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Informationen zum Autor Poet, essayist and winner of the Oregon Book Award, Henry Hughes is a professor of English at Western Oregon University. He is also the editor of The Art of Angling: Poems about Fishing. Klappentext Fishing Stories nets an abundant catch of wonderful writing in a wide variety of genres and styles. The moods range from the rollicking humor of Rudyard Kipling's "On Dry-Cow Fishing as a Fine Art" and the rural gothic of Annie Proulx's "The Wer-Trout" to the haunting elegy of Norman Maclean's "A River Runs Through It."Many of these tales celebrate human bonds forged over a rod, including Guy de Maupassant's "Two Friends," Jimmy Carter's "Fishing with My Daddy," and an excerpt from Ernest Hemingway's The Garden of Eden. Some deal in reverence and romance, as in Roland Pertwee's "The River God," and some in adventure and the stuff of legend, as in Zane Grey's "The First Thousand-Pounder" and Ron Rash's "Their Ancient Glittering Eyes." There are narratives that confront head-on the heartbreaks and frustrations of the sport, from Thomas McGuane's meditation on long spells of inaction as the essence of fishing in "The Longest Silence" to Raymond Carver's story of a boy's deflated triumph in the gut-wrenching masterpiece "Nobody Said Anything." And alongside the works of literary giants are the memories of people both great and humble who have found meaning and fulfillment in fishing, from a former American president to a Scottish gamekeeper's daughter.Whether set against the open ocean or tiny mountain streams, in ancient China, tropical Tahiti, Paris under siege, or the vast Canadian wilderness, these stories cast wide and strike deep into the universal joys, absurdities, insights, and tragedies of life.This beautiful hardcover edition features seven original woodcut illustrations by Paul Gentry, and includes a silk ribbon marker, European-style half-round spine, and full-cloth case with two-color foil stamping. Excerpted from the introduction ‘Sounds like a fish story,’ my father said, crossing his arms, and squinting down at me from the dock. Just fourteen, I had waited over an hour that morning for my friend Tony before motoring out alone in my little boat, crossing the rough breakwater into the choppy sound, casting a polished Hopkins for cocktail blues – when something else struck. My cheap yellow rod bent double and pulsed wildly as line sang off the spool. Yes, yes, I thanked the heavens, adjusting my drag, and reeling when the fish turned. For fifteen minutes I stayed with its long runs and broad dodges, keeping the line clear of the prop when it got close and shot under the hull. Finally, in the sweating thrill of an instant, my flimsy blue net at the ready, there was a huge swirl and tail splash, then a glowing bronze flank just below the surface. Oh, my God, I said aloud. Striped bass! Stripers were scarce in those days on the north shore of Long Island, caught only by pros with live eels under the moon. But I was into a huge one – maybe thirty, forty pounds, maybe more. I’ll never know. Suddenly it was gone, the snapped line sagging between the guides of my rod. Another boat had pulled close to watch the battle, and the man behind the wheel just shook his head and sped away. The late morning sun suddenly felt hot, a ferry horn groaned in the distance, herring gulls hovered above. I would later learn that Tony’s grandmother had died in the night. She was a great old Italian lady who loved to hear about our adventures. ‘You boys bring home some nice fish, okay?’ she would always tell us. All I’d bring home that day was a story. But this story and many others – experienced, heard, and read over the years – have taught me that fishing is about more than lifting a dripping trophy for a photo. One comes to know the fish and its world, the best techniques, and the right bait, lure, or fly. One learns to appreciate the beautiful, changing el...
