Sergei Timofeevich Aksakov
A few words about early spring and late autumn fishing
In the old years, that is, in the years of youth and mature age, I did not know either early spring or late autumn fishing at all; under the word late I mean not only September, but all of October and the beginning of November - in a word, all the time until the strong ice ponds and rivers. Being a passionate gun hunter, I usually left my fishing rod until the following spring at the end of August, at the very height of the perch bite. Only in my suburban Moscow, on the banks of the Vori River, which, being dammed, appears at first glance to be a decent river, only on its picturesque banks did I fully recognize and fully appreciate both the early spring and late autumn fishing. I appreciate and value them highly: this is one hunt that I can indulge in, because the lack of game near Moscow, and most importantly, illness and weakness of vision long ago forced me to leave my gun, with which, of course, nothing can compare.
Recently I lived for five years without a break in my suburb of Moscow, and it was then that fishing began to fully develop for me. When I lived in the Orenburg province, I had no time for fishing in the spring, during the arrival of game, and in the fall, during its departure; but here, in the Moscow region, it was a completely different matter.
So, I want to tell hunter-fishermen my experiences and observations on early and late fishing.
In the spring, as soon as the river began to enter the banks, despite the speed of the current and the turbidity of the water, at first without any hope of success, I began to try to fish. It’s impossible to cast a fishing rod with an ordinary sinker at this time: it will be carried away by the speed of the current and the hook with the nozzle will be raised too high, and therefore I used a sinker that was maybe ten times heavier than usual and attached it three quarters from the hook; I raised the float very high, so that half of the line had to lie at the bottom: of course, I knew well the depth of the spring hollow water. Having arranged the fishing rod in this way, choosing a place where the water wrapped around the shore, attaching a large or small worm, which depended on the size of the hook and the thickness of the line, I threw the fishing rod across the river and stuck the rod into the bank, tilting its upper end almost to the surface of the water. The bait did not fall to the bottom now, despite the weight of the sinker; the speed of the current carried her away and pushed her to the shore; the line stretched out in a diagonal line, but the sinker probably touched the bottom from time to time, while the hook with the nozzle was constantly dangling, which could be reliably concluded from the various movements and dives of the surfacing. Knowing that at this time of year the fish (whether they go up or down) stay near the banks and move low, and hope that the turbidity of the water close range will not prevent the fish from seeing the worm, I patiently awaited the consequences of my attempt. I sat for three hours different places, and only once did the movement of the float seem suspicious to me, similar to a fish bite, and the worm, when I took out the fishing rod, turned out to be somewhat pulled away: both could have happened from the rapid movement of the water and from the nozzle touching the shore and bottom. The next day I repeated the experiment, adding weight to the sinker, and, to my great joy, very soon I caught a small head and then several perches. From that day on, I fished constantly and successfully, although the water continued to be cloudy and too fast. Thus, I gained two or three weeks of extra fishing. As the river flow became quieter, I gradually reduced the weight of the sinker. For four years in a row I caught fish in the spring so early as I had never fished before. The best bait turned out to be a red dung worm, or worm: the fish took the large worm somehow incorrectly, probably because it was awkward to swallow a large piece on the move, with its constant movement; The fish did not take bread for bread until the water cleared up. It should also be noted that at this time the bite was not in “spots”, that is, not in deep pools, but everywhere, and preferably in shallow places with a sandy bottom. The fish caught all species except tench and pike. I don’t know why they didn’t take tench, but they probably didn’t take pike because at this time of year they spawn and walk on top. In rainy years, especially in the past 1857, when from a lot of sudden rain the river filled three times during the summer to the level of the banks, even overflowed from them and, of course, flowed quickly and was very muddy - in short, during “floods” “, I rebuilt my fishing rods in the spring (which I just told you about) and continued to fish sometimes with great success: they especially took large ruffs and ides, which are taken very rarely in the middle and at the end of summer.
Many times I caught fish with a fishing rod in a river that, level with the banks, rushed with terrible speed and looked like a liquid solution of clay. Without my own experiences, I would not have believed anyone that at such a time it was possible to catch any fish.
I turn to the autumn dinner. I love autumn, even the latest one, but not the one that everyone loves. I love non-frosty, red ones, almost from morning to evening windy days; I love warm, gray, quiet and, perhaps, rainy days. The harshness of the irritable dry air is disgusting to me, but the soft humidity, even the dampness of the atmosphere, is pleasant to me; You can always protect yourself from rain, of course not torrential rain, with a waterproof dress, an umbrella, or the branches of a bush or tree. At this time of year I love to fish: I fish even with more fervor and pleasure than in the spring. Spring promises a lot ahead; this is the beginning of warm weather, this is the beginning of fishing; in the fall it is running out, every day you say goodbye to it for a long time, for a whole six months. For hunters, those who love autumn, I want to talk about her; I know many of them who sympathize with me.
Autumn, deep autumn! Grey sky, low, heavy, wet clouds; gardens, groves and forests become bare and transparent. Everything can be seen right through in the deepest thicket of trees, where the human eye could not penetrate in summer. The old trees have long since fallen off, and only young individual birches still retain their withered yellowish leaves, shining with gold when touched by the slanting rays of the low autumn sun. The evergreen, as if rejuvenated spruce and pine trees, refreshed by cold air, fine, steamy rains and humid night fogs, stand out brightly through the reddish network of birch branches. The earth is covered with dry, varied and multi-colored leaves: soft and plump in wet weather, so that the rustling of the feet of a carefully treading hunter is not heard, and hard, fragile in cold weather, so that birds and animals jump far away from the rustle of human steps. If the air is quiet, then the careful jumps of a hare and squirrel and all sorts of forest animals can be heard at a great distance, easily distinguished by the experienced and sensitive ear of a trapper.
Tits of all genera, which do not fly away for the winter, except for the roadside tit, which has disappeared for a long time, have moved closer to human habitation, especially the Moscow tit, called the Novgorod tit in St. Petersburg, and the imp in the Orenburg province. Its ringing, piercing whistle can often be heard in the house through the closed windows. Bullfinches also got out of the forest thicket and appeared in gardens and vegetable gardens, and their creaky singing, not without some pleasant melody, quietly resounds in the bare bushes and trees.
Blackbirds that have not yet flown away, clinking and squealing, gathered in large flocks, fly into gardens and urems, where they are attracted by elderberries, honeysuckle and, even more, red clusters of rowan and viburnum. The bird cherry berries they love have long since dried up and fallen off, but they will not go to waste: they will all be picked up from the ground by greedy guests.
Here a flock of blackbirds flies noisily and straight into the park. Some will sit in the trees, while others will fall to the ground and jump in all directions. First, they will quiet down for about two hours, quietly satisfying their hunger, and then, having had enough, filling their crops, they will gather in a heap, sit on several trees and begin to sing, because these are song thrushes. Not everyone sings well, but probably the old ones; others just squeal; but the general chorus is very pleasant; it will amaze and delight the one who hears it for the first time, because the bird voices have long since fallen silent and in such late autumn you won’t hear the same varied singing, but only the cries of birds and then for the most part woodpeckers, bullfinches and imps.
The river took on a special appearance, as if it had changed, straightened out in its bends, became much wider, because the water was visible through the bare branches of bent alder branches and the leafless twigs of the shore bushes, and even more so because the water color had disappeared from the cold and that the shore water grasses , beaten by frost, withered and sank to the bottom. In rivers, lakes and ponds with clay and especially sandy bottoms, the water brightened and became transparent like glass; but dammed rivers and streams that flow slowly take on a bluish-green, unpleasant, as if muddy color; however, this optical illusion; the water in them is completely light, but the bottom is covered with settled debris, fine green moss or short water silk - and the water gets a greenish color from its lining, just like crystal or glass, lined with green foil, appears green. In spring (in summer this is not noticeable) the water itself is cloudy, and the spring water field covers the bottom with new layers of silt and earth, on the surface of which moss has not yet formed; when, after the drainage of the hollow water, the ponds are dammed, the sleepy waters of such rivers bloom incessantly, and the color, floating in masses and clumps on the water surface, at the same time fills all the water with its small particles (the process of flowering) and makes it thick and muddy, which is why the reflection of the green bottom is not noticeable.
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Sergei Timofeevich Aksakov
A few words about early spring and late autumn fishing
In my old years, that is, in the years of youth and adulthood, I did not know either early spring or late autumn fishing at all; under the word late I mean not only September, but all of October and the beginning of November - in a word, all the time until the ponds and rivers are covered with strong ice. Being a passionate gun hunter, I usually left my fishing rod until the following spring at the end of August, at the very height of the perch bite. Only in my suburban Moscow, on the banks of the Vori River, which, being dammed, appears at first glance to be a decent river, only on its picturesque banks did I fully recognize and fully appreciate both the early spring and late autumn fishing. I appreciate and value them highly: this is one hunt that I can indulge in, because the lack of game near Moscow, and most importantly, illness and weakness of vision long ago forced me to leave my gun, with which, of course, nothing can compare.
Recently I lived for five years without a break in my suburb of Moscow, and it was then that fishing began to fully develop for me. When I lived in the Orenburg province, I had no time for fishing in the spring, during the arrival of game, and in the fall, during its departure; but here, in the Moscow region, it was a completely different matter.
So, I want to tell hunter-fishermen my experiences and observations on early and late fishing.
In the spring, as soon as the river began to enter the banks, despite the speed of the current and the turbidity of the water, at first without any hope of success, I began to try to fish. It’s impossible to cast a fishing rod with an ordinary sinker at this time: it will be carried away by the speed of the current and raise the hook with the nozzle too high, and therefore I used a sinker, maybe ten times heavier than usual, and attached it three quarters from the hook; I raised the float very high, so that half of the line had to lie at the bottom: of course, I knew well the depth of the spring hollow water. Having arranged the fishing rod in this way, choosing a place where the water wrapped around the shore, attaching a large or small worm, which depended on the size of the hook and the thickness of the line, I threw the fishing rod across the river and stuck the rod into the bank, tilting its upper end almost to the surface of the water. The bait did not fall to the bottom now, despite the weight of the sinker; the speed of the current carried her away and pushed her to the shore; the line stretched out in a diagonal line, but the sinker probably touched the bottom from time to time, while the hook with the nozzle was constantly dangling, which could be reliably concluded from the various movements and dives of the surfacing. Knowing that at this time of year the fish (whether they go up or down) stay near the banks and move low, and hoping that the turbidity of the water at a close distance would not prevent the fish from seeing the worm, I patiently awaited the consequences of my attempt . I sat for about three hours in different places, and only once did the movement of the float seem suspicious to me, similar to a fish’s bite, and the worm, when I took out the fishing rod, turned out to be somewhat stolen: both could have happened from the rapid movement of water and from the nozzle touching the shore and bottom. The next day I repeated the experiment, adding weight to the sinker, and, to my great joy, very soon I caught a small head and then several perches. From that day on, I fished constantly and successfully, although the water continued to be cloudy and too fast. Thus, I gained two or three weeks of extra fishing. As the river flow became quieter, I gradually reduced the weight of the sinker. For four years in a row I caught fish in the spring so early as I had never fished before. The best bait turned out to be a red dung worm, or worm: the fish took the large worm somehow incorrectly, probably because it was awkward to swallow a large piece on the move, with its constant movement; The fish did not take bread for bread until the water cleared up. It should also be noted that at this time the bite was not in “spots”, that is, not in deep pools, but everywhere, and preferably in shallow places with a sandy bottom. The fish caught all species except tench and pike. I don’t know why they didn’t take tench, but they probably didn’t take pike because at this time of year they spawn and walk on top. In rainy years, especially in the past 1857, when from a lot of sudden rain the river filled three times during the summer to the level of the banks, even overflowed from them and, of course, flowed quickly and was very muddy - in short, during “floods” “, I rebuilt my fishing rods in the spring (which I just told you about) and continued to fish sometimes with great success: they especially took large ruffs and ides, which are taken very rarely in the middle and at the end of summer.
Many times I caught fish with a fishing rod in a river that, level with the banks, rushed with terrible speed and looked like a liquid solution of clay. Without my own experiences, I would not have believed anyone that at such a time it was possible to catch any fish.
I turn to the autumn dinner. I love autumn, even the latest one, but not the one that everyone loves. I love non-frosty, red, windy days almost from morning to evening; I love warm, grey, quiet and perhaps rainy days. The harshness of the irritable dry air is disgusting to me, but the soft humidity, even the dampness of the atmosphere, is pleasant to me; You can always protect yourself from rain, of course not torrential rain, with a waterproof dress, an umbrella, or the branches of a bush or tree. At this time of year I love to fish: I fish even with more fervor and pleasure than in the spring. Spring promises a lot ahead; this is the beginning of warm weather, this is the beginning of fishing; in the fall it is running out, every day you say goodbye to it for a long time, for a whole six months. For hunters who love autumn, I want to talk about it; I know many of them who sympathize with me.
Autumn, deep autumn! Gray sky, low, heavy, wet clouds; gardens, groves and forests become bare and transparent. Everything can be seen right through in the deepest thicket of trees, where the human eye could not penetrate in summer. The old trees have long since fallen off, and only young individual birches still retain their withered yellowish leaves, shining with gold when touched by the slanting rays of the low autumn sun. The evergreen, as if rejuvenated spruce and pine trees, refreshed by cold air, fine, steamy rains and humid night fogs, stand out brightly through the reddish network of birch branches. The earth is covered with dry, varied and multi-colored leaves: soft and plump in wet weather, so that the rustling of the feet of a carefully treading hunter is not heard, and hard, fragile in cold weather, so that birds and animals jump far away from the rustle of human steps. If the air is quiet, then the careful jumps of a hare and squirrel and all sorts of forest animals can be heard at a great distance, easily distinguished by the experienced and sensitive ear of a trapper.
Tits of all genera, which do not fly away for the winter, except for the roadside tit, which has disappeared for a long time, have moved closer to human habitation, especially the Moscow tit, called the Novgorod tit in St. Petersburg, and the imp in the Orenburg province. Its ringing, piercing whistle can often be heard in the house through the closed windows. Bullfinches also got out of the forest thicket and appeared in gardens and vegetable gardens, and their creaky singing, not without some pleasant melody, quietly resounds in the bare bushes and trees.
Blackbirds that have not yet flown away, clinking and squealing, gathered in large flocks, fly into gardens and urems, where they are attracted by elderberries, honeysuckle and, even more, red clusters of rowan and viburnum. The bird cherry berries they love have long since dried up and fallen off, but they will not go to waste: they will all be picked up from the ground by greedy guests.
Here a flock of blackbirds flies noisily and straight into the park. Some will sit in the trees, while others will fall to the ground and jump in all directions. First, they will quiet down for about two hours, quietly satisfying their hunger, and then, having had enough, filling their crops, they will gather in a heap, sit on several trees and begin to sing, because these are song thrushes. Not everyone sings well, but probably the old ones; others just squeal; but the general chorus is very pleasant; It will amaze and delight the one who hears it for the first time, because the voices of birds have long since fallen silent and in such late autumn you will not hear the same varied singing, but only the cries of birds and mostly woodpeckers, bullfinches and imps.
The river took on a special appearance, as if it had changed, straightened out in its bends, became much wider, because the water was visible through the bare branches of bent alder branches and the leafless twigs of the shore bushes, and even more so because the water color had disappeared from the cold and that the shore water grasses , beaten by frost, withered and sank to the bottom. In rivers, lakes and ponds with clay and especially sandy bottoms, the water brightened and became transparent like glass; but dammed rivers and streams that flow slowly take on a bluish-green, unpleasant, as if muddy color; however, this is an optical illusion; the water in them is completely light, but the bottom is covered with settled debris, fine green moss or short water silk - and the water gets a greenish color from its lining, just like crystal or glass, lined with green foil, appears green. In spring (in summer this is not noticeable) the water itself is cloudy, and the spring water field covers the bottom with new layers of silt and earth, on the surface of which moss has not yet formed; when, after the drainage of the hollow water, the ponds are dammed, the sleepy waters of such rivers bloom incessantly, and the color, floating in masses and clumps on the water surface, at the same time fills all the water with its small particles (the process of flowering) and makes it thick and muddy, which is why the reflection of the green bottom is not noticeable.
This is the kind of autumn I love not only as a hunter, but as a passionate lover of nature in all its various changes.
The same reasons, that is permanent life in the village and the impossibility of hunting with a gun, which forced me to try fishing so early in the spring, forced me to continue hunting with a fishing rod in the fall, to the last extreme, regardless of any weather. At first, before severe frosts and before the onset of cold weather, the fish were taken in the same, deep and strong places, as throughout the summer. Little by little, the bite in the pools turned into a coastal one, that is, into a bite near the shores, then small fish, average size, began to rise to the upper reaches of the pond and stayed more in the middle of the river, which is why it was necessary to cast the fishing rod far from the shore. I continued this kind of fishing until such frosts that my entire river, despite the spring water, was covered with rather strong ice; I broke the ice, which was not very strong in the places where the fish were holding, with a long pole, pushed small ice floes downstream of the water or threw them out, and in such a cleared area of the river I continued to fish, catching mostly medium-sized perches and various small fish. I often survived in several degrees of frost, standing up to my knees in snow and hiding a box of worms in my bosom, because the worm froze even when I put it on a hook. Obviously, the attachment had to be done quickly: however, I saw several times that a frozen and numb worm was now thawing in the water and beginning to move. While my river froze only at the edges, and a long, continuous hole stretched along its middle, I could fish wherever the water was open, being careful not to let the forest touch the icy outskirts, because it would now freeze to them and at the first hook it could be torn off; it was also necessary to be careful when pulling out fish, carefully taking it out onto the ice and then throwing it ashore: such a double technique for pulling out precious prey is necessary so as not to cut the forests on the sharp edges of the coastal ice floes.
When the frosts became stronger, the only places on the river that did not freeze were those where there were more strong springs and where all kinds of small fish constantly gathered. Mostly the perches were biting, but their bite was losing its decisiveness and vigor, and they themselves, pulled out of the water as if without resistance, seemed somehow lethargic and sleepy. Perhaps many will object to me: “What kind of desire is there to catch a few half-asleep fish with such difficulties?” – To this I will answer that “hunting is worse than bondage”, that in hunting everything has a relative price. I think that in this case all hunters will agree with me. Where there is a lot of noble game or large fish best breeds, there, of course, no one will look at the game of the lowest dignity or at small fish; but where there is only one, and even that is not enough, there she is precious.
...1858 January 3rd.Moscow.
(To Brother Arkady Timofeevich, in St. Petersburg)
I was in Aksakov, and - sadness
She didn’t leave me anywhere;
Everything reminded me of you
The house seemed boring and empty to me...
You were missed everywhere.
And brotherly friendship, love
It was as if they were orphaned again.
Oh! Was it like this before?
There were painful hours
Coldly laying down the burden,
Freed from shackles,
Having waited for the desired time,
Having exposed minds and souls,
Mutual outpouring of hearts
Or dreaming about the future
We enjoyed ourselves - forgetting everything.
Similar in inclinations, in morals,
Similar in heartfelt simplicity,
To some partial amusements.
Loving freedom and peace,
We were truly with you
Half-blooded friends...
And so - by envious fate -
I am without a friend and without a brother.
I saw a pond: it's on the banks
The slopes gloomily spread out,
Noisy in the withered reeds,
It was getting dark, turning purple, worried,
He raged so coldly and terribly;
The autumn skies look harsh
Reflected in the leaden waves...
Some kind of darkness of new sadness
He poured it languidly across the pond.
And a sad memory
Your innocent joys,
The innocent passion of both
My dreams multiplied.
Everywhere I saw the same thing;
There are traces of your hunt everywhere
And friendly concern for me:
Poloev into the muddy bottom
There are stakes with a firm hand
Deeply squeezed by you,
The solitary stand
Swaying by the wind and waves...
With eloquent words
They tell me about the past.
There's a boat lying there on the dam
In the mud, with a broken oar,
But who will ride it now?
With me, the cowardly rider?
Who will laugh at me?
It both amuses and frightens me,
To be captivated by Pushkin with me,
It's funny to laugh with me.
Who is older than their minds
The impulses of rage will be subdued
And a tender feeling or a joke
My ardor will be tamed.
Who, forgiving my weaknesses,
Appreciating only the good in me,
Acting so firmly and rightly,
Who will love me like that!
And of course you remember
Often his friend,
You often dream about me!..
I know your heart
Neither St. Petersburg fun,
Not your new friends
Neither service, nor desire for glory,
No life of vain poison
They won't drag you into oblivion...
But years after years go by,
And, if providence wills
We will meet again with you... -
Let's find change in each other.
Traces of the fatal right hand,
Saturn's menacing current,
We will see above ourselves.
The past is hidden forever,
Nothing can bring him back;
And no matter how painful it is, but, of course,
Everything will be the same - but not the same.
Who knows the future of the mystery?
Who knows about their fate?
People's affairs are always random,
But we will be true to ourselves!
Let's go where she points
So we will live as God commands!
To suffer - when he orders to suffer,
But philosophy is our shield!
We will keep our hearts straight,
We will be in harmony with our conscience;
Although we won’t become saints,
But we won’t all be in hell.
Forgive me, keep sacred friendship
And brotherly love for me;
Be happy and serve the king
Begin, bless you, again!
Write to me, you know very well
How dear are your letters...
I'm also sure you're reading
You are my pleasure!
Yes to everything that delights youth
You will enjoy this life!..
Blameless Joy
May she be your companion. 1
P.S. This is the last effort to call upon the muses who said goodbye to me!.. I clearly see that my acquaintance with them is over, and only orphaned brotherly friendship could beg from them one moment of weak inspiration.
1 For the first time: S. T. Aksakov. Collection Op. in four volumes, vol. 3, M. 1956 - based on a copy written by the hand of Olga Grigorievna Aksakova, the writer’s granddaughter (IRLI, f. 3, op. 11, d. No. 1, pp. 3-7).
The copy of this poem contains the following note: “If S. T.’s poems are included in the complete edition of the collected works of S. T. Aksakov, then I humbly ask you to print this P. S. and add as a note that S. T. never considered himself a good poet, although he was a poet at heart and was one of the first to appreciate Pushkin. Grandson of S. T. Aksakov, Sergei Aksakov."
The poem AUTUMN has no audio recordings yet...
A few words about early spring and late autumn fishing
In my old years, that is, in the years of youth and adulthood, I did not know either early spring or late autumn fishing at all;
By late I mean not only September, but all of October and the beginning of November - in a word, all the time until the ponds and rivers are covered with strong ice. Being a passionate gun hunter, I usually left my fishing rod until the following spring at the end of August, at the very height of the perch bite. Only in my suburban Moscow, on the banks of the Vori River, which, being dammed, appears at first glance to be a decent river, only on its picturesque banks did I fully recognize and fully appreciate both the early spring and late autumn fishing. I appreciate and value them highly: this is one hunt that I can indulge in, because the lack of game near Moscow, and most importantly, illness and weakness of vision long ago forced me to leave my gun, with which, of course, nothing can compare.
Recently I lived for five years without a break in my suburb of Moscow, and it was then that fishing began to fully develop for me. When I lived in the Orenburg province, I had no time for fishing in the spring, during the arrival of game, and in the fall, during its departure; but here, in the Moscow region, it was a completely different matter.
In the spring, as soon as the river began to enter the banks, despite the speed of the current and the turbidity of the water, at first without any hope of success, I began to try to fish. It’s impossible to cast a fishing rod with an ordinary sinker at this time: it will be carried away by the speed of the current and the hook with the nozzle will be raised too high, and therefore I used a sinker that was maybe ten times heavier than usual and attached it three quarters from the hook; It should also be noted that at this time the bite was not in “spots”, that is, not in deep pools, but everywhere, and preferably in shallow places with a sandy bottom. The fish caught all species except tench and pike. I don’t know why they didn’t take tench, but they probably didn’t take pike because at this time of year they spawn and walk on top. In rainy years, especially in the past 1857, when from a lot of sudden rain the river filled three times during the summer to the level of the banks, even overflowed from them and, of course, flowed quickly and was very muddy - in short, during “floods” “, I rebuilt my fishing rods in the spring (which I just told you about) and continued to fish sometimes with great success: they especially took large ruffs and ides, which are taken very rarely in the middle and at the end of summer.
Many times I caught fish with a fishing rod in a river that, level with the banks, rushed with terrible speed and looked like a liquid solution of clay. Without my own experiences, I would not have believed anyone that at such a time it was possible to catch any fish.
I turn to the autumn dinner. I love autumn, even the latest one, but not the one that everyone loves. I love non-frosty, red, windy days almost from morning to evening; I love warm, grey, quiet and perhaps rainy days. The harshness of the irritable dry air is disgusting to me, but the soft humidity, even the dampness of the atmosphere, is pleasant to me; You can always protect yourself from rain, of course not torrential rain, with a waterproof dress, an umbrella, or the branches of a bush or tree. At this time of year I love to fish: I fish even with more fervor and pleasure than in the spring. Spring promises a lot ahead;
this is the beginning of warm weather, this is the beginning of fishing; in the fall it is running out, every day you say goodbye to it for a long time, for a whole six months. For hunters who love autumn, I want to talk about it; I know many of them who sympathize with me.
Tits of all genera, which do not fly away for the winter, except for the roadside tit, which has disappeared for a long time, have moved closer to human habitation, especially the Moscow tit, called the Novgorod tit in St. Petersburg, and the imp in the Orenburg province. Its ringing, piercing whistle can often be heard in the house through the closed windows. Bullfinches also got out of the forest thicket and appeared in gardens and vegetable gardens, and their creaky singing, not without some pleasant melody, quietly resounds in the bare bushes and trees.
Blackbirds that have not yet flown away, clinking and squealing, gathered in large flocks, fly into gardens and urems, where they are attracted by elderberries, honeysuckle and, even more, red clusters of rowan and viburnum. The bird cherry berries they love have long since dried up and fallen off, but they will not go to waste: they will all be picked up from the ground by greedy guests.
Here a flock of blackbirds flies noisily and straight into the park.
Some will sit in the trees, while others will fall to the ground and jump in all directions. First, they will quiet down for about two hours, quietly satisfying their hunger, and then, having had enough, filling their crops, they will gather in a heap, sit on several trees and begin to sing, because these are song thrushes. Not everyone sings well, but probably the old ones; others just squeal; but the general chorus is very pleasant; It will amaze and delight the one who hears it for the first time, because the voices of birds have long since fallen silent and in such late autumn you will not hear the same varied singing, but only the cries of birds and mostly woodpeckers, bullfinches and imps.
The river took on a special appearance, as if it had changed, straightened out in its bends, became much wider, because the water was visible through the bare branches of bent alder branches and the leafless twigs of the shore bushes, and even more so because the water color had disappeared from the cold and that the shore water grasses , beaten by frost, withered and sank to the bottom. In rivers, lakes and ponds with clay and especially sandy bottoms, the water brightened and became transparent like glass; but dammed rivers and streams that flow slowly take on a bluish-green, unpleasant, as if muddy color; however, this is an optical illusion; the water in them is completely clear, but the bottom is covered with settled debris,
fine green moss or short water silk - and the water receives a greenish color from its lining, just as crystal or glass, lined with green foil, appears green. In spring (in summer this is not noticeable) the water itself is cloudy, and the spring water field covers the bottom with new layers of silt and earth, on the surface of which moss has not yet formed; when, after the drainage of the hollow water, the ponds are dammed, the sleepy waters of such rivers bloom incessantly, and the color, floating in masses and clumps on the water surface, at the same time fills all the water with its small particles (the process of flowering) and makes it thick and muddy, which is why the reflection of the green bottom is not noticeable.
This is the kind of autumn I love not only as a hunter, but as a passionate lover of nature in all its various changes.
The same reasons, that is, constant life in the village and the impossibility of hunting with a gun, which forced me to try fishing so early in the spring, forced me to continue hunting with a fishing rod in the fall, to the last extreme, regardless of any weather. At first, before severe frosts and before the onset of cold weather, the fish were taken in the same, deep and strong places, as throughout the summer. Little by little, the bite in the pools turned into a coastal one, that is, into a bite near the shores, then medium-sized fish, of medium size, began to rise to the upper reaches of the pond
[I remind my readers that I fished on the Vore River, which all consists of either ponds or pond upper reaches; There is almost no real free flow of the river, or, more correctly, a stream: it continues no more than a hundred fathoms from the mills, and therefore my observations cannot be applied to an undammed river, which flows with its own mass of water.]
and stayed more in the middle of the river, which is why it was necessary to cast the fishing rod far from the shore. I continued this kind of fishing until such frosts that my entire river, despite the spring water, was covered with rather strong ice; I broke the ice, which was not very strong in the places where the fish were holding, with a long pole, pushed small ice floes downstream of the water or threw them out, and in such a cleared area of the river I continued to fish, catching mostly medium-sized perches and various small fish. I often survived in several degrees of frost, standing up to my knees in snow and hiding a box of worms in my bosom, because the worm froze even when I put it on a hook. Obviously, the attachment had to be done quickly: however, I saw several times that a frozen and numb worm was now thawing in the water and beginning to move. While my river froze only at the edges, and a long, continuous hole stretched along its middle, I could fish wherever the water was open, being careful not to let the forest touch the icy outskirts, because it would now freeze to them and at the first hook it could be torn off; it was also necessary to be careful when pulling out fish, carefully taking it out onto the ice and then throwing it ashore: such a double technique for pulling out precious prey is necessary so as not to cut the forests on the sharp edges of the coastal ice floes.
When the frosts became stronger, the only places on the river that did not freeze were those where there were more strong springs and where all kinds of small fish constantly gathered. Mostly the perches were biting, but their bite was losing its decisiveness and vigor, and they themselves, pulled out of the water as if without resistance, seemed somehow lethargic and sleepy. Perhaps many will object to me: “What kind of desire is there to catch a few half-asleep fish with such difficulties?” - To this I will answer that “hunting is worse than bondage”, that in hunting everything has a relative price. I think that in this case all hunters will agree with me. Where there is a lot of noble game or large fish of the best breeds, there, of course, no one will look at the game of the lowest quality or at small fish; but where there is only one, and even that is not enough, there she is precious.
Many times I caught fish with a fishing rod in a river that, level with the banks, rushed with terrible speed and looked like a liquid solution of clay. Without my own experiences, I would not have believed anyone that at such a time it was possible to catch any fish.
I turn to the autumn dinner. I love autumn, even the latest one, but not the one that everyone loves. I love non-frosty, red, windy days almost from morning to evening; I love warm, grey, quiet and perhaps rainy days. The harshness of the irritable dry air is disgusting to me, but the soft humidity, even the dampness of the atmosphere, is pleasant to me; You can always protect yourself from rain, of course not torrential rain, with a waterproof dress, an umbrella, or the branches of a bush or tree. At this time of year I love to fish: I fish even with more fervor and pleasure than in the spring. Spring promises a lot ahead; this is the beginning of warm weather, this is the beginning of fishing; in the fall it is running out, every day you say goodbye to it for a long time, for a whole six months. For hunters who love autumn, I want to talk about it; I know many of them who sympathize with me.
Autumn, deep autumn! Gray sky, low, heavy, wet clouds; gardens, groves and forests become bare and transparent. Everything can be seen right through in the deepest thicket of trees, where the human eye could not penetrate in summer. The old trees have long since fallen off, and only young individual birches still retain their withered yellowish leaves, shining with gold when touched by the slanting rays of the low autumn sun. The evergreen, as if rejuvenated spruce and pine trees, refreshed by cold air, fine, steamy rains and humid night fogs, stand out brightly through the reddish network of birch branches. The earth is covered with dry, varied and multi-colored leaves: soft and plump in wet weather, so that the rustling of the feet of a carefully treading hunter is not heard, and hard, fragile in cold weather, so that birds and animals jump far away from the rustle of human steps. If the air is quiet, then the careful jumps of a hare and squirrel and all sorts of forest animals can be heard at a great distance, easily distinguished by the experienced and sensitive ear of a trapper.
Tits of all genera, which do not fly away for the winter, except for the roadside tit, which has disappeared for a long time, have moved closer to human habitation, especially the Moscow tit, called the Novgorod tit in St. Petersburg, and the imp in the Orenburg province. Its ringing, piercing whistle can often be heard in the house through the closed windows. Bullfinches also got out of the forest thicket and appeared in gardens and vegetable gardens, and their creaky singing, not without some pleasant melody, quietly resounds in the bare bushes and trees.
Blackbirds that have not yet flown away, clinking and squealing, gathered in large flocks, fly into gardens and urems, where they are attracted by elderberries, honeysuckle and, even more, red clusters of rowan and viburnum. The bird cherry berries they love have long since dried up and fallen off, but they will not go to waste: they will all be picked up from the ground by greedy guests.
Here a flock of blackbirds flies noisily and straight into the park. Some will sit in the trees, while others will fall to the ground and jump in all directions. First, they will quiet down for about two hours, quietly satisfying their hunger, and then, having had enough, filling their crops, they will gather in a heap, sit on several trees and begin to sing, because these are song thrushes. Not everyone sings well, but probably the old ones; others just squeal; but the general chorus is very pleasant; It will amaze and delight the one who hears it for the first time, because the voices of birds have long since fallen silent and in such late autumn you will not hear the same varied singing, but only the cries of birds and mostly woodpeckers, bullfinches and imps.
The river took on a special appearance, as if it had changed, straightened out in its bends, became much wider, because the water was visible through the bare branches of bent alder branches and the leafless twigs of the shore bushes, and even more so because the water color had disappeared from the cold and that the shore water grasses , beaten by frost, withered and sank to the bottom. In rivers, lakes and ponds with clay and especially sandy bottoms, the water brightened and became transparent like glass; but dammed rivers and streams that flow slowly take on a bluish-green, unpleasant, as if muddy color; however, this is an optical illusion; the water in them is completely light, but the bottom is covered with settled debris, fine green moss or short water silk - and the water gets a greenish color from its lining, just like crystal or glass, lined with green foil, appears green. In spring (in summer this is not noticeable) the water itself is cloudy, and the spring water field covers the bottom with new layers of silt and earth, on the surface of which moss has not yet formed; when, after the drainage of the hollow water, the ponds are dammed, the sleepy waters of such rivers bloom incessantly, and the color, floating in masses and clumps on the water surface, at the same time fills all the water with its small particles (the process of flowering) and makes it thick and muddy, which is why the reflection of the green bottom is not noticeable.
