If we get lucky
Surprises of small rivers. How can you seduce an autumn pike on a small river.
It happens that you go around the banks with a spinning rod more than one whirlpool and reach, wave away more than one kilometer, but the river seemed to have died out. Here, it seems, is the crown place: a hole surrounded by reeds, in which icy sleepy water stands and slowly swirls. The fishing line rustled, shot up, and the bait went almost to the opposite shore. Bulk … Pause … But you can’t lower the snag to the bottom, and what is the snag hiding at the bottom? You spend the lure, it seemed, where the pike certainly should be: next to dry algae and reeds. Then you send her on a journey over the pit. And water is just as lifeless, and from this it gets colder on the heart. You sit down, smoke, cursing that again only admire the scenery. Have a bite of what God sent … well, there and not only what exactly God … It seems to get warmer somewhere inside, the icy gloom will thaw.
What, they say, to us? Is it empty for the first time to come back? As if in response to an optimistic mood, the sun looks out, and everything is already appearing in a different light. You send the snag again on free flight, but this time you are no longer afraid to catch the black and green driftwood snag. Spinner lay to the bottom. With tremors, uneven winding you lift it and bring it to yourself. She, lure, comes empty again, only with a thread of algae. The pit is clean, apparently. You can dare … Now, the return of the blende resembles a dance above the bottom … Two turns of the coil … a pause … And then you pull it with impatient thrusts, a clumsy waste, not able to seduce a simple pike. It’s always somehow harder to blame yourself for something … And suddenly at one of the stops of the bait and its rise – a strong elastic weight, and the fishing line goes to the side. Took it! .. And the pike, apparently, is not large, but you drive it gently: what if it’s the last of the season? .. You take it, elastic and furious, and from this capture of an ordinary river pike it gets warm on the soul.
But it so happened that not a single snag, not a single cunning step wiring could seduce the autumn pike of a small river
It fell in one of our bike trips to low tide. Spinning all the whirlpools nearby, spat on this empty matter and sadly sat on the bank, thoughtfully littering cigarettes and squinting at the meaningful cork sparkling from a backpack … And the day just took off. The puffy blue clouds bursting open, bursting out, it was a rain autumn sickness, the sun opened, bright and strong, as it happens in the fall with clear air, the high sky became blue. And immediately circles went on the water. We, without saying a word, got light fishing rods. A small roach-branch pecked cheerfully and often, also, apparently, rejoicing at the last warmth. And they caught the little things, and prepared live bait gear. We did not take flyer-boxes at this time with us: they are usually exhibited on grass, which has already almost fallen. Our gear is somewhat strange – a hybrid of a mug and a winter lantern. But here they are just right. They pushed the boat away and went out into the pit, where the water circled. They put up the girders and – ashore. Now it’s better not to make noise. While we were sitting on the shore, warming ourselves with the “little white” and the autumn sun, suddenly a white flag lit up in the dark autumn water … It’s time! .. And the circle spun from side to side, dived under the water, whitening the inverted “belly” and rising to the surface again. A white flag fluttered helplessly above the circle. The cut! And now a spotted pike walks on the fishing line, wisely avoiding the bait-lures, but could not resist the living silver fish …
In the autumn, catching a bream on a small river does not happen often
At this time, he freely and eagerly feeds on the Volga expanses. The bell of the “ringing” will ring in fright, the gatehouse will bend smoothly, fall off, and suddenly clog with sharp jolts. And in the green Volga water, below the boat, the side of the autumn greasy bream flickers with dark silver … A dream …
But it happens that in the midst of a series of gray days, a bright world suddenly opens up, albeit briefly, for a week, and then surprises are also possible from a small river
Such days fell out this time. We caught a wormwood along the edge of a withering grass. This strip of grass was just the border, an edge from shallow water to the pit. Fishing was fun. The float ran along the stream, occasionally stopping and submerging. But we knew that there was a sand spit, and specifically allowed the hook with the worm to cling to the bottom. It was on this improvised table, slightly raised above the grassy cover of the bottom, that bites occurred. And then in the sunlight, crushed on the water, a red-eyed eyelet blazed in silver.
So it was now. The float ran a familiar path and drowned, as usual, on the spit. But only this time he did not go any further, but sharply bent over and scuttled under the water. On the fishing line, a golden and as if sleepy autumn bream came heavily …