Rating: G 

Chris Larabee wandered down the short, worn trail from the cabin to the river. The cabin was a rental, suggested by Buck. Chris had been a little hesitant at taking his friend's suggestion. He wasn't about to admit that he'd breathed a short sigh of relief when he'd found the real thing had not lived down to his expectations. It hadn't taken much to convince either himself or Vin that this would be the perfect weekend retreat. Vin didn't care about the modern amenities in the cabin. All he heard was that the land backed onto national park trails and the river was open for fishing.

The afternoon sun flickered down though the trees, the wind raising only the smallest rustle from the aspen leaves. Chris found the trail ended quickly where the winding river widened and deepened to become a calm, secluded spot for fishing. Chris looked over at this friend and found him apparently asleep. Vin was laying back against a tree, legs crossed at his ankles and his hat pushed down low over his eyes. Chris felt no guilt at disturbing him. Tanner's early morning hike had woken him at 5am. The man didn't deserve to nap.

"Caught anything?" Chris asked, not surprised that he didn't startle his friend.

"Not yet." Vin didn't bother to even open his eyes.

Chris took a good look at what Vin was doing. "What the hell are you trying to catch?"

Vin wasn't using a rod and line. He was holding one end of a heavy nylon line, the other trailing off into the river.

"Nothin' if you don't keep quiet. I still need a couple more minutes until I have to check the bait."

Chris shook his head at the odd technique and settled down beside his friend. The weekend at the cabin had been a good break. There was not phone, no e-mail and no pagers. Just clear sunny skies. Perfect weather for fishing and hiking.

Chris reached behind Vin and pulled a beer from the carrier.

"Damn Vin, these are warm!"

"Yeah. They're supposed to be. Now quiet up before you scare it away."

"What?" Chris looked at Vin, but still clutched the warm can of beer. He could get a cold beer from the cabin. It wasn't that far. But that wasn't the point. Who came fishing with warm beer?

Vin pulled in the line, obviously dragging with some sort of weight on it. Chris looked on confused as Vin's catch was revealed. A beer can in a loose netting.

"Here. This is no good anymore. Do something useful with it." Vin unhooked the beer can, chilled by the cold water and tossed it to Chris. He pulled another warm can from behind him and set it carefully into the net. The new bait was then tossed back out into the cold watery depths with a skilled flick.

"What the hell are you doin' pard?" Chris laughed, snapping the cold beer open and taking a long appreciative swallow.

"Huntin'," Vin declared, straight-faced.

"With beer as bait?"

"Got to talkin' last month with a guy at the garage on 104th."

"You were talking?"

"I've been know to hold a conversation," Vin defended.

"You've been know to hold real short conversations."

"Can do that now," Vin agreed. He turned his attention back to his swaying line and ignored the persistent stare of his companion.

Chris waited impatiently, but Vin continued to ignore him.

"All right, you can make conversation," Chris agreed, exasperated. "Now what's with the beer?"

"I'm huntin' bunyip."

Chris tried to catch Vin's eyes to see if he was trying to pull him in to some gag. "Bunyip? Isn't that an Australian thing?"

"Well the guy who told me how to do this was an Aussie," Vin shrugged.

"Well we don't have bunyips. No one has bunyips," Chris denied flatly, not willing to participate in whatever Vin was planning.

"How d'ya know?"

"Because they don't exist, pard. They're like big-foot or yetis."

"But just 'cause you haven't seen one doesn't mean it ain't there."

Chris narrowed his eyes. He wasn't sure if Vin was setting him up or if the Aussie had actually convinced Vin. Chris decided to risk pursuing this further.

"Okay, so you're trying to catch a bunyip. What's with the beer?"

"Bait."

"Beer?"

"Warm beer. Bunyips like warm beer. If it gets too cold you got to bring it back and throw in another warm one."

Chris couldn't hold back a smile. "So you sit here in the sun. Toss a warm beer in and pull it out when it's cold."

"Well, no point in wasting a cold beer, so you drink it."

Chris couldn't resist pointing out the obvious. "I don't see you getting any bites from your bunyip."

"Well I won't will I," Vin growled. "They don't like noise. You done nothin' but yap since ya sat down."

"Not a word then," Chris agreed.

"Here. Make yerself useful and take your own line and bait it."

Chris played along, hooking up the warm beer into a net and flinging it out. It hit the water with a satisfying slop and sank quickly under. Bunyip or not, he leaned back to enjoy the warm sun, cold beer and silent company.

The two dozed lightly, missing the quiet ripple that circled their lines. Chris was roused from his nap as he felt the weight change from the line in his hand. He pulled the line in knowing something was missing. He picked up the empty dripping net, and turned a glare on his friend.

Vin's eyes popped open as he felt the intense gaze. "Damn Chris, you let him get away." The glare didn't reduce. "What? Like it's my fault! A man should be able to defend his own line when he's out bunyip huntin'."

"There's no bunyip Vin. The damn beer rolled out of the net."

"You say! But ya lost yer warm beer. Looks like evidence to me."

"Circumstantial."

Vin dragged his own line in and unhooked another cold beer. Chris eyed it jealously. "What are you doing with that one."

"Hands off Larabee. Bait yer own line."

The pair spent the afternoon happily pursuing Vin's bunyip. Vin readied his line one more time. His seeking hand reached back again but tapped about in an empty carrier.

"Out of bait, cowboy," he sighed.

"And no bunyip," Chris pointed out.

"Don't mean he's not there. Just means we gotta try again."

"Again. Like tomorrow? What happened to the hiking?"

"Gotta knew plan, pard," Vin laughed. Vin packed his lines into the now empty carrier and slung it over his shoulder.

"Since we don't have any fish, how about I throw some steaks on the grill?" Chris suggested.

"Only if you brought 'em. I packed marshmallows and corn chips."

"Together!"

"Geez Chris! What d'ya think I am? Yer hand gets too close to the fire if you got 'em stabbed on the end of a chip!"

"And you know this because?" Chris prompted with a smile. He knew his friend and junk food.

"Besides, they're Smokey BBQ, not plain. I got some limits."

"Yet to see 'em," Chris declared as Vin moved off toward the cabin.

A slow burbling sound attracted Chris's attention and he turned back toward the water. The afternoon shadows dappled the waters. Strange. The water was rippling in an odd pattern, but there was no wind to raise the surface.

"Come on cowboy! What about my steak!"

"Vin?" Chris called, suddenly a little uncertain.

"What? Ya found my bunyip!"

Chris turned to the laughing blue eyes of the man standing behind him and shook his head ruefully. He'd been listening to Vin too much today. He gave Vin a friendly shove back toward the cabin.

"There are no bunyips," Chris declared firmly.

"But ya just spent the afternoon trying to catch one!"

Again a deep burbling broke from the water. Vin turned at the unusual sound, about to open his mouth to prove his point again, but Chris didn't want to hear it. He grabbed a handful of his friend's shirt and dragged him toward the cabin.

"There are NO bunyips!"

The End.

A bunyip is an imaginary monster inhabiting swamps and lagoons. There is no single description of what it looks like. It originated from Aboriginal legend.