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The hook and pike

There are some things which, probably, now it is not enough sissy to the inhabitants of the metropolis is rugged and simple beauty of sparkling vistas and Volga heavy winds, blowing almost constantly. Or snow to the waist in the middle of lake forest, smelling the frozen rosemary and pine resin. And even Claus twenty-five, burning face up to notable blush.

It all seems a great inconvenience, especially for constantly megaomega nose of the citizen, but it is in these difficulties, probably, and we need residents of smoggy cities. And when could be so the new burnt by the winds of vagrants with ice, he suddenly feel a strange kind of cheerful abandon. And if the wood stove goes smoked in the dugout, raskrsnica faces, sparkly eyes and begin the most incredible stories — all gone man! He’s ours now… And may possibly have to fall under the ice, to smell the smell of Volga river water and death, but close comrades — served Boer, will leave “the Queen” — stretches… and warm, of course, not without it.

But that’s not in difficulties. You can find them in a snowy country field, in the hole of the river, and the red-hot stove can be good in some trailer with the lads-the red-faced… No, there is another completely unique thing — catching fish from the ice, when out of the black hole, clasping, seem alive, elastic and heavy creature — the King of fish. Well, though not as big as Viktor Astafyev in the novel, but beautiful, like an alien: with fiery red eyes and fins-feathers. All in silver and gold… Yes, I think I went too lightly. And what fisherman does not embellish? Then he is not a fisherman at all. Otherwise fishing can turn into a simple fish or banal booze in nature. All fishing stories are honest with only slight exaggeration. So, let’s begin…

It was… in a Word, tired! Work at home gray, scurrying flocks of the machine, from which gasoline is Chad. Sweet nostalgia Manila to their trusted channel, where over the snow-clad Islands lay soft haze. There is now a thaw. In the city with rascisim in the slush roads. And felt the buzzing warm wind in small forest Islands, deposited layers of wet snow, former Nast, bitter smell of aspen bark and sedge warm… No, this is too much. Say it with nettles and apples. The main thing — the thaw, and the pikes themselves out of a hole staring, they say, where are you our friend… damn you with your relizami! Eyelids them not to see. And you, constantly oshivayutsya here… But it’s their opinion, and pikes. I have another reason. In these ducts pike was, though occasionally capricious, because the new year is in full swing, and that means gluhozime.

But in raw thaw flags raised frequently, and the fish landed safely. Will twirl with the rustle of reel, stop, think, and then seen only as flashes a red bar on it, foam and yellowed with age. How much years I carry with me in the gas bag these cherished handmade. And all work… But more to the point.
Because these Islands have accommodation, it will be possible for a couple of days to escape. Not one dugout here white hills white among chernolesye. And out of the hill match sticks — pipe. Hence, the stove will zaaleet hot sides, giving a delicious warmth. It’s not Central heating.

In short, the fees, the road and the sweet anticipation of fishing among soft thaw and white silence, where only a Raven soars Yes its banal “KRUN” drops with cotton clouds. Well, it happens, and coughed, as the old…

But while traveling, I wiswedel the sky, the snow banks are ossified, and the Islands I was on frozen snow, crunchy under my feet like glass. The sky became red and angry. It stopped in the blue feathers of clouds, the same surly. And his face began to burn with an icy wind, which, no matter how you turn, you still get frosty and poke the needle under the gate, under a cap.

Reached for his cold ducts, as not dressed for the weather. Something and fish got sick. Nowhere to go but up to the dugout not close, and warm the property. Maybe not slept none that night. Besides, sometimes densely full of these simple fishermen dwellings, half buried in the sand, and loam. You will not force. Sometimes under the bed are heated by the fishermen.

Forward! I said to myself. Gear set, and there I find the place to get warm. It was already something like that. Only in April, blindingly bright and warm day and ice at night. Right at the island to spend the night together. He shoveled snow on the edge of the undergrowth, found a dry trunks, lit the fire-the conflagration, and near the nest made, lined with poles and spruce branches. Only the flask unscrewed…
– You, boy, if not to sleep here? — hear from an unexpected string of the fisherman coming in their warm two-storey hut. She was considered, uh, by right of superiority, and built ourselves. At least, it was occupied by housing. This I realized when I ran in. Warm, on beds, backpacks and more. Immediately turned around and go to the island.

I turned around to me one goes.

– No, you seriously here on the night of the digs dug? repeats running.
– So I’m on the ice I had to sleep, not the first.
Come on don’t be silly, come on, clasp.

Immediately warmer inside. Then we got acquainted closer, and warmed up in the dugout, than God sent. I don’t know if no, but in conversation with new friends sounded a story about a crazy fisherman here, maybe in a fever well-known that the axe has started to rush on all door hack… they Say, took him on a sledge linked, pervolakia through long island. I warned you about fishing stories. All true, only scan it is not always possible. However, here, among the rotten Islands and a large water, which was not only…

Uh, I too digress. So, I froze like a frozen perch. But have drilled a couple of holes, though not very hopeful on the desire of the fish to eat my same, it turns out, ice cream bloodworms. And the weather changed dramatically. But okoneski, fun and frolicsome, quickly began to jump out of the hole. So they pulled a dozen. The white fish was not.

Imitation fish I pulled out of the gas bags, but each was equipped with bait fish just once will warm your hands in mittens. Well it must be them, hands in Canner with water to pallandt but then the wind chill to set. Simple, of course, the story, known to all fishermen. Nevertheless, it is boring, to say the least.

So, a dozen zherlits on the site tested. Bravo to puff up and friendly waving flags at the cocked springs. And this is why they are wary of gambling inside the expectation. Well, shoot, hoist it proudly over the ice plateau that my legs just carried you to where the whines on the axis of the wildly rotating coil and tear on the fishing line bright-eyed your happiness is the Golden pike! Um-m, city calm mister, riding every day to work at the same time, or playing in “the wolf,” until the morning on the broken-down “computer”, would call it… However, the fishermen themselves know that they are not of this world. This is true with Boers knights-halberds on tired shoulders. They were above the governmental-boring world… Again digress…

So, below tense, as setters on the counter. And I, frozen but happy know: landmark, pike past will not work. Two or three will sit on the tee. But he stood-sat until almost dark in this happy anticipation, finally became dreary and boring. And when I started to collect tackles, suddenly shot a box of them extreme! Here it is, come true! My will…

As expected, wildly spinning reel, chirping in the cold. When I ran to tackle, the stand tackles fidgeted on the stand from blows from below, since the fishing line on the spool was gone. The chip shot! And immediately the hand pulled down! Only after several attempts managed to bring fish to the hole, but it obviously didn’t fit, though the screws on my “one hundred forty”. But there’s the right hook, he will not fail. Grope down the pike, whip… And at the bottom was exactly the crocodile-the Nile, estuarine, Gena the crocodile or alligator is somehow vouchsafed to us… But in another way it was impossible to call what is now ripped the hook from my completely frozen hands. And not only pulled, but also twisted my arm about the axis. I have to admit that the hook was in my so — so- Soviet “telescope” with plastic handle. The arm was not threaded into the loop of strong nylon cord. Presumptuous mistake… It’s now always in stock strong and long hook made of stainless steel and with this handle, like the handle from the grip… But the plastic handle of a boat hook finally slipped out of my hand, more like something frozen and twisted, but does the limb of a live warm person…

The long expanses, probably, have heard all the warm words rebuke the Fate. It is good that these words are not heard my mother…

Afterword. After this incident, laughed for a long time my father heard the bitter story, at least for me bitter. Supposedly the hook… the guy? But when it happened to him that made him scary-looking hook. And pike pulled the hook and the father, we still took… my hook. It weighed more pounds and resembled a pig with a pink belly.

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