Читать книгу Never Cry Halibut. and Other Alaska Hunting and Fishing Tales онлайн

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“There he is!” he hollered. I rushed over but saw only branches and brush as Tim sighed impatiently. Finally, as the grouse boomed its mating call, I saw a dark chicken-sized bird bobbing its head in a web of branches. Tim offered me the shot, but I declined on the principle that I wouldn’t pull the trigger until I spotted a bird myself. He shook his head and muttered something about the unlikeliness of that happening anytime soon. At the crack of the shot, the bird plummeted, and Buff plunged down the steep slope and disappeared into the brush. A short while later, he huffed his way back to us with the grouse held softly in his mouth. I examined its bluish-gray feathers and appreciated the patterns of its plumage as Buff rested a paw on me. Tim gave us a curious look, no doubt impressed with my dog even if he thought I was a fool. The three of us went hunting a lot that spring. I didn’t spot a single hooter, but Buff retrieved every grouse we knocked out of a tree.

The woods became my refuge and Buff my constant companion and best friend. While other kids my age were dating, partying, and suffering from teen anxieties, I spent all my extra time hunting and exploring, mostly alone with my dog. We encountered wolves—one scrawny and hungry-looking loner tried its best to lure Buff away from my side. We surprised bears, some of whom huffed and clacked their teeth as we slowly backed away. On one occasion with Tim, we “accidentally” shot a big buck high on a mountain during a hike after school. We’d been walking along an alpine ridge late in the day when we unexpectedly encountered three deer in a ravine below. It just happened to be open season. Tim was one of those guys who believed in hiking with a rifle for fitness; he rarely entered the woods without packing. Together, we made a short stalk—not an easy task with a big Lab—and lined up on a big buck.