That's So Somenok

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

Fishing tales

Several years ago I had the opportunity to participate (albeit as a spectator) in a catfish fishing trip. This happened on the Ural River. Local anglers, with whom I had a chance to communicate, fished both on the quok and on the donk. Since then, I still passionately wanted, if not to catch these predators myself, then at least to observe how others do it.

But, first of all, it was necessary to find out: in which reservoirs of our region this fish is found. Most of the fishermen, whom we were able to question, confidently asserted that there is catfish in the Volkhov River, and not very confidently said that, allegedly, they still caught it in the Luga River. For a long time, it was not possible to obtain any information about catfish and catfish.

And only this winter I finally got lucky. Once, being among the anglers who were fishing for roach on Ladoga, I asked: "Guys, no one knows a fisherman who is familiar with catfish hunting?" And here is the guy in the snow jacket, who was located next to me, without looking up from the hole, said:

- Not far from here lives my friend Stas Kudrin. He and his wife Laura know a lot about this business. Especially Laura. Besides being a skilled angler, she is also a golden person. This woman is so scrupulous that if their guests-fishermen (mostly drunk) forget their tackles and things with them, then she carefully keeps them for many years, hoping that the unlucky fishermen will remember and will definitely return for them. Although until now there has not been a single such case.

The settlement, which the guy in the storm jacket named, was at the mouth of the Volkhov, and if you believe the fishermen that there are catfish in this river, then this is exactly what I need.

… The winter is over, the ice drifts on the rivers, and at last I was able to get out to the mouth of the Volkhov. Stanislav Kudrin, a respectable man of about sixty, planted potatoes in the garden with his wife. When I explained to him the purpose of the visit, he, looking at me attentively, said:

- We are sexting Somov under the guidance of Laura Alexandrovna. But it will be at night. In the meantime, you can swing the spinning rod.

And although it was sunny and quiet during the day when I shone, by the evening the weather changed dramatically. A cold north wind blew, the sky sank into gray-leaden clouds. Already in the dark, the three of us got into the boat: I settled in the bow, Stanislav settled in the stern, his wife sat down at the oars. I don’t presume to judge how they navigated in the dark, but after forty minutes Laura stopped rowing and said:

- Stas, let's start here …

No matter how I peered into the surrounding darkness, I couldn't really see anything. The only thing I could tell: we were standing not far from the thickets of grass. Having planted a frog on the tee, Stas lowered the tackle into the water, and we began to quietly raft downstream. After a while, Laura stopped the boat, turned it around, and we returned upstream, to our original place. But there were no bites.

Finally, on the fifth swim, Stanislav hooked up and, quickly pulling the line out of the water, said:

- The pike took it.

And, indeed, a minute later a hefty pike was floundering at the bottom of the boat. It was at least five kilograms.

- The owner, apparently, is not there, which means that today we have nothing to do here, - concluded Laura. That was the end of the fishing trip. - If you fail to catch a catfish - take a pike, this is our rule: if the fisherman who came to us is not too lucky, then we will definitely help him with the catch, - Laura Alexandrovna explained and, turning to her husband, added: - Tomorrow we need to fish pit at the Crooked Cape. The husband nodded back.

For most of the next day, I flashed from the boat, moving along the thicket of grass. We came across exclusively grass pikes - almost less and less a kilogram. I let almost all of them go: let them grow up and please the anglers with decent sizes.

I don't know why, but when we started getting ready to go fishing, Stanislav suddenly invited me to sit on the oars. Although, from the sly glance of the hostess, one could assume that it was on her initiative that I turned from a spectator into a participant in fishing. Of course, I gladly agreed.

We arrived at the fishing spot - into a small bay, which cut into the shore in a sharp arc, we arrived before dark. All the way we were accompanied by a light, disgusting rain.

- For the catfish, the weather is what we need, and we will somehow endure, - judged Stanislav, unwinding the donka.

He explained how I should steer the boat and we started fishing. Wielding the oars, I was probably doing something wrong, but Kudrin never, not a single word, rebuked me. Only occasionally did he show with hand gestures how and where I should direct the boat.

After several passes along and across the bay, I felt how the boat swayed - it was Stanislav who made a sharp cut. However, the fish was not detected: he removed an empty tee from the water. Apparently, for my companion it was a kind of signal, because he asked to return the boat to the place of the bite. We passed it: two, three, four times. To no avail. And only on the fifth time, when the angler slowly, often twitching, raised the tackle from the depths, he suddenly made a sharp movement with his hand and immediately released the line.

The boat tilted, and the caught fish dragged us upstream. Soon she stopped. And Stas immediately picked up the slack - he reeled up the cord. This was repeated several times. Probably, the angler very subtly felt the moment when the fish got tired, because very confidently, without delays, he began to pull it to the boat. And when in the twilight one could see the light belly of the fish in the water, Stas handed me the cord, took the hook in his hands - he picked up the catfish by the lower jaw and dragged it into the boat.

“Somenok,” he said, and taking the tee out of the predator’s mouth, added: “There are even much larger ones …

When we weighed the Somenka, it turned out to be 12.5 kilograms. Probably, that evening fortune smiled broadly at me: I managed not only to take part in fishing for catfish, but also to catch it. Because I never heard from any of the fishermen that someone, somewhere, caught this fish in our area. And I never had to try my fortune a second time …