On the channel near the Horseshoe
Pike is envious of someone else's hunt. Tired of the grip of little things, built a "tandem" ... Today I go spinning along the channel near the island of Horseshoe.…

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How to find your autumn fishing
A sad time ... It is unlikely ... An onboard fishing rod and a "warm" perch. A good technique is a bike. A golden autumn, a chilly morning and, it…

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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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good luck

Fisherman, think: do you become a poacher?

An instructive story about how a young fisherman grew up and became a poacher. It is especially depressing that there is no fiction in it, one truth.

Quiet summer morning. The sun is shining kindly. 5-year-old boy is going fishing. He asks his grandmother to knead a little dough for him, and while she is doing this, she hurriedly searches for worms, turning over old boards, tiles – various rubbish scattered around the yard in damp places. And finally, a dozen worms crawl in a tin can, and a small hand squeezes a lump of dough – you can go to the river.

Stuffing pockets with green apples and cherry plum, the boy takes his unpretentious fishing arsenal – a reed fishing rod, a 3-liter can for fish – and barefoot mince on cool morning dust. Not far to the river. Only five minutes.

Here it is already in place. The river meets it with the native smell of silt, sonorous trills of reeds, croaking of frogs, bursts of fattening fish. The boy’s heart begins to beat faster. With trepidation, he unwinds the fishing rod, puts a red worm on the hook and makes the first cast into a small window of clean water, surrounded on all sides by a dense wall of algae. Continue reading

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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Moody White Eye Sope
It's frosty. Fifteen degrees in the morning. Under a high shore, on the slopes of which a small village is spread, there are about thirty fidgets sitting on a frosty…

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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…

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Pike does not take, then we catch burbot
This time, there were few and not in vain fishermen on the old man near the water intake. Only ruffians pecked at the bait. And only one small pike fell…

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