The end of August. The city, as always, is noisy and lives in his frantic pace, scurrying between the stone boxes cars, okutyvaya stinking of smoke. Around noise problems as all! Yes, so tired of that left for a week all business, and not very important, and gathered in the forest.
Slung in a backpack all necessary, came for a dog and the package and out of the city. Long wanted to visit an old, abandoned cabin on the shore of the lake. Once upon a time was near lake village, lived people, but then gradually the young people left in the city, and the old man lived his life, and the village was empty.
Leave the car at the collapsed barn go, but nobody ever comes in here and touch nothing, no one will. To go far, about twenty kilometers. Dog sports on the field, the joy of departure as it seems, smiles incessantly. Well, come on, Wolfy! Of course, you’re happy, go hunting, take a walk! Morning coolness Aug is replaced by a warm Sunny day; not to roast in the sun, leaving the edge of the forest, a long road ahead and a whole week of forest life!
The road is heavily overgrown with bushes. Go hard, backpack with each passing hour becoming more massive. Suddenly the path goes in bolotino. When I was last here, this was not. Apparently, somewhere beavers flooded the river. Focus on the other side and walk along the edge, occasionally bending down and picking sweet berry cranberries.
Wolfy picked up the grouse, put it on the tree, no, you’re not even hunting the science behind long off-season. Call off the dog, now I’m not shooting — not to bring, and so the backpack seems too heavy. Will we still hunting, be patient, buddy. In the way all the idea is preserved if the forest hut, after all, the tent is not taken.
Climb the hill through binoculars look around the lake. Here is the cabin. The whole hut. Downhill your feet will carry me to a long-awaited vacation. Here came the backpack from the shoulders down! The feeling jump up and take off. On the lake a ruckus, so many birds I haven’t seen. Duck and ciry worn packs, quack and flop into the water. Noisy reeds. Well, let’s settle down. The hut of huts, built of century-old trees, preserved over the years great. Everything is in place, and a stove from old barrels, and even a trumpet is not blown away. A simple, hammered together from garden a table, a bench and a bed, that’s all the decor forest home. On the shelf carefully left someone matches and salt. Several candles — very handy. Belongings laid out on the shelf, the products suspended from the ceiling.
It’s getting late, and you can stand the dawn in the reeds. Around the lake clean pine forest, and shores thickly overgrown with willows. You need not go far, that’s the old boat dock. Here and will continue to hunt and fish. The lake water is dark, like a mirror, reflects the yellow trunks of the pines.
Drinking tea from a thermos and enjoy a warm evening. Wolfy sits there watching me with his brown eye, squints into the setting sun. Whistling wings, a duck is not afraid of us — RAID a shot, shoot, and my trusty helper floats to get the smitten bird. Another RAID, again shot down. All, friend, we don’t need two mallards at the two of us enough for lunch tomorrow. And today, just sit and relax.
In the evening the wind picks up, the pine trees rustle and the cane taps its dry sticks and the melody of the forest. Going to clean the dichin. Pluck the ducks, give the legs a spin, they deserve it! Melt the thirsty the stove to get rid of the cabin dampness and heat up dinner. Put the kettle on, brew a fragrant tea with a cowberry leaves and wild currant. The hut is filled with aromas of smoke and tea. With ustatku is not desirable, so the tea itself and a jar of stew for the dog. Go to sleep. Lie and listen to the squeak of mosquitoes, the rustle of mice, the crackling logs in the stove. Urban thoughts begin to slowly let go of me. Wolfy is asleep. In the dream barking and “runs”, apparently someone rides.
I can’t sleep, go outside. In the sky of the sky over the top of swaying pine trees spread the starry sky. Silence. And only the sound of wind in branches of trees. But fatigue takes its toll, lay down and sleep the sleep of the dead.
A little light glimmered in the window, a tightened thick plastic film, as my “partner” wakes me up, tychas cold wet nose on the cheek. Time to get up. Morning mist hangs over the lake solid thick cap. Go to wash, the water is clear and cold. Hunt today we will not, for dinner, there are ducks. But you can go fishing.
Sitting on the old jetty, wet with morning dew Board, fishing on the edge of a field of Lily pads. At the lake, peace and quiet. Lighting up, waiting for the first bite. Wolfy sits there in bewilderment looking at me. All kind trying to show — not engaged in business, the owner! Come on the hunt. The float suddenly goes down, and pull hooking a good perch, it is almost black, the color of the shores of the peat lakes.
It’s a start! The next bite was not long in coming, but before you go under water, float for a long time swayed from side to side, shifting slightly on the water surface. Someone must careful trying to eat our worm. But the float went to the USBC, strike and feel a pleasant heaviness of the fish. After a brief struggle to pull big carp. His side is a dark yellow cast in the sunlight. Beautiful! Parabuchev another hour and caught the ear several more perch and a couple of decent crucians are sent to clean a fish. After an hour in the pot of boiling soup with smoke! The sun rose high in the forest was hot and an afternoon NAP in the cool cabin-just what the doctor ordered.
Tonight for dinner, grilled duck, and — again on the hunt! Shoot the mallards uninteresting, so switch to chirov, though they fly faster. And again a good evening, I’m enough to shoot and have seen enough of the ducks, and the Top plenty of swimming and nalazila in the reeds for a bat game.
Becomes boring on the lake. Tomorrow we will go to the forest to look for grouse or grouse for a change, and then the fat will sail sitting on one place. In the morning coolness travel to pine forest. The earth is covered with light moss, on this carpet barefoot walk though! Walking for a long time, and finally, Top load, raises the capercaillie, prisasyvaet high pine, barking, skirting around the barrel away from the hunter’s attention. The perfect working dog! Shoot, has a trophy capercaillie with a black ball drops into the moss. Beautiful! Anyway, time to go home! We are waiting for hospitable forest hut and lunch, from fragrant soup!
The night before we left, the most sad time. Standing on the threshold of the hut and looked up at the evening lake in the setting sun, trying to capture the memory of this picture. But nothing, God willing, we will be back here in a year and rest again.