The village dogs will not refuse fish

One night, noisy from barking dogs and the sound of steps on the ice, I peeked neighbor Sasha and immediately threw his hands in the side: “Perch!”

The legend of bass

Knowing his namesake as a true fisherman, and then – an incorrigible dreamer, I tried to return to the hands of Sasha in a position more or less corresponding to the size of a modern bass, lavaderos off the ice. But going to a neighbor, I saw a scattering of really nice perch, the biggest of which weighed three hundred pounds…

– Where was that? – interested in.

– Alalykina. Durom took perch. All with a single hole took. Even from the car never left. Enough mostly white Vlasenko.

Listening to Sasha and looking at the pile photocatalytic Humpbacks, I felt belated Tosca-a shame, because he invited me fishing at Alticine this Wednesday when he was caught these perch, and it was Sasha with Valeriy. The work I have not “from horn to horn”, in a word, free from the burdens of the norms of labour legislation, but on the fundamental Law of Life fell to me that day matter of urgency. As usual…

On Saturday again will go there. How are you?.. – smokes cigaretyes Sasha.

– What are the conversations? Of course, the food!

Saturday morning, temno else loaded in the car Valeria travel towards the dim morning. In the car, except Sasha and Valeria, also a neighbor, however, if I may say so, far. His name is Igor. Word of his flies-then deftly and ubiwise, tartly witty, grated inherent in the peasants-fishermen. Valera silently twists the wheel. Sanja Smoking a cigarette, again extending his arms to the side, showing the dimensions of the next caught once fish. And sitting next to me son Vanya, falling on my shoulder, falling asleep and waking up again. Well, as usual, in the cosy gloom of the morning fishing machine.

After a monotone lulling kilometers of highway we turned into the forest and for a long time dangling from side to side along the forest road. Bright morning, down long sloping hill and crawl across the ice, moving to the cherished places. A few cars go ahead. From afar they resemble the miracle of the boat, the spray plumes of the snow crumbs on the sides.

Far ahead you can see the high Volga Bank, blacken the island. Sit near the car. All excited, remembering the last fishing trip. And we’re drilling with Ivan a few holes. No bite!.. Then a couple of holes, then another… Gradually disperse to the sides. Perch pecked sluggish and the Humpbacks were not caught. Rarely banging the spoon perch grams per hundred. More than enough detail. Apparently, perches flock, and numerous “krupnomery” during the week, somewhere has resolved to weekends, when I close the gates hydroelectric power station and the flow stops.

The evening going in the car. All this time not a lot. More – a trifle, but it is still three or four instances of arch scarlet tails.

The above is not an episode of lucky fishing, but rather an illustration of how it is illusory to hope for some miracle and as unpredictable, fickle biting sly fish.

Fright night

Fishing on small rivers, sometimes unpredictable. Early in the morning in a small Creek fun fiddling with the various Motyl “white” thing, but by evening, the Bay died. Something has changed dramatically there, under the ice. As unpredictable and ice conditions. Especially now in frequent thaw. In the evening we boldly walked and ran on a hard track along a Gerlich, and in the morning, as if sensing something, I took a ice pick and punch the most seemingly reliable path. The imitation fish the Icepick fell almost without resistance. On the Volga the expanses of ice at this time already solid monolith only in the ducts and sometimes there are washouts in place of rotten stumps. A small river has its windy and capricious feminine nature…

We still have ahead of day fishing and night fishing burbot from the ice. And we decide to go with an unreliable channel over closer to the village, where the river is wider and quieter. Here the ice is more uniform.

Day fishing for small perch and sarouk, but we have the main thing – night fishing with its charm, many do not understand, especially miners-pragmatics. Still, the burbot, a fish originally larger Cruciferae and silver detail, not to mention the taste.

In the middle of the Bay we set the usual summer tent with a “dressing room” and a gentle zip. At the bottom laid across spruce spruce branches. Lying on it, springy, do not touch the back of ice, and thaw the night in sleeping bags will not be special extreme. But we were not going to sleep tonight, at least while taking burbot…or would take Place… something new.

The sunset had turned bright red bright and frosty. The tart smell of fresh snow, the bitterness of willow bark and some special quiet freshness, which always felt the approach of evening.

In the dark we lit directly into the ice fire: the tea to boil but to pommernyacht under the high stars. From time to time we shone a flashlight imitation fish looked alert boxes. On a spring-flags Gerlich we have tied the little ringing bells. Sensitive to the silence of the night with frost, to be close, while raising the flag, the bell jingled and it was audible. Fishing, though burbot, with such a ringing bite was already different from fishing on a stationary “dead” gear, when it only remains to check them from time to time.

Finally, in the silence you hear ringing of a bell similar to “tankage” night birds. Remove from the imitation fish small nalichie and throw it on the ice. But then my friend, strangely uhnov and almost crossed himself, showed somewhere on the edge of a cliff.

– Wolves!.. See, the wolf wanders around!..

– Where?

– Yes, there, around the Bush!..

Indeed, the cliff slid a quick priymayutsya figure, prominent against the light from the stars and city glow in the sky. In the light of the lantern flashed and faded yellow eyes…And soon felt…normal dog, stumbling on the ice. She was a purebred West Siberian Laika. Maybe the owners got out, or maybe came from the village.

– Here’s a wolf – laugh of relief.

And the dog, apparently hungry, came up to us and stared in the direction of the rustling on the ice for burbot. I know that many village dogs will not refuse from fish, and city too, if you kiss… Nalichik small the night ahead, grab more…I think the dog will popytaetsya, and direct the flashlight to the side of burbot. As soon as the dog saw him, Bouncing and wriggling snake, as her left paw on the ice, she screamed and soon disappeared in the darkness. But we were clutching at their bellies, frightening silence of the night evil laughter…

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