Turned up bream. A fishing story

Caught his little boy in the Robins on the big jig. We learned about bream, only about him and talk. Everyone is nice to compete with big, strong fish.

On a thin fishing line, which even a decent perch to haul dangerous, to grab a wide, Golden bream — whether joyful?

Of course, not everyone likes such a tidy catch.

Fishing stories and history

Turned up bream. A fishing story

Efim Nikolaevich goes for pike, but secretly hoped to find and bream. Because a number of perch are almost always walks bream, you see, and would jump at the red strand of wool on the tee. And then while swinging the rod podteretsa the chin or behind the fin. That’s really poskripet then the rod in the hands of the angler! If he is on the hook threw a bucket of water and pull it in all directions.

But Zander no, not seen and bream. So here he sits without a serious case of old, experienced fisherman, waving his rod, watching others catch bass near the shore, but not coming off, waiting in the wings.

— Better one good pike-perch catch, than such a trifle to make do with! he replies to our invitation to engage in the perch.

Efim Nikolaevich moves on the back of the head brown hunting cap sends short worn jacket rye color, covered with numerous patches, and comfortably sits on new holes on the high, narrow bucket.

Gently warm March sun, my eyes hurt to look at white snow after a long night of the road sleepy, strokes of the rod becomes slower, quieter.

And suddenly, the hubbub over the river:

Fell look fell!

— Who fell?

— Where I fall?

— Efim Nikolaevich with buckets fell!

Huffing and puffing, we run to the angler. In the fall he dropped the cap and now the sun is playing on his bald head. He is on his knees in wet, loose snow, barely holding the pole that pulls him from the hands of a very strong fish.

— Let go the line, let the fish move!

— Hold it, don’t listen to anybody, the line will hold!

Fishing stories

— Go on, let the man himself to think. — excitedly screaming fans above the ear of the angler.

As the angler shakes as in a fever, the line suspicious ringing at sharp edges of ice.

We lean over the hole and notice that the big fish with an elongated, laterally compressed body does not want to go into a brightly lit hole.

All the bream?

So bream. And the scales are smaller and the snout is bent upward.

Is IDE, perhaps, and?

— Yes, you! In this yaze pounds fifteen. Does not happen we have such ides. And fin is not orange, but dark.

And, of course, not pike.

— We’ll see.

Flushed Efim Nikolaevich, guilty smile, drags a fish, as on the stage, under the gaze of sharp connoisseurs. We all seen what is right, what is wrong in his fussy, angular movements, seemed to check, as a friend passes a difficult exam.

Someone starts bagaric under the thick, blue spring ice, and wet snow already jumping, enveloping us with cold spray, a huge Chub with a black edge on the tail.

None of us have never fished in the winter ASP. And we decide under the friendly laughter that were he not a coincidence. I had someone to Wake up angler…

“No. 2, 1951”

Boris Emelyanov

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