Mad Angler Hub

1—Mechmouth

“Above all, watch for Water Monsters.” Theo said. “They’re known to attack at night. That’s why camp must be made early, and a fire started. It’s the light they are afraid of. Consume you entirely, they will. They say they come out at night to feed; they say they come out at night to hunt.”

Theo’s words echoed in Dili’s head. Consume you entirely… to hunt… His fears welled in him, hounded his mind like an angry pack of wolves.

The boat’s wooden bow gracefully split the dark green water, lifting a high ripple, a wave that rolled to the stern and trailed off in swirling eddies. It was noon, but a thick blanket of fog gripped the surface of the water, dimming all light. The vessel’s custom engine puttered along, carrying five passengers—Captain Rick and owner of The River Whisper, “Keep your eyes up.” He muttered. Gunny and adventurer Marlow sat mid hull, watching for creatures of the dark swamps. Angling guide Theo, and his two clients Dili and Garls—each wore a bug net and hunched low to the deck, avoiding the overhanging branches caked with swampy moss. No one spoke, for frightening the fish could lead to mass feedings. The fear of being consumed alive surged through all five men’s thoughts, heavy as any anchor. Water monsters lock on to the sound and dart into some darkness to find its source. The mutants attack, devouring everything from boat to bone.

But, despite this, Dili and Garls, two novice anglers, clutched their rods with eagerness, listening, waiting for a sign—a clue of presence—from a peculiar, and very unnatural, fish released into the dark waters. The infamous Mechmouth—the ultimate semi-biological game fish.

            “Theo?” The small net stretched with every word Dili said. “Theo? Are we in Mechmouth waters?”

            Theo, crouched on the bottom deck, looked over the side of the boat (checking for gators), before tossing over a green cylinder tied to a strand of twine. “Cap’n Rick?” He whispered, “Cut the engine.”

            The humming ceased and silence overtook like a heavy blanket.

            Theodore let the cylinder pull twine from a roll into the heavily stained water. After a moment of letting the cylinder sit on the bottom, he pulled it back up and inspected the mercury inside a thin glass tube. “Seventy-two.” He tried to say without resonating his vocal cords. He looked at big ol’ Captain Rick and stubby ol’ Gunny Marlow, “Keep going. We have a few more miles to cover. The water’s too hot.”

            The captain nodded and turned the wheel a few degrees, angling the boat away from a point in the land. Gunny fired up the engine and throttled the gas. Each of them cringed at the level of sound and the thought of being eaten alive crossed their minds— so quite simultaneously they all hunched into the hull of the boat as it pressed into the water.

            Dili said over the motor’s groan, “I’ve a hunch we will get a few.” He didn’t know Garls very well, his quietness churned into sour cream in Dili’s stomach. He paused for Garls to reply only to be apprehended by his silence, “What’s your record?” Dili’s whisper cracked, “Mine’s eleven.”

            Garls serious tone reflected only his intentions, “Fourteen.”

            “How lofty!”

            The hour drew on, the sun rose, and the fog thinned. The current increased and the Flyboat’s engine roared. They were out of the swamps and into the highland river.

            “This is the Le Bon River. We are safe from Gaw Fish and Vilro. The water is cooler. Their appetites are too high for these waters. But here—here, watch for the Pmune rising. It’s a violent fighter.” He noisily rattled through his tackle bag and flipped through two or three large fly boxes before finding it. “Here it is.” He held up a fly as big as a sparrow, but with light brown hair and orange dubbing—with a tinge of yellow flash. It was tied with a fire orange thread and had a matching stinger hook. “The Talloc,” he said proudly. “I don’t sell this one. You must be a client—and at that—it is a gift. So here. Take one.”

            Garls took the first, his eyes gleaming. Dili took the second. He drooled.

            “Go on. Tie it on. Give it a go.” Theo said standing.

            It was not long before the two were casting into the murky water and retrieving with a firm, steady hand. 

            The flyboat’s center and rear platform allowed for two anglers to easily control their line, and the high horse engine propelled the eighteen-footer across the water with ease. As wide as any pontoon the beam made the boat feel more like a raft than a sleek water vessel. A great platform for a fly angler catching monstrous mutant fish.

            Rick set his pack on his lap and dug out his canteen. It was full of coffee. He thought twice about having a snack—but he wasn’t really hungry—so he zipped it up and leaned back in his seat. “My dogs are burning,” he said. “How hot do you think it is, Gunny? A hundred and twelve?”

            Gunny looked at his captain, “Cap it’s humid—hot and humid. Try two hundred and twelve.” He wiped his forehead. “These anglers are nits.”

            “They pay good money to us Gunny. Major clients. Watch your mouth.”

            “Sorry Cap’” He slapped his neck, “It’s just… these bug bites are…” He slapped another escaping speck. “…Are unbearable.”

            “Well Gunny,” he laughed. “This is what you asked for. Is it not? ‘To be on a boat. Be a part of the water’. Your words not mine.”

            “Yeah, they are my words, but I didn’t think the bugs would be so bad.”

            “Ah, Marlow. This is only one lake—one river—in a world full of fishy waters!”

            Marlow could only grumble.

            Theo stepped into the engine bay. “Let’s stop for the evening. We have no daylight to spare.”

            Captain Rick said warily, “Your men have any hits?”

            “Not a bite.” Theo reached for a jug of water and gulped it down.

            “Tell you what. We will camp in the next clearing. Have them roll up. We are going up river.”

            Marlow flipped a switch on the engine. It barked and then growled. Bubbles rolled like a boiling pot. Marlow twisted the throttle wide open. The boat sped away, leaving a closing curtain.        

2—Morning Outing

It was still dark. The two anglers lugged their gear, set it near a stream, and unbuttoned their rods. Garls sported a thirteen foot, nine weight rod. He had a tapered leader with a Super Bug on a two-foot section of tippet. He intended on catching a Mechmouth with it.

His other rod, and current rod he was rigging, a twelve weight. He tied the Talloc onto a nine-foot level leader, tossed it into the water and lifted his rod sending the Talloc hurling through the air like a small bird. His line rolled back with his back-cast. Garls powered the rod forward, the line curved into a tight loop. The avian materialled fly traced the yellow line and rolled onto the water with a light smack.

            Dili, however, gunned one rod, a ten weight, three spools one for each level of water, and carried several boxes of flies tied with a brilliant array of patterns. “I normally fish the coast of Galacia. But I have traveled as far as Khotar. I caught beautiful Striped Looker off the banks of a Khotarian lake… Just a beautiful fish.” He seemingly talked to himself, “I once took a ferry across Bates Straight. You may not know—but Bates Straight is full of sharks—they say it’s the reefs, but I think they hide in the underwater caves.”

            Garls fished and listened—but mostly fished. He met Dili waiting for Theo in the lobby of the main office at Court Creek Outfitting Company. They’d both signed up for the same time slot and were scheduled to meet with Theo a week before the excursion. “You’d catch more fish if you fished.” He muttered.

            Dili looked back, “What was that?” He couldn’t make out Garls if he wanted—it was too dark!

            “Oh nothing—I thought I had a fish.” He hooked his fly on the keep and stepped out of the water.

            “Anyhow.” He stood, holding his rod in one hand and fly in the other. “I think I will fish downstream. I’ll let you take point.”

            “Alright.” Garls would have a better chance of catching a fish if the water wasn’t disturbed by the man in front of him. “Follow me.” What a dunce, he thought, he will never catch a fish. Then he spied Dili’s fly. A Nrom Bug. Red at that. At this early time in the morning. He is doomed to begin with.

            They trialed along the bank of the river. Dili asked, “Have you heard of the Flying Yopan?”

            “Aye.”

            “That’s my dream catch. A trophy catch if there ever was one.”

            “Humph.”

            “What’s your dream catch?”

            “Mine?” Garls, caught off guard, said, “Mine happens to be bigger.”

            “Bigger? What’s bigger than a Yopan?”

            “Iron Jaw.”

            Dili tripped over a stick, “Iron Jaws! You are crazy! You’ll lose a finger!”

            Garls laughed. “Only if you’re a fool. Who handles Iron Jaws without chainmail?”

            “Well… I suppose I haven’t had the honor.”

            “Don’t knock it till you try it.” Garls stepped into the water, knee deep. His waders hugged his body. He looked back. “There’s a fish out there for everyone. It’s the fishing part people don’t understand.”

            Dili sort of looked at Garls with confusion. “You’re saying no one understands fishing until they have caught a special fish?”

            Garls unhooked his fly from the rod’s hook keep. “What I’m saying, Dili, is you never know until you look. Don’t be scared, Dili.”

            “I’m not scared, just cautious.”

            “You’ll never catch an Iron Jaws being cautious. They only rise to the surface before a tempest. They eat flesh and weigh as much as a horse. They say they can only be caught when it’s windy as hell and rains sideways. Only the strongest can catch such a beast and endure such a storm.”

            “You’re pulling my leg plumb off, aren’t you?”

            “No sir, honest to the Great Nystherian truth. You—you’re wanting to catch the fleeter of all predators—a Flying Yopan. They fly into the air like a speeding bullet, completely avoiding all other fish activity—a resilient skill to all others. You, sir, must be patient as well as daring to catch a Yopan, much less two.”

            “Two?” Dili couldn’t even imagine catching such a fish… and to think about catching another one stunned him.

            “Aye.” Garls eyed the horizon, the suns gleam peaking over the rocky peak. “Now, let’s catch us a Pmune.”

+++

Dawn had started. The first light warmed the air, waking the Tricopes. The light woke the birds—the Pmune’s favorite prey—and splashes echoed across the river. The Pmune’s attempts were not all in vain. Every now and then a bird much like a Swallow or a Skimmer would disappear in a blast of water. Nature’s course.

            The trick to catching a Pmune was to target the air above the water, never splashing or disturbing it, mimicking the birds flight patterns. A Pmune would see the bird and leap, leading to a wild and exhilarating acrobatic catch.

            Both Dili and Garls tried their best to present their bird with vivacious whips, both failing with each smack on the water.

            On the trek back to camp Dili said, “We must be casting wrong.”

            “No.”

            “Maybe our presentation?”

            “It’s our luck.”

            “What does luck have to do with it? Fishing is a skill—luck goes only into the size of the fish you catch—and even at that, you can fish deeper, or with a bigger hook. So, what does luck have to do with it? If you know where the fish are—why wouldn’t they bite?”

            “They were all around. We’ve no luck this morning.”

            “Oh, phooey! Don’t believe in ‘luck’ it’s how you lose your skill. Practice your skills and you may just get lucky. I once caught a Shining Striper on a full moon winter night in the middle of a snowstorm. The fish bite—knowing how to trigger them is the key.”

            The two men stepped into the foliage and disappeared behind a short hill, walking in the direction of camp.

3—A Trophy of Any Sort

            Theo planted his feet firmly on the platform, toes in. “Here’s how you are Dili. You need to be more like this…” He shifted the angle of his toes. “When the boat rocks you lose your balance. I’d say something as little as a Pmune would pull you overboard. Keep your balance—it’s very important.” He turned to Garls, “Here you. Come up here.”

            Garls looked half embarrassed, “Aye.”

            “Your stroke wafts. Like so…” He waved the pole in the air like a baton. “The loop should be tight—keep the line parallel to the tip of the rod. Keep your eye on it. Here, give it a go.” He handed the rod to Garls and stepped into the seating bay.

            “Aye sir.” He unraveled some line, loaded the rod and backcasted. He watched the loop roll out. He loaded the rod with a forward cast, still, keeping an eye on the end of the line and powered it forward with his thumb. He watched the distance between the loop and the line. Strange wide, open loop. He powered the rod back. Closed loop.

            “Keep your eye on it.” Theo shouted.

            Open loop. Open loop. Closed loop Open loop. Garls face tightened.

            “Loosen the elbow, Garls. Lock your wrist.”

            He watched the open loop go to a narrow loop. Narrow loop, narrow loop. Garls smiled for a moment.

            “Now land the bug in the water—keep your eye on the tip of your rod and the line. There you go.”

            Garls could feel the smooth drag of the line through the snake guides as the momentum bulleted the fly across the water. A feeling he could never get used to—the feeling of being connected to the fly—directly—as it soars through the air to the precise spot Garls’ eye placed it.

            A rise and the fly disappeared.

            Dili jumped, gripping the edge of the boat like it were blockade for his excitement. “Whoa! Did you see that?”

            “Fish on!” Garls’ rod bent like a wet board. “Fish on! This is capital!”

            A ginormous head with two lidless eyes exploded out of the water!

            Theodore shouted, “Keep tension on him!”

            Dili rummaged through a crate, “I got the net!”

            Captain Rick and Gunny Marlow watched, completely entertained; smiles streaked across their faces like two giddy Jacko lanterns.

            Garls tired the fish.

            “There you go.” Theodore leaned over and pointed, “Net him!”
            Dili scooped up the fish and lifted the Mechmouth into the air. All five men cheered!

            “Thirteen point four!” Theodore said, the creature hung from a scale. Another round of cheers followed. Garls received three high fives and a handshake. Theodore gripped tight and said, “You have the biggest catch yet, sir.”

            “It’s all luck.” Garls said.

            Theodore laughed and smiled, “Some say so…” He paned over and said, “Dili, you’re up!” He clapped a couple of times. “Let’s see you beat that now!”

4—Dili’s Catch

Gunny Marlow kept his focus on the sonar’s display screen, “Cap’n, we are at seventy feet and decreasing.”

            Captain Rick said, “Everyone stay low. There are birds of prey hidden in the cliffs above. Regals and Yaws. Birds large enough to scoop a thirteen pounder right out of the water. Keep low and stay alert.”

            The boat puttered down the log ridden river. It had but a slow current and for its size Captain Rick only estimated the river flowed at two hundred and fifty cubic feet a minute. A near crawl for the three hundred foot wide tributary to the warm and dark Estle Lake.

            Theo eyed Marlow, catching his attention, “What is the water temperature, there?” He nodded at the sonar screen.

            “Water temp at the transducer says… sixty-eight point two.” The Gunny said surely.

            Theo turned, facing the stern, “How about we get out the rods and see what we can pull up?”

            “Not here.” Captain Rick said. “It’s too dangerous. Regals will take your head clean off.”

            Garls laughed, “To hell with the Regals. I’ll fish with them diving at me.”

“They may take your catch right out of your hands, mister Clondike.” Captain Rick said chuckling.

Dili darted up, and while grabbing his rod he said, “If it means I catch a fish then I’ll take my chances with the birds!”

Captain Rick said, “Mister Dili Swin, I can’t see you anchored even in the heavy wind. Perhaps we should tie you down so one takes away with you?”

Dili laughed along with the rest of the men. “Who says I won’t ride a bird?” He unhooked his fly from the keep. Earlier he had tied a simple Black Bug onto a medium tippet—now he intended on catching a Mookie.

Mookie were medium sized, easy to catch, fought hard, and they were a species that never broke water. The fish preferred the cold to feed and the warm of the shallows to rest. This fish species lived in the most extremes but could be found anywhere on Terra’Pna. Being natural to the planet, they were also very tasty with large flakes of white meat on the bone.

Dili waved his rod, and the fly found a spot near a log. As the boat caught up to the fly Dili retrieved the line when suddenly it disappeared into a big gulp. Dili set the hook. “Fish on,” he said softly. No one responded. He looked back—the four men were chatting. “Fish on!” He said again, but with enough umph to echo in the canyon.

Captain Rick noticed first. “Mister Swin! You got one!” 

            Theo gained awareness and rushed to grab the net. “Hold on Dili!”

            Dili held on to the line, but his toes were pointed in. He took one step, the fish jerked the line, and Dili tumbled overboard into the water. Dili clutched his rod. Dili’s courage dragged him deeper and deeper into the water. The light above faded away and Dili found himself struggling for air. He kicked and kicked but the surface light dimmed even more. Just before he was about to give in, take on water—gasp for air—far under the surface—a big green, webbed, hand grabbed him by the ankle and yanked him into a thin crevice. As Dili slipped into the crack, he hit his head on a rock, and diluted blood trailed into the darkness.

5—The Water Monster’s Cry

            The air’s chill raised goosebumps on Dili’s arm, waking him. A drop of water splashed his already soaking wet face. He opened his eyes—a green light beamed the stone room. He heard water trickling into a pool nearby. The sour smell of wet stone and dead fish mixed in his nose. Dili’s vision swirled as he stood. He quickly caught his balance.

He stood in a littoral cave.

            A tall figure appeared before the light, shadowing Dili. His voice sounded like a gurgling swamp monster. “Come with me Topwalker.”

            Dili stood frozen. The creature meandered down the stone hall. When he disappeared around the corner Dili bucked into gear.

            Fish skeletons littered the halls. They passed rooms piled with stocks of Pmune, Mookie, and insects. The creature looked back, revealing an ichthyo-like face. “Hurry Topwalker,” the green-finned thing gurgled again.

            They came to a big room where another finned creature lay on the floor. “Help her.” He gurgled, fell to the ground and let out a guttural shriek.

             Dili knelt to her, finding she’d had a hook deep in her gullet.

Dili said, “Oh my! Hold on!” He pulled a multitool from his pocket. “Hold on” he exclaimed, noticing she’d become very thin and weak. Blood trailed from her gills. “Hold still,” he said reaching into her mouth. The creature’s eyes widened in pain. Dili could feel the tip of the hook. “Almost there…” He snipped the point off and slid the hook out, freeing her of all her pain.

            The Water Monster fell to his mate’s side, crying happily. “Thank you,” he gurgled up at Dili, “Thank you so much.”

            A sudden jerk brought Dili feet right out from under him. He looked at his pant leg. He’d been hooked by his own fly! Another jerk pulled him into the hall. He tried to unhook the fly, but the barb caught a thread. Another and another brought him back to the water’s edge. Dili looked up, anticipating a further tug. He tried to cut the line when the next jerk towed him into the water.

6—An Untold Tale

Dili woke spitting up a pint of water and gasping for air. The sun blinded him. He turned over and the other men helped him up.

            Captain Rick said, “Thought we lost you there for a minute!”

            The gunny said, “Welcome aboard!”

            “You are as light as a feather!” Theo said smiling. “Good thing your medium tippet didn’t break—or you’d be with the fish!”

            Dili kept his head down. He coughed for a moment, then slowly opened his hand. He held the hook sheared of its point. He chuckled.

            “What is it Mister Swin?”

            “Oh—nothing captain.” His eyes told another story. “Something I thought of. That’s all.” He turned his head, slipping the hook in his pocket, still smiling, and said, “Let’s catch some Mechmouth.” The crew aboard The Sherry cheered.

            Captain Rick said, “Alright men! To your stations! Gunny, keep an eye out for Water Monsters.”

            Gunny Marlow peeled his eyes, “Aye, sir.”

            The boat’s engine fired up, roaring like a mechanical beast released into an arena.

            As they skipped across the water Dili had the heroic deed on his mind, playing it like a movie. The Water Monsters needed him to help. He felt honored, saving such a vicious predator, an act of dignity. He eyed the crew and thought they’d have shot them both. He felt the hook in his pocket. He smiled and thought again of the lifelong secret between him and the Water Monsters. He fished different from that day forward, forever remembering that true monsters are misunderstood, and dignity comes from restraint and mercy.