And on the boat you did not fly
This story happened on Bolshoy Martyn Lake, on one of the very hot and sultry days when the air seemed to thicken, became hot and still. And it lasted a week, if not more. This ultimately had to lead to something. Such periods of complete calm and abnormal heat usually end in hurricanes and floods. But that day everything was different on the lake. At least on this lake. And then I heard that the hurricane had felled the forest somewhere in the area of the Ilet River and on to the village of Krasnogorsky. But – all in order.
And on the boat you did not fly
In the morning Pasha and I caught perch
He dragged Reds and prickly “sailors” from the raft, and I was catching perch near the boat. I also needed a boat from time to time to check for stubs placed along the edge of a strip of water lilies, which stretched across the very middle of the lake, starting from the ashes of the former winter houses and dugouts in a clean open meadow, and ending with a “squiggle” of water lilies in the direction the opposite shore, where in general everything is overgrown with grass. I set the fly-hooks in front of the pine knoll, where Pasha and I had set up a parking lot with a tent.
In spite of the heat, they still came across pikes, but they only took them early in the morning or at night. Therefore, sleep was not particularly necessary. The nights are bright, and I sometimes went out to the water and checked out the tops. Especially attracted to the water, when a little you take it from the stowage near the fire in the cool of the night and under the fresh perch from the perch. And on the lake the morning fog is creeping along the calm water. Somewhere a perch bursts out, coming to the surface to pick up a marina. And now a whole flock of bass gurgled somewhere nearby. In the pine forests, there is the quiet voice of the cuckoo. In the east is already visible light strip. Dawn is coming soon.
I swam up to the strip of water lilies, on the edge of which the silhouettes of the poles with the flyers of the toes hanging on them are visible. No, on this one can see that the slingshot hangs obliquely in the direction of the tightly stretched fishing line, which goes into the shovel of water lilies. I take the fishing line and immediately boil water in water lilies, pike is raised over them, shaking their heads and opening their gills. So pike knock out lure in their famous candles. But here it does not help her. She sits on a Finnish hook, from which the pike does not leave (in detail about the Finnish hook).
Soon the pike was already on the cockan. And there and another one caught. All … Will not take more. The edge of the sun is already glowing over the forest. Ahead – a new hot day. I swim to the shore, inflate a fire, put the pot on the fire. Need to drink strong tea. Pasha did not wake up. Let him sleep. Sleep he likes. Moreover, they took a little bit “out of place” late in the evening. I did not notice, as he dozed off by the fire, even after strong tea. There are no mosquitoes, they hid from the heat. Why not sleep?
Woke up when the sun was already high. Pasha also got out of the tent.
– Well, what, groin, go fishing? – I am interested, although I see that he has not woken up yet. Some crumpled.
“Not … it’s hot in the water.” I better cook potatoes with stew. Wuhu ate.
– Lada, come on. And I’m on the water.
I take with me spinning and Atom-style swivels, and Jubilee copper ones. There, under lopushnikom water lily pike often costs pike and grabs dark fluctuations even during the day.
I sit in the boat in the heat itself. And suddenly I see that pines have swayed over the clearing on the other side, as if they were bent by a terrible force. On the sides of the pine stood quietly, without stirring. Only in a narrow area something strange was happening. Then a blue stripe lay in the water and quickly walked toward me. I was already rowing with oars, as if “Whirlwind-30” were picking up the breakers. But it did not help. The blue bar is already near. And then for some reason the air in the lungs ended. I could not breathe. For some reason, vertical waves danced around me, and my boat rose into the air. She shook her, and then the boat fell down with a ringing slap on the water flat bottom. The blue stripe went to the northern side, and the pines there too swayed. What was it? Tornado? But there was no pillar going to heaven.
I swam to the shore and asked Pasha, did he see anything? He replied that he did not see, everything was as usual. But at the same time his eyes were red, like a water rat. And I realized that a comrade, cooking potatoes with stew, was put in the bottle. Sober up, that is, listening to his beloved “Voyage voyage” performed by Claudie Fritsch Mantro on the receiver. What him tornadoes and hurricanes now?
That’s how I went up to the sky on a boat, though, not long and short. But I do not regret it. In the boat I am accustomed to the water …