The pike did not manage to persuade these days of high atmospheric pressure. Although in remote places, on the Volga and Vetluga, she, apparently, still came across, especially to those who were looking. On the other hand, I went by boat to our nearest city places near Shiryaykovo and the suspended cable-stayed bridge, where in the summer I caught pike and perch, but this time I caught only a half-kilo lace. Released. Where is it? Small for fry, even more for the ear. Let it grow.
He spat, drank tea from a thermos, assembled the boat and headed home. Dug up dung worms right outside the house, as they say, in the backyard. The house was recently bought, new, there are still no secret corners and all sorts of sheds where you can always find under the boards and old slate, even creepers, even underfoils and dung beetles. But I created, so to speak, a monument not made by hands, but simply a bunch of leaves and all kinds of tops, where I regularly threw out food waste.
It seems cold in the mornings already to gray hair on the grass, mountain ash rusts with hoarfrost, glass puddles choke underfoot, crunching with young ice, and dug his cherished heap, having first removed cabbage leaves, and there are orange-striped dung beetles and all hardened, vigorous from the frost and most importantly – “packs”, so to speak.
In the evening I’m already on the river. She is quiet now, chilled out, pensive, as if before Leaving. The way it is. Each time it dies in rainy slush and sweet melancholy, and then Nature is born, barely ruddy frost falls on the river, pulls it into thin ice, and then closes it with undividedly ringing solid ice. And everything will start all over again. It was at that time of the quiet wilting of nature and its strict restrained autumn beauty that I love to come to the river. Probably also because you can no longer meet loitering vacationers on the shores. They are not attracted by the cold river and the chilled forest.
Before dark he broke a dry forest, dragged a few dry oak trees. Dumped and dead spruce. Enough for the night. This Siberian nodya bonfire smolders more and fills with heat, warming the river sand around it. And for the light I will throw dry wood, there is also a lantern.
In the twilight, I had already thrown the tricks. And put the feeder by the fire. This is for sports interest. This time, I again took a feeder from Akara – Experience Feeder L1235 TX-20 (60-90-120). Powerful, just perfect for night fishing if you have to pull the feeder off the driftwood. And it is convenient to place it along the coast so as not to lose the bell in the dark.
Soon the feeder bell began to sound. The first spoke up. Yeah, sitting, burbot. Not large, but the river is small. Will go to the ear. It’s a pity there is no live bait. For live and cut fish, burbot is always larger. But – this is the plan for the next nights, if winter does not come ahead of time. Maybe I can catch sorohok, or rather ruff. They adore burbot. He eats, probably smacking his lips, and only grimacing from ruff thorns. Their burbot somehow knows how to fold in its mouth without pricking, although the ruff, it seems, consists only of thorns. This is especially evident when you get it out of the water with a fishing rod. And there – a lump of mucus and thorns in all directions. The ruff stares devotedly with its glass bulging eyes and salutes with its tail. Well, right there is a salabon soldier in front of you, sergeant grandfather. But you gape a little, your fin pricks. Here he is, ruff. But for burbot it is a sweet delicacy.
Soon, in the darkness of the night, the little bell rang. I pull out the line. illuminating with a headlamp. So the white belly turned white in the black and at the same time transparent water. One more. This one is bigger.
During the night, four burbots were caught. Modestly, but there is still time before winter. I will check other streams. And for me these burbots are enough for a luxurious ear, and it is sweet, delicious and aromatic from fresh burbots. See you, my little river! ..
Alexander Tokarev and fishx.org
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