来源 ：酷狗 2019-11-19 04:56:00|今晚排列5开奖号码是多少
SANTA CRUZ, Argentina — I held the huge trout under its belly, which was swollen with thousands of eggs. I cradled her gently, pressing lightly on her flanks, trying to keep the fish upright, moving it backward and forward, forcing water through her gills, seeking to revive her.
It had been a long fight, with a 45-mile-per-hour wind buffeting me and blowing spray off the whitecaps that covered the lake. No need, I thought, to keep this trophy. Her enormous form — 20 pounds 8 ounces — was fixed forever in my memory, my biggest rainbow ever. Much better to let her spawn and seed the waters of the lake with her offspring.
This was my second trip to Estancia Laguna Verde, the lodge on the mesa above Lago Strobel, also known as Jurassic Lake, in Patagonia. The fish grow so big because the limestone-rich waters support abundant plankton, which are consumed by billions of scud, a freshwater shrimp. These in turn provide ample forage for the lake’s rainbows.
With only a small spawning stream (the Barrancoso River) feeding into the 16,000-acre lake, the trout population is limited so there’s no competition for an inexhaustible food supply. And, providentially, there are no predators: no bears, no eagles, no hawks.
On my first morning, I caught some decent fish, even stalking and hooking a monster in the Barrancoso. It leapt three times before shaking free. For the next few days, I cast and cast — maybe a thousand times, maybe 10,000 — but the fish were not interested.
When I returned to the lodge each evening, I would find two or three members of our group wriggling out of their waders — faces ruddy from wind and sun, with the look of contented exhaustion that comes from success on the water.
“Wow, nice!” I would say as I admired their photographs. I believe I gave a convincing impression of a person gladdened by another’s good fortune.
Then, as it always happens in Patagonia, the wind picked up, frothing the lake like a Nor’easter bearing down on Montauk. However, there was a stretch of shore, across the lake, that offered a bit of a lee, so our party of anglers snaked our way there along a four-wheel track.
It was a scene of austere beauty: the rolling plain, broken here and there by basalt outcroppings where the native Tehuelches took shelter from the wind and lie in wait for passing game.
You will always find obsidian flakes and fractured arrowheads littering the ground in these spots. The Tehuelches adorned many of their hide-outs with petroglyphs, some of them 10,000 years old: pictures of guanacos, ostrichlike choikes, a narrative of a puma hunt, a child’s footprints, and a depiction of a woman giving birth that I saw, fittingly, on my birthday.
Our destination was a spit of land where the wind was behind us as we cast. All you really had to do was steady yourself against the gusts and get your fly in the air. The wind did the rest of the work carrying the fly away from shore.
The favored rig that week was a large indicator — a huge dry fly or a small red bobber — and, about 18 inches below the surface, a San Juan Worm, thin as a piece of linguine and no longer than your thumb.
In the space of two hours I caught — and released — 10 fish, none smaller than 8 pounds and the biggest at 13, 15, and 17 pounds. With nothing but open water in front of them, the rainbows put on a show, jumping and tailwalking. At such times, you begin to think that your good fortune is a token of a moral life. Of course, when the afternoon came, I caught zilch, while another member of our group had the hot hand.
The next morning, the wind “slackened” (to 45 m.p.h. from 60). After an hour, and a couple of nice fish, I felt a jolt. Something really big tore line from the reel before going airborne 50 yards away.
“Don’t let me lose this one,” I prayed, even though I am not by nature a praying man.
After a long fight, Sebastian Bosch, my guide, netted the 20-pounder. We took turns trying to revive her. Mind you, I do not condemn people who kill their catch (as long as they eat it) but I prefer to release them. I value the fishery more than the odd filet.
Look at it this way: If all trout fishing were catch-and-kill, our streams would, at best, be full of anemic, hatchery-raised trout, if any at all. Likewise, among our dangerously low striper population — which some scientists say may never recover — half of the fishing mortality is from recreational fishing. While it’s true fish that are caught and released account for some of this, at least those released fish go back into the ocean’s highly stressed food chain.
So, for a good 20 minutes, we attempted to save my trout. I could see her opening and closing her lips.
I imagined her saying “No use guys, I’m done,” in whatever language trout speak when they are about to give up the ghost. Despite our efforts, every time we let her go, she would glide a few feet and then turn on her side, immobile.
Finally, Sebastian and I accepted the inevitable. However, having sacrificed this beautiful animal, there was no way I was going to forgo an angler’s communion of sorts. We filleted her back at camp, returning the carcass to the lake. Her flesh blazed crimson.
I melted some butter in a skillet, pressed a piece of filet, skin side down, until it crisped, and then spooned foaming butter over it until it was still moist, but flaked easily. The flavor was luxuriantly wild.
“Yapai peñi,” someone said, a Tehuelche toast. I raised my glass to my glorious rainbow and swallowed a draft of good Patagonian Malbec.B:
【他】【猥】【一】【琐】【了】！ 【一】【连】【几】【天】，【顾】【执】【下】【楼】【吃】【早】【饭】【时】，【嘴】【巴】【咂】【咂】，【像】【是】【在】【回】【味】【着】【什】【么】。 【顾】【父】【白】【他】【一】【眼】：“【吃】【饭】【不】【许】【砸】【吧】【嘴】。” 【顾】【执】：“【咂】【咂】【咂】！” 【顾】【母】：“【儿】【子】【是】【不】【是】【有】【毛】【病】？” 【顾】【大】【爷】【略】【一】【思】【索】，【冷】【哼】【一】【声】：“【春】【天】【都】【过】【了】，【才】【开】【始】【做】【美】【梦】？【没】【出】【息】【的】【东】【西】。” 【顾】【执】【乐】【意】！ 【转】【眼】【三】【年】，【念】【夭】【夭】【成】
【说】【到】【这】【里】，【他】【手】【中】【的】【水】【晶】【似】【乎】【像】【是】【感】【应】【到】【了】【这】【句】【话】【而】【闪】【了】【一】【下】，【霍】【布】【斯】【笑】【眯】【眯】【的】【说】【道】：“【你】【看】，【晴】【子】【不】【好】【意】【思】【了】。 【乔】【海】【一】【脸】【不】【可】【置】【信】，【他】【伸】【手】【指】【了】【指】【那】【块】【在】【他】【眼】【里】【看】【起】【来】【十】【分】【诡】【异】【的】【水】【晶】，“【我】【可】【没】【有】【给】【你】【说】【这】【玩】【意】【是】【北】【川】【晴】【子】【的】【东】【西】，【你】【是】【怎】【么】【看】【出】【来】【的】？【而】【且】【你】【为】【什】【么】【说】【这】【个】【东】【西】【就】【是】【她】？” 【霍】【布】【斯】【无】【奈】【的】
【虽】【然】【他】【说】【的】【是】【事】【实】，【但】【大】【单】【于】【心】【中】【还】【是】【有】【些】【不】【舒】【服】，【脸】【上】【的】【笑】【容】【也】【不】【知】【道】【什】【么】【时】【候】【淡】【了】【下】【来】，【淡】【淡】【道】：“【战】【争】【后】【休】【生】【养】【息】【是】【必】【然】【的】，【不】【过】【我】【们】【不】【会】【一】【直】【维】【持】【这】【样】【的】【状】【态】，【这】【样】【的】【日】【子】【也】【只】【是】【暂】【时】【的】。” 【意】【味】【着】【就】【是】【变】【相】【拒】【绝】【了】【他】【们】【的】【邀】【请】。 “【哧】！【如】【果】【大】【单】【于】【说】【的】【暂】【时】【是】【指】【现】【在】【已】【经】【撤】【退】【的】【大】【燕】【兵】【马】【的】【话】，【那】【么】今晚排列5开奖号码是多少【回】【程】【路】【上】，【两】【人】【讨】【论】【了】【一】【会】【订】【婚】【之】【事】，【场】【地】，【宴】【客】【名】【单】【这】【些】【琐】【事】【都】【不】【用】【他】【们】【操】【心】，【全】【都】【是】【家】【中】【长】【辈】【请】【了】【专】【人】【处】【理】，【所】【以】，【他】【们】【要】【做】【的】【就】【是】【在】【当】【日】【出】【现】【就】【行】【了】。 【聊】【一】【会】【儿】【订】【婚】【的】【事】【情】，【车】【子】【已】【行】【至】【半】【山】【私】【人】【道】【路】。 “【刚】【才】【在】【会】【所】【碰】【到】【江】【家】【二】【少】【奶】【奶】【了】。” 【叶】【臻】【头】【靠】【在】【陆】【怀】【远】【肩】【膀】，【他】【张】【开】【一】【边】【手】【臂】【搂】【着】【她】，【只】
【邢】【铭】【赶】【到】【时】【候】【已】【经】【是】【第】【二】【天】【晚】【上】，**【乐】【的】【伤】【心】【劲】【已】【经】【过】【去】，【她】【相】【对】【平】【静】【的】【接】【受】【了】【现】【实】，【毕】【竟】【眼】【泪】【都】【流】【干】【了】，【再】【伤】【心】【也】【不】【过】【埋】【在】【心】【里】。 【钱】【母】【的】【丧】【事】【办】【得】【很】【热】【闹】，【事】【实】【上】【因】【为】【年】【纪】【大】【了】，【早】【在】【十】【年】【之】【前】【钱】【父】【就】【为】【自】【己】【和】【钱】【母】【准】【备】【好】【丧】【事】【要】【用】【的】【棺】【材】【和】【寿】【衣】【等】【用】【品】。 【在】【一】【应】【事】【务】【俱】【全】【的】【情】【况】【下】，【整】【个】【丧】【事】【也】【可】【以】【不】【紧】
【彼】【时】，【赵】【无】【瑕】【正】【钻】【在】【阮】【绵】【娇】【怀】【里】【抽】【抽】【搭】【搭】【哭】【泣】，【阮】【绵】【娇】【阴】【沉】【着】【脸】，【完】【全】【不】【似】【之】【前】【跪】【在】【他】【面】【前】【那】【样】【低】【眉】【顺】【眼】。 【赵】【昌】【琨】【站】【在】【门】【外】，【从】【屋】【里】【向】【外】【望】【去】【恰】【好】【是】【个】【死】【角】——【屋】【里】【看】【不】【见】【但】【是】【外】【面】【看】【的】【一】【清】【二】【楚】【的】【死】【角】。 【阮】【绵】【华】【想】【上】【前】【通】【报】，【赵】【昌】【琨】【摆】【摆】【手】，【制】【止】【了】【她】。 【阮】【绵】【娇】【严】【厉】【道】：“【哭】【够】【了】【没】【有】？【惹】【到】【你】【父】【皇】【了】，
【讲】【真】，【写】【到】【这】【里】，【其】【实】【真】【的】【不】【知】【该】【怎】【么】【继】【续】【往】【下】【写】【了】。 【成】【绩】【嘛】，【很】【惨】，【严】【格】【来】【说】，【甚】【至】【是】【因】【为】【唯】【一】【一】【个】【读】【者】【写】【下】【来】【的】。【至】【于】【挣】【钱】，【那】【就】【更】【无】【稽】【之】【谈】【了】。 【写】【到】【现】【在】，【没】【有】【任】【何】【创】【作】【激】【情】【的】【时】【候】，【每】【天】【能】【感】【觉】【到】【的】，【只】【有】【疲】【惫】【和】【狼】【狈】。 【我】【不】【够】【努】【力】。 【或】【者】【说】【太】【懈】【怠】，【对】【成】【功】【的】【渴】【望】【不】【够】【强】【烈】，【敷】【衍】【了】【事】。