storyteller

*Hello, All!* Grayling dance A story inspired by an old trip Here is the distant and mysterious Ural river, and somewhere in the middle of it frantic, seething here with a continuous impassable riffle of waters, two islands stood up - like guards of this place, protecting surroundings from unexpected aliens. One island, recently formed - an almost bare sand and pebble ridge, in places with thickets of young willows. Another island, an old one, has always been here, but it’s all overgrown with bushes, and black, washed-out banks decorate it exposed roots of plants, in the very middle of it stands a large and old bird cherry bush. Here, once upon a time, lived a professor-entomologist from Leningrad. Studied local insects and he had a hut on the island where he whiled away the nights, but the stormy ones summer days, leisurely sorting through jars with extracted samples bugs and boogers, making notes in his pencil in places yellowed and tattered diary. And during non-working hours fished, and in the yard of his hut, always showed off on a string a dozen or two excellent asps and chubs. The professor came here for the summer. And by winter he left for Leningrad - and his hut stood empty in the middle of the frozen river, covered with snow almost to the very slope of the roof. Only hare and fox tracks slightly enlivened the long-dormant yard this home.But no matter how long and severe the frosts and snowfalls - yet they left, giving way to spring. And got wet deep snowdrifts melted as if refined sugar melted in water. Yes, I touched river parade of darkened, bubbly ice floes, revealing a semi-murky water, beginning to swell almost before our eyes and flood the brown last year's grass bank. And so - when they had already pecked at the first leaves of the alders, and everything around was turning green day by day, with Our professor was the first to appear as bumblebees. How did you step foot on the island - stood for so long in the middle of the thawed yard, yes looked around, inhaling delicious, like spring water, local air. I miss you. And then he walked around his “estate”, as if he was checking whether everything was in place, whether anything was missing long winter? And in the evening the chimney of the hut was smoking, and the young man was still then the village fisherman, nicknamed Micah the Elder, came on a motorboat to visit the professor - crush a bottle, and just sharpen the lasses. Star was already a professor then, and suddenly one season did not appear on the island. He was not there the next year, and the next... A number of years have passed - everything about the professor in those parts remembered less often. And one day, the door of an empty, already overgrown around the forbs and the house that had begun to collapse, opened a middle-aged man who was the professor's son.His arrival on the island was like a tribute to his father, who had died a few years ago... But that was a long time ago - towards the end last century. A lot of time has passed. Collapsed, rotted without remains home Near the island where the professor once lived, a second, almost identical island rose from the water. One summer, my friend and I ran away here from the dust, hubbub and bustle of the city. We wanted to go fishing, although the main goal was still there was relaxation and the same romance that lives in such hidden places. We rafted to the islands from the village on air passing through the rubber sides, like an old boat. We didn’t risk it further - there wouldn’t have been enough time for a short weekend, to get to the nearest populated area from where it was possible would like to go home. And Micah the Elder promised the next morning come in your aluminum kayak and lift our things the river almost to the village... And that’s how my friend and I landed on a new island, and it’s already It was approaching evening, I noticed - from one channel it was jumping into the air large and red-finned fish, yes, there are plenty of those flying over the water insects Chub, how playful! He wasn't afraid of us - he was worth it just turn away and start making a fire, yes while preparing tea, a savory slap on the water was heard from behind, the sound of which immediately added excitement to the blood. We're not seriousThey tried different ways to catch the jumper - but in vain. Fish she saw us perfectly from under the water (in the channel the depth is chest) and all our tricks in the form of colorful flies, intricate wobblers and other “toys”, I simply didn’t pay attention. Well, really - if we had caught him then, we would have assigned him Surely the saucepan's fate is to be a fish soup decoration. Although something twitched in my soul: it revives me with its presence (especially by jumping) this channel is the chub, and is full part of this place. But I heard this thought out loud to a friend I didn’t express it then. And a little Easter cake was running around the island. He behaved like a full-fledged the owner looked at us suspiciously, and caught flies on the fly in between. I approached him to get a better look, but he didn’t flew away - he just ran in circles, and so briskly that when he tried to catch it - I just tied my legs in a knot and was exhausted. Sipping fragrant tea, swatting away the attacking mosquitoes, I I was getting used to the slightly unfamiliar, wild landscape. The river was leaving somewhere into the distance, to a place where I have never been. And this one was scary the unknown, but also attracted no less. And the sun was setting towards a wall overgrown with spiky fir trees coastal mountain. And in the golden-bronze rays that slid across boiling water, suddenly something happened. Like a cape, with the fin spread on the back, graceful and slenderthe fish jumped out of the water. Translucent in the amber of the sunset, she subtly bent in the air, making a pirouette, and, grabbing with her mouth a flying fly fell sideways onto the water, raising a shower of splashes. I suddenly jumped up from the mat and forgot about the tea. Grayling. And behind her, as if repeating all her beautiful movements, from the water A couple more of the same fish rose into the air. And so it began. ran wave in an endless stream, the glare of the setting sun danced on her, and against all this the graylings ran out, which on that There was a whole flock standing in the riffle. They jumped up one by one, then in pairs, or even more at once. Tumbling on the fly in all sorts of ways, and even generally standing on their tails, the graylings performed their evening dance. Splashes were heard against the background of the murmur of water, but my imagination already It itself “completed” the musical motif of the grayling dance in my head. He rang in my ears. I looked at it like always cases - holding your breath. And I completely forgot about what is happening now It's time to hunt fish jumping out of the water. She's in this The moment feeds, and therefore it bites. I wanted to shout to my friend standing at the far end of the island with a spinning rod, they say - come here, but he waved his hand. And continued admire the extravaganza of golden river splashes and the jumping of slender fish, feathered with fins glowing in the rays of the evening sun. Until this dance stopped at the beginning of twilight.It was clear that on that evening, he would have become superfluous on the rift float "balda", and the "whiskers" diverging behind it to the sides flies. No, we were not left without fish at all. Of the few caught during the rafting of pikes, a wonderful fish soup was cooked on the fire - with new potatoes and fresh country greens. After spending in the pot overnight, by morning it had cooled and brewed, turning into unique, available only here - when fishing, a delicacy. June 18, 2007 /That’s all, All, you can scroll further.../