You Have To Pay For Everything - A Case On Fishing

2024 Author: Sebastian Paterson | [email protected]. Last modified: 2023-12-16 13:47

Fishing tales

In my sixties, I still wonder: why all people are divided into fishermen, true lovers of fishing, sitting in the rain, in the cold and in the icy wind in conditions completely unbearable for a person, and on those who, as they say, do light bulbs? They just don't understand us, I think. For them, it seems wild to have to go on the ice several kilometers from the coast. And then sit by the hole, when the frost reaches -20 ° C, and sometimes even more, pore over the tackle for hours, constantly inventing and improving something.

And in general, they will not understand: how is it possible to leave a comfortable home, to break away from your wife and children, in order to go not for something special, but for the most ordinary Russian perch to the Gulf of Finland or Ladoga. This seems unreasonable to many. No, such people will not go up the mountain (with a backpack and fishing rods), they will bypass it (the mountain), at best. They do not understand and do not feel some moments, for example, from my life, closely connected with the very childhood with fishing. And they sunk into memory and hold tightly to it.

… Here it is, that early morning, the sun is not yet there. Quiet forest lake. Cheerful trills and chirping of birds, mysterious splashes and circles on the water. I am sitting in a simple wooden, drunken boat fifty meters from the shore. Holding my breath, I’m afraid to even move, I froze, I’m almost gone. But the eyes, closely following the float on one of the abandoned fishing rods, give out all the tension of the moment. Now, here's one or two more seconds - and you can hook. The sleeping float suddenly began to actively move. Apparently it's an ide. It was he who pushed the bait with his mouth, tasting it, and in a moment, look, he will seize it, counting on complete impunity.

No, my dear, in our world you have to pay for everything. The rod sweeps and I feel a springy, lively weight on the other end of the line. At this moment, I experience the same excitement, delight, which, probably, felt a person living in a cave when he managed, together with other hunters, to overwhelm a mammoth. That which was originally laid in us by nature itself woke up in me.

And here the process of playing large fish begins. She can pull the tackle under the boat, away from it, or even begin to make "candles" flying out of the water and splashing back into it … Whitefish and trout are especially distinguished by such qualities. The very process of fishing, I tell you, is a real skill of an angler, which is not achieved immediately, but with experience.

I still remember - I was then 9-10 years old - how I let go of a huge, golden bream. And then, already in the winter, sitting in a biology lesson, I did not see either the blackboard or the teacher. Before my eyes stood a piece of line on my fishing rod and a wide tail of a bream that hit it in the water before disappearing from me forever. This is probably why I don’t remember anything from biology besides the ciliate shoe.

God is with them, with those who do not recognize us and simply do not understand. I believe that nature has not given them something. You should feel sorry for them, not take offense at their words. And the ide, really, got a good one. I pulled a kilogram and a half.

It is pleasant to watch the red disk of the sun emerge from behind the firs and pines, illuminating the forest, the lake and me, as an immutable attribute of this very nature. Throwing in the top dressing, I risked splashes on the water to scare off the fish, but after five minutes the float again smoothly pulled to the side. Again sweeping - and the same ide ended up in my bucket. Yes, I shouldn't have brought a plastic bucket with me. The fish, getting there, begins to beat against the wall, creating a noise that I do not need at all. In a wooden boat, it is heard at a considerable distance. We have to break the ridge on the knee. I like live, dancing fish more. She is mesmerizing.

And here, when you look at such an enviable catch, everything merges in your soul: euphoria, the joy of a winner, and the feeling of a breadwinner, and love for this very fishing, for life in nature under the gentle sun.

That day, along with three decent ides, perches, two chubs and a small pike got into the bucket. Apparently, a well-chosen place had an effect - here a small rivulet flows into the lake. I haven't had such a catch for a long time. Although at home, they will probably say with a familiar grimace: "Again your perches, bream and yazi …". The wife considers some to be very skinny, others - fat, and the third does not recognize the fish at all. Like, it is much more correct and decent to buy frozen pink salmon or salmon in a supermarket …

At five o'clock I was dropped off at the railway platform. Twenty minutes later I was already sitting in the common carriage of the train and chatting with a pleasant female conductor. A bucket of fish, covered with nettles and burdocks, I pushed under the table. I love traveling on electric trains and trains. It is especially pleasant to listen to the stories of fellow travelers-interlocutors. Of course, I'm telling something myself. The dimensions of the truthfulness of what is said here do not matter. The main thing is how to present the story to others, and I have the right to some kind of fiction.

I showed the fish to the conductor, and we got to talking. She looked about forty-five years old. She didn’t have a flashy beauty, but there was something about her that men usually call a "highlight", stopping the eye. Some unusual natural combination of light brown hair strands, smart, slightly tired eyes, regular facial features and a beautiful lip line.

The fishing conversation flowed smoothly to other topics. And I learned and understood a lot from what she did not even talk about. Apparently, she is lonely, although there is a son who is a student of a technical school, renamed a college. The son has not yet taken a great interest in fishing, and she even likes it. She is afraid of horror stories on TV and in newspapers about torn ice floes. The calm, measured conversation, where words slowly fit together, and the interlocutors are filled with trust and do not notice the passage of time, continued. I noted to myself that the conductor, with her good nature, spontaneity, gentleness, was noticeably different from the conductors and conductors who were familiar from past trips, tuned to the passenger according to the "standard scheme". She is moderately modest, and yet I caught the remnants of the graceful pride inherent in youth. Old sly man, I know how to divert the conversation to abstract topics and observe,how the interlocutors react. With my colorful, vivid stories about nature, fishing and life, I kindled it a little, and it felt.

But then the train approached the station. We simply, sincerely said goodbye, hoping that I would again become a passenger in her carriage.

I rode the tram home, of course, under the impression of the conversation. Fishing faded into the background.

- Well, where is the fish? - asked the wife. And only then did I realize that I had left the bucket of fish in the carriage. Believe me, I didn't do it on purpose. Yes, indeed, in this life you have to pay for everything.