Page 4 of Guess Again

Madison, Wisconsin Friday, May 23, 2025

ON FRIDAY MORNING, ETHAN SECURED THE BOSE HEADPHONES OVER his ears, ran through his final flight check, and fired up the engine of the Aviat Husky A-1C-200 amphibious seaplane, which was capable of taking off from the private airstrip in Madison, and landing on the lake up north where his cabin was located.

The propeller began to rotate until it was only a blur to the human eye.

He looked at his passenger next to him and reminded her to take a deep breath.

Maddie Jacobson was relaxed only when they were cruising at eight thousand feet.

And then, just barely.

During takeoff and landing she was a mess.

She hated flying commercial, let alone in a two-passenger floatplane.

Ethan adjusted his mouthpiece.

When he spoke, his voice echoed through Maddie’s headset.

“Piece of cake,”

he said to her.

Maddie closed her eyes and nodded.

He taxied the small two-passenger plane onto the runway and waited for clearance from air traffic control.

Once he had the all clear, he advanced the throttles for takeoff and started down the runway.

When he achieved the proper ground speed, Ethan pulled back on the controls and lifted the Husky into the air.

The ragged bounce of the runway disappeared, replaced by the smooth transition of being airborne.

It was his favorite part of flying—the moment he left the earth. It had always filled him with a feeling of freedom. He reached over and squeezed his girlfriend’s hand. Maddie responded by keeping her eyes closed and ignoring him.

They flew north out of Madison, climbing to eight thousand feet.

With the flight plan programmed into the Garmin GPS on the north-northwest heading and confirmation that weather was clear for the next two hours, he engaged the autopilot and switched on his music—Jimmy Buffett came through his headphones.

“A Pirate Looks at Forty.”

Maddie finally opened her eyes and exhaled.

“Good news, bad news,”

Ethan said through the headset.

“Bad news: We’ve got two hours left in this plane.

Good news: When we land, we’ve got five days all to ourselves.”

Maddie attempted a smile.

“I’ll appreciate the days in front of me when you get us safely back to earth.”

“Roger that.”

One of the perks of emergency medicine was Ethan’s ability to arrange his schedule in such a way that allowed him to work seven straight days of eight-hour shifts in exchange for seven days off.

The down time served as a recurring battery recharge that prevented burnout, and for the past two years he had followed the schedule without interruption.

He spent the days off up north, and Maddie joined him whenever her schedule allowed.

Ethan owned a cabin on Lake Morikawa in northern Wisconsin, east of Duluth, Minnesota and not far from the shores of Lake Superior.

The lake itself was the property of the Bad River Reservation, and specifically the Bad River Band of the Lake Superior Chippewa tribe.

Ethan’s cabin was one of only eight homes on the lake.

It had been built in the 1920s by his great-great-grandfather after a land cession treaty was signed that awarded the acreage to the U.S.

government. Ethan’s ancestors had been the last vestiges of Hall Copper, a mining company that rose to prominence during the copper boom in the late 1800s before going bankrupt during the Great Depression. All that remained from that once prominent empire was the Halls’ fishing cabin planted on the shores of Lake Morikawa.

A government-sponsored buyback program in the mid-1900s allowed the Chippewa Tribe to purchase the land back from homeowners for a handsome sum.

Ethan’s grandfather, along with only seven other Lake Morikawa residents, turned down the generous offer and kept the cabin in the family.

The result was that the lakeside cabin belonged to the Halls, but the surrounding land—including the lake itself—belonged to the Chippewa.

Many stipulations came with owning the property.

The greatest of which was that repairs and improvements could be made to the cabin’s structure, but the property’s footprint could never be enlarged because the surrounding land belonged to the Native Americans.

And it was only because of the Chippewa’s generosity that Ethan was able to fish the lake.

Despite the restrictions, there was a benefit to the arrangement.

Since the lake and the surrounding land were the property of the Chippewa Reservation, it ensured that no other homes or cabins would be built. Ethan had back-doored his way into having Lake Morikawa nearly to himself.

To show his gratitude, he’d worked out a quid pro quo with the reservation over the last few years.

After graduating medical school and starting his emergency medicine residency, Ethan had offered free healthcare to the Chippewa Tribe.

Three times each year, Ethan set up shop and spent a week at the reservation performing general medical exams, prescribing medications for diabetes and hypertension, diagnosing disease and dental issues, and setting up referrals when necessary.

In exchange, Ethan had fallen into the good graces of the Chippewa, and no one ever bothered him when he was at his cabin.

The tribe knew him as the nice doctor who kept to himself and took care of them three times a year.

After two and a half hours and three hundred miles, Ethan spotted Lake Morikawa in the distance and began their descent.

There was a subtle chop on the water, which aided his visuals.

The wind was from the north and he cut into it as he made his approach.

He cleared the tops of the tall pine trees and reduced his air speed to just beyond a stall before touching down in the middle of the lake.

The engine was at idle as he taxied toward the dock in front of the cabin. Standing at the end of the pier was Kai Benjamin, the local Chippewa elder, who held up his hand as Ethan approached.

Ethan guided the Husky alongside the dock and set the engine to neutral.

Climbing from the cockpit, he tossed Kai a rope that the Chippewa man wrapped around the pylon to slow the plane and bring it to a stop.

Ethan reached back into the cockpit and killed the engine.

He helped Maddie out of the passenger’s seat and they both stood on the plane’s float and enjoyed the sounds of the surrounding wilderness.

Ethan’s cabin sat at the intake of Heaven’s River, where the rapids raged into Lake Morikawa.

He and Maddie listened now as the water gushed over stones and echoed through the lodgepole pines that surrounded them.

A loon crooned from the middle of the lake, and birds chirped from the dense foliage all around them.

Kai stood silently to allow his friends the peaceful moment of their arrival to this majestic place.

Ethan smiled and inhaled the fresh air.

“It doesn’t get any better than this.”

“This place is even more beautiful when you bring your better half.

She’s prettier than you, and much better company.”

Maddie smiled and jumped onto the dock.

“Good to see you, Kai.”

They hugged in a warm embrace.

“Let me help you with your gear,” Kai said.

“Thanks.”

Ethan opened the door to the cargo area.

It took three trips for them to haul Ethan and Maddie’s gear—two Yeti coolers, duffle bags, several tanks of gasoline, food, and water—up the long flight of stairs to the cabin.

Kai was somewhere in his seventies with dark skin leathered by the sun.

Ethan had stopped protesting when the man offered his help.

Kai was strong as an ox and always eager to assist.

Ethan and Maddie stowed their gear while Kai disappeared to his truck.

“I have something for you,”

Kai said when he returned.

He was holding a long fishing spear.

“I sharpened it and reaffixed the head so it’s tight and strong.”

“Kai,”

Ethan said, “you didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.”

During the first week Ethan ran his makeshift clinic for the Chippewa Tribe, he had noticed abnormal results in Kai’s bloodwork.

Further workup revealed a mass on the man’s intestine.

Had it gone undiagnosed, it would have been fatal.

Ethan had arranged Kai’s surgery with a gastroenterologist colleague down in Madison.

Kai was now healthy and strong. He and Ethan had grown close over the years.

To show his gratitude, Kai gifted Ethan an ancient fishing spear that had passed through three generations of Chippewa.

The long bamboo pole was tipped with a harpoon carved from walrus tusk.

So moved by the gesture, Ethan had hung the spear decoratively on the wall in the main room of the cabin where he saw it every time he entered.

On Ethan’s last trip to Lake Morikawa, Kai had noticed that the walrus tusk was loose.

“May I?”

Kai asked now.

“Of course.”

Kai lifted the spear and set it back onto the wall hooks, which were made from ivory tusks and also gifted from Kai.

“Maybe this weekend you will finally use it.”

“I’ve used it,”

Ethan said.

“All I’ve ever hit with it has been the bottom of the lake, which is probably why the tip was so loose.”

“It takes patience and practice.

Eventually, though, you’ll find the spear more effective than the cheating poles you use.

And I don’t need to remind you that, to date, you’ve never out fished me.”

“Is that a challenge?”

Ethan asked.

They both looked at Maddie, who rolled her eyes.

“Just go.”

“You sure?”

Ethan said.

“If you promise to bring back walleye for dinner.”

“Promise,”

Ethan said before bolting for the door.

Like two kids who managed an early release from school, Kai grabbed the spear off the wall while Ethan pulled his Loomis rod from the rack of poles near the front entrance.

A few minutes later, the 50hp Mercury outboard was shooting them across the water in Ethan’s Crestliner.

They pulled into their favorite bay—one that was usually teeming with northern pike and walleye.

Ethan took his spot on the casting deck at the bow of the boat and tipped his rod with a Mepps #5 bucktail spinner.

Kai took his spot at the stern, studying the water with the ancient fishing spear over his shoulder.

It took just a few minutes.

Ethan felt a fierce strike jolt through the Loomis and set the hook with a confident tug of the pole.

He looked to the back of the boat wanting to offer a one-upmanship smile to Kai. But he saw that his friend was tracking the shadow of a northern pike behind the boat. Just as Kai launched the spear into the water, Ethan’s reel screamed as his fish took a long run that demanded his attention. He got back to work, lifting the rod tip high in the air to pull his catch closer, then dropping it back down while he spun the reel to regain line the big fish had taken.

And just like that, Ethan relaxed.

After a few minutes on the water, and amidst the hunt, his anxiety about the upcoming parole hearing for the man who killed his father, and had nearly taken Maddie’s life, drifted away.

Ethan Hall was, for at least the long Memorial Day weekend, a man without a worry in the world.