When comes the icy wind and morosity matinees

Places that will be discussed, not exotic and not far from the city’s outskirts. Fifteen miles away is the path to the river Malaya Kokshaga. And the river is really small. But in these small places small of my homeland has a special charm, quiet and dim.

Movements and sounds are the same slow and calm. Like prudent speech the wise, old man. In the autumn, when Nature dies, as if in expectation of death and a new rebirth-reincarnation, these places are almost deserted and therefore even more mysterious and attractive.

It all started with a small episode on a suburban Fazenda – the infamous garden plot, though not in the classic six acres, and four times more. The angler, as we know, need worms for fishing. Digging up kitchen garden before winter, I was engaged in both the mining nozzle. And did not expect to meet resistance pacifist minded wife. “As you might have crawled out at last the sun is brutally taken away from the earth and then give to be devoured by these fish?!. These helpless, gentle, gullible?

They are children, probably are.” sounded to me like thunder from the sky… frankly, I never thought of worms in that strange dimension. And I almost lost heart, stunned by a new formulation of the question. Something even like remorse stirred in my soul when I imagined these sad crawling parents of kids waiting for dad and mom in their cozy burrows… It was a delusion, and my hand weakly fell down, dropping the earthen gullible worm…

But then, back in harsh reality, I picked up a fleeing worm and cynically threw it in a jar. What again was heard the accusations of sadism and cruelty. Then individual Lumbricina, cursed(th) is a hermaphrodite, he returned to earth, released wife. The remaining time sckopke has become for me a living hell… I had to secretly pull the worms out of lumps, and while the wife did not see, to throw them quickly into a jar, which I began to hide under a pencil topper. If I was caught at the scene, the worm have the freedom, and I – another the accusations and blackmail, they say, in the evening no beer and especially vodka with ustatku… Fisherman will understand me.

Worms I dug up, overcoming the hardships and privations to which I have already said, and night was on the river. The purpose of my trip was the burbot, or rather, the exploration of places suitable for fishing. Still too early for night fishing and warmth. Fish strange, because it is the only freshwater relative of the cod and loves the most that neither is icy Khmara and ice water. Any other self-respecting fish at this time whips the pillow and prepares for winter hibernation.

Burbot energetic and predatory cunning. Taking advantage of the helpless state of sleep fish (almost criminal procedure code), whiskered predator, lazily and slowly especially just opens his mouth and gives himself a labor to swallow the victim-La Sonnambula, slowly stirring fins. In addition to his strangeness, burbot sweet and rich in the ear. Especially delicious is his liver, most disproportionate and delicate, like melting in the mouth.

On the way to burbot pit I have from time to time lashed the sleepy water spinning balls. Here the spinner rising above the river and falls into the black whirl pool. Plop!.. One two…ten…twenty. Finally snag on the bottom. This is evident in the weakened line. It’s time… And I’m starting to podmotat fishing line. Baubles, in obedience to the uneven speed of the retrieve, close to shore, emerges from the black hole and like a fearful white fish, waddling from side to side, sliding about mane Shelkovnikov-Tina.

Then falls again into the dark depth and the glitters already on the white sandy spit in a empty way. Suddenly I notice two rapid shadows, mourners trolling. But the way the dummy is finished, she’s almost at my feet, and the fish abruptly turns away and vanish in the depth. It’s a shame… That aroused the suspicion of the predator and why wasn’t the grip – to ask the fish… And these imitations happened more than once in the riverbed. Pike somehow refused to take the spoon. But as soon as I reached the shore of the oxbow lakes, overgrown along the banks of rosehip and water – lilies, not yet fallen to the bottom, followed by a confident grip. And the big fish was in the backpack, tossing and turning is hard in a plastic bag.

The subtleties of spring fishing for carp wild fellow carp

On foot walked more fun. Besides, bright and quiet beauty of the young autumn reigned around. The evening light was lying on the coop birches and oak forests, isolated contrast shadows and outlined sharply agostoni. In the clear air was present bitterness of decay and simultaneously the freshness of the cool grass, touched by the evening dew. Smelled even by cold water, vysvetleni to tear the transparency. Somewhere I heard cautious steps, the crackle of dry branches, and then suddenly like a herd passed through the woods…

And it seems, and was the herd. That’s what’s wrong, it turns out that path!.. Sometimes I went around her on the grassy roadsides, and even on a hillside we had to climb, to get on level ground and not on the potholes and loose hillocks and feet to break. Boars, pigs in the literal and figurative sense… After all, be dug in the depression, under the oaks. There are enough acorns, and roots. Only put your mug zagrabiti, insatiable. No, it’s the way to spoil the angler and the hunter.

What can we look at protoptannoj trail?.. Only then it came to me: wild families well here in the desert alone, that’s why the path to ruin before the man. Don’t go, they say, our these places, labeled for love, and for a free life, and for walking babies-piggies… Smart, hell… because we Live almost in town next. And ducks here a lot. And as it turns out, beavers. It is also necessary to grind the tree! People not girth… Almost before I could capture a very large beaver floating on the river, but as he brought his zoom, he managed to dive careful. They, the beavers, apparently, and was waiting for the pit to which I went, the dam, is not immediately recognizable as a structure.

At first I thought that this narrow place struck driftwood and logs, quicksand with water. But if you look closely, you can define a smart organization of work and the correct design of the structure. That’s why the hole became broad as it is wide on a small river.

So I’m in the pit. On the water the circles diverge from fattening bleak. In the shallows, overgrown with mud and grass still chase perch silver detail-verkhovka. Silence… Only Raven drops from the height of his sad “cron…” and the buzzing of the distant highway. Begin to prepare gear for catching burbot – zakidushki. Getting tangled, unwound the line with motoviltse, lay the rings on the sand – lobe worms, pieces of fish Bursch, slices ruff. All these delicacies for the autumn burbot brought with him, was taken the fish in advance.

Suddenly quickly nawaloka heavy grey clouds, dusk fell, Night came blacker than black. And I, in the dark, start to prepare the bed. Not going to sleep – it is necessary to wait for the bite burbot, so just build a fire of small dry trees and long gray sand with heavy fire, humming and floating in the sky sparks.

Then remove the fire and remove all the coals, and then lay them on twigs and dry grass, almost hay. Soft bed heated from below. Next to the blazing fire. Soon add three hard and dry logs on top of each other. Between closely lying logs link is not strong, although handling it, pushing logs. The heat from such a fire out of oak – slow and strong. Siberian-like this slow-burning and hot fire is called nodya. All night can smolder heavy oak ridges, like a stove…

All the time listen to the sounds of the night, and suddenly rings, Zabriskie bell, although I understand early, not on time waiting. Yes, the bells from time to time it was shaken and lightly tinkled. But the hooks sat a snotty ruffs bristling to a state of prickly lumps, “otdavaya honor” tails on one side… Ruffs I immediately placed on zakidushki. Burbot – a lover of these spirited fish. Sweet taste ruff, though humorist not proglotit last with their spines. But burbot, beast, adapt himself somehow to deftly lay the needle spines to avoid injury…

Burbot grasps I did not wait, though, and spent the night at a fire in the sensitive Wake.

Morning came again, clear, clear sky, crawling up the water mist. Opened the gold leaves, at first pale and timid, but with a burning sun broke out, the leaves yellow and red archiveteam.

And suddenly sank fishing line zakidushki, and then tossed her upwards. The alarm bell struck and rang the brass bell. Bite!.. Running to zakidushka quickly choose the line. That depends on dissent. Bass!.. Not to say that mater Gorbachev, but three hundred grams of pull. Took striped on a live perch, which miraculously was caught on a large hook with a worm. And then the greedy grouper couldn’t resist when gentle bleak on the hook… I pull out the telescopic rod, baited on a small hook-sagatys piece of worm and catch verkhovka-Chiku with bleak. On caught fish from time to time peck perch, smaller first, but it is quite weighty. Autumn the intelligence failed. When comes the icy wind and morosity matinees – and you can for burbot to prepare. Place just for him.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *