NA Grandchildren One on One. Fishing. Part 8

NA  Grandchildren "One on One."  Fishing.  Part 8Bonfire, I still missed.

But when morning came out of the tent, the sun stood still over the island and from all steamed — from herbs to shrubs, the trees and the stones.

I was armed with a fire tool, fishing rods, and started down to the shore. All soaked with water. Under the feet of champs. Bushes shoulders enveloped cold shower. I did not go, and literally floating on grass until he reached the alluvial stones.

Water has all changed. Where the night boiling surf, seaweed piled huge shaft — in my size. Of the shaft sticking wet logs and boards, and opposite the place where I make fire, I saw the boat. Rather, the boat's nose — the rest was broken, split, izmochaleno. Perhaps this boat drifted from the deck of any ship and she has long struggled against the rocks off the island until it was a kick around reefs.

Come on, it will go on board for a fire, and now — fish, fish and fish! I've seen big fish fry on his old vische Kostroma, where he first got the fire.

Climbed shaft algae.

The sea is not raging, but only rolled on the stones and then ran off back, leaving a foamy tentacles.

I put rods and plastic package with fire tool in a dry place and trudged along the edge of algal shaft. Maybe I'll find some dead fish for bait.

Again fell under the feet of flocks small crabs, and warily watched me three gulls, as time sitting on the rocks. Well, these, it is probably no single fish I have left. See, well!

Smelled of rotting seaweed and something pharmacy. Waves evenly fought on the reef. Oo-oo-oo-ooh-xx! — Hits the water stones. C-with-a-sa-and-a … — Retreat. The sun hung in pairs fog.

Nothing suitable for bait come across.

I climbed up on a large rock into the sea. The waves are not flown at him with a flourish, as the reefs, and smoothly up and down around them. This was because they were losing power, encountering black teeth rocks thirty yards in front of the stone. Very convenient location for fishing.

I lay down on a rock and looked in depth.

It writhed tatters long thick kelp leaves, and at the foot of the stone swirled red foam, making it difficult to see. I sat down in front of the water, opening at the bottom of boulders, covered rigid bryozoans, and then began to rise again, as if climbing the plumb stone. The whole was covered with a plumb tightly pressed against each other dirty-green oblong shells.

I looked, jumped up and danced on the rock, ripped off his jacket, then his shirt, then the shirt. T-shirt tied at the shoulder of the node to get the sack. I was just bursting with anticipation.

Mussels!

I remember how my father first bought me a pilaf with mussels.

He brought home a bucket full of shells, and said:

—   Sasha, if you want to feast, to help. Today, try this, it'll be a week to lick your fingers.

—   What do I do, Dad?

He took out his wallet and gave me three rubles.

—   Quickly to the station to the store and buy a kilo of tomatoes. I grabbed a three-ruble note and ran to the station.

When he returned, the stove was already saucepan with rice, and the second burner bucket piled with dirty sinks. The smell of them was such that I winced.

—   Do not like it? — Asked the father.

—   What a stink! — I said.

—   Nothing stronger than stink, the tastier will be. On a tropical island is growing such a thing — the banyan. You saw on the chestnut green buds with thorns? Banyan like brown cones, only the size of a small melon them. In all markets sell tropical banyans. This is the highest delicacy. But if you want to eat a banyan tree in the hotel, you will not be allowed there. Because it stinks even worse than these banyan mussels … Well, to say the least, as is clogged toilet. But the one who tried banyan will never forget its taste. And he wants to try again and again …

In the bucket is broken, and hissed.

—   It they are baked? — I asked.

—   They are cooked in their own juice, — said my father. — When the tear off shell of the stone, it immediately shuts the doors and inside is sea water. That is something that the water they are boiled. And no salt is not necessary.

Steaming over a bucket. Sinks moved, doors opened slightly from the heat. It seemed to me that they even squeaked.

When all the shells have opened, the father put the bucket on the stool.

—   Now clean.

We deployed the half shell with your fingers and is inside an orange ball of meat, like a tiny pelmeninu. We put the meat in a bowl.

— That is the most vkusnotischa — happy father. — Here, Sasha, all the trace elements which are necessary to the human body. Whole periodic table. Who eats mussels, lives to be a hundred years and never gets sick.

A bucket of mussels turned table plates of meat. Meanwhile ripe fig.

Father slice sliced tomatoes and fried them in sunflower oil.

And then we sat opposite each other and eating.

At first I did not like mussels. Some crunched on the teeth, as if they were full of sand. But the father said that it was not sand, and tiny pearls in mussels and that comes across even large pearls, the size of a pea.

When I finally tasted the meat, I realized that there is nothing better than mussels in the world.

Got a bag of T-shirts for about half a bucket. With this bag, and I crawled under a rock.

At first the water burned the body, but I soon got used to the cold and there was nothing to notice.

Mussels firmly seated on the stone. We had to slip your fingers under each and with an effort to tear off from the scene. I chose the largest, with an egg. The water then flooded me to his neck, then dropped to his knees. Sometimes the legs and isolated from the bottom and I pop up, both hands clutching the shells. I was holding a bag in his mouth. Soon it was full.

I barely pulled it ashore: freezed legs so that your fingers do not feel. Selecting sun-warmed stone and sat on it and rubbed the feet. Then I went to the boat.

I knew that the tar board lifeboats well that they are not leaking, but still above the board is covered in several layers of paint. The paint is also not water tight. Hence, the board should be dry. In fact, when I first started to come off, it cracked the entire length. The knife on the wood was dry.

Now I have good fuel plenty!

Delighted, I took up the second board, but the boat was built to be extremely durable. I was sweating, beat until the board with stones. For the third, I did not even take — then.

And turn the board was not easy. They were drank out of a special tree — bent, the spring, but did not want to break. I izlohmatil entire board with stones before they could kill it in three places.

The effort and hunger in his eyes darkened. I had to sit down several times to rest.

In the end, I still collect fuel wood.

This time, the fired onions have something kleilos. Ember on the end of sticks turned out, but the moss, which I enclose the hole, would not light up. Whether it is moist, or something I did not.

And then I remembered the car tire with a rope, which he had seen near the float, like a submarine.

I walked along the beach.

Here, it seems, the very stones. Yes, yes, it is those.

But the float was not. Apparently, it blew out of the stones and killed at night in the sea.

A tire?

I walked all around.

The lid also disappeared.

What a fool I was, that does not cut the rope from her then!

I wandered back to their mussels and noticed a shaggy end sticking out of the seaweed.

She is!

Gap slippery pile, I got to the reeded edge. See, as it filled up.

In a minute I had a rope in his hands. Wet, thick and two inches long post from me.

It was a real ropes of hemp, not caproic, which just melts but does not burn. Now just untwist it and thoroughly dried. Not entirely, of course, but a few strands.

This job took me about three hours.

On a dry, well-warmed stone sun I laid strands. When they are dry, flatten them a flat stone and disheveled. Have something like wool.

I wrapped the rope cotton fire wand a little higher than the end, which was included in the hole on a branch. After that overlaid wool well and resumed his onions.

After a few quick turns of cotton sticks began to smolder. I pulled the onion a few more times and took a stick from the hole. Putting on the smoldering cotton splinter, blew the fire.

Excellent burned lifeboat board. I collected all the fuel, which only found on the shore, and laid a pile near the fire, let dry out. When nagorelo more coals, poured on them mussels. Shells whistled and hissed, moving in the fire, pushing each other pull-down valves. I pulled out one coal disclose sink and turned the halves. There was a wonderful orange piece of meat!

That day I had enough, so that swollen belly.

Two more dives under the rock, and extracted shells.

When the sun began to go down to the water, I decided to go fishing. I now had plenty of bait.

Deeply planted on the hook dense mussel pelmeninu, I climbed up on the rock, unwound rod and bait down in the water.

Almost immediately, someone grabbed the hook.

I pulled the forest.

Of water left a hefty crab, flashed his long legs in the air and plopped back into the sea.

Honestly, it was the size of a dinner plate!

Meat off the hook disappeared.

Again I baited trap.

Do not have time to drop a hook in depth — possessed so much that I almost fell into the water. Hand over hand, I began to pull cord.

Two or three, he was busting loose, then stalled. I pulled up — the one under a rock, struggling to resist and pulled down. I began to fear that the hook detaches from fishing line or razognetsya and gently eased the tension. At that moment, the forest ran under a rock. I pulled back and felt the lace it bounces, then let go. In those moments when he slightly weakened, I tightened it to yourself. Perhaps a hook holding a crab the size of a wheel.

So we competed in a tug a few minutes. Then the forest was free and I took it all the way.

Hook stayed in place, but the meat on it again was not.

Well, no, I was not going to feed these spiders bone mussels!

Once baited trap, I threw the woods on the other side of the cliff.

Long did not twitch. Lace walk freely from side to side, pushed by the waves.

I sat on a rock, looking from the sea, now clean and clear to the horizon, then slightly fumed fire. One on the island! But I almost never have to be alone. I was forever anyone needs something to someone owes. Forever somewhere in a hurry. You had to go to his friend, the father sent to the store or its employees with the instructions, you have to write your aunt, the lessons … Rare issue these days, when I was wholly owned by himself. Still comes up with some work. That was a new movie in the club, then fiddling with the camera, then read a book or sitting in front of TV. And then — nothing! No TV, no books. I, the sky, the sea and the island … I wonder: how long you can live well? For five days …

Five or six?

I remembered that I forgot to make notches on the stick-calendar.

Stop, think and be counted correctly.

I washed up in the morning. This can be considered the first day. Evening hut built at the source. On the second day I found on the bank of sailcloth and mattress. Have slept in a tent. On the third day, I saw someone else's boat and got the fire. The fourth and fifth days of rain fell, I was making fishing rods. Today — six.

I cut six notches on a stick, which is wound on the forest. Just in case. Then transfer to your primary calendar.

Six days. Almost a week. And it seemed that lasted one huge day with short breaks for sleep. And during those six days I had enough to really only once — today. How many people need to work, tinker, invent, to get a good meal!

Why did not anyone fall for my bait? Or did I do something wrong? Maybe there are no fish here at the beach?

I pulled the wood from water. At the end of it hung an empty hook.

Damn crabs!

I had to go back to the fire for the mussels.

I took the rock immediately dozen shells.

Time after time I threw a lace in the sea, and every time, no longer pulling, someone quietly removed the bait from the hook.

Soon all the mussels have ended.

Enough is enough!

I looped the line and went to the fire. He sat for a while by the fire, listening to the lapping of the surf, ate a few mussels and started to go home. We had to drag the tent embers, the remains of boards, fire tools and a piece of rope.

***

The evening was warm, the top of the mountain is clearly pictured in the sky. I thought I would break out again at night rain. But the sun was setting on the horizon is the same clean, what was the day. Here it is a village on the edge of the sea, and his red circle to the island stretches fire road. Suddenly, his eyes began to drive on Ivy, expand, from the top of the piece came off and flashed a blood-red light. Far and wide was spreading over the remaining edge of the horizon, and it was getting thinner and thinner. And now just a mound remained crimson over the blackened sea, chopped fiery stripe. Detached piece darkened, cooled and turned into a dark cloud.

And it was over.

And then the rapidly darkening sky began to break out star. First pale, they glowed brighter and flicker, as if the wind fanned the tiny blue coals.

Branches, composed by me at night at the entrance to the tent, dried up for the day. Bonfire crackled and burned with little smoke. In the tent lay full jersey baked mussels. There was a sticky wetness. I dragged the mattress next to the exit, and lay down comfortably.

Unusually good lie so, look at the fire and calm thinking.

Six days later I arranged on the island, and finally everything is normal.

Quiet Circle. Above the trees and bushes hanging stars. In the tent, even cozy. My clothes dry. Fire tool I have spread the fire.

…I wonder: who is the first boat of the team found out that I was swept away?

They, perhaps, imagine that I'm sitting on some island naked, shivering, hungry, wide-eyed look at the sea and waiting.

And me well.

This is the house that I have built with their own hands.

That's the fire that's how I got without any matches.

Here mussels, which I caught.

Here rods. I myself figured out what to do. I only wish the fish they do not get. But nothing else will fall! Probably marine fish have something different to catch. Now, when I learned that the rocks here as mussels, nothing to fear. And to eat enough, and for bait.

And tomorrow, if there is a good day, I'll go for the left cliff. It is necessary to explore the island, not to spin in place.

I thought of the island the way seen him from the mountain, like a boat. So, for the Left is right rocks boat. Shore starboard. Sounds nice!

There's a lot of big rocks and surf more than I have, in the bay. My bay — aft of the boat. So be it: bay Puppis. And if my bay washed ashore lot of stuff, on the bank of the right side, probably even more. Maybe I'll find a hook. What can it be I needed, I did not. But I'd like to have a hook. A long stick, and it planted a forked wit. One end of the line wit the other semicircular bent. Good stuff! These hooks I've seen on billboards our fire station and on the boat. Curved end can be pulled out of the water timber. Direct wit — crush boxes and split boards. You can even hunt for big fish.

And then I thought that the small fish can hunt small spade. Make it out of the wire. I have a wire coil — from boxes. Break off a piece of good, straightened the stone, sharpen and tied to a stick. And the fish is not broke, try to hammer out at the end of his beard, like a fish hook. Then sit down somewhere on the coast, on the quiet water, and look out for the fish. Even the crabs can impale on such piece.

I looked around the wire.

Rusty and very soft. No, the peak of this will not work. If only a little thicker! Although, if you twist it twice, it will become harder. Double fork to separate the tip, sharpen on a stone and make beard.

Tomorrow I'll try.

…And if the boat thought I was drowned?

After all, they could easily assume that I have not washed off the island, and on the high seas and, of course, I could not get either to what land. Father himself said that the water in the sea, even in the warmest summer is warmer than sixteen degrees, and in such water people can withstand the strength of twenty — thirty minutes.

I imagined as a boat will come to the station and all that day they shall know that I am not in the world will be sorry father at school my name removed from the magazine and soon more and more rarely will remember about Alexander Barash. And then completely stop talking about me. Well, he lived, well, studying, not particularly good, and at C grade four, loved to go into the forest for mushrooms, was fond of a fight, and now it is gone. Well, as it happens … The accident … Every one is a … And he will calm down and put up with the fact that I have no way to accept the idea that there is no mother … And I'll stay here, eat mussels, fish, outstay in the tent and rain storms, useless and forgotten by all …

I felt so bad at the thought that even cry. Adventure turned around completely different side …

No!

It can not be that they think so!

Find, be sure to find. If you are not, then the fishermen. I have heard that they sometimes visited by the area.

We have to do something so that on passing ships have learned that there are people on the island.

Fire!

Kindle on the mountain a huge fire, and from him to get as much smoke, and that he smoked all day.

Tomorrow we'll climb the mountain, gather there anything that can burn, and fuses. Better yet, set fire to the largest tree, with horizontal branch. Old wood will burn long and smoky. Burn down a tree — set fire to two, three … I will have a constant signal.

Yes, but I will not, I sit all day at the top and keep the fire going. I was there with hunger podohnu. I'll have to lay in a good supply of mussels. And fry them there. And the birds' eggs, probably there will be.

Why I had not thought about them? That's what's probably full of the island. Must search the nest. By the way: which birds are found here?

I began to remember, but before his eyes were only gull with gray wings that followed me on the shore.

Gulls nesting on the cliffs. But in the depths of the island has no high cliffs. And on the coast, they will not hatch: there is too strong surf and waves during storms, probably gush top of the cliffs. High cliffs of the Cape only, which is similar to the front of the boat. At Cape nose. No, it sounds like something is wrong … Bow cape … It gets worse. How is called the most front, the nose of the boat in the Sea? Ah yes, the stem.

So let <nose> of my cape of the island will stem. Tomorrow I'll go out there and.

I tossed into the fire sticks thicker and this fell asleep.

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