Most often, the winter fishing season begins on large rivers or reservoirs, and in ponds and streams, where the bays and the ice is always thawadah becomes faster. Though not a big fish in such waters, but we would at least mormyshka in the hole to lower, right to see the scarlet box tackles. To open the season, that is…
The river that winds through the forests and meadows near the city. What fish have we seen in the autumn, on the open water. On a fairly deep hole saw was impressive and gambling: ten o’clock one September morning rose suddenly to the surface and showed a fin-pike strange shovel — eight pounds. This small river fish is not small. Pike seemed to have dozed off on the surface, then with a swivel of her powerful tail, slowly departed into the depths, leaving the water breaker-funnel. Then struck the side of another is clearly not small fish, then blow in the right side, on the narrowing of the river and the border of the deep stretches. It was a real battle big pike.
With the ice we came to the Malaya Kokshaga. The ice in recent global warming was still not established signs and dates, and was quite heterogeneous. Here and now in Zaton-Bay you can walk and run safely, and on the shores of the flange are visible in places with open water.
Down in the Creek, on the border of the jet, and the whirlwind of the pit. The drill falls through the ice after a few turns. But after checking the ice before the ice, we will now consider it more or less reliable. The bite happened almost immediately. The “sandwich” from wormwood and bloodworms took Bursch-with the palm. Live bait on a little thick but in the shower warmer: here’s the stream-the stream!.. Then a nod shook takes very little Soroki, just on live bait. You see, I removed the “foam” in the form of the first plump of Soroki. And then lined up the main contingent… But, more importantly, biting, shaking nod, glad longing for winter fishing soul. Besides. and Kahn is filled with bait…
At nine o’clock in the morning on the turn of the river, under stone, on the pit return with over a dozen tripods lined up-zherlits. These tackles I have fitted lightweight — under small river, lake or pond. Most often, the season begins with small ponds freezing in the first place. In short, the tackle is tiny, just under a fish a small river. At least I thought so…
A flash of light. A light frost tingling the nose and cheeks, but morosely through haze, the sun glittered, bright and welcoming. Heat from him, negreyeva lights, a little, but still gave me a wonderful feeling.
Click!.. This singular sound familiar to us. In frosty silence, a clear click sound of the spring with the box. On a tripod, standing under the cliff, throws the red cloth fluttering in the light breeze. And with Pasha, we glide on the smooth ice to the imitation fish. Not coming too close, stop and observe. Coil tackles shudders and makes a couple of revolutions. Then freezes. The pause is obviously tightened. Threw, nicolosis, or tore the bait? Finally stand and approach the tackle, take the line and barely, slowly, pull it. Initially, the fishing line is fluent, but suddenly becomes heavier and it sent light tremors. Not dramatically, but quite vigorously strike… There!… It is not the ceremonies. Not delay, otherwise you will leave if poorly finished. Quickly plucked by hand and thrown onto the frosted crumb sukonku eight hundred grams. This, we assume, a successful debut and the opening of the season, though not a major production and several valvata.
This grip happened in the classic “hour pike”, in eleven… But there was no antics and thoughtful reflection: the swallow not to swallow?.. The coil, like on battle of the Volga plateau, spun incessantly, and in a moment the line was from her wound. As I ran to the tackle, tripod, pull frantically, froze… From the hole I just pulled a piece of fishing line… how do you like the small brook, meadow sleepily sleeping in the lazy shores!.. Here you schuryata-“shoelaces” yellow-eyed, with half a kilo!.. “Here’s to you, grandma, and St. George’s day”!.. Again have to split hairs to tackle, trying to build something more or less universal, since the bulk of the fish here are not large dimensions. The rough tackle schuryata evaded, and big pike will be ripped apart miniature garlicky.
Before noon on the imitation fish-tripod caught another pike, and then the river froze. Day in this short time, and we went to settle overnight. Many varieties of relatively warm nights choose, maybe strange, but, in General, simple. In advance brought in the car a few dozen bricks, a pipe in the form of the letter “g” and the bars of the grate, which was simply to stand above the ground on bent supports. Beating this grate bricks was a brick rectangle. Top the shot is blocked by a metal cover-plate with holes for pipe and bowler hat. Turned out the oven is the simplest, fastened with metal rods and a lid with curved down edges, holding the bricks. On tests in the city she is desperate to smoke from all slots, but hot bricks had a fun start to buzz, and the smoke disappeared. On a makeshift stove can boil tea or soup. And then, when the pot was removed from the plate, the hole was closed with a special cover.
Handy and an old canvas tent Soviet, pioneer. Unnecessary fire hazard and the tent bottom cut out. In the ceiling blew a hole and installed a plywood back-metal-asbestos plate under the pipe to not smolder (PAH-PAH!” the old tarpaulin from the red-hot pipe. Because sleeping on the ground cold and hard, and the mats can easily flash, built on the sides of the stove simple bunk laid out at the head and feet of logs and poles, nailed to these logs-Matica. All you can sleep!.. Not the bed, of course, in the bedroom, with Central heating, but we may not have to. Give the romance of a winter night in the midst of chilly withered meadows, sleeping under the ice of the river! And I sang the embers in the stove, it smelled sweetly of the alder poloskami, warm needles, spruce branches, fluttered the flame of a candle on a stand and purred receiver in the head. And ice would be “one hundred grams” in the kiln and the carotid surprising warm tent when the canvas walls blowing ice cold manure, frozen darting from one crest to another.
And in the morning, in frosty and rosy dawn, after mugs of hot strong tea at once — on the ice, where red poppies flags zherlits and crawl out of the hole ice Nalimov, who took the dead of night on a live, cut the fish-soroku. And there are already pike sharp-eyed start to raise flags… All this is pergolide on a small river, the river of your childhood…
