I caught fish in late August on lake Somino, in Pereslavl district of the Yaroslavl region, in small rubber boats. Reservoir flow, because as it is on the border of two rivers. Vexy arising from Pleshcheyevo lake and flows into the Somino and the Nerl arising from Somino and flows into the Volga.
Somino lake is picturesque, but, in my opinion, but something like North of forest lake in Karelia Republic and Arkhangelsk region. Around some swamps, streams, forest. To the shore, do not bother. Yes the reed swamp. In hollow water the low shore, much of the heat a little, so the neighbors of birch, aspen dried up and now are creating wildly fantastic picture. Access to the lake difficult. Therefore, the reservoir is not polluted. Only one stands an elevated Bank of tall pine forest, the only place where you can dock, to warm, to get clean water from the Creek to make a fire.
The lake is small, in diameter about one kilometer, very small, densely overgrown with underwater and surface algae. The biggest depth of about one meter. The water is clear, at the bottom of the sapropel. Under the South coast passes the bed, there a little deeper, and the local sail up the motors from the nearest village Kupanskoe fishing.
Don’t like fishing with rubber boats, especially with a small, very uncomfortable, but the other one is fishing on the lake. Here I lie in it, as in the tub with a stiff neck. Besides from the frequent casts the water runs into the boat with the rod and wet the lower part of the body. Well, when it’s warm, but with the arrival of cold weather is very disgusting. This is just for the commercials fishermen sit on chairs, clean and warm. Drink a glass of lemonade glasses and see naked women on the opposite Bank, departing from bath to cool. Have noticed, if fishing isn’t showing persistence, ingenuity, not wet, not making a mess in the stinking mud until you eat mosquitoes and midges, nothing good catch.
And here I sit already three hours early in the morning, passionate about passion, from time to time, change locations, fighting off gnats. Repellents do not help. Mosquitoes fly, but flies crawling under clothes sting, causing itching. But I don’t have them.
Catching small perch. The largest grams per hundred, and everything sailor. Occasional weedy bream, slightly smaller hands. Plywood, it’s plywood! Let go, Yes it hurts Kweli. Yet off the hook already and has died.
Put the face under a certain angle to the plane of the water, the sun gleamed. Will get accustomed to the underwater world, what is it? And there is such a beauty! Reluctant to go home. Here’s a small driftwood is hairgrass, skipping past a healthy Lin. Apparently, well-fed, and large bleaks scared, making imitation of a throw for them. Now sailed three large roaches, drifting in the water like sharks, rapidly darting to every moving piece. Bivalve thick shelled river mussel, leaving a mini-trench on loose bottom, stubbornly somewhere creeps. Dragonfly larvae greedily pounced on a beetle privanza, but, rebuffed, returned to his seat.
Well, relaxed enough. You need to catch. Complete calm. So the gnats will fly again. Hunting is not yet open, and not frightened broods of ducks, mostly Teal-trescony and Gogol, perevarivat on the water looking for food. Mallard, those stricter feed near the shore under the reeds. One are swam close to Gogol because of mischief waved it in the neck end of the rods. Habituated to caution, silly! Soon the hunt. The first to die an honorable death by powder and lead.
The perch, but not often. Catch 3-5 pieces, change the place. Well, that being anchored is not necessary. Will drive the boat to surface algae, it is worth it. The wind was very weak. Throw the rig along the grass, on the net. Bite in a new place instant. Catching perch is very easy. The float is pretty big, fired immediately. Hooking is not necessary, pull upwards, lifting the bait, Yes faster, and then swallow. The hook will not pull out from the jaws.
The sun was hot. Time to go home, tired and hungry. Fish Polska, zhareha good enough. Yes, and cleaned it for me. Wife fried fresh fish is very good, but to handle it there, afraid to chop. Large backpack in a cramped boat all the time get in, and I drove his feet away from yourself. That designersa. He was half wet, well at least not flooded. A small plastic bag with two sandwiches, cut hastily in the early morning, turned into a fish tank. Black bread soaked, and two slices of bacon swam like guppies. But I’m hungry. The bread is pressed, ate, guppy too. Good but not enough. Here to drink. Strange thing, water everywhere, pure virgin forest, but to drink nothing. When you think, lust is lost: just below the lake, metres in hundred from the place of fishing in the river Nerl relieve industrial effluents of a chemical enterprise in Pereslavl-Zalessky. In the days of the Bolsheviks were smart enough not to throw dirt in Plescheevo lake. Paved underground reservoir, and by gravity the sewage went into the Nerl twenty miles away from the city. At the same time have sense enough to demolish the chapel at the source of St. Barbara, to which flocked pilgrims, supposedly standing in the way of the manifold. Although the right to the left of the same forest. However, recently, the Church set in the same place a beautiful wooden chapel and baptismal font. A lot of people.
To shore to paddle three hundred meters. There muddy still about fifty meters, to get the boat, shoving it in her backpack and tyapa in the woods and a small swamp about three kilometers to the village. And there, beloved wife, somehow believes that men on fishing rest. Yes, and soul relax from the hustle and bustle and from favorite. The day is just beginning, and the wife will find you on the farm, heavy work or lifting, or digging. Need to rest. Made himself comfortable, laid his head on the side, pulled his hat over his eyes, relaxed.
In my head all sorts of thoughts, for some reason, mostly about the lake. Just in that place where I had to approach, archaeologists have found a settlement of ancient Slavs. Drawn to this water body and other people. Located not far from Moscow, rich in game and fish the lake turned into a fiefdom of those in power. After the war he established his hunting Lodge Vasily Stalin. If he was Somino, I don’t know. But the tip of Ministers hunted here regularly. Still alive in the grandfather working at the time in Globe, in his words, “cerem”, told me how she had spent hunting.
In our area for some reason, all the big bosses were called “bubbles”. Probably for a big belly, flabby face, and arrogance. They sort of bubbled from his greatness. So, when he came to hunt the bubble, “ekeri” climbed in the same pants spaniels at the swamp in the reeds. In boots to climb up. Raised duck on the wing and picked up the wounded animal, without the right shot. A bubble blew out of the boat in two guns on a rising game. The lake is well guarded. The natives were driven out. Of course, they were-poaching: received fish with a fork in the night, and ruzhishkom not amused. Visited Somino and really dear people. Almost the entire world lived near lake Prishvin M. M.
My mood was interrupted by a loud cry of ravens. Not cawing and screaming. Because such sounds like birds in the moment of horror. Got the binoculars and began to fumble with eyepieces. Here it is. Sitting on old dried aspen. Why yelling durnin? Look. That’s it: next to it, with two feet, sits a handsome Goshawk. With a white chest stripe and red fierce eyes. Very large, probably a female. Apparently, the hawk gave Raven ponco, and that his life, huddled on a tree. Raven wants to live, and hawk have. Realizing that the tree, the Goshawk not to take, grey shouts, but not flying. In the air it is doomed.
Sat and watched. There was no change. Time to go home. Next week will come again. I’d like to…
