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

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The clouds dissipated, revealing ocean and the mountains of Admiralty Island and the Chilkoot Range stretching into the blue horizon. The vision never failed to remind me how lucky I was to live in Southeast Alaska. When I was thirteen, I first climbed the mountain with my dad and took in this haunting view. My dad patiently waited as I struggled up the slippery slopes with all the stealth and grace of an exhausted freight train. The following morning, after he tried to rouse me from my sleeping bag to brave the rain and fog, I heard a shot. I still remember the smell and touch of that young buck, the first deer I ever “helped” butcher and carry off a hill.

Reid in the alpine of Admiralty Island. (Photo courtesy Luke Dihle)

Climbing a steep, slippery slope, I spotted a deer in a stand of stunted trees. I froze, then slowly raised my rifle and looked through the scope. No antlers. I waited until it walked off, and I hiked to a bench my family had used as a camp spot. I dropped a small tent and sleeping bag before heading off to glass a couple different bowls. A red-tailed hawk shrieked and harassed an immature bald eagle lazily circling in the blue sky. I crept up to the edge of a draw, lay on my belly, and waited for dusk to come. Like magic, two does appeared on the opposite side.