Flirting and fishing

Jim
Pluimer
Posted 6/18/03

Wednesday, June 5, 1957 at Summer Lake. It was 9 p.m. Harvey Schreur and I stayed behind to clean up the mess the women had made in the ballroom from their first BB-Bingo session of the season. We laughed about the bad shots, stray BBs and near misses. The ordeal was over, now we could afford to laugh.

It took us only ten minutes to roll the BB-Bingo board back in storage and clean the ballroom. After that we turned off the lights, walked over to the large sliding glass doors on the east end of the dance floor and stared out over the lake, which was beginning to glow. "Do you believe what Jere said about a spaceship at the bottom of the lake?" Harv asked.

"I don't know," I replied with a shrug. "Al told me it had something to do with the rocks on the bottom of the lake."

Across the hall Rainy and Stormy Arendahl were putting the closing touches to the cafe so we agreed to say good night to the 22-year-old, blue-eyed, blonde, twins on the way out--no small task for a couple of shy 10-year-olds.

"Hey guys, how'd it go tonight?" Rainy asked. We stood there in silence, both waiting for the other to speak. Then we both spoke at once, "Okay/Scary." Not a good first impression.

"Bet you guys worked up an appetite dodging all those BBs. We were just about to go out to the Dekk and have ourselves some hot chocolate and a nĝla wheel. Why don't you join us?" We didn't have to be persuaded.

Harv and I followed Stormy back through the ballroom, past the sliding doors and out to the Dekk. (The Dekk was a large, semicircular outdoor veranda with an immense stone fire pit in the middle. By the time Rainy arrived with the hot chocolate and nĝla wheels, we already had a cozy fire going.

"How romantic," Rainey said. Harv and I were turning red, so we shifted our gaze to the horizon, trying our best to stay cool. A faint light near the northeast side of the lake was the only light visible from the Dekk. It was the glow of Tin-Can Mike's kerosene lamp.

Rainy and Stormy noticed us looking at the distant light and decided to fill us in. "That light is coming from Hobo Hill. That's where Tin-Can Mike lives. No one has ever been there, but our dad flew over it in an airplane one time and said Mike's shack was, 'Tiny but shiny.' The outside walls and roof are covered with tin cans. Can you imagine that! Have you ever seen his horse Greyfell?" We nodded "yes." "Now that's a fine horse. Have either of you met Vatna Jokull yet?" We nodded "no." "She was born in Iceland and owns the entire north side of the lake. She has a mean dog too. You better watch out for him, his name is Garm. The only person he doesn't bother besides Mrs. Jokull is Tin-Can Mike. Don't ask us why, but that crazy dog likes Mike."

"Maybe his horse smells like Mrs. Jokull," I said.

We all laughed and finished our little fireside banquet. That evening we were escorted home by the Arendahl twins--one for each of us. On the way home I thought about what June Vimmerby had told us earlier, "Boys, you'll never forget this evening." And boy, was she right!

Harv and I spent the next two days in a rowboat; catching up on fishing.

On the first day of fishing we avoided the north shore, where the legendary dog Garm roamed. Calvin Drammen had tried his best to convince us Garm could climb a tree and jump into a passing boat from twenty feet away. Of course we didn't believe him, but we weren't about to take any chances either.

By the afternoon of the second day, we had worked up enough courage to explore the forbidden north shore. "Til Nord!" Harvey yelled. We rowed with renewed vigor until we neared Nordkapp Hill. With only thirty feet to go we paused and scanned the shore for any signs of canine life.

All of a sudden Harv pointed toward the top of two tall pines and shouted, "What's that?" A faint outline of a tree house emerged through the thick growth.

"It's a tree house!" I screamed.

"Look," Harv said, "there's TWO of them!"

"They seem to be in pretty good shape too," I added.

We positioned ourselves to get a better view of the structures, all the while inching the boat closer and closer to shore.

"That dog can't be way out here," Harv said. "Let's go in and check it out. What do you say?"

"I say we go," I said confidently, knowing quite well that once we were on land things would change; they always do.

We glided in the last few feet without making a sound as the bow of the boat softly touched the sandy shore (an old Viking trick). Two thumping heartbeats outpaced the lapping waters of the shoreline as our feet touched land; then we positioned the boat for a quick escape (an old Dutch trick). The grove of pines was about fifty feet up the hill, and a well-used trail led the way.

As scared as we were, we made it halfway up the hill before stopping. Then we listened for a while and checked to see if we could still see the boat. I looked at Harv and he looked at me.

"Want to keep going?" He whispered in a weak, shaky voice.

I had a bad feeling about the whole affair, and you know what they say about intuition. "Let's get out of here!" I yelled. That's all Harv needed to hear as we made a beeline back to the boat--it was a wise choice. With only ten feet to go, Garm came bolting down the hill like a side winding missile-mutt zeroing in on a beef loin. Those few seconds of terror were indescribable. AHHHHH!

Harvey and I escaped with our limbs intact--barely. The trip back across the lake began with trembling fear and humility, but the closer we got to Trondheim's dock, tales of bravery and great achievement emerged. We were so cool.