Sackfish Day

Andy Hatcher noticed Rick and Tina hiding their beer. They were on the village green and they put their cans in the shrubs around the base of Ambrose’s statue. He’d caught them before, once, when a bunch of them had broken into the Sidlers’s cottage. The kids were scared witless when he drove up in his truck. Rick bawled and Tina panicked fearing her mother’d find out. Andy figured the hangover – and the cleanup – would be punishment enough.

Of course, that had been twenty – twenty-five? – years ago. Rick and Tina weren’t kids any more, and were more worried about their own teens. So why the hiding?

Andy stepped on the green, pulling deeply at the fresh air. The day was unseasonably – beautifully – warm for early October. Cloudless, almost windless. The faintest breeze tugged at the streamers covering the town’s founder, Ambrose L. Charlotte. A perfect day to celebrate him. A perfect day for history.

“Getting up to no good?” Andy asked.

“Hello, Mr. Hatcher,” said Rick, tapping his Blue Jays cap.

Tina jut her chin out towards Main Street. The village green bordered it on one side, and the other had a row of shops, restaurants, and ice cream parlours. All of them were draped in more streamers, and construction-paper fish of various colours covered their windows. All of them were also closed, as the tourist season ended yesterday. Only the locals remained.

And then Andy saw it.

A lone car crawling down Main. An RCMP cruiser. It indicated and pulled into the beach parking lot. Its tires crunched the gravel. It parked under the birches.

“You think it’s the new girl?” Andy asked.

Tina scowled at him, but a smile played at her lips. “Sexist.” She gave him a playful elbow. “That’s Constable Williams, not the new girl.”

“Oh, sorry!” Andy said, raising his hands. “I didn’t mean, um. It’s just, you get so used to things, and the world keeps changing faster and faster.”

“Just an old dog, eh?” Rick wrapped his arm around Andy’s shoulders, grinned. “Don’t worry about it. We know. And besides–” he glanced at the streamers fluttering above, making a Maypole out of the town founder “–today’s a day for celebrating history. You know, old people.”

Andy made an exaggerated groan. “Just you wait, age’ll come for you too.” They all chuckled. “Hey,” he added, “let’s go over there. I haven’t met her yet.” They set off together. Nobody had to mention that the presence of police on a lazy Sunday – especially Sackfish Day – was unsettling.

As they walked, Andy glanced at the beach. A far cry from your Mexicos or Floridas, it was more of a boat launch with a sandy mustache. And the sand had been imported by old Roger O’Neil, who used to own the marina, when he figured it would bring in more customers. It did.

Still, the locals were proud of their little beach, and even now the old dock stretching into the cool waters of Broken Foot Lake was covered with people fishing. Lots of parents with their kids, which made Andy smile. That’s the way things ought to be. You didn’t get community like this in the cities.

A car door closed, bringing Andy back. The new girl – Constable Williams – was young. Much too young. She could have been his granddaughter – only of course, his granddaughter was in her third year of university, so who knows.

“Constable,” Tina said, with an easy smile.

Constable Williams startled, but then her face lit up. “Hi, Tina! Hello Rick.”

Rick nodded, tapping his cap.

Andy held his hand out. “Andy Hatcher, at your service, ma’am.”

She shook his hand. “Constable Williams, sir. Um… Nancy Williams.” Her eyes kept sinking to her boots.

“What brings you out?” Rick asked. “Have you come to celebrate Sackfish Day with us? Relive the birth of our cozy little town?”

Andy shared a look with him. Of course, everyone was welcome to attend Sackfish Day. It was a well-advertised community event, a lovely time for the family, and there were no shortage of fun activities planned. But for some reason outsiders just didn’t stick around. Come the end of the season, they’d load up in their SUVs and gun it back to Winnipeg or where-ever. He could count on one hand the number of exceptions he’d seen over the decades.

“Actually,” Williams said, “I’m here on business. Unfortunately.”

The sky was clear but Andy felt like the sun had hidden behind a cloud all the same. He looked towards the beach again, where a herd of rioting children were lost in a game of tag, where Rita and Sharon Penn were setting up the grills, where John Nardin was strumming his guitar and leading an impromptu crowd in the chorus of Sweet Caroline.

All three of them stepped closer to Williams, as though they might be able to shield the town from whatever dark tidings she had brought.

“Nothing serious, I hope,” Andy said, affecting a smile. “Anything we can do to help?”

“Well,” said Williams, struggling to find words. To Andy, she looked even younger now – a child in way over her head, having jumped off the dock with no notion of how to swim. “We’re searching for some missing campers.”

“Oh no,” Tina said softly.

“Four adults and two children,” Williams said. “Two families. They were expected home a couple days ago but haven’t checked in. They were up at Green Loon Campground.”

Andy shared another look with Rick, this one much more somber.

“Dang it,” said Rick. “That’s not great.”

“No,” Williams whispered. She cleared her throat. “I was wondering if maybe any of you had seen them?”

“Do you have a photo?” Andy asked.

“Right!” Williams turned back to her car. Rummaged. She produced a folder filled with loose papers, from which she dug out a photocopied photo.

Rick and Tina gathered around Andy as they all looked at it. Two photos, actually, side-by-side. The Ramirez family on the left, sunning on some kind of backyard patio, and the Thompsons on the right, holding a tiny trophy aloft in a bowling alley.

Andy tapped the left side. “Yes. Yes, I remember these folks!”

“You do?” Williams said. “When? Recently?”

“They came into my store – oh, I don’t remember what they bought. But we chatted for a bit and they said it was their first family vacation. I remember he was real interested in our boats, but he didn’t want to rent one as none of them could swim. And the little girl, she was very sweet and very polite. Nice people, very nice. Oh, but sorry officer, this was last weekend. I don’t think they were staying in town.”

Williams nodded, the momentary brightness in her eyes fading. “Thank you, sir.”

Rick shook his head and tsked. “You know, this happens every year. Every damn year.”

“Rick!” Tina said.

“What does?” Williams asked.

“Someone gets lost. Usually they get found, but other times, they drown or run into a bear or what. City folk come up here thinking they own the place but they have no idea. And nature doesn’t care how many credit cards you have. All your stupid little apps and cellphones are worthless when your battery runs out.”

“Rick!” Tina said. “People are missing! Have some respect.”

Rick took a sharp breath. “Sorry.” He took his cap off and ran his hand through hair that was thinner each year. “Sorry. I… it’s just frustrating. These problems are avoidable. I meant no disrespect.”

If things weren’t so dour Andy might have smiled. He still remembered Rick as a snot-nosed kid who very much thought he owned the place too. That he’d grown into such a respectable man was heartening. And sure, Andy would take some credit for that – why not? It takes a village, after all.

Of course, having grown up in the country probably did Rick a world of good. As much as Andy liked all the visitors they got each summer, most of them really didn’t have a clue, and the only ideas they got were bad ones.

“We can tell the others, Constable,” Andy said. “Spread the word. Perhaps someone has heard something.”

“Thanks,” she said. Her tone wasn’t hopeful. “I have some handouts, if you don’t mind.”

Tina took a stack of papers from her, with the photos of the missing families and some contact details. “We’ll let you know immediately if anyone’s heard anything.”

“Thanks,” Williams said again. “Okay, I need to run.”

“Are you sure?” said Andy. “Seems like you just got here, and really seems like you could use a break, or a coffee at least. And the Sackfish Day Soak is going to happen soon.”

“Thanks, but I still need to hit all the places along the highway, and then it’s probably a long night tonight.” She made her way back to her car, opened the door, and then stopped. Blinked a couple times.

“One question,” she said.

“Shoot,” said Rick.

“Just what is a Sackfish? I mean, I looked it up, but it sounds like it’s a saltwater fish? It’s not really found here, in a lake, is it?”

Andy chuckled. “Ah, well, you’re probably right about that. See, the Sackfish of Charlotte’s Landing isn’t actually a fish at all.”

Williams frowned.

“Yeah, it’s all a part of our proud little history here,” Andy continued. “This all happened back in the days of the fur trade. Our founder, Ambrose L. Charlotte–” he pointed at the statue on the green "–led a trading expedition, and according to the story, there was a terrible storm and they got hopelessly turned around. A bunch of canoes shattered, their supplies sunk, and their powder vanished. They couldn’t kill any game, any forage they found was poisonous, and God knows why but the fish just weren’t biting. They were lost and running on fumes.

"Morale was low, and the storm survivors grew restless when the food ran out. Didn’t relish what awaited them, and who can blame them. They would have mutinied, but nobody had any better ideas so they decided to give Ambrose one more shot. Well, Ambrose led them down the Sprinkling River, which brought them to Broken Foot Lake. And when he saw this place – what would one day become Charlotte’s Landing – he knew it was what they were looking for. He said the Lord had shown it to him in a dream.

“And he knew how to feed everyone. He ordered his men to grab any and every bag, sack, pouch, pocket, purse – everything – and to step into the lake. They grumbled, but they obeyed. By the way, that’s what we call the Soak today, and we re-enact it every year, on this day. Anyway, when they lifted their sacks out of the water they were filled with food. Now, here’s where the story gets fuzzier, because we’re led to believe the sacks were filled with fish – hence the name Sackfish – but some versions of it say there were other things in there too, like fruits, mushrooms, and even sausage and fresh-baked bread. Either way, nobody starved and Ambrose was hailed a hero, and they decided to settle here.”

“That’s quite a tale,” Williams said after a moment. “Do you believe it?”

“Sure do,” said Andy. “No reason not to. Those folks were our ancestors, and we wouldn’t be here if not for them. Maybe I’m old, but I believe in traditions.”

“I can respect that,” said Williams, but her tone was diplomatic. She departed then, and they waved her car off.

Her tone was the same as any outsider’s who heard the story. No doubt they just saw it as a quaint small-town thing, never caring to dig into the deeper truth. But what are a people without traditions? A people without history. If you don’t know where you came from how can you know where you’re going? Maybe it was okay that outsiders didn’t stick around for Sackfish Day. They were welcome, but they probably wouldn’t appreciate it right.

“Oh!” said Tina, pointing to a beat-up van that had just turned onto Main. “It’s Jim! It’s almost time for the Soak!”

Andy and his friends made their way to the water and the van followed them. Children chased after it, laughing and singing, and Jim waved to them. Their parents joined Andy by the shore, and Rita and Sharon Penn raised a big thumbs up into the air. The grills were ready and soon the town would feast together, as Ambrose’s men had done so many years ago.

History. Tradition. Community.

Jim backed his van down the boat launch, until the exhaust pipe was sputtering, until Andy signalled Stop. A crowd gathered around them.

“Are you all excited for Sackfish Day!?” Andy asked everyone. The adults smiled and the children shrieked with joy. For them, the Soak was a second Christmas, because you never knew what you’d get in your sack. Some of them were already waist deep in the lake, and others had even swum out further.

Andy opened the van’s rear doors.

Of course, Ambrose’s story was probably embellished a little. You couldn’t actually just shove a sack into a lake and pull it out loaded with food. Historically there had been more steps – Ambrose and those loyal to him had to put in more work – but you gloss over the little details in a story. It keeps the magic alive.

Inside the van were the sacks, specially prepared and guaranteed to have a prize. Nobody would go hungry today.

Andy and Rick grabbed the first one – a huge burlap thing that weighed a tonne - and dragged it out. Jim grabbed hold too and helped them get it in the water. Already screaming children swarmed it, pulling it out further and submerging it.

“Soak! Soak!” they chanted.

Andy laughed. “Just don’t let go, kids!”

The next sack in the van moaned, and stirred.

“Uh-oh,” Jim chuckled. There was one every year.

They grabbed it too, and it screamed before also being submerged by dozens of hands. The next four sacks came more rapidly. Six in all, four large and two small.

Nobody would go hungry on Sackfish Day.