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

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A haul of coho salmon waiting to be gutted, gilled, and slushed aboard a power troller in Cross Sound.

Fishematics were a different beast altogether, though. I couldn’t remain under Joe’s protection forever. After the season, back in Juneau, I began mixing with certain fishermen who loved talking fishematics. At first I felt like I was listening to a foreign language, but soon I mastered the different theorems, postulates, axioms, and equations. I was overcome with the bubbly feeling of belonging, but I soon became plagued by philosophical questions. If a fisherman doesn’t catch any fish and no one’s around to see it, did he really not catch any fish? What is the meaning of fishing? Why are there fish rather than no fish? Do fish shape our nature more than fishing does? What is fishing? What is fish? I tried to use fishematics to solve these problems, but the deeper I delved, the more questions arose. It got so bad that I was on the verge of having a nervous breakdown.

On street corners, in alleyways, and in bars, I frequently found myself locked in fishematical debates over the size and quantity of fish, many of which I’d never even caught.