logs in color
This morning, Sergei clearly caught Vitaly on the first ice. The fish seemed to go around the holes of his friend and took only from him. When another large fish fluttered at Sergei’s hole, Vital broke through. For about five minutes he cursed the fate of the tin, interspersing lamentations with juicy-catchy interjections, and in the end he kicked the snotty ruff lying alone at the hole and, throwing a box behind his back, moved to the fairway.
Sergey was strangled with laughter – a hefty kid burst out laughing like a boy, but understood Vitaly with his heart: he had to envy himself, looking at a successful neighbor carrying fish one after another, and there were only three meters to the neighbor’s hole …
– Vitaly! – shouted after Sergey. – Sit next, haste. Have fun together!
But Vitaly, without turning around, waved his hand and walked quickly.
Again, a large scammer took Sergey, but the joy of his capture seemed to fade, was incomplete. But what seemed to be missing? And the fish bite, and the ice is warm, as in the blessed season of the Indian summer. Continue reading
… In the light of thunder-storm flashes, like a native of inferno, a bristling clod of four kilograms of glance at us looked from us in the net …
For two hours we lashed the quiet expanse of the reservoir near Dubova with lures, but everything was in vain – the pike did not take. Either because the water was clarified to a stream purity, and the baubles in it burned with hot fire, or perhaps because of the appearance of a full moon at night, the fish rejected our tricks. In a word, a fisherman will always find a worthy explanation for his failure. And then Nikolai, whom we met on the shore, suddenly pulled a nylon canal from under the boat bench. Water splashed in it.
– Are there any circles? He asked, opening the bowl.
I shook my head and looked into the can. Small fish swam there. Continue reading