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

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Luke and Kiah with a sooty grouse.

“This is what you guys do for fun?” she asked. I shrugged and said yeah, suddenly self-conscious.

Luke made a great spot on the first bird, but with just a tiny bit of it visible, it was the sort of shot only an expert marksman could make. The next bird offered a similar perspective, so I suggested Luke shoot it. As we were lacking a dog, I did the fetching. Kiah held the bird and studied it with mixed emotions, saying how beautiful it was over and over again. We moved on to the next hooter, which was silhouetted and quite a bit closer. Luke helped Kiah find a rest. At the sound of the shot, the bird plummeted. We found it beneath a giant root wad. Kiah stroked its feathers and held it tenderly before gutting and skinning it. At Luke’s encouragement—and the thought of how I might have to wait almost a year before having another delicious grouse dinner—I added another hooter to the bag on the hike down.

I followed my brother and his daughter, listening to other grouse hoot and thinking about how lucky I was to share the day with them. Kiah held her dad’s hand as we hiked along the edge of the ocean. She’d gotten dozens of devil’s club thorns, a few good scratches, and her feet were a bit sore, but she’d never admit it. Watching her with my brother brought back memories of the golden trout. That tiny fish may not be a four-by-four Sitka blacktail, or forty-inch sheep, or fifty-pound king salmon, but to this day, it’s the greatest trophy I have.