“I went to the adoption at the recycle plant today,” Your neighbor might say.

“What did you get and how old was it?” You would reply.

“I got a dozy of a baby. An El Camino” your neighbor relies. “About thirty years old. And rusty? You bet it is. Rust is what makes it so charming.”

You do not want to hear just a part of this conversation. Elmer took his time looking at the boat. Thinking about the features that interested him, cost of same then balancing every thing with the cost and time it would take to finish the boat. Two years working on it part time was not out of the question. How much money would it take was the question. He wanted a boat. Elmer adopted the boat.

But how to get it home? Enter Harold (Harry) Phratry. Elmer had last seen Harry about ten years ago but had kept in touch via emails. He knew Harry was in the trucking business. He rushed home to send an email asking Harry if he had some time to help and old friend out.

Elmer: Hey old buddy. Its me, your old friend, Elmer. Look, you told me you were in the trucking business and if I needed something hauled, to give you a shout. Well, I’m shouting. I just adopted an old boat and trailer. Need help getting it home. From the recycle plant in town.

Harry: What makes you think we’re buddies? Or old friends? I told you to give me a shout because I tell everyone that. Good for business. I did not think you would do it. If the old boat and trailer is at the recycle plant why not just leave it there?

Elmer: Read all of the message, you elbow. I adopted the boat and trailer. Going to fix them up. They need to be hauled with a flatbed trailer. Bring a forklift. Neither one is in working order.

Harry: What's with this “adopted'”. Your dictionary doesn't have “bought”?

Elmer: Oh. Your junkyard (recycling plant) doesn’t have a program to adopt old junk that is still usable?

Harry: No! Junk is Junk! If it was re-usable it would be called “used”. Who’s the elbow now?

After several more emails, Harry finally agreed to help Elmer get his trailer home. Harry, after seeing what Elmer bought, was very skeptical about the boat and trailer ever becoming usable. With good cause. Elmer may not be the best handyman around machinery of any type. He once dragged home a ‘49 Chevy pickup he found along side the road. Granted, the road was in a city dump so that should have been a clue for things to come. Elmer, at the time, was a little younger so maybe he can be forgiven. It was in his garage for several years, afterwards he donated it to charity. But not without first purchasing many new aftermarket parts and failing to get all of them installed on the pickup. Time or at least money wasted. It was the desire to have a jalopy that drove him. After he donated the pick-up, he bought a custom ‘49 Chevy for not much more than the amount he spent on the one he found.

After getting the “new” adopted items home, Elmer was last seen perusing catalogs and doing research online. No doubt looking for parts. He had his bankbook handy on the side table. He was going to need it. The “adopted” items were in the backyard behind the garage.

Epilog.

The items stayed behind his garage for two years. During this time, Elmer bought tools, paint and other items to refurbish them. Somehow he never got around to doing the actual work. He donated the “adopted” items to the recycle plant, took a tax write off, then bought a very good used boat and trailer. He pulls the boat to his lake place on weekends, with his ‘49 custom jalopy.

 

  

Professional fisherman

Roy Phuts had a dream. He was 13 years old. It was 1956. He lived on a dry, black land farm not to far from a great fishing lake. Cows was his reality. Bad tempered cows. Roy was of the opinion, cows did not like him. Fishing was his dream. Fish liked him. 

The Dream.

As an adult, Roy was well on his way to being a professional fisherman. He had the boat, (rented) fishing rod and gear as well as the determination. What he did not have was a lake, cabin or customers. Lakes in general are easy to find. Drive/walk until you find yourself under water. Finding yourself under water is a very good sign you may have stumbled onto a lake. In the winter in a cold climate state, finding a large pool of ice is another indicator. Ice rinks and swimming pools would be the exception. Roy went north out of town. Sure as the sun rises in the east, he stumbled upon a large body of water. After inquiring at the local watering hole, he was convinced this would be a good spot to set up a guide business.
 
A cabin is not so easy to find. An aspiring fishing guide may want to look near the lake he uses as a base. A place in the metropolitan or capital of the state may not be the best idea. Customers may turn out to be muggers. Frightening experiences like getting mugged in a row boat while on a guide trip, contrary to popular believe, is not a life experience to brag about.
 
“I see we are far from shore. Do you see a game warden?” The fisherman inquires.
 
“No, I don’t.” Roy replies, looking around. “Why do you ask?”
 
“I’m not a fisherman. I’m a mugger.” The fisherman said.
 
“Are you nuts?” Replies Roy, grapping an oar to defend himself. “We’re in a small boat. On a small lake. Far from shore. Where are you going to run too?”
 
“What? Wait! My name is Mugger. Trick Mugger. Not Fisherman. Just thought you should know, I gave you a false name. Don’t want any GGW’s (Government Game Wardens) to know my real name. You seem to be an honest guide. Maybe not very good, but honest.”
 
“What makes you so sure I am not very good? Asked Roy, a little puzzled.
  
“Well, for one thing, we are fishing for game fish but are in about a foot of water. In the swampy part of the lake. And this is a rented row boat. It took an hour for me to row us out here.”
 
“Just wanted to see if you are a serious sportsman. Serious sportsman always row the boat. Besides, I get blisters rowing boats. You don’t want me to get blisters an not be able to row the boat do you? Then we would be stranded out here, you not knowing how to use the oars. For another, I can’t swim. More important, did you bring the food and drinks?,” Replied Roy.
 
Roy thinks it may be best if he avoided frightening conversations.
             

  Reality. 

Roy woke up. Recalling his dream, he reassessed his views of cows. Although he did resolve to go fishing as soon as the crops were harvested. He needed to practice and learn. As his dream pointed out, even though he was13 years old, he did not know everything. Now, that’s frightening! Maybe he could talk his buddy Elmer into going along. He could be counted on to furnish the food. And to row the boat.