Hell freezes over…  Which reminds me of this great story…

But seriously.  Is this a first?  Rusty actually FISHING?  Surely no greater tonic exists in the Trail-verse for a broken heart caused by having to release your beloved animal friend back into the wild…

Careful, now, gentlemen.  Canoes are tippy…  in fact, the center of gravity is so high in panel one Mark and Rusty might as well join the circus…  Ever heard of kneeling down?  But then this is a magical moment, why shouldn’t the laws of physics go unheeded?

Yes, let’s skin the and gut the little creatures while they are still gasping their last…  Yummy!

The writers of this strip must really hate Rusty…  I mean, we could have spent more than two days witnessing the downfall of Big Mike, maybe even have Big Mike return a punch or something… but now we are on day what (?) of watching Rusty realize that he can’t keep the otter and now saying good-bye???  And “I love you???”  Yikes, this is painful.

He sure is keeping the brave face going, isn’t he?  Oscar’s not looking all that happy to be “home,” though.  Like I said before, he is still on the teat, and well, that‘s going to make things a little hard on him as he walks and swims and frolics his way to starvation…  “Take care of yourself,” “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,”  “Don’t take any wooden nickels,”  “Watch where you step,”  “Don’t forget to write…”

Poor Rusty…  pouring out his soul over the imminent release of Oscar the baby Otter… and Mark is as obtuse and uncaring as ever.  Did he even hear the lad?  “Mark I am very sad right now…” “Huh?  Did you say something Rusty?  Just keep paddling.”  And why do they have to paddle to the drop zone when in every other scene of the story they could drive themselves to the stream?  To make the long good-bye even longer and the separation more painful, apparently.  Oh, Mark, you are indeed the cruel one!

And…. TIME!  We started this little story arc on June 4^th and here it is august 9^th.   A little over two months and Mark was barely gone from Lost Forest, just enough time to “do a little hunting” and get stuffed in the meat Locker… No doubt the next story will have him separated from the clan he finds so unfulfilling… Editor Bill Ellis- Where are you???

“Getting that member of the varmint family out of my house can’t happen soon enough, in my opinion…” Doc wants to say but is sensitive to the lad’s feelings… He also wants to say that “Because Oscar has yet to be WEENED, his chances of survival are slim and none… unless he connects with a wet-nurse Otter, but no matter, we can’t afford another mouth to feed around here, even a small one, what with that mooching son-in-law and his adopted progeny about…”

Even with Rusty’s tortured past, he doesn’t appear to be haunted by separation issues… And Cherry, such a sensible plaid wrap skirt you have on… are you going off to your school teacher job later?

That last panel deserves to be turned into a framed print or at least a t-shirt… Undying and everlasting hope springing eternal in a young man’s heart…  almost brings a tear to the eye…

Mark, there is a special place in Hell for people like you who lead others on, make promises and then don’t follow through, especially when the targets are overly trusting, impressionable youths…  You are no more going to take Rusty fishing than you are going to pleasure Cherry in any meaningful way…  you are a cad, a psychological manipulator who by dint of his self-perceived charm and good looks can string people along indefinitely…

“And Gee, Mark… with all that’s happened, and even with the tingle I feel running up my leg, I really can’t stay here with you on this dreamy shoreline watching the sun set and trout feed off a fly hatch… I really have to get back to the office and earn a living.  Unlike you, I have rent to make and my dead-tree newspaper job is hanging by a thread…”  This is so twisted I can barely summon the remarks I want to make…  or maybe this just speaks for itself.

But gosh look how content Rusty’s face is as he cradles and nurses Oscar… Andy looks on approvingly…

Read the Curmudgeon’s take on this:

The cruelty of Nature is well documented, but the cruelty of Mark Trail, Man of Nature, retains its power to shock. Blissed-out Rusty nurses his otter and dreams of fishing, but mere days from now he will have neither otter, nor fishing, nor any last shred of hope. Mark just twists the knife, while Andy’s mind is all on dinner. Say — maybe they’ll have fish! 

Wanted in several states for POACHING?  Maybe even MURDER?  And yet there he was dug in and operating with impunity at his “hunting lodge.”  Listen here kids: a life of wrong-doing will only lead to, well, cigars, whiskey, a huge closet of colorful flannel shirts, and oh, yeah, retirement to the BIG HOUSE!  I still say that there is another, more sure-fire way to put him away…  I mean where are the agents from Treasury?  Where’s the IRS?

So, with Sergeant York of the Aryan Brotherhood on the scene (c’mon, really?) and with Mark draping him arm around his newest, bestest “friend,”  Frankie and Big Mike are no longer “in business.”  I hope Mark doesn’t invite Ol’ Jason (oops, did I really just say that??) back to Lost Forest for coffee and gripping tales of life in the meat locker… that head of his is shining me!

…which apparently does not exist in the Trail-verse, Mark once again plays Judge, Jury and executioner…  Big Mike has changed his shirt three time in the last hour or so… and is seen here sorting through the collected works of??? Maybe I was being too hard on him, a man who appeared no deeper than a wading pool… perhaps there are more layers and dimensions that would have revealed if we only had the time… Big Mike, we hardly knew ye… Or maybe these are the ledger books documenting his evil empire- the set he keeps and the set he shows the IRS…  If he goes away it won’t be for Skinning Otters or Shining Deer, it will be for tax evasion, which is what brought Alphonse Gabriel “Al” “Scarface” Capone down!

Trail must’ve played some football in his youth!  Look at the form he exhibits in making Big Mike go “OOOF!”  Even though he doesn’t say it, can’t you just feel it?  Head low, legs driving, shoulder to the gut, Big Mike sure didn’t expect that one!!  We should be back at Lost Forest in no time… and will Mark acknowledge that without Jason Smith coming out to Big Mike’s to inquire about his health, he might have perished?  Let’s see if Mark possesses the awareness and magnanimity required to string that thought together…

How appropriate that Frankie is laid out on a stack of what appears to be otter pelts!  I am sure one of them is Mollie’s!  Sweet dreams, Frankie! Your life, as you knew it, is about to change!!

Nice dramatic pause, Mark… BIG MIKE MORRISON!  And what will Big Mike’s prison name be?  There has to already be a “Big Mike” or two in the pen… so he will either have to change his name or fight for the right to keep it, since there certainly can’t be any, “Which Big Mike you talkin’ ‘bout” going on amongst the inmates and their keepers…

Jean Claude Van Damme got nothin’ on you, Mark Trail!!  Nice crab-kick!  Even with those skinny little legs, with body temp hovering in the hypothermic range, you take him out with one blow!  Now this is the Trail I have been missing- no tackling, no more “it’s just us against nature,” but rather two baddies that need to be brought down the old way- with a swift punch or kick!

Love Jason Smith in the first frame- arms held “up” but not really…  more like “whatever, I’ve been held at gun point before, I am a newspaperman, remember??”

All right!! This just in (2/22/2014)  I stumbled upon this strip from 1999!  Look familiar??

Replace a Reporter with a Game Warden, and voila!  Reprise, right down to the kick, the flying gun and hat, the shirt collar, and the look of surprise!!

Who says you can’t go home again!!

I really need to cut Elrod and Co. some slack… but why would I start now?  “Insert Big Mike Head Shot, front right ¾ view…”  Recall how they have used this, and his mirror image before:

Sort of like a Slylock Fox game “tell me what’s different with these pictures…”

But enough of that, back to the story.

“Buddy?”  “Friend?”  Methinks they overstate the facts here…

“Stiff as a board?”  “Dying to see you?”  Oh my these are lines that the Joker or Penguin might have used in the original batman series!

There’s not an ounce of remorse here, ladies and gentlemen…  these are cold hearted killers!  How many other Nosey Parkers have they snuffed in the past just to keep their Trophy Poaching Empire intact?  The mind Boggles…

Dammit Frankie!  Can’t I count you guys to do anything right?!?  Note how quickly Big Mike switches from cigarettes to cigars… and How he stands back and puffs confidently as Frankie leaps to action using the increased size, bolded type to emphasize that this fellow knows TOO MUCH!

Nice Double Entendre, there, Mike… certainly Mark Trail HAS “Checked out…” in more than one way…

But then Big Mike, as if buoyed by Frankie’s bravado, calmly places his hand on Frankie’s shoulder and bids Mr. Jason Smith follow him and learn what has “happened to Trail…”  Clearly Big Mike has more than what is being revealed since it’s now worth TWO counts of kidnapping, false imprisonment, and MURDER… followed by multiple counts of obstruction when he goes to take care of BOTH cars now, since he needs to get involved if he wants ANYTHING done right…

I mean, what would his doctor say after he sees how Big Mike fills out the clipboard survey at his annual physical?  Drink?  Constantly.  Smoke? Yup.  Weight? Lots…

“Gaaah!  Trail has FRIENDS??? Who knew?  Geez, Frankie, What do we do now?  He’s probably not even stiff yet…  and you did take care of his car, didn’t you?”  At least Big Mike has changed out of his Pink shirt into a slightly more manly red one…  or perhaps the pink one faded on him… who does his laundry anyway, I wonder, and hasn’t that person ever heard of washing bright colors together in COLD water?  And won’t Jason be disappointed when he realizes he will never be Mark’s “friend” since he doesn’t have “Ol’” on front of his name or isn’t called “Bluegill” or some other such silly nature related nickname…

…beats the heart of…  NEWSPAPER-MAN!!! Able to work the phone (at least today he’s figured out how to hold it) and go GET THE STORY!!! I still chuckle at the notion of Jason Smith “working with Mark.”  I don’t think Mark would acknowledge as much.  He wouldn’t have the level of awareness necessary to pick up on that…  And aren’t WE being all Forward and Friendly…  “Hello Cherry, This is ‘Jason,’ you know, the guy you met once who went on a nature hike with your son??”

So with tied cinched back up, and lavender “Member’s Only” jacket donned, Jason, wearing his game face if ever I saw one, heads out to rescue Mark from the Deep Freeze… But will he make it on time??

Can you just feel the crescendo?  Big Mike and Frankie are about to get there comeuppance! And the animals of Lost Forest will be once again safe to roam and multiply until such time as they outstrip the available food supply and have to resort to eating their own!!

What, we don’t even get a break on Sundays…  More OTTERS!!

More on the notion that they are “friendly little creatures…” that can actually smile…  Please stop with the anthropomorphizing already…

Oh, the sixth sense that only a NEWSPAPERMAN can possess is sensing that Trail is IN TROUBLE… or at least wondering whether he might be… But let’s take stock of Jason Smith in his natural environment…  Silk Rep Tie pulled open and loose around his neck- check!  Laptop open and ready for action- check!  Vocalizing what would be for anyone else a private thought- check!  But what’s that he has in his hand in panel two…  could be a smart phone, could be a box of filter tipped cigars, judging by the way he is holding it…  Certainly not like a phone…  more like a walkie-talkie…  base, come in, come in base, Bald Leader here…”  And he looks so smug calling Big Mike and inquiring about doing “a little hunting…”

But then I probably wouldn’t be giving him such a hard time if he just stopped over-compensating for his lack of hair on top with the fact that he is letting it grow so long over his ears…  I mean I have heard of and seen bad comb-overs, but this is taking things (literally) to a new low…

And if you are no longer IN BUSINESS, then don’t answer your freakin’ phone…

…that this is a REFRIGERATED Meat Cooler…  not the kind that keeps its contents WARM… and who ever heard of hanging meat butt-down??  I am no hunter but I have never seen THAT done before…  And even when facing death, Mark simply must vocalize most every thought… Although I have to admit that it’s best to talk out loud when one is chastising oneself for not displaying the virtue of foresight…

What do you mean, Big Mike, he “won’t last long in that cooler?” What- do you have cyanide pellets that drop from the ceiling or something??  And why are you beating such a hasty retreat?  That’s an awful lot of house you are walking away from, friend… What money out of what customers?  I would imagine you run a cash operation there- “No money, no trophy…” Every time Elrod tries to introduce any notion of what a “going concern” looks like whether legit or crooked, he he just falls short of anything that would actually sustain and pay…

Big Mike apparently does his best thinking with a glass of whiskey in his hand, or maybe that’s prune juice?  Regardless, Frankie looks on helpless as usual…

Mr Squirrel says, “Shoot, my paw is stuck in this knot-hole… but if I unclench my fist, I won’t get the prize that I am after…”

Oh Mark… not very smart are we??  And I guess you won’t be “checking in” with Smith or your family anytime soon, will you, now that you are locked in the Meat Cooler… “Honest Officer, I have no idea what he was doing in there… guess he shut the door on himself… Camera? How would I know?  Maybe he had a cooler fetish or something…”  So, Mark, not so clever now, as you are destined to die a slow, sleepy death from hypothermia, even with a jacket on…

And what is that on your face in panel two, Mark?  Is that a sweat bullet?  That’s a pretty quick and extreme physiological reaction to being surprised…  did you soil yourself, too?  And what would there be in the Meat Cooler that would be remotely incriminating?  Dry aging otter? Big Mike’s Mother?

First it’s Rusty going into Rod Bassy’s van unwelcome and unannounced, now it’s Mark Trail snooping in Big Mike’s Meat Locker…  Hmmm… “Big Mike’s Meat Locker…” that has a good ring to it.  Maybe Big Mike needs to expand his empire into Frozen foods, what with all the meat that must be piling up with all the BIG TIME POACHING going on…  I mean, once the client gets the head to hang on his wall, there must be pounds and pounds of meat left over!!

Oh Mike, you are an evil man, you know that?  What breeds such evil?  I am sure your dear mother could never have imagined what devil spawn sprang from her loins… even if she’s still with us, I am sure she doesn’t want to know you… And Frankie- the excitable one… yesterday I told you to chill, now Big Mike grows weary of your hysterical outbursts, as in, “ What are we going to do now <exclamation point –one> <question mark- one>” It doesn’t get more tense than that…

I love when you talk smack- especially when you are wearing that bright pink shirt!!  And Frankie.  Dude.  Chill out.  Note the clenched fist in panel two…  he doesn’t know who he’s dealing with does he???  Itching for a fight are you?  Well bring it, my sideburned friend… Mark has that and then some waiting for you!

His “kind?” What- Mark isn’t the first “famous outdoor writer” that has paid you a visit in an attempt to upset your POACHING EMPIRE??  These writers are a dime a dozen I suppose…  and knocking one off is of little consequence when there is Empire at stake…  In medieval times, Big Mike would be Lord of his manor and no one would have dared suggest that he was doing anything untoward…  but of course these aren’t Medieval times, and we have to be accountable to all forces of correctness- political and otherwise…

Frankie, c’mon, man… Get yourself a subscription to Esquire or something…  Those mutton chops of yours are getting out of control!!  That’s quite a mouthful, though… “Big Mike Morrison’s Phony Hunting Lodge…”

There DOES seem to be all manner of smaller critter about, including rabbit and squirrel.  See Mr. Squirrel in panel one savor the thought of cracking into that nut- “No!  I won’t put this away for later!  I will not delay gratification!  Just this once I will EAT FOR TODAY!”  In the words of Dave Matthews, “Eat Drink and be Merry, for tomorrow we die…”

Note the picture of the Trail-head on the page in the second panel…  this is great.  Disguise?  I don’t need no stinking disguise.  Or, apparently you do, especially when you offer up your real name.  I mean, I mean what were you thinking mark?  Now you are found out!  But wait, why wouldn’t Trail want a trophy too?   Nice Nose, Big Mike…