We are a welcoming forest hut and lunch of fragrant soup
End of August. The city is always noisy and lives in a frantic pace, between the stone boxes scurry cars okatyvaya stinking smoke. Around noise problems — I am tired of everything! Yeah so sick of that cast for a week all cases, and not very important, and going into the woods.
I threw in a backpack everything you need, drove the dog and the permit and — out of the city. It has long dreamed of visiting the old, abandoned cabin on the lake and the forest. Once upon a time was not far from the lake village, people lived, but then gradually moved to the city of young people, the elderly and lived his life, and the village was empty.
Leaving the car at the collapsed barn, then do not drive, and there is no one to touch anything, and no one will. Go away, about twenty kilometers. Dog sports on the field as much joy out of what seems to smile incessantly. Well, let’s go, spinning! Of course, you’re happy to hunt for a walk! Morning coolness August is replaced by warm sunny afternoon; not to roast in the sun, leaving the edge of the forest, and a long road ahead of a week of forest life!
The road heavily overgrown with bushes. Go hard, backpack every hour is getting heavier. Suddenly, the track goes in the Wetlands. When I was here last time, this was not. Apparently, somewhere flooded the river otters. I take a reference point on the other side and walk around on the edge, sometimes bending and tearing fragrant berries cranberries.
Volchok raised capercaillie, sat him on a Christmas tree, no, not even gone hunting science for a long offseason. Dog responds now will not shoot — not convey, and so the backpack seems unsupportable. Will we still hunting, patience, my friend. In a way all thoughts of whether to preserve the forest hut, because the tent is not picked up.
Go up the hill with binoculars look around the neighborhood lakes. That’s cabin. Zela hut. With slides feet carry me to do long-awaited vacation. Here we are, backpack shoulders down! It feels like, and jump off. The lake hubbub, many birds I have not seen. Ducks and chiry worn packs, quacking and flop into the water. Rustling reeds. Well, let’s settle down. Hut winter hut, built of ancient pines, preserved over the years perfectly. Everything is in place, and a stove from an old barrel, and even the pipes are not blown away by the wind. Simple, hewn from zherdin tables, benches and a bed, that’s all decoration forest home. On a shelf carefully left someone matches and salt. Several candles — very handy. Disassemble things, laid out on a shelf, the products are suspended from the ceiling.
Evening already, and you can stand up in the reeds Zorka. Around the lake clean pine forest and only shore thickly overgrown with willows. I do not need to go far, that’s the old pier for boats. Here and we will hunt and fish. The lake water is dark in it, as in a mirror, reflected yellow pine trunks.
I drink tea from a thermos and enjoy the warm evening. Volchok is sitting nearby, watching me his brown eyes, squinting at the setting sun. The whistle of wings, ducks are not afraid of us — I hit the shot, shoot, and my faithful assistant floats get battered bird. The incident has again beat down. All one, we have enough, no longer need two mallards for two it is sufficient to have lunch tomorrow. And today, just sit down and rest.
In the evening the wind picks up, rustling pines and reeds tap their sticks melody dry forest. Come clean Dichin. Plucked ducks, I give paw top, earned! Melt the dead wood stove to get rid of dampness and warm hut dinner. Put tea, brew sweet tea leaves cranberries and currants forest. Hut filled with smoke and aromas of tea. With ustatku is not desirable, so the tea itself, and a jar of canned meat for dogs. All sleep. I lie and listen to the squeak of mosquitoes, mice rustling, crackling logs in the stove. Urban thoughts begin to slowly let go of me. Volchok is already asleep. In the dream, and squeals a little «runs»Apparently, someone rides.
Photo: GIDZY / FLICKR.COM
I do not sleep, go out on the street. The heights of the sky, over the tops of pine trees swaying, stretched the starry sky. Silence. Only the sound of the wind in the trees. But fatigue takes its toll and go to sleep like the dead.
A little glimmer of light in the window, covered with plastic wrap thick as my «partner» wakes me tychas cold wet nose on the cheek. Time to get up. Morning fog hangs over the lake solid thick cap. I’m going to wash, the water is clear and cold. Hunting today we are not going to have a duck for dinner. But you can go fishing.
He sat down at the old quay, damp from the morning dew board, casting a fishing rod on the edge of the field of lilies. On the lake quiet. Lighting a cigarette, waiting for the first bite. Volchok is sitting nearby, staring at me in bewilderment. All kind tries to show — I not engaged in business, boss! Let’s go better hunting. Float suddenly goes down, hooking and pulling a good perch, he was almost black, the color of peat shores of the lake.
A start! The next bite is not long in coming, but before you go under the water, float long swayed from side to side, shifting slightly on the water surface. Looks like someone is trying to eat our cautious worm. But the float went to Utopia is cut down and feel pleasant severity fish. After a brief struggle to get more carp. His side dark yellow color cast in the sun. Handsome! Fish and another hour to catch a few perch soup and a couple of decent Karasik, I go to clean fish. After an hour in the pot boils ear with smoke! The sun was high in the forest was hot and an afternoon nap in the cool cabin-just what the doctor ordered.
In the evening, dinner baked on coals ducks and — again on the hunt! Shoot at Mallard uninteresting, so switch to Chirov, though they fly faster. Again, good night, I had seen enough and plenty to shoot ducks and Volchok enough naplavatsya and nalazit in the reeds of the bat game.
Boring gets on the lake. Tomorrow I’ll go to the woods to look for capercaillie and black grouse for a change, and then heats the fat sitting in one place. In the morning chill off in the pine forest. The land is covered with bright moss, even on such a carpet barefoot walk! We walk for a long time, and finally, spinning load raises capercaillie, sits on a high pine tree, barking, walking around the trunk, distracting attention from the hunter. Ideal job dog! Shoot, there’s a trophy, black grouse clod falls into the moss. Beautiful! All right, time to go home! We are a welcoming forest hut and lunch of fragrant soup!
The evening before his departure — very sad time. Standing on the threshold of the hut and looking at the lake in the evening sunset, trying to capture the picture in the memory. But nothing, God willing, we will come back here in a year and the rest again.
Alex Bos28 July 2011 at 15:58