The vernal pools from my steps blurred reflection of the sky and trees. Gusts spring breeze with the smell of pine forest is now nicer every air conditioner and air freshener. Cellular lost a few kilometers back. Now I’m really cut off from civilization, nearly a day.
No, not at night. Before you approach a deaf singer will include navigation. With every kilometer the load on the muscles stronger their heats, but often halts. Backpack seemed heavier, the strap insistently put pressure on his shoulders, and get up when you do not want halts.
What does it mean to lose shape overstayer house in winter… Before swamp grouse stayed an hour with a small tail smooth running. Behind him the same amount, and my talk, which I found at the end of March, seven years ago. Drops of sweat running down his temples. We have to go on through the maze of pine and dense walls of rubble. Next fun whistled grouse – the younger brother of the capercaillie. The thought of the evening clapping wings and krekanya with clicks — reaching is huge bearded birds, forget about fatigue and added strength. Soon the current there and take rest. Plus I will have two or three hours to lie half awake in a comfortable sleeping bag.
Already a swamp heard the cries of the Eurasian Crane, like sirens. In the sky pulling caravans goose flocks. Now we must take a closer look at the compass to get to the place podsluha; go quietly, not circling and not scare Moshnikov not time flown, or possibly remaining on tokovische morning. Hearing me, he waved all four elk, breaking branches. Typically, trades are a bear, but this time to my peace no traces. It is very unpleasant to hear at night shorkatsya nearby bear on current. More specifically it is you dare to scare and that he knows how to do, it will be very sad and bored in the city.
Before «swing» swamp big halt, and then the last transition to tokovischu. It was possible to go without podsluha but podsluhom much more interesting and gives the shortest night of the April special taste capercaillie hunting current. And if you’re lucky with the weather, then spent the night in anticipation of the first click, a hunting experience real happiness.
In the swamp chufykayut and mutter Chernyshov. Small marsh lamb fluttered out from under the feet and bleated in the clouds. At last year’s bumps were cranberries – Moshnikov treat. I tear off the path a few berries in the mouth tart sour.
For the forest to escape the low clouds. Over marsh vyglyanuvshee sun tends to the horizon. My old Zavalin and dry mound shrouded shadows. Here I am on the spot — at the point of podsluha. Immediately change clothes in lightweight running shoes and a warm sweater biting. On a beige sweater sleeve not be removed by the dark drops of blood capercaillie from last year. From the back I hear the clicks of relict birds. Still very early, how so? It seemed? No, repeated clicks, then «gnashing of prehistoric armor» and claps wings handsome. I am speechless listening to the darkness. Gradually, the sound becomes more and twilight disappears. Gusty southerly winds spree in the canopy of the forest. After the first woodcock, despite the noise of the wind, heard the beats of wings flying up grouse. Through a lot of noise barely audible song Moshnikov neighbor. Spring Night fell on the current. In the darkness, as if by magic wand, the wind died down and rang calm silence.
If only the wind blew again, not, especially in the morning cold northwest… I unrolled the mat with a sleeping bag, refreshment sandwiches with bacon and elk sausage. In light of the lantern on the forehead moss rare sparks frost glistened. Only «tsykaya» invisible handed another weevil. I crawled into the sleeping bag, turned off the flashlight and made a number of flasks prepared a couple of sips. In any case, I set the alarm clock and phone. Then he fastened a long zipper sleeping bag and put his hand under the gun. Gradually, the eyes adjust to the darkness. In the sky the Big Dipper pointed to the eternal benchmark Polaris. Thoughts begin to get confused, and sleepy. Among the stars slowly creeps some satellite. Soon brown last year’s foliage will close carpet anemones bright green color. I wonder how many hunters are now here and while away the night before a shock, considering the starry sky? How many of us will produce a royal trophy, and how badly will approach tomorrow?
I see a wood grouse, capercaillie singing nearby. Then I remember that for some reason is not charged. Cartridges fail in the trunk, do not take place in the chamber. In pouches on the belt somehow sort out and I find the right ammunition, but now I can not close the gun. I shudder and I wake up. Well, one must dream about such nonsense. I looked at the clock — it turned out that I slept only a few minutes. You just about anything not to think. Close your eyes and periodically when the roll from side slightly frozen, check the time. There is no wind, but the forest canopy floating cold air flows, preventing a long time lying on one side.
The hands went up to thirty-two, it’s time to collect. Because of the warm sleeping bag I get into the pool night frost. From the icy mineral water almost choked and coughed. While I am collecting bag and even warmed up. Quiet weather and clear skies gives confidence in the success of the hunt.
It flowed very long and exhausting minutes of waiting five, ten, fifteen, and here is the first click. Two tokovika sung at the same distance from me. Adrenalin immediately removes sleepy state. Now you can not go, I do not see anything. More expectant quarter of an hour, until the crown of pine trees on the background of the east side will not contrast. Now it’s time to step by step to the wood grouse. I opt for a referral to Moshnikov singing east. The song goes a continuous stream. In the half-light just I listen carefully, look at his feet and make two steps. Fifty paces clearly, distinguish the second leg quiet and strange serenade. The clicking noise of the other singers. Tension is growing, and pulse pounding through the veins. The main thing is not to get into the rubble and not get stuck in the Wetlands. We must breathe and calm down. But the wait is not worth the sky brightens rapidly. Again steps for turning on the sound. Through thick spruce one cautious half-step — that the branch is not caught and does not tear at the wrong time. For spruce, pine skirting freely pass cut ten to fifteen meters. From the sound of the bird I feel close, but I can not see. Two steps forward and a fan of black tail can be seen behind the trunk of a pine mast. My nerves are stretched to the string. Before capercaillie ideal distance — meters twenty-five — thirty. Shifts step by turning aside. It’s right in front of me in the middle of a pine branch open. Everything — I’m sorry, relict bird… I snapped the fuse and rib as she lay in the sand. Thunder shot and flogged fraction of needles. Capercaillie momentarily freezes and falls heavily on the moss.
An hour later, the sun touched the horizon. Moving away from the current, I slowly skinned capercaillie. Two pellet №0 neck killed, and three were in the body. According to spring tradition Moshnikov liver cooked over a campfire simply with salt. Thanks for current impressions and trophy and said goodbye until next year. Each hunt for the current remains in the memory forever. And not to forget all the details, I’m on the way back to sort out the experience again and again.
Matveev V.A.18 May 2015 at 00:00