Birch trees were gilded, maples were covered with grease, and a red leaf fell on the still icy water, blue from the same blue sky, even cold in appearance. In the mornings, the grass turns gray with brittle hoarfrost, but with the burning sun thaws and is covered with a tearful placer.
These years are not hasty for the winter. Just in the morning everything was ossified in a frosty haze, and you already guess how suddenly tomorrow calm waters will catch in with thin ice at first. And with gambling impatience, you begin to sort through winter gear and uniforms. But the day will come, and everything will be repeated all over again: an ice mat in a hoarfrost, frozen water in an old barrel thrown with a leaf, and … a warm, almost summer day.
In the morning I was on a suburban river. He drank water alone with tested oscillators and wobblers. On one casting and winding, the fishing line suddenly stopped, and the lure became heavier many times. It seemed that he had hooked the grass mane with tees, but the grass went to the side, and soon on the fishing line a little beetle elastically twitched, quite decent for a small river. After that, no matter how the water was whipped with a wide variety of baits, there was no grip. Apparently, the reason for the rare pike exits is the small number in these places, albeit not a large pike. Again I come to places where electric shock. On the hard roads of dry meadows while getting to the water is not difficult for any car. And where there are entrances to the water – they will beat out everything living! .. The marginals of modern Russian society live one day … Recently, a reader of my new book, “Walking with Leshim”, called me. Introduced by Sergey. After warm words that were pleasant to any author, he suggested that he meet and maybe go fishing together. But about the places I had known since childhood, he simply said to me on Bolshaya Kokshaga: a dead river. He climbed on his motor boat from Starozhilsk right up to Markitan – everything was knocked out … The cleanest and most beautiful river of the Volga, once rich in the most diverse and beautiful fish, now it’s just a flowing reservoir with a chika-verkhovka, bleak and a lane at best – with a palm . And a year or two ago, I caught good bream here for the “ringing”. The only hope is that with freezing it will come down from the bottom, it is a steep-sided and golden seasoned bream, because nature does not tolerate emptiness, and on March ice it sometimes happens to get on a bream fat. Only ice saves fish from bipedal predators. In the meantime, a beautiful and dead river serves for drunken guesthouses with barbecue and women, ideally for a tourist rafting and landscape photography. As an example, there is a magnificent glade on the site of the former forest site Sabanakovo, which has become a dead zone due to an empty river. It happens, and some “athletes” are not far behind. You can often see photos, in particular – on the Internet, in which well-fed snobs with expensive advanced gear imposingly pose against the background of a pile of pikes and zander. Probably, the village grandfather, who lives near the water and is forced to buy blue whiting in the selmag, has not caught so many fish in a couple or two nets for his whole past life … He, an old man, on his own river will never block spawning grounds tightly by kilometers of nets, like contract soldiers. At least they did just recently. And he will take as much as is required for food, and he will not pour poison into the water, pouring tons into the rivers from enterprises and ships, especially under ice. He will not pull a fishing rod, like some fishermen, for a hundred or two small fish that have not yet spawned, but will take some marketable fish for roast fish. But he’s a criminal anyway, a poacher! – the rich will scream at the boat, dragging a dozen baits with them “trolling” … And at least give my grandfather a piece of paper, a license, so as not to cross the law and rusty store capelin in old age. Observing the same terms and catch standards, he will bring damage no more than an amateur angler or an athlete with his net net.
In today’s Russia, people can shame without shame where they live, throwing garbage in the streets, littering the banks of beautiful rivers and lakes, knocking out all the living things that remain. And this is not the first time I have heard that it’s not the homeless and unemployed who are shocking, but rather well-off people, often bosses for whom it costs nothing to buy any delicious fish in the store. They beat them for pleasure, but for their age, they say, enough … That’s such a dead zone.