Risky Fishing

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

Fishing tales

When Oleg, an acquaintance of my relative Alexander Rykov, invited him (and he, in turn, me), as he put it, on super-extractive, “extreme” fishing in the north of Karelia, we, of course, agreed.

As soon as we got out of the car on a tiny snow-covered siding, a tall guy in a sheepskin coat and a malakhai hat approached us and said:

- Welcome. I am Michael.

As it turned out, Mikhail's house was a hundred meters from the junction. After we got to know each other and warmed up, the owner explained to us the essence of the upcoming fishing. Moss Lake, which he called Black, was located three kilometers from here.

“We’ll catch

perches, drag them there as much as you want, and of any size,” he explained, smiling.

I had a question on my tongue: what was the extremeness of the upcoming fishing, but I kept silent, hoping that everything would be clarified right on the lake. The unusualness of the upcoming fishing began immediately … Mikhail handed each of us two roughly half-meter roughly planed boards with ties. It was a kind of homemade ski, which Rykov called snowshoes.

We got on these skis, tied our shoes to them with strings and … set off. And although it was difficult to go out of habit, since the skis were constantly heading into the snow, we nevertheless walked briskly after the guide.

When we got to the lake, it struck us with gloom and the absence of the usual snowdrifts. Ahead, wherever you looked, you could see only frail trees, wild rosemary bushes and bumps of various sizes. As soon as we stepped onto the slightly powdered ice, I felt that it began to crackle and sag under my feet.

I

started to jerk back, but Mikhail stopped me with a gesture and, addressing everyone, reassured me:

- Don't be afraid, guys, the ice is strong here, and the depth is not more than three meters. So there is nothing to be afraid of.

After that, the actual preparation for fishing began. Mikhail took off the bag from his shoulders, first took it out and gave each of us a juniper stick about forty centimeters long with a three-meter fishing line and a spoon on its end, then each received a metal rod that replaced the paw. He immediately explained the essence of fishing:

- Only perch is caught here. Moreover, the further we move away from the place where we are now, the larger the fish will be.

He once again looked at us searchingly and summed up: - I hope you didn’t come for the little fingers “sailors”, did you?

We prudently kept silent. And our guide, without looking back, headed into the depths of the lake. At first, we also moved in single file after him, but as soon as we got out of the woodland into an open place, we immediately felt the ice swinging more and more under us. And here and there even black-coal water appeared in the cracks. All this made us somehow uncomfortable, and we stopped.

- I will not go further and will stay here, - Oleg said resolutely, sinking onto a bump.

Rykov and I shifted from foot to foot, not knowing what to do. Apparently, guessing about our hesitation, Mikhail returned and, looking disapprovingly at Oleg, suggested: “Let Khilyatik fish here. And I ask the real fishermen to follow me."

Only Oleg was left. Rykov and I exchanged glances and nevertheless followed the guide. Despite the fact that in some places the ice blanket swayed under us so much that even our heart sank, we went deep into the lake for another half a kilometer. Only after that Mikhail stopped and said:

- Catch here, especially under the wild rosemary bushes.

And he himself moved further into the boundless expanse of the swamp, and soon disappeared into the white veil of the beginning of the snowfall.

We looked around: there were only bumps covered with snow and wild rosemary bushes around them. Having reached the nearest bump, I caught my breath and prepared the tackle for fishing. Easily breaking through the ice with a metal rod, I got a hole with uneven edges and black water. He lowered the spoon into it and froze in anticipation of the coveted bite. However, it was not there.

But as soon as he began to raise the spoon, there was a sharp dash down. And after a short struggle, I pulled an equally black perch out of the black water. My first trophy was 400 grams. Or even a little more. Then the real fishing miracle began. Perches of almost the same size were pecking almost continuously. And all black!

The slightest delay in hooking led to the fact that the fish swallowed the spoon very deeply, and it was necessary to suffer pretty much to extract it. With Rykov, the same thing happened. Getting into the excitement, we stopped only when Mikhail, who imperceptibly approached us, said:

- Enough, men. You should, God forbid, bring this fish!

- Well, how are you? - we asked with one voice.

Mikhail took the heavy sack off his shoulders and untied it. We looked in and gasped! Kilogram and even heavier perch-humpbacks (and all black!) Looked at us with dull, motionless eyes. We have never seen so many large perches.

Having collected our catch in two backpacks, we, risking at dusk every now and then to fall into the bog, slowly reached for the guide in the direction where Oleg was staying. As Mikhail predicted, our friend caught the same black ones, only small perches. I do not know what guiding star led us, but even in complete darkness we made it safely to land. This is how this unique, truly extreme fishing ended for us.

Alexander Nosov