Somehow it was a shame for the old people. It is clear that the militants are not old orthodox on the forum a minority. But this is a minority
It turns out to be the most talkative. The case is well-known and familiar.
I am not a writer. Rather, a practitioner spinning in a circle of his own kind. While there was no internet for the shirnarmass, this circle was
limited to full-time dating. Interestingly, during this period I did not have “enemies of passion”. No one. Even (at home
level) if you caught someone today, it’s not a fact that you won’t lose to him tomorrow. And no one was offended. On the contrary, I tried
copy catchy castings, wiring, and more. At that time everyone had the same gear. I mean the 60s of the 20th century
(backyards of the empire).
And this “Bonded” fishing lasted until the beginning of the 80s. Dad took the exchange with him for fishing. Periodically. But only on
sea. Flounder, rasp, halibut, that’s all my trophies. There were boats and motors. But. Since all river fish was
“lordly” and any cattle could not catch her. But after the lessons I caught her, to argue and to assert myself that
whether. We caught this young salmon in hundreds. On the fly float. Exciting occupation. This continued until in
some ichthyologist didn’t get into school, and didn’t say that it should be done like that. Naturally, I immediately joined the Blue Patrol. He broke his fishing rods and began to spread rot on his former hobby colleagues. Not always productive.
In the era of the 70s, all fishing moved to the winter. At this time, only a plebeian fish pecks: smelt, saffron cod and flounder.
Everyone was satisfied. State and individual family. Those 5-10 kg of catch (at the time of the deficit) was enough to feed several people.
This is all the lyrics. Let’s on TTX. Until a certain point, I was fishing with a tree or bush branch. Usually it was from the family
willow. Because long and relatively thin. In those days, bird cherry trees did not grow everywhere, but it was
dumb. But maybe I’m a druid. Sorry for the animal.
At the extreme of my flounder-sea fishing, I had a bamboo monocer. 4.12m, test HZ. For balance, in butt
The segment was nolit lead. To this masterpiece was attached a Neva coil type, wound to a stick with black cloth tape. Oh, how many positive emotions I experienced with this device.
But years passed. In 78 I entered the NGRT (there was such a bursa in Novosibirsk, on the most beautiful Red Avenue). That’s it, Trinde fishing. I gave myself to study without a trace. In Zaeltsovsky I went only to the tears. Although the river was nearby. Yes, actually, what kind of fishing? In the Champion on Kalinin, there wasn’t anything that could push a fly into productive fishing.
Yes, and to hell with him. You can enter this water twice. Time without fishing (study + army) flew away. Not to say that I did not try to dip the gear into the water. Dipped. And he was catching something in East Kazakhstan. But this is not it. Fishing is not meaningful, just to eat.
Again, this is not about that. We are approaching modernity. These dashing years have passed, figs understand where. Either Atlay or diamond Yakutia.
Tired of it all. He returned to his homeland. To Kamchatka. It was year 83, autumn. In the Krutogorova River, coho salmon spawned. There was trout, but not many. The reason is simple. NIRO institutes snapped a record approach to spawn pink salmon. And this … a single individual has filled everything, everything completely. Died and rotten. I had to go fishing on the river almost in a gas mask. Hard, but just then I realized that
is spinning. After many years, my passion and illness became fly fishing. The transition to it was a stunning ultralight.
All sorts of micro-jigs, rock phishing in all manifestations, do not count. This is a separate issue, and although I live on the shore of salt water …,
Fishing chose us. Further, the choice is ours. How and how to catch her darling.
It is worth mentioning the dynasty fishermen. These are those anglers who had no choice. From childhood, Dad will teach you how to catch donkey,
spinning, float … and off. You can devote your whole life to one type of fishing and pass it on to descendants. I have comrades whose fathers masterly catch on a float. And no matter how these comrades try to switch to spinning or something, the best results they get with a bobber. And they like it. And I am very happy for them. Imagine. I give them modern tackle, and they will “turn their faces”. These are traditions. I respect such peppers. No matter what. In winter, these bastards overpower me. In the summer I take mine. For summer fish is smarter (a joke).
I recorded it two weeks ago. Then work piled on. Brains, arms, legs. I forgot what I wanted to say. Conclusion, so to speak
or morality. Probably wanted to say that we need to be more tolerant of each other. We are all different. Sometimes we unite for some narrow
direction. Sometimes we’re disconnecting. Do not lift your nose for any reason. We live on one planet and the world is small.
P.S. Late for publication. In the light of innovations, this has become irrelevant. But the flywheel is untwisted.