How to find your autumn fishing
A sad time … It is unlikely … An onboard fishing rod and a “warm” perch.
A good technique is a bike. A golden autumn, a chilly morning and, it happens, you will go out of town through the hoarfrost and you will be met by delicious transparent air. It has a sensation of piercing style. It smells of withered grass, a fallen leaf and, as if already, snow. Although the snow is still far away. Apparently fresh frost on the stale grass gives this smell.
And then the foggy expanse of the highway opens ahead, and gray meadows stretch along it, where sleepy cows roam and stumble over the bumps of the jerking corncrake.
In the near autumn travel we always go on bicycles. In addition to the feeling of the close nature and manifestations of its departure, the bicycle has a great advantage: we will go where cars do not get. Often, those who come to them, beat the living water with an electric shock or crap after themselves as if they were living the last day, or they will never return here. We also drive by car, for the most part – to the Volga, but this does not happen often, and when we come to the Great Water we never leave trash after ourselves.
But the bike also has disadvantages. Often the path stretches out during the daylight hours, and we come only to arrange a lodging for the night and meet a quiet, calm night under the glowing stars and the cold light of the moon. Then this first night becomes an impatient expectation of morning and fishing. Sleeping around the campfire on such a night, tossing and turning from side to side from chills, is not reasonable. And we set up a tent. Not that double one, made of modern materials, with a canopy and a “dressing room” suitable for the summer, but the Soviet era “tarpaulin”, in which then it will be warm until the morning from the stove-potbelly stove. A thick brew gurgles in the pot, thin slices of bacon light up, piles clink. For the arrival!
Dull time … Hardly …
This is more likely to be seen as an urban homebody. Even in a gloomy cloud, copses burn with gold, and under low clouds water glistens. The river, although it has stood still, is full of life, only this life has become more secretive. A weighty tail seldom slaps on the water, but sometimes hasty fuss begins in the shallowest waters. This perch beats gambling small fish. The humpback sailors are already energetic in anticipation of the first ice. We quickly prepare spinning rods and try to lure the perch with white and yellow spinners, conducting them next to the fattening flock, or even directly through a boiling “cauldron”. But the perches do not pay attention to the summer trompe l’oeil, but rather scared, move to the side, and then completely subside. Apparently, they are shifting somewhere into the pit. The fake shine of the metal in the clear water does not remind them of the living shimmering flesh of twigs and bleaks. Maybe the game doesn’t suit them or the speed of posting? In a word, I would ask them, ruddy feathers … A narrow-fishing master would probably take a couple of copies here, and we would rather be hasty amateurs in a hurry to go everywhere and catch it …
But we have in stock a simple tackle, tested more than once in the fall. We take out the fishing rods with hard nods from the covers, delve into the boxes with tricks and go out into the water. The rubber boat, covered with frost of the matinee, immediately squeezed on the water, and we have to pump it up, already swinging on the stream. And here is the black yamina beneath us. The river, although not wide, sometimes resembles a deep trough with rushing water. But we anchor in a reach quite wide for this river, on the border of shallow water and a hole in the grassy summer.
The onboard fishing rod is no longer in its role …
She did not tremble on board in anticipation of a lazy bite of a bream or a biting blow of a hasty silver ide. The white winter bauble whistles a snake into black water, goes into a strange world, to the bottom, with mustached crayfish backing up and a pit pike watching with a heavy cold gaze from behind the snag. Raise the fishing rod up, then down. A pause … And so – time after time. It’s empty. Indeed, as if icy water fell asleep lifelessly until the merry days of the resounding primitive ice. But the small river is not a wide plateau of the Volga, where the fish freely eat and breed. You can come here to a small river and, without knowing the place, fishing conditions, always leave empty. In addition, not all lovers of spending the night by the cold river.
We raise the anchor bricks and move closer to the pit. Again, the lures are splashing at the surface like fry, then go to the bottom and, finally, a blow! There is! .. The hand immediately reacts to this lively touch-push, and a red-nosed hasty perch, prickly and somehow warm, beats on the fishing line. Probably, in comparison with cold air.