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To me in this sleeping bag all summer spent леспромхозовский fisherman named Yum-yum. So it jokingly dubbed the cheerful and resourceful loggers for deep bad habit of chewing and shrill, from the enjoyment of the meal. But Yum-yum on them was not offended, saying that once a man is destined to enjoy the food, and the good that he enjoys, the more a man like him, a survivor of the hunger strike in the taiga and disappointment in the family life.

Yum-yum spent every summer in the taiga, coming on foot for fifty versts from the village of fishermen fish and отмякнуть soul from human vanity and longing spirit. What vanity he had found in the village, consisting of two tens of the hastily cobbled together the barracks, and so I could not understand, but, obviously, life is complicated in all its manifestations, and in any, even the most remote locations. The fisherman lived in fishing hut of my friend hunter Sava and widely used all collected Саввиными benefits, such as: the bunk bed with a bag, oven with wood, the pot with a frying pan and reserved river Yai with хариусами, ленками and reforms. For this Savva on it didn't take offence - he can stay the man in his own pleasure, fish will be enough for all, who, of course, dare to wander in these places, the greedy something?
In a word, now, in the beginning of the taiga of fishing and the fishing season, I was to sleep in the bag Yum-no, and, probably, because part of the fisherman Yum will not entered into me, and I in my dreams I dreamed about the different tasty things and about fishing. Head посыпало fresh November snowball from a huge cracks in the roof of the shed, the Nar from time to time raised the pale face of the Sava, which was hot in downy sleeping bag, and I imagined fatty marrow-bone with a DAB of sour cream and a slice of ноздрястого rye bread with a glossy crust, to which landed small seeds of cumin, and swallowing saliva, sadly and whispered: «Yum-yum-нямнямммм...»
Taimen is also haunted by and then close an expanding its toads ' face, and then, вильнув tail and coquettishly bent fins, hiding from my bait for root. The bait was at the mouth, and he agonizing slowness then opened his mouth and stretched, then again slightly отпрядывал back and re-ran... Afraid of me this taimen - so in the long night I was never caught. And the soup, too, had not eaten. I woke up in the house hungry and unsatisfied with the fisherman's passion.
After Breakfast, I persuaded Savva arrange a day of rest, that is, not to put today traps, not to circumvent our regular двадцатикилометровые путики, and only a quick knock down the tree, cut, drag, поколоть and go on a fishing trip. Savva thoughtfully looks at his feet, he slowly starts looking nearby hills and allows myself and I go to the taiga fishing:
- Bait we have, however, very little in the hole, catch Lenka, so for him mink goes well! Again catch necessary, until Yai net... Go slurries - fishing-end!
I quickly agree, and we are to blame and cut down forests for firewood. At first glance one is struck by the fact, how many need to таежному man. About hanging bags, hill traps weathered the threshold of the woodpile, grown up to the roof, and we all cut and drag, жулькаем saw, knocking the beads of sweat on a punched in the snow траншейку around the hut. Finally Savva, decides that for the week of firewood are enough for us, and we, taking the can of worms, go without skis on rotten, wet snow on the shore of the Yaya.
The night was windy, and now the snow is covered with forest debris - branches, whipped cones, dead red needles. Taiga, as usual, it seems quite empty, even traces have not seen. Fly high and far a huge old Testament Raven, dive into the needles nimble black nut-cracker, and only the big красноголовые woodpeckers pounded tender, rotten wood, it is important feeling his way around in a spiral and casting sidelong glances down.
Moving on a stream with pink from granite boulders bottom and бурливую, all boiling in the shallow waters of the river Ольдини, which flows into Yai. The transparency of water striking - at the bottom of the visible even grains of sand. It seems, depth is only ten centimetres, boldly put a foot and... ухаешь almost to the waist. Walking along the shore of the Yaya, hoping to find a small tributary to go to the other shore, where there is уловистые pit. Catch should be in the wiring, with a strong jet of course, so that the float necessarily stand of the deep pit.
Walk, walk, trying to go in many places, but always with a deep, the strong, the river is already going on the first slurries. Along the coast formed fragile and transparent забереги. Barrels of oil had fallen into the Well, icy, branches were covered with a thin crust of ice and now glisten in the sun. The bottom of the Yaya in the shallow waters of yellow слипшимся and the beginnings of frozen snow. On the other side we do not go, and on our no as luck would have it no suitable уловистой pit. Savva decides to make a bridge - for this we need to cut down a suitable tree.
We come to a huge дуплистому dead poplar. Cora poplar all in the deep wrinkles, the barrel of the width of three girth, highly scattered mossy the gnarled branches with the clods like the beard of old believers of the moss. Many saw in his lifetime this tree - and now it must fall to become the bridge through Yai. We are on both sides of the trunk and start slashing.
After an hour of work poplar trembled at the top, in the depths of his there was a crash, a gentle creaking and poplar fell across the river, splinter the top and the burying itself twigs-fangs in the bottom. Ice, slurries, a hit in the trunk and dragged him off three metres down. Under the barrel became clogged ice, ершиться, тороситься, crumble with a glass rustle. We have the reliable bridge, which after a couple of days обледенеет and will serve as a nice transition to the right fishing places.

I first go over the bridge. The trunk a little trembling from head of water, catching hold of the boughs, jump to заберег - and I on the other shore. Behind him, slowly, goes Savva. We cut the long flexible rods from the shore of hazel. Handcrafting fishing rods. Instead of weights we have two малокалиберные lead pellets, hooks, намой opinion, too big, and floats small. But with Savva is not so - the spit on all superstitions, he was quietly taking out of bulky jacket pocket even more bulky bag, and wide him, and laying at his feet. «Is he really the bag is a whole wants to catch?» - flashes in my head.

Savva deftly, like threading a needle, вдевает hook in the worm and makes the first strong and smooth casting. Worms we dug up with great difficulty even in the village. In the taiga, even all her around, " not a single worm will not find. Taimen, however, a worm is not caught, it lured to «mouse» - the fur of a ball with a hook-tee. «The mouse» is tied to спиннингу and bruised all the pits from upstream to downstream. Spinning we have not found, throw them do not know how, so taimen us not available. Lenok and grayling can be, fortunately, catch on the most ordinary dung of the worm. In search of worms we went around the whole village, ворошим all of a heap, we break from the diligence slips two spades and finally, a jar full of nuclear, Spry-elastic worms. Savva with a contented smile shaking Bank, winks worms and shows me the finger at the distant, посверкивающие snow hills, where we'll have to go away for the winter.
Taiga fishing began. Through two quick casting Savvin float suddenly plunges. Savva подсекает, the rod bending arc, and on the line hangs a big spotted lenok. Their feathers, goggle-not of this earth the shining light eyes, lenok struggling twitches and does not want to climb on the edge of the заберега. Savva deftly tosses him and pulls on the ice. I the first time in life I see purple-spotted Lenka with red feathers and rapacious, her mouth. Lenok falls asleep in the snow pit, quickly, as a winter sunset, going out of his paint - and two minutes later before us lies the ordinary dull-mica fish. Even the casting - and again clings lenok, still casting - and the water boils up from the huge kilogram of the three, Lenka, who, with all his feathers, with a stake worth it in the water and is not going to climb on to the ice.
Inscrutable, covered with two-weeks-stubbled face Sava suddenly reddens, swells beetroot juice, and from the depths of his soul comes thin desperate cry:
- Oh! Ouch! Break loose! Now goes wrong, you scum!" - And lenok really breaks down, разогнув, like a straw, steel hook. Despite the growing chill in the air, we Sawa wipe the sweat from his forehead - this fishing!
I as if fascinated by looking at the black waters of the Yaya and, as always, amazed at their visible безжизненностью and is not visible to an outsider, the eye of a fierce and brave marine life. What taimen, Lenka, grayling are, should be, now on the bottom, toying with the jets, poking their noses in carried over the pebbles... that's where they will enjoy it! Entire generations of fish live and do not know what kind of a thing - the hook! It is not our experienced, timid, all and all изведавшая in the life of the Moscow region fish. Dragging a fish, and she had to face a skeptical expression: I know of, say, all your stuff - line Japanese know, and wait until a special tried, and the anthology «the Fisherman-athlete» read, and from опарыша your vaunted me and all, sorry, sick!..
Time after time we do with Savva abandoned, and a bunch of frozen fish on the shore of everything grows and grows. Sawa luck more, he somehow come across some of Lena and me " smaller does not happen - grayling. Once hooked was lenok, but I have not got hold of him and pulled so that the fishing line with weight flew over his head and firmly entangled in the bushes. While I chose, unravelled, Savva managed to pull three more lenoks. I'm starting to dislike look at lucky, a disturbing thought: «what if this Savva got me a some particularly large and tasty worms?!» Run to the Bank and to choose the most strong and thick, выбраковывая all there тщедушных and underdeveloped. One small крошу in the water for bait. Savva angry frowns - this is a luxury crush a worm just so. On it you can catch Lenka, and Lenka hole, and on the carcass of the mink sable! I understand Savva, but couldn't help it can't. I was passion catch Lenka. «Can't leave until I got it!» - decide to himself, and preparing to make the most far, the most productive cast, come to the edge of the заберега.
Hard swing and hear a strange melodic pop. Заберег beneath me bent, went into the water and slipped out from under his feet. I fell in the water just above the fishing hole. During quickly catches me that pulls beneath the nearest bridge. I manage to wriggle out of this one and tightly gripping the edge of the ice. To me crawling Savva and, stretching out his hand, pulling pulling on the ice. I wager on that damned ice next to a pile of frozen fish, try to faster pour the water out of his boots. Savva silently loops of the rod and gather the fish in the bag.

"Let's go, a fisherman, home... " he says, and the first goes on the bridge on our shore.

Only we crossed, as due to rotation of the Yaya came a great block of ice. Flashing thick fresh fractures, the ice floe, breaking directly, quickly gained speed, and with a thud hit the bridge. Poplar shuddered and began to slowly move. Fat the base of the tree twitched as living on the shore, feeling his stump of Christmas trees, black snow dislodged the earth. It came on his chest, raged, crumbling, cracking, but climbing, smashing poplar, and, finally, uterine, satisfied ухнув, oozed over him and dragged for a short измочаленные twigs and щепье - all that is left of our bridge.
I ran to the cabin all in ringing, as valdayskie bells, сосульках. With difficulty разоблачился, lit the stove and put a pot. Through chattering teeth and moaning, and wrapped himself up in all these rags that I could find. Twenty minutes later came Savva, took a dozen of the most fatty lenoks, gutted and, as they were in scales, thickly fell asleep in the boiler. Примял punched tails, поперчил, посолил, сдобрил several times already used by the us leaf of Laurel and silently sat down by the furnace.
In a small, grey polyethylene window quietly poured blue предвечерние the shadows, behind the door there was pleased with fuss and grouchy CAW - a greedy jays hastily подъедали delicious chicken liver and heart.

Dmitry Дурасов,
the almanac, the Fisherman-athlete №44

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