The Manitou Flip-Off - by Philip Gestwicki

It was one of many trips, past and yet to be. They kind of start running together in my mind the more I think about them. North Manitou Island had become a tradition for me and a few friends (Petosky Todd) because of the quality time, rustic camping, scenery, isolation out on Lake Michigan, and...of course...the epic fishing. This particular trip stands out though, not because of a fish...or the bugs...or the weather. But...because of an incident. One that we had joked about happening for months...heck...years...and never really thought it would happen.

Petosky Todd and I had dubbed the term, the "Manitou Flip Off" due to the hefty small mouth bass that we caught on the island. You basically back packed into the island's lake, set up camp, inflate your float tube (if you had one) and fished....for hours....each day. It never gets old! Not when you catch 50 per day! And usually, when you hook into one of these beasts, they literally will tug your raft around until you haul him in.

But BE CAREFUL...of the Manitou Flip Off - Basically when the Smallie has had enough nonsense after you unhook him, and you set him back into the water, and with one power sWWOOOSH of his tail, you're SOAKED. The tail flip....hence the name. 

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I had recently caught a couple this particular trip, that were of decent size, and my father-n-law was across the lake doing quite well I assumed. My other two buddies were somewhat spread apart in the lake doing there own thing. I hadn't even been fishing for a half hour, when...somehow...I went to cast my bait into the reeds on the shoreline, and all-of-a-sudden: SNAP! My rod broke in two....and to this day I don't know why. I didn't pack an extra rod, and I was really not too happy.

I decided to make the best of the situation...and fish with half a rod anyways. Not only was I hootin and hollering five minutes later because I caught a 22 inch small mouth, but I did it with only the bottom half of the rod! Try doing that without a sensitive rod tip to sense the bite! Not the easiest thing to do.

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I was quite entertained (and kind of proud of myself) for making the "best" of it, and I shouted to the other guys across the lake about my somewhat goofy, but, ...not-so-funny...incident. Then I heard another shout back. And another. And the other guys were yelling a conversation...but I couldn't really tell what was going on...or why? Then I heard...."hhhheeeEEELLLP! HELP!" And the other fella yelled "what's WRONG!?" I still wasn't sure if something was wrong, but they obviously weren't celebrating my fishing skills. Then I hear: "I think my raft is DEFLATING!"
WHat?!?! 
"Yeah....I hear a hissing sound!"
"Dude....For real?! "..."How the heck?"
"That last fish I caught!....He popped my RAFT!"
'DUDE! You're like a hundred yards from shore! You'd better start rowing!"
"I'm trying....I think I can make it....ohh...geesh...it's getting louder! I don't know if I can make it to shore! HEEEEELLLP!""
"What do you want us to do!?"
"Take my stuff!!!! I"M GOING DOWN!!!!"

And as this all transpired....half way across this huge lake...I realized I could do absolutely nothing....BUT LAUGH REALLY HARD. I was cracking up. The water was warm. The weather was beautiful. He didn't have THAT far to row his raft. And he was fine. BUT HOLY COW was it hilarious that some lunker smallmouth gave my buddy the "Manitou Flip Off" and sunk the hook of his lure right into his inflatable raft. It showed my buddy who was boss out on the water! We always joked about it happening while we were floating on inflatable rafts....and it did.

Illustrations by - Rebecca Sinclair

Quark - by Marcy Elder

 It was a common occurrence that fall to check the barn each evening to see if he was there. And that Thanksgiving, he was.

Two big, beady eyes glinted back at my eleven-year-old self from the hole in the hay loft floor. I knelt down, my palms sweating. I knew to leave him alone if I saw him again, that he’d be wild.

All summer the scraggly baby raccoon had trailed at my heels as a child follows his mother. He climbed trees with me,

napped in my bed,

and rode in the pouch of my overalls on my bike, wind whipping his fur and my pig tails. 

But they are wild. Born wild and meant to return to it. 

I reached my hand out, my breath fogging in the chill November air. Quark squirmed out of the whole, his fat, corn-fed belly scraping the sides and he wriggled out. He stopped and sniffed the air, watching. 

I held my breath, afraid to spook him and suddenly fearing I’d been incredibly stupid to coax out this huge, wild raccoon. 
“Quark?” I said, my voice trembling. 
My mother had warned me. She said, “He’s been gone for months on his own, if you see him again, he won’t be friendly anymore.” I knew that, but I went anyway. We’d raised raccoons before and they never came back, except to harass the chickens. But he was mine like no other had been, nor would be again. Every night since August when he’d left to the woods, I crept to the barn, hoping to hear his trilling sounds, even just to glimpse him and know he was well. 
He came closer, his thick, winter coat rustling with the movement, so like a bear’s gait. I reached and prayed, my heart hammering. 

“He’s huge!” My mother exclaimed as I held him in the kitchen, both arms wrapped tightly around his middle. I scratched the back of his neck through his coarse, healthy coat and he purred, the sound like a small motor in his pleasure. 

In the winter, I checked again, just to see. Sometimes there were five-fingered tracks in the dust and the cat food was gone, sometimes it wasn’t. I didn’t hope in earnest to find him again, knowing he’d probably wander off, find a new and wild life. There is a magic in some nights, when the wind blows with a taste of warmth in the midst of the cold season. Fuzzy-cold, my mother called it. Nights where chance and change are tangible things and anything seems possible. It was a magic I knew came only once, one moment in my arms, the next a bushy tail, trundling off into the darkness.

by Marcy Elder

The Adventures of Petoskey Todd. The Big Petoskey Stone Hunt.

As the sun goes down in the western sky and children of all ages now close their eyes.  A tale of Petoskey Todd is told inspiring adventurers young and old.

The Big Petoskey stone hunt

One day like many others, Petoskey Todd found himself right where he wanted to be, lost in the woods.  Admiring the beauty of the day, he proclaimed, “I’m going to find the biggest petoskey stone ever today!”  He paused, “But where should I look and where should I go?  I just have to find the one!”

Petoskey Todd had his trusty buddy Remus with him.  A tiger striped mutt that was smarter than most.  He could sniff out treasure, whatever it was, like a hound dog on the trail of a fox. 

Todd looked high and low finding petoskey stones at every turn, in water, under the roots of trees, in the sand and in the dirt.  Rocky beaches resulted in many and even at the top of hills.  But where was the big one?!  

On the beach, next to the dune covered in pine trees, it seemed like he could see forever down the shore line.  What a beautiful day in northern Michigan!  Just then Remus stopped and stared, pointing down the beach.  All the fur on his back stood up.  “What is it buddy?”  Uh oh, a squirrel…  Time to run!

Remus took off after the squirrel as fast as he could run and Petoskey Todd ran as fast as he could after him.  Into the woods they all went.  Remus seemed to disappear into the side of the hill.  Where did he go?  “REMUS!,.. REMUS where are you?..”

Finally, in a clearing, Petoskey Todd found Remus trotting around in big circles, sniffing the ground. “Did you lose him buddy?” Todd said.  Remus sat down, panting and excited from the chase. Todd sat down next to him on a big rock in the middle of the clearing.  “Well Remus, maybe tomorrow we’ll both find what we are chasing.”  

Just then it started to rain.  It was a warm but refreshing rain after a lot of running.  “Let’s go” said Petoskey Todd as he started walking back into the woods towards the beach.  But there was Remus again with all the hair on his back standing up, staring back towards the clearing.  “Here we go again!?”

And there it was, revealed by the rain, with Remus’ gaze locked onto it.  The very rock Todd sat on to rest.  The biggest petoskey stone he had ever seen!    

"Wahooooooo!"

And off they walked.  Petoskey bolder in hand.

As the sun goes down in the western sky and children of all ages close their eyes, a tale of Petoskey Todd is told inspiring adventurers young and old.