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

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It was near dark by the time I made it to camp. I was considering crawling into my sleeping bag when a deer emerged from the forest four hundred yards away. In the low light, I couldn’t tell whether it was a buck or doe. I grabbed my pack and crept along the forest’s edge, careful to make sure I didn’t silhouette myself. Through a break in the trees, thirty yards away, two deer stood. One had antlers. I quietly worked my bolt, brought the rifle to my shoulder, and fired. In the darkness, I found the buck lying nearby in deer lettuce, heather, and false hellebore. I lay my gun down and rested a hand on his warm body as the last of the crimson sunset disappeared behind the Chilkat Mountains. After gutting and splitting his brisket, I partly skinned his hindquarters and broke his pelvis so the meat would better cool. By Southeast standards, it was a hot night. I wedged a few sticks in his rib cage to air him out and then hoisted him the best I could in a stunted tree. I tied my sweat-drenched shirt on a foreleg in the hopes of scaring off bears.