Books in the fishing dugout
… opening the dugout, we saw books on the shelves … This was not in any dugout in which we had to spend the night …
This morning we are fishing on the Volga ducts near the Roasted knoll. Overnight fishing. Therefore, we decided in advance to think over the way of spending the night. Our old dwellings on this island have already collapsed and we intended to spend the night in a forest by the fire, which is also not a novelty to us. But a local fisherman told us where to spend the night at a warm stove.
They came to the house, sawed firewood with a chainsaw, which they took with them for an overnight stay in the forest, and there the builders came. Silent, silent. They decided to check the dugout, if everything is in order. So they said. Apparently, they have a house in the Trinity settlements. They did not spend the night, only asked to keep order in the housing. And we don’t need to ask about it. We always leave order to ourselves, pick up garbage in bags, take it to the city in the trunk of the car, leave firewood and everything that does not spoil: sugar, salt, concentrates, matches and more. At least we try to do this, but we always take the garbage with us, even from housing, even from a bonfire on the shore where we spent the night.
It struck us when, opening the dugout, we saw books on the shelves … This was not in any dugout in which we had to spend the night. There seemed to be a kerosene lamp still on the shelf. It turns out that these people came here not so much to fish, how to relax from the bustle of civilization and in silence read a book under the measured drone of the wind at the tops of trees and the rustle of falling snow … We must have disturbed their peace, but we want to build our own housing and, most likely, we’ll not visit here anymore. If today these people will be there, then let’s go spend the night in the forest.
Books in the fishing dugout
They did not go far from the dugout. December day is short. To have time, to catch live bait, put zergilsya, pick up firewood and melt the dugout. And live bait has recently become moody: it is often more difficult to catch a small fish than a predator itself.
We drilled a couple of holes right in the creek in front of that very valley leading to the dugout. They sat at the holes, lowered mormyshki. I have tungsten white. The usual kind of “pellet” from the company Spider, but helped out more than once, when the stork and perch “spit out” from other tricks, especially early in the morning and in the evening. My son also has a whole set of white tungsten mormyshki, but he was too lazy to tie at least one of them before fishing, but simply took a fishing rod with an ordinary perched mormyshka, where the brass on the top was already blackened. And the day is already gray, by dusk. It would be necessary to choose something lighter from the bait. The son left a dark mormyshka on the tackle.
That bite on my fishing rod. It was a live bait perch. It can be thrown into the can. Then he took a ruff, and then fiercely pecked the perch. In sequence. Soon there was enough live bait, however, not a single “white” fish was caught here. The son only silently watched. Then he decided to bandage the mormyshka. But it was too late. I stopped biting.
It began to get dark and we decided to set the girders before dark. The two of us quickly “scattered” our gear in the old proven places and went on to prepare an overnight stay.
There was no firewood in the dugout. Someone, having spent the night, left nothing. I had to hastily break dry thin birches and limes. Without a saw, there was no other choice. But the supply of this small dryland was quite enough for the night, since the temperature was, if not plus, then about zero.
In the morning, one flag stuck lonely among the picket fence. But the bait was quite striking. So, at night a small puppy poked his nose and went on. Well, nothing, morning is ahead. But in the morning and the whole day, the girls stood motionless. Old places failed. Something has changed here. Yes, and we have not been for a long time. You need to look for fish. She does not stand in the same places, where once, perhaps, she was fished desperately.
Towards evening, we threw the girders into places that, it would seem, were not catchy. At least they had never been caught there before. This is an island on the other side of the canal, overgrown on the shores of sedge and reeds. Not deep here, the same two meters, but among this shallow water came small pits. I determined this by releasing it before lowering the bait fish under the ice.