Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

Chapter Fifteen: Fish Story

Breakfast the next morning was cheerful, and as we were polishing off the eggs and bacon, Biff asked what everyone wanted to do. Joe suggested a hike; Biff mused about the canoe that he wanted to try and repair, and Chet was wild to try and catch ‘Old Sam’, a bass of apparently legendary size who lurked down near one end of the lake. “The Paul Bunyan of fish,” he declared with a wink, at which I rolled my eyes. “He’s snapped off three of my lines already, but today will be different. I’ve got a ninety-pound test line, and I’m gonna get that sucker.”

“That fallen log, you mean,” Biff retorted with a grin. “It’s shallow down there,” he added for our benefit. “Water’s full of fallen trees. I figure he’s hooked three different logs- or one log three times.”

“Logs don’t swim in circles before they snap your line,” Chet argued.

Joe laughed. “Not as a general habit, no. Well, I’m up for it anything legendary. How long an outing are we talking about, here?”

“A couple hours, at least. I guess we’d better take some lunch.” Chet pushed back his chair, then paused, looking at me. “I mean, if we’re going.”

I had several different responses leap to mind, including one about what happened when we tried to go fishing last Tuesday. Since any one of them would have come off as ‘Frank's being very grouchy’, I stifled them all and finally shrugged, saying only, “I’ll vote yes- is it unanimous?”

“Looks like it is, but you didn’t look any too thrilled at the idea,” Biff commented.

“I’m half asleep,” I explained, which was true. “I was just debating whether to go along or go back to bed.” It wasn’t actually going back to bed that was tempting me, it was the thought of not going along at all. But saying so would open a real can of worms- figuratively, anyway- so I kept quiet on that point, too.

“Oh, come on along,” my brother urged. “You can snooze in the boat if you get too sleepy.”

I’m gonna regret this, I’ll bet anything... I squashed that thought, too, nodded and got up from the table.

For the next hour, everything was controlled chaos as we got the dishes cleared, made lunches, and prepared the fishing gear. The boat- not Biff’s Envoy but a smaller lake-appropriate outboard- was bobbing at the end of the pier and once we’d all got settled, Biff started up the engine and headed out. It took us a little while to get to the spot, since the Hoopers’ cabin was close to the south end of the lake and the fishing spot was way up at the north end. Biff told us it was a real wilderness up there, mentioning that the road stopped halfway around, leaving only the hiking and skiing trails. We saw what he meant about fallen logs when we got there, nearly half an hour after leaving the cabin. “Did they used to lumber in the area, or was there a plague of beavers?” I asked as we drifted very slowly past the fifth sunken trunk in as many minutes.

“It was some tree disease, actually,” Biff replied. “The pines are still standing; it’s the other ones that died and toppled. The hardwoods, maple and oak trees.”

Joe, unasked, leaned over the starboard side and kept an eye out for sunken logs. After a moment, Chet glanced at me and then did the same on the port side, and I wondered rather sourly why. Getting my permission? Or anticipating my suggestion?

“I’d think you’d know this route in your sleep by now,” Chet remarked to Biff.

“I was just thinking that myself. After three days of twisting through the same maze-”

“Tree dead ahead,” Joe broke in, and Biff swung us to the left. “Okay, you’re clear now.”

“That’s that one where we saw the big turtle,” Chet observed, looking over. “You guys should’ve seen him, he was like the size of a turkey platter. Is he there today?” He stood up to peer at the log and I frowned.

“Chet, you know not to stand up in a boat.”

“Huh? Oh, right, captain.” He sank back down, giving me a slightly sheepish smile, but I couldn’t return it.

“Biff’s the captain, not me.”

“Um...okay.” Chet gave me an odd, sort of perplexed look.

“I’m just saying...anyway, you’ll scare the fish if you tumble overboard.”

“Well, yeah.”

“No, no turtle,” Joe added, and silence fell. It was a perfect opportunity for me to ask my friends not to keep perceiving me as an authority figure- and teasing about it- but I didn’t speak. I knew the mood I was in too well; my words would come out cross and accusing and make everyone feel bad. And if they thought it was only a fit of sleep deprivation making me grouchy, they would be a lot less likely to keep it in mind.

A few minutes later, Biff stopped the engine and dropped anchor. “This is it. Gentlemen, start your fishing poles,” he joked.

“And let Old Sam beware. Today he gets hooked.” Chet was the first to get his line in the water and settled back with an expectant look.

“What happens if he goes for one of our hooks?” I wondered aloud.

“He’ll break your line.” Then he frowned. “Oh. Yeah, I probably should’ve handed out this stronger stuff to the rest of you. That way, no matter whose bait he goes for, he’s ours... I can’t believe you didn’t think of that, Frank!”

I did. Just now.

“I thought that’s what he just did,” Biff snorted.

“I mean ahead of time. He’s the ultra-planner, not me, but it looks like he missed a trick this time.”

“Oh, I get ya. Tsk tsk, letting the ol’ brain slip up a bit, are we?” Biff was grinning, I could tell from his voice, but I didn’t turn to him.

“Nobody’s perfect,” I replied, deliberately keeping my voice light when what I really wanted to do was snarl, ‘Leave me the hell alone!’ at them both. Why the blazes didn’t I just stay behind? I knew I’d regret this! I baited my hook, dropped the line in, and set about ignoring the little jabs that came at me about my supposed perfection.

“Knock it off, you guys,” I heard my brother saying, and welcomed the support. Then I tuned out completely for an while. Fishing’s good that way, watching your bobber can be incredibly hypnotic.

It must have been at least an hour before I got a couple nibbles and pulled out of my trance long enough to check my bait. Gone, of course, so I re-baited and tossed the line over again. It was really a nice day, I thought, feeling a lot more relaxed. We were in the shade, the sky was clear, the humidity was minimal, and there was just enough of a breeze to keep the heat bearable.

Biff was in the rear, near the tiller. I forget sometimes how big the guy is until I take a mental step back; he’s already a bit over six feet and definitely the most muscular of us four. In fact, there’s not many seniors on the football team bigger than Biff. He had pulled on his baseball cap, covering most of his dark-blond hair, and his pale-blue eyes were fixed on his own bobber.

Chet had shifted up into the nose of the boat, but his line was angling off to my left, so I regarded his profile for a moment. He’s a few inches shorter than me but definitely bigger. A lot of people mistake his size for fat, but the truth is it’s mostly muscle. He’s round, but he’s not- as one fool had the misfortune to suggest- ‘porky’. His green eyes were narrowed. I mused a moment about how misleading stereotypes can be: Chet, with his reddish crew-cut and freckles, was far less temperamental than, say, my fair blond brother.

Joe was leaning against the side of the boat with a faraway look on his face- fishing is one of the few things he has an almost infinite amount of patience for. He’d forgotten to comb his hair, which always gives him the look of an irresistible ragamuffin. I could see faint circles under his winter-blue eyes, which made me frown a little, but his expression was one of lazy contentment. He’d finally passed Chet in height a couple months ago, and while he was nowhere near Biff’s physique, he was definitely going to be huskier than I. He’s always been sturdier than me- never chunky, but even in the gawk stage of adolescence, he didn’t look too thin and bony. Not like Biff and I did.

I felt my tightly wound temper relax as I took in the peace of the quiet lake. My irritation slipped away. I’d explain why I was grumpy and ask them to back off the teasing...but not now, not with everything so blissfully silent and calm.

I had just turned back to my fishing pole when Joe gave a yell of surprise. I whipped around, adrenaline bursting through me- right in time to see Joe’s fishing pole fly from his hands and disappear under the murky water.

“Well, that was no log, for sure,” I remarked, staring at my incredulous brother and willing my heart to slow down again.

“That,” he retorted, “was a thirty-dollar fishing pole!” He thumped his fist on the rim of the boat.

“And a large fish,” Biff conceded, scratching his head. “A very large fish. Unless there’s a scuba diver playing pranks in the area.”

We all gave him looks of disbelief. “Right,” Chet scoffed, shaking his head. Biff shrugged good-naturedly.

“I’m just keeping an open mind. Y’know- with these two around, everything is a little...suspicious.” He grinned at me.

“Okay, well, I’ll admit that. I’ll keep my mind open too, but I’d rather have an open cooler; I’m hungry.”

“I’d rather have my pole back,” Joe muttered, peering over the edge of the boat as though hoping to see the fishing rod surface. He did cheer up a bit at the thought of the fish story he’d have to tell, but we decided that rather than risk any more fish-thievery, we’d come back another day- with stronger lines.

After we finished our lunch- to lighten the load for the trip back, as Chet phrased it- we turned around and made speed home again. Chet and Biff held a physics debate about that all the way back, trying to decide whether the weight in the boat was the same or not. I finally got them to drop it by remarking that we were at least one fishing-pole lighter and that if they wanted, we could be a couple bodies lighter, too. “Hey, no swimming on a full stomach,” Chet protested, pretending that I meant I would be the one to hop overboard. “You’ll get a cramp.”

At that, I decided it was time to shut up entirely before I lost what tranquility I’d found. I watched the shoreline fly past, deliberately putting myself back into the meditative state I sometimes fall into when reading. In that frame of mind, I seldom hear anything anyone says to me.