We’re all back aboard the Frankie Anne II today and have been sharing stories about our wild trip and planning the next step in our journey. Runt has an amazing power to heal in nothing flat, it’s like he’s one big callous. It’s kinda gross, really.
Victoria is energized, being an adrenaline junkie and Powell is back in his cabin working on a finished drawing of the Boar. I’m taking it easy and doing a little fishing in the Mississippi, trying out some of my favorite lures. People say I’m crazy to use these old-fashioned things but they’re like old friends to me. So what if my Little Bully would garner 1000 bucks on the market? There’s nothing like casting that big-old hunk of metal out into the unknown. They don’t make ‘em like they used to, nobody would even think of creating a lure capable of giving a channel cat a massive concussion nowadays. Too much heavy-metals. The Pink-Bearded Buzz Bomber still tears it up as well. It drives through the deep Mississippi water like a damned Japanese Zero on a Kamikaze mission.
In the evenings we've been getting together and cracking a few cold ones, going through some of Powell’s old sketchbooks. There’s some crazy stuff in that guys head, good thing he can slap it on some paper and keep it from getting bottled up inside his bean. He’d go nuts-o for sure (it’s a fine line).
We’re making plans for the next foray. I’d like to head up towards the North Woods and do some hunting and we’re trying to decide if we should take the boat up the Mississippi or go by way of land. I’m partial to the boat because The Hooligan (our old tried-and-true 4 wheeler) could use a little tender loving care and hell, you can’t fish from a car (technically you can, there are some crazy guys in New Zealand who go Wombat Fishing from their trucks using a grappling hook- it’s not pretty). So, we’ll kick some ideas around and figure this out…after another beer.