Free The Hudson River Mystery by Julie Campbell Page A

it.”
    As Trixie gradually lost her fear of the man, she became fascinated by what he was saying. She never would have imagined that such an eccentric old man would be living this unusual life so close to Crabapple Farm. ”You must be an awfully good fisherman,” she said, leaning against a tank. ”Jeepers, I’ve never seen so many fish all in one place!”
    Bunker smiled to himself. ”Nothing to it, little lady. The height of fishing in this area is Columbus Day, which is in October, in case you didn’t know! All month long, the fish are almost jumping into my boat. You have your bass and your perch, your sturgeon and shad and bluefish, and, of course, your killifish for bait.... Watch out you don’t tip over my catfish there—I have to keep them around till they’re eatable—”
    ”What about sharks?” Trixie asked abruptly.
    ”Eh?”
    ”You know, sharks. I don’t mean if you’ve ever caught any. I mean, have you ever seen any around here?”
    Bunker hesitated. ”As far as I can recollect,” he said finally, ”the last shark was captured in these parts about thirty years ago. Now, I’ve been fishing here for forty, and I’ve never seen one. So I don’t think you have to worry your head about sharks, little lady.”
    ”You can call me Trixie,” she said, then frowned. ”I’m not really worried. Someone—a friend of mine—told me that sharks used to be very common in the Hudson.”
    ”Oh? Well, I don’t think that’s true. Sharks are saltwater creatures, you know.”
    Trixie nodded, recalling that Loyola had told her that.
    ”And so they don’t rightly belong in the Hudson,” Bunker went on. ”On the other hand, in the spring some of our fresh water gets washed out to sea. The powerful ocean tides stay here, and that can keep this part of the river pretty salty, especially between late summer and early spring. Follow me so far?”
    Trixie nodded again. As Bunker was talking, he was moving some of his fishing gear to the opening of the cave. He pushed a tackle box out into the sun and sat down to rest. Trixie followed him and made herself comfortable on a nearby boulder.
    ”These ocean tides from the Atlantic,” continued Bunker, ”can attract unusual saltwater fishes. They use the tides to work their way upriver to places they aren’t supposed to be. It’s a funny thing—no one really knows much about it.”
    ”My brother is working on a project to analyze the water along here,” Trixie said proudly. ”I think salt is one of the things he’s testing for.”
    ”Good for him,” said Bunker. He pulled out a needle and thread and started mending one of his nets. ”We should know as much as we possibly can about our fish and how to keep ’em healthy. Fish are the greatest natural resource this state has. There’s some committee in town—”
    ”The Sleepyside Conservation Committee?”
    ”That’s the one. From what I’ve heard, it’s doing a good job of finding out ways of protecting our river from more pollution.”
    ”Yes,” said Trixie, leaning forward. ”But what were you going to say about the unusual saltwater fishes?”
    ”Eh? Oh, dolphins and porpoises, for example. They were seen regularly around here during the last century. Blackfish whales, too, I guess.”
    ”That’s awfully hard to believe!”
    ”But it was sharks you were asking about.” Bunker shook his head. ”I think it was a sand shark that was captured up at Peekskill about thirty years ago. And then I’ve heard of hammerhead and dusky sharks around here, but that was a century ago. No, sharks are mainly after food—they’re attracted to garbage in the water. And I guess the Hudson around here just isn’t dirty enough for ’em.”
    ”Let’s hope we can keep it that way,” Trixie sighed. ”Say, where do you keep your boat? I don’t see it.”
    ”Right down there,” he replied, pointing with his needle.
    Trixie had to stand up in order to see the houseboat tied to a rock below. The day