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

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My career as a fisherman began as bright and hopeful as my brothers’. I tangled just as many lines—and perhaps even more. I got pretty good at being hypothermic, something to this day I’m proud of. I got in the way when my dad was trying to net, contributing to the loss of several king and coho salmon. I massacred fillet jobs, cut myself, and broke knives. I dropped valuables over the edge of the skiff and lost hundreds of dollars’ worth of lures and gear. I’m not sure if my dad was relieved or disappointed when I declined his offers to go fishing during my teenage years. Soon my mom put my poles in the mysterious, carnivorous underbelly of the house. They vanished, along with all other outdoor gear that had ever been stored there.

Somehow, perhaps out of pity or desperation on the part of the captains who hired me, I started crewing on a number of commercial fishing boats. Now I was getting paid to be soaking wet and hypothermic, plus tangle lines, lose gear, and get in the way. Some of my favorite times were based out of Elfin Cove, longlining on the Njord for halibut in Cross Sound with Joe and Sandy Craig. The first May I worked for them was rife with gale warnings and stormy seas.