How rivers and crayfish die
... crayfish and huge schools of perches and other fish, which suddenly also appeared in shallow water, began to crawl out to the clay bank near the shore ... I…

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Arbitrariness in the reservoirs of the Krasnodar Territory
It is painful to watch how the rivers and estuaries of the Krasnodar Territory "die". Some 20-30 years ago they were full of fish, crayfish and other animals, and now…

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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…

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Fishing at night

Like many forest rivers, the Big Kokshaga is quite complex in nature and not immediately understandable even for a professional feeder or spinning. All these features must be recognized, as well as fishing techniques, which often have to be adapted to the conditions of Kokshaga. Despite the fact that the river in the middle reaches does not have bottomless whirlpools and wide stretches of the eye, it is quite rich in fish, especially recently. Apparently, they stopped shocking her. And not so long ago, it was impossible to catch even trifles in the ear on the most beautiful and remote whirlpools and reaches. All knocked out idiots, living only for themselves and to quench a momentary whim.

Today I am here and, while it’s light, I throw a feeder to the opposite shore. I aim just below the snags sticking out of the water. I plan to somehow get attached to her and get on a boat in June-July, when a large bream comes across here. But while I’m trying to put the feeder just below the crust. There is! It’s right on target! .. A feeder hit the snag and managed to be flooded with leashes for it. Just filigree accuracy, sniper …

While I tormented myself and self-flagellated the leashes in some miraculous way untied, and the feeder slid down to the bottom. Wow, you don’t have to repair gear.

Pulling up the fishing line, I put the rod a little adrift on the cut flyer. There is enough weight in the backpack, and there are plenty of flyers on the shore for every taste. What is it like to carry purchased toys? The top of the rod trembles a little. Bite? No, the current either intensifies or weakens. And a sensitive quartervertip shows the tension of the fishing line. But suddenly this slight tremor turned into monotonous tremors that betrayed the presence of something alive, there, at the end of the fishing line. I hook … Something medium-sized, but rather stubborn, rests on the fishing line. Uh, yes it’s dace and not small … Such and larger were always ordinary prey on Bolshaya Kokshag, especially if you catch them in a hole in the wiring of a float rod. The largest dace, as far as I remember, always came across just like that. This dace should still be cut for bait. I have few rugs and ruffs. Just thought how the top twitched again. Now the peck has pecked, it’s just going to cut … Then she took more and more … The bait will be. In the end, I got a small scammer, but it’s time for me to prepare an overnight stay. In early spring, nights are still icy, and in the morning frosty, with hoarfrost in the sand. And firewood is required with a margin.

I have, so to speak, a natural woodcutter – a pile of fins at the bend of the river, where meltwater carries everything floating on it. It has everything from used condoms to empty whiskey bottles. It can be seen that not ordinary Russian fishermen were walking. And special habits, bestial … A real fisherman, if he arrived by car, he would take away the garbage along with him, but not – so he would burn everything that was not harmful to nature in the pit. He will drag the rest on his hump in a backpack …

In addition to all rubbish, it inflicts a lot of good firewood here. To them I usually add heavy artillery: three trunks of oaks or other strong trees. This Nodia stove can smolder night and day, giving off slow and viscous heat from the coals fading below. When the sand heats up under such a bonfire, I usually drag the bonfire to the side, and put a tent in its place or set up a couch, brushing the coals into the bonfire.

While the wood-fin pulled and rolled logs, twilight fell on a black spruce and shiny water. It is necessary to make a fire and throw gear. I inflate the light under the birch bark, lay dry fir branches and flames, flaring up, illuminates the water on the sandy shore. I put some more wood for light and heat, and then I go down to the charms. Slap, bang! The first went … The sinker fell just at the boundary of the stream and the water slowly going into the return. I put on hooks and doubles of gear where a bunch of earthworms with leaves, where – a cut fish.

And then I go to the fire. It is necessary to warm up and boil the seagull from the tasty and still clear water of Big Kokshagi. I will add currant twigs to tea. Then it will be possible to swallow from a flask for a meeting with the river, maybe by blood, as hunters say … and we, when we went hunting with my father. I only remembered, and from the side of the reach the bell jingled quietly … was quiet and again – dzin …

I go to the zakidushkas and see a bell swing on one of them. Sitting, darling. Soon the burbot wriggled on the kukan, the first today. And then the bells will ring all night, not letting you fall asleep and warming your soul with a warm thought: the river came to life …

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