Storyteller

*Hello, All!* It happened this summer, during an evening outing in nature. CHASING THE WOODSKIN It was one of those evening fishing trips that take place here at a time when in the summer - in the heat, having completely grabbed the rush at work in the unbearable stuffiness, it breaks soul as far as possible from the heated, dusty city. Somewhere where it's cool and quiet. To the river, for example. I’m not the only one who wants to sit on the shore with a fishing rod. Our company enough for two cars - the seven of us went on a short vacation. We rush along the highway, moving away from urban areas a kilometer after kilometer, we run away without looking back into the green distance of mixed forests and herbs fields. A small river, only 5 meters wide, awaits us. The villages are no longer visible. The road was full of potholes. Not on her you'll speed up. The car drives slowly, avoiding all the holes and bumps. Walking somewhere nearby thunderstorm - a huge high cloud occupied a quarter of the sky, and under it - in an impenetrable rainy haze, lightning strikes. A sharp-nosed bird with a short tail jumps out from the tall grass onto the side of the road. All brownish-speckled, flexible and slender, on powerful long-toed legs. Landrail. Seeing us, he turns around without further thought and disappears into thickets. Everything happens quickly - in a second. Who would doubt the nimbleness this weasel?This is the first time I’ve seen this bird so close... I regret that I didn’t take it with me camera - no. And it can't be. The reaction is not the same. We move on, and the corncrake accompanies us with his crackling cry. Treasured Bridge, turn right. Puddle. And we are there. Everyone runs off to fish, but I don’t really want to do it. Everything is here damp - apparently it rained just recently. Eh, where was he during the day? I’m standing on the bank of a river, watching the water mugs sway in the current, and, flexing my back and shoulders, I breathe in the cool air that fills me with life. It’s like warm, sparkling energy runs through my body in waves. The storm is coming our way. The cloud already occupies half the sky. Lightning strikes behind the forest, and the rumbles thunder is heard sharply, as if during a dry thunderstorm. But despite all that - not a breeze. Two Tall spruce trees stand against the backdrop of bad weather, their calmness is amazing. The trees seem they say it will pass by. I would like... I help make a fire, I walk with an old cinder-kettle along water. Someone is playing music in the car. We can't hear any birds right now, so it's okay. Some kind of an old cassette of bards singing old songs with a guitar. Ordinary, tourist, "period" repertoire. Romance, especially since the songs are all from the 70s last century. And at work the local pop radio was playing all day, but on my ears as protection against mass zombies, there were headphones stuffed with onea foreign rock group with their very psychedelic album. I remember that on this river you need to catch a chebak with a caddisfly. But I don’t want something be a barbarian in relation to slow-moving insects with construction and engineering manners... And the fish here are too peaceful and small... I hook bread and content myself with contemplating the careful bites. To catch "with crumbs" you need to have a special skill. Which I had as a child, and then atrophied. Having not pulled out a single fish, I quit this business. I feel like the lack of trophies I'm more pleased than disappointed. I return to the fire, and there they are already making tea. The people caught several fish. Two hundred grams of dace deserves special attention... Andryukha, my colleague and captain of our crew, brought a branch of hops from somewhere. We begin to develop this topic in terms of the effect of hop alkaloids on the bark brain. Naturally, this results in friendly laughter, and eventually into tea a rather large bunch of cones of this plant is flying. Someone like he remembers to pull the foreign component out of the kettle, but it’s too late - alkaloids have already been released into the broth. So we will test it on people. I hold a mug of aromatic drink in my hand and blow on its floating surface. Burns fingers. In the other hand there is a small sandwich with butter. I now nothing more is needed.But the storm really passed by. The sun sets in the veil translucent clouds, and the sky at sunset turns soothing pink tones. I'll have to go home soon. But first, a third mug of tea... puddles glisten. So what do I see? In one of the puddles, glows with reflected light a large round eye, and after a few seconds, the silhouette of a woodcock takes off up, and like a swift shadow runs forward from us across the twilight sky. Andrey and I look at each other. And we continue moving. On the next puddle everything repeats itself. Only the sandpiper lets us closer. Apparently that he is swimming in a small pond - after all, there is nothing to catch here. On the third puddle, which we notice just before we hit it, sits another woodcock. He takes off on time, but only a meter from the ground. Flies in a dangerous close to the hood of the car, lazily flapping its wings. The distance between the sander and the hood decreases. And so we lightly push the bird in the tail. Kulik only looks back and slowly slides along the hood right at windshield, still continuing to maintain its course. But that was not the case. The air flow in front of the glass lifts the bird up, it touches the bars trunk Apparently the flyer realized that everything was much more serious than he thought. He falls sharply into the bushes. We stop. Stunned. The only reassuring thing is that the speeds were low. But just in case it is necessarysee if everything is okay with the woodcock? Kulik is hiding in the bushes, watching as we search for him. Since it didn't work out to escape from pursuit - it is better to sit out in a secluded place. But that was not the case. I got so close that I almost stepped on him. Kulik throws himself into a ditch and hides again. Although now the most correct thing is - fly away. But the bird was caught on its own. When I almost stepped on it for the second time, the sandpiper apparently finally decided change tactics. And, as usual, soaring a meter above the ground, he flew onto the road. B this time he only changed the direction of movement, and all other parameters flights remained the same. We looked after the silhouette flying over the road. Still lazily waving wings, the sandpiper glided in the blue haze of the emerging fog, back to its puddles. And along our course the lights of one of the villages were already flickering, and the road went good - no puddles. And therefore - without woodcocks. /That’s all, All, you can scroll further.../