[READ IN ENGLISH] On se laissait dériver à quelques encablures de cette magnifique plage désertique qu’une jungle verte couvrait presque jusqu’aux rivages. Tout cet immense territoire était vierge de ces habitations hideuses qui défigurent cette côte de Floride, territoire immaculé uniquement parce qu’il appartient à l’armée (au moins, ça sert à quelque chose d’utile !).
Stan et moi étions occupés à traquer les fameux redfish et le soleil tapait fort en cette demi-journée. Tout à coup, un étrange bourdonnement ne déconcentra. Il s’amplifia jusqu’au moment où enfin, je les aperçus. Deux avions de chasse arrivaient dans notre direction. Le soleil était juste derrière eux et les transformait en des sortes d’ombres chinoises. À ma grande stupéfaction, un troisième appareil entra dans ma ligne de vision.

Cette méprise m’enchantait et subitement me mis en mémoire le superbe livre de Richard Brautigan « la pêche à la truite en Amérique » livre dont j’étais tombée éperdument amoureux il y a des années de cela.( Brautigan est né le 30 janvier 1935 à Tacoma et mort un jour indéterminé d’août 1984. Il aimait pêcher et écrire de longues et incomparables lettres d’amour qu’il n’envoyait jamais. Il s’est fait sauter le caisson au fusil de chasse, comme Hemingway. ), La première histoire de cet ouvrage, retrace la vision que l’auteur a, en pénétrant dans une clairière et apercevant au loin une belle cascade aux couleurs d’argent. C’est en se rapprochant qu’il réalise qu’il s’agit en fait non pas d’une cascade mais d’un escalier.


We were drifting close to a magnificent beach half covered with a primal green jungle. All that immense territory is free from the horrible dwellings that mutilate this part of Florida’s coast thanks to the American Air Force who owns the land (at least they are useful for something good!). Stan and I were busy tracking redfish and the sun was hitting us full in the face. Out of nowhere a stange hum distracted me. It kept growing louder and then I could see them. Two war planes were coming towards us. The sun was just behind them and so they looked like black shadows, then a third plane appeared in my line of vision. The first two hunters roared above our head and disappeared over the jungle toward their invisible base. Meantime, to my surprise, the third one hadn’t moved from where I saw it. Suddenly I realized that my brain had played a trick on me and what I thought was a third airplane was in fact a butterfly, one of those incredible “monarch” butterflies that winters in their “love valley” in Mexico.

The mistake enchanted me and reminded me of the superb book by Richard Brautigan called “Trout fishing in America”, a book that I fell in love with years ago. Brautigan was born January 30,1935 in Tacoma, Washington and died on an unknown day in August 1984. He loved fishing and writing fantastic, long love letters he never sent. (He blew his brains out, like Hemingway.)
The first short story of the book tells us about a vision of the author: he was standing in a clearing and sighted a beautiful glowing waterfall. When he got closer he discovered that it was not a cascade at all, but a staircase. A very simple, but gorgeous story, written in a spirit of a Japanese “Haïku”. ( Brautigan, like myself, was a big fan of Japanese culture). All that is to say that I bought another copy of that marvelous book, I highly recommend it. It doesn’t talk much about trout fishing, but the trip is an enchantment nevertheless.. To convince you, of Richard Brautigan’s importance, you should know that after he killed himself, an American adolescent changed his name to “Trout fishing in America” and a young couple named their newborn “Trout fishing in America”. That should be enough information for you to pay a deserved homage to Brautigan and change your own name.
