mouth. Its massive body crashed back down, spraying the kids and The Lucky 13 with cold lake water.
“Holy chedda cheese!” Pike and Griffy yelled.
Gil didn’t ask anyone’s permission this time. She sat down at the motor and cranked it up. She was getting out of there—fish or no fish. Out of the corner of his eye, Griffy saw Gil pick up the wooden club that Mr. Hanover had given them. “When you see that muskie, hit it and hit it hard,” he had told them. Griffy saw her place the club’s leather strap around her wrist and, with her other hand, grab the handle of the idling motor.
“Brace yourselves, boys,” she warned. “We’re going in.”
Pike and Griffy battled the muskie as Gil inched them closer and closer to shore. The muskie fought vigorously now. The small motor was barely a match for it. The fish kept pulling the boat sideways.
“The pole’s holding up. The line’s holding up. Our only hope is to wear him down,” Pike instructed as he wiped sweat off his face and onto his T-shirt. The double-eyed cane pole showed amazing flexibility against the muskie’s weight. Griffy didn’t know how much longer he could battle this monster. His arms ached. The thought of winning that five-thousand-dollar prize and showing his dad was all that kept him going.
Gil seemed to have her own agenda. “I see bottom!” she yelled. She cut the motor, grabbed the anchor’s rope, and jumped out of the boat.”
“Gil! Are you crazy!” Pike screamed after her. “You’ll drown.”
“Will not! I’ve got a life jacket on. Duh. I’m anchoring us on shore.”
She took a couple determined steps through the shoulder-high water, but without the pull of the motor fighting against it, the muskie was too strong. The fighting fish pulled her and The Lucky 13 into deeper water. Griffy noticed Gil treading water instead of walking. She obviously couldn’t touch bottom anymore. The anchor looked like it weighed a ton.
“Hold on, Gil,” Griffy commanded. He passed the pole once again to Pike and readied the oars.
Griffy oared with all his might, trying to push The Lucky 13 back to shallow water. With Gil kicking hard and fast, she was soon able to stand again. She lowered her head and, with determination, began dragging the anchor to shore. Griffy stopped oaring and instead used one of the paddles as a wedge. Digging it into the lake’s bottom, he pushed off again and again with as much force as he could muster. Gil struggled against the now waste-high water, lunging herself closer and closer to shore.
Underwater, less than seven feet from The Lucky 13 , the muskie whipped its head back and forth trying once more to dislodge the lure implanted in its mouth. Go deep , its instincts said. But the muskie couldn’t. The water was too shallow. Find a weed bed . But in this part of the bay, the weeds weren’t plentiful enough for a five-foot, seventy-pound fish to tangle itself up in. Get to open water . But whatever had hold of it wasn’t letting that happen. Escape , its instincts cried out. Find a way to escape. Any way . So the muskie changed its tactics. The massive beast turned away from the depths of Lost Land Lake and swam with torpedolike speed toward the bottom of The Lucky 13 .
One final lunge put Gil safely on shore. She ran to the nearest tree and swung the anchor around its trunk. Gil wrapped the end of the twenty-five-foot rope around several times to secure it.
“OK. Anchor secure!” she yelled as she gave it one last tug. Gil turned back toward the boat and gave Pike and Griffy the thumbs-up signal. Griffy waved back and put his oar down.
Gil sighed with relief and sat down on the rocky shore. Now all Pike and Griffy had to do was wear that muskie down.
But the kids didn’t know that muskies never gave up a fight—ever. Giving up wasn’t in their predatory nature. As Gil rested on shore, the massive fish sped toward The Lucky 13 and hit it with such force the small boat capsized.
Griffy
“Holy chedda cheese!” Pike and Griffy yelled.
Gil didn’t ask anyone’s permission this time. She sat down at the motor and cranked it up. She was getting out of there—fish or no fish. Out of the corner of his eye, Griffy saw Gil pick up the wooden club that Mr. Hanover had given them. “When you see that muskie, hit it and hit it hard,” he had told them. Griffy saw her place the club’s leather strap around her wrist and, with her other hand, grab the handle of the idling motor.
“Brace yourselves, boys,” she warned. “We’re going in.”
Pike and Griffy battled the muskie as Gil inched them closer and closer to shore. The muskie fought vigorously now. The small motor was barely a match for it. The fish kept pulling the boat sideways.
“The pole’s holding up. The line’s holding up. Our only hope is to wear him down,” Pike instructed as he wiped sweat off his face and onto his T-shirt. The double-eyed cane pole showed amazing flexibility against the muskie’s weight. Griffy didn’t know how much longer he could battle this monster. His arms ached. The thought of winning that five-thousand-dollar prize and showing his dad was all that kept him going.
Gil seemed to have her own agenda. “I see bottom!” she yelled. She cut the motor, grabbed the anchor’s rope, and jumped out of the boat.”
“Gil! Are you crazy!” Pike screamed after her. “You’ll drown.”
“Will not! I’ve got a life jacket on. Duh. I’m anchoring us on shore.”
She took a couple determined steps through the shoulder-high water, but without the pull of the motor fighting against it, the muskie was too strong. The fighting fish pulled her and The Lucky 13 into deeper water. Griffy noticed Gil treading water instead of walking. She obviously couldn’t touch bottom anymore. The anchor looked like it weighed a ton.
“Hold on, Gil,” Griffy commanded. He passed the pole once again to Pike and readied the oars.
Griffy oared with all his might, trying to push The Lucky 13 back to shallow water. With Gil kicking hard and fast, she was soon able to stand again. She lowered her head and, with determination, began dragging the anchor to shore. Griffy stopped oaring and instead used one of the paddles as a wedge. Digging it into the lake’s bottom, he pushed off again and again with as much force as he could muster. Gil struggled against the now waste-high water, lunging herself closer and closer to shore.
Underwater, less than seven feet from The Lucky 13 , the muskie whipped its head back and forth trying once more to dislodge the lure implanted in its mouth. Go deep , its instincts said. But the muskie couldn’t. The water was too shallow. Find a weed bed . But in this part of the bay, the weeds weren’t plentiful enough for a five-foot, seventy-pound fish to tangle itself up in. Get to open water . But whatever had hold of it wasn’t letting that happen. Escape , its instincts cried out. Find a way to escape. Any way . So the muskie changed its tactics. The massive beast turned away from the depths of Lost Land Lake and swam with torpedolike speed toward the bottom of The Lucky 13 .
One final lunge put Gil safely on shore. She ran to the nearest tree and swung the anchor around its trunk. Gil wrapped the end of the twenty-five-foot rope around several times to secure it.
“OK. Anchor secure!” she yelled as she gave it one last tug. Gil turned back toward the boat and gave Pike and Griffy the thumbs-up signal. Griffy waved back and put his oar down.
Gil sighed with relief and sat down on the rocky shore. Now all Pike and Griffy had to do was wear that muskie down.
But the kids didn’t know that muskies never gave up a fight—ever. Giving up wasn’t in their predatory nature. As Gil rested on shore, the massive fish sped toward The Lucky 13 and hit it with such force the small boat capsized.
Griffy
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