1: Dangerous Waters, by Pete

 

 

Murder and Mayhem at Cherry Creek Episode 1 By Pete

 

    Dangerous Waters

    Judd Hanson had been thinking about it all morning. He was in a state of excited anticipation that was difficult to hide. The man seemed to glow as if lit by some inner fire. The arrival of the plain brown paper package at breakfast had set him alight. He’d been anxiously awaiting it for three weeks, ever since he’d replied to the advert in the Anglers Gazette and Bait Guide Monthly. This was the premier publication for all that was cutting-edge and sexy in the angling world, if it wasn’t in the Anglers Gazette then it just wasn’t worth knowing, and no serious, self-respecting angler, would read anything less. 

    Judd was the same every year. Normally a relaxed and placid man, as the fishing season approached he would grow tense, like some main spring being over-wound and waiting to snap. The townsfolk were used to this. You would be talking to Judd one minute and then he’d get that fiery look in his eyes, and you knew he was gone. Not bodily, but his spirit would already be out on that lake, rod in hand, eyes scanning the surface for the slightest ripple from his nemesis. In fact with a smile and a slightly tongue in cheek wink, the good old boys of the town would tell strangers the many tales of Judd and his twenty-year battle with that now almost mythical creature of the deep. This was a battle of epic proportions, fought by titans. Forget the classics: Ulysses, Homer, the Trojan Wars, and Moby Dick. This was much bigger. This was the stuff of Country and Western songs, a modern legend in the making, waged by two opponents who neither gave nor expected any quarter.

    On one side of this mighty conflict you had Judd, lean and weathered like old leather from his many years of exposure to the elements. Almost rock like in his composure, he’d spent half his life patiently waiting for his enemy to make that one fatal mistake. Never once faltering in his belief that he could master this challenge. Weaker men had broken under such enormous strain, but not Judd. In fact, Judd was about the most ornery critter God had ever seen fit to put into all of creation, which was just as well since he seemingly faced the very spawn of hell.

    There had been tales of Old Methuselah way back when Judd was just a boy. The mere mention of the name was enough to induce a church-like silence. The tales were told in a tone of reverence or fear, which are pretty much the same. And what tales they were. Heroic tales of man against nature at it’s fiercest. If they’d been only half true then this catfish was something beyond just a fish. It was half alligator, half demon and pure evil cunning the likes of which few men have ever dared face, or cared to.

    Those heroic tales were what first drew a young Judd to the lake. Stepping out of the tree line he caught his first ever sight of its placid waters. It was an epiphany, a revelation. The sky was early morning pink merging into the deepest blue, with air so sharp, keen and cold that each breath hurt. The early morning mist drifted in mystical, magical strands across a black, mirrored surface. He had stood drinking in the silence that first time, awed by the raw beauty of it all. It was like God had shown him the first day of creation. And at that intense moment, there had been movement, a powerful ripple that broke the glassy surface of the lake and the beast had revealed its menacing presence.

    It was the impact of that first day that brought Judd back time and time again, year after year.  But this time it would be different, and not the different that each succeeding year always promised. No, this year he had his Excalibur. Judd didn't even open his store that morning. His rod and tackle box were already packed inside his pickup. He cranked the engine, revved it up and back to an idle. He shifted into gear and headed out of town to meet his destiny. Fifteen minutes later he had parked and was making his way through the woods towards the lake.

    This was the tricky part. Some five years earlier the federal Bureau of Land Management had annexed a large part of the forest including his lake and fenced it off. At first he’d been angered at this. He’d reckoned he’d been fishing here half his life and he wasn’t about to let no pen-pushing government bureaucrats tell him otherwise. But then he found that no one ever seemed to be there to bother him. He kinda liked the privacy.

    Judd headed towards the bushes where some years earlier he had cut a hole through the fence. He was surprised to find his secret entrance had been disturbed.  He hadn’t been here since the end of last years’ fishing season, but he knew he’d wired the hole back up, he always did. As he carefully made his way down to the lake he wondered if someone else was after Old Methuselah. But there was no one to be seen. Relieved, Judd sat down on the bank and began to rig his tackle.

    Opening the tackle box, Judd removed the plain paper package, with a smile he slowly unwrapped the box. This was it this was his Excalibur. Opening the box Judd lifted the Acme Stealth 2002 mark 5 Catfish lure. He admired its glorious perfection of form. This was state of the art and as high tech as it gets. It was made of the composite materials and had a liquid filled centre. It was computer designed and ergonomically shaped to exacting standards. This thing had more sex appeal than any lure had a right to. Judd laughed to himself. That Old bastard Methuselah wasn’t going to know what hit him. It’s a wonder the damn fish didn’t just swim up to the shore, crawl up the bank and roll over dead.

    Attaching the lure to its trace, he made his first cast out into the centre of the lake. Slowly he began to spool in. Judd knew that any minute his life’s ambition was going to be realised. Then it happened, right there on the first cast. The line tightened. Reacting immediately, Judd struck. Whipping his rod up, the line went taut, the rod bent and Judd knew he’d hooked a big one. He expected at any moment to hear the scream of the ratchet, and the battle for which he’d prepared half his life to begin. He knew this was it. It had to be Methuselah, but nothing happened. He lowered his rod and the line went slack. He gave it a moment just to be sure, but with a sinking feeling he knew he’d hooked some weeds or something, maybe an old tire. He jerked the rod a few times hoping to tear the lure free. Nothing. It was firmly hooked into whatever it was. Unwilling to cut it free and lose the lure, Judd began to haul on the line. He half expected it to part at any moment, as he pulled harder and harder. Just when he dared not pull any more he felt the object give a little. Slowly, Judd began to haul whatever it was towards the bank.

    After some ten minutes of struggling a shape began to emerge through the murky water. Judd kept pulling. It was large and heavy, whatever it was. Then one moment he was staring intently, trying to make out what the hell the vaguely familiar shape was. Then the next he was dropping his rod and backing away eyes riveted to the now all too recognisable shape. He didn’t make it far before he turned, and his legs buckled, dropping to all fours, Judd vomited violently. The heavy shape that had been an unknown what, had just become a very dead and bloated unknown who?