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Burbot sweet fish

Pike never managed to persuade high atmospheric pressure these days. Although in places remote, on the Volga and Vetluga, she, apparently, still came across, especially to the one who was looking for. I, on a boat, walked around our nearest city places near Shiryaykovo and the cable-stayed suspension bridge, where in the summer I caught pike and perch, but this time I only caught a half pound of lace. Released. Where is he going? On the fry it is small, on the ear – even more so. Let it grow.

He spat, drank tea from a thermos, packed up the boat, and headed home. I dug up dung beetles right outside the house, as they say, in the backyard. The house was recently bought, new, there are still no secret corners and any sheds where you can always find under the boards and the old slate even crawling out, even under leaflets and dung beetles. But I created, so to speak, a miraculous monument, but simply a bunch of leaves and all kinds of tops, where I regularly threw food waste.

It seems cold in the mornings already to gray hair on the grass, rowanberries rustle with frost, glass puddles choke underfoot, crunching with young ice, and dug up his treasured pile, having previously removed the cabbage leaves, and there the orange-striped dung beetles and all seasoned, peppy from the frost and most important “Bundles,” so to speak.

In the evening I am already on the river. She is quiet now, cold-blooded, thoughtful, as if before leaving. The way it is. Each time she dies in rainy slush and sweet longing, and then Nature is born, a barely rosy frost will fall on the river, pull it into thin ice, and then close it with completely sounding strong ice. And it starts all over again. It was at that time of the quiet withering of nature and its strict restrained autumn beauty that I love to come to the river. Probably also because you can no longer meet holiday-makers on the shores. The cold river and the chilled forest do not attract them.

Before dark, he broke a sushnyka, dragged a few dry oak trees. He dumped and spruce-dried wood. Enough for the night. This Siberian Nodia bonfire smolders more and is filled with heat, warming river sand around itself. And for the light I will toss up the dry land, there is also a lantern.

At dusk, he already abandoned the charms. And at the campfire, he set up a feeder. This is for sporting interest. This time again, I took with me a feeder from Akara – Experience Feeder L1235 TX-20 (60-90-120). Powerful, just suitable for night fishing, if you have to pull the trough from the driftwood. And conveniently located along the coast, so as not to lose the bells in the dark.

Soon the bells of the feeder rattled. The first gave a voice. Yeah, sitting, a burbot. Not large, but the river is small. Will go in your ear. It’s a pity there is no live bait. On live and cut fish the burbot is always larger. But – this is the plan for the next nights, if winter does not arrive ahead of time. Maybe I’ll catch the plots, or better, a ruff. Burbot loves them. Eating, probably smacking, and only curving from ruff spines. Burbot somehow knows how to put it in its mouth without pricking, although the ruff, it seems, consists only of thorns. This is especially evident when you get it with a fishing rod from the water. And there – a lump of mucus and thorns in all directions. The ruff stares loyally with its glass bulging eyes and salutes its tail. Well, the Salabon soldier is right in front of you, Sergeant-Grandfather. But a little gape, pricks fin. Here he is, ruff. But for burbot it is a sweet delicacy.

Soon, in the night darkness, the bell of the shower also rang. I pull the fishing line. highlighting a headlamp. So the white belly turned white in black and at the same time transparent water. One more. This one is bigger.

During the night four burbots came across. Modestly, but there is still time before winter. I will check other stretches. And these burbots will suffice me for a luxurious ear, and it is sweet, perfectly delicious and fragrant from fresh burbots. See you, my small river! ..

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