Arrowhead Lake, the ideal and picturesque image of an all-American man-made lake.

It's fast, it's waters fresh, it rarely cold and brimming with fish.

Like the other big man-made lakes such as Norman, Harrington or Thunderbird, Arrowhead

are developed somewhat of a colourful, cultural superstition.

Everything from many things leeches with underbellies covered in fangs capable of toppling

over canoes to capfish who go to a normal size due to radiation leaking out from the nearby

plant.

Then there's the ghosts, the bargain-been bigfoot rip-off and the occasional flying saucer.

But none of these have ever held any place in my mind.

Being your typical conservative raised athletic type who loved fishing on the lake, I was immune

to the fearsome warnings from the locals.

I'd scoff when I'd hear old Mrs. Kotler telling people how a dug was snatched from the

shoreline by Black Black, the giant man-eating leech with an underbelly covered in teeth.

Furthermore, I made it my mission to humiliate and ridicule my peers who had a tale about

a cousin who was eaten or drowned by something under the surface.

In other words, I was a bit of an ass.

In my defence, I'd never seen anything to suggest my version of the world was wrong.

I had lived on the lake when fishing with my grandpa throughout my childhood before he's

boating accident and I'd begun convinced that there wasn't anything to be afraid of.

I was wrong.

There was something in that lake.

In truth, instead of reason I'm telling you this, partly to see if anyone else encountered

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