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

30 страница из 60

“Now!” Dad roared. I pulled the fly out of the fish’s mouth with a violence more fitting for a mixed martial arts match. I was sure now: it was the fish or me. Sobbing and trying to make peace with death, I whipped my fly back into the creek and offered a pathetic prayer to the fish gods. The next moment, the fly was sucked down, my reel zinged out line, and my dad’s inner berserker came out as he yelled, thrashed the water, and howled. A minute or so later, I pulled in a fifteen-inch grayling, a fish I had never seen and had no idea existed in Montana. Its iridescent scales and giant, sail-shaped dorsal fin made me forget how close I came to dying. Dad, knowing how rare Arctic grayling were in Montana, helped me gently release the fish. Watching it swim away, I wasn’t sure if it was the fish or me that was more traumatized from the experience.

I admitted I had a problem and discovered where my neurosis originated. Now I needed to do something to end my fish terrors and become a better fisherman. But what? Should I fly to India, find an ashram, and meditate until fish no longer haunted my dreams? Perhaps there are doctors out there willing to medicate me antifishotics? Or a twelve-step program for fisherman suffering from TFOM?