River Left. The Bears

Dedicated to Igor Pankrashin.

I lie in the morning, inspecting the last dreams. I am still young at 52, full of hopes and dreams. Suddenly, the bell. Through a dream, I understand that you must definitely go fishing somewhere, far and for a long time. The names are familiar, but almost forgotten. On that river 17 years ago, I rafted for work. I didn’t dream of returning there.

I called my boss, agreed to leave, I consent to the trip, and away we go. For a day and a half I will buy the necessary equipment, bait, and tie several flies. Since almost everything caught was supposed to be released, replaced, where possible, tees with single-pieces and destroyed beards.

Departure took place on the night of the first of September. On two Corners. The road (about 600 km) stretched for a long time. By noon we reached the beginning of the waterway. The last kilometers stretched over very picturesque places. Rare for ordinary Kamchadals, coniferous forests are fascinating.

There were about 30 kilometers to the proposed parking lot. We spent some time assembling the boat and dragging the cargo. Started

shuttle transportation to the future parking lot.

In general, by the evening, for three walks, we managed and camped on a pretty braid. By the way, this was the last cloudy day of our trip. Further, only the sun and heat are up to 20+, and frost at night. For the first couple of days, commercial racers from central Russia were based nearby. We did not interfere with each other. (There is an interesting case, but this is from the words of Muscovites). Like at night, tripping over a banner, the bear lay down on the tent. Pushed Muscovite tried to push him. Naturally, through a dream. There was no blood.

The river is not wide with a rapid current and clear water. The bottom is rocky with an abundance of caddis flies. Dense thickets of young talnik, poplar, chosenia along the shores, spruce and larch grow on the slopes of mountainous shores. Squirrels are jumping on trees, bears are under trees. Above the water, back and forth, mergansers fly by. Just a heavenly place.

The fish was different and many. His Majesty Grayling, loaches: ubiquitous malma, kunja, rare in nature Stone Loach; uncompromising coho salmon and combat Mikizha.

Among us there were two fly fishing and the same number of spinning. I took ultralight with me, as the main weapon, and Harry Loomis to close one topic.

On the first evening, at the Tasmanian Devil, he grazed himself with grayling and mykizhi, and caught something on his flies with a bombard. Life is getting better. We celebrated the arrival and fell asleep anticipating all the delights of the coming days.

The next morning, these "charms" began. The meat and butter disappeared, in return there were holes in the tent. The culprit of what happened lay 15 meters in the dense thickets of talnik crunching the remains of the container. He didn’t want to leave. Despite the good name received, “Creamy Paw,” it was somewhat creepy from his close presence.

Sewing holes after the rain.

We had a means of protection, this is an American electric fence in one “thread”. In some pictures, it can be seen as a yellow thread.

They put it on, but did not close the perimeter a bit. The next morning, he (Mishak) indicated our negligence by entering the camp through this gap. Losses: a broken oar, a bar of soap, a fence thrown off the mount, another hole in the tent, and so on, little things. But he touched the fence and saw respect for the thin yellow lace. By the way, we observed the effect of electricity on the wild fauna, but at dusk. to remove it was impossible. On the last day, he tried to crawl in a Plastunsky way under an obstacle (it finally came). It’s a pity I didn’t shoot this.

During the breaks of the war with Creamy Paw, it was possible to fish. Fly fishing was on top. To get a little closer to its results, I really had to rest, showing miracles of casting and animation. Nevertheless, test specimens of mykizhi, grayling and char were caught, everything else too.

The mass of baits is caught. Homemade mice of blue and brown color, streamers for ultralight and Mepps Aglia Long TW # 2 rotator were in special demand.

Without furry neighbors everything would be more interesting, but it happened. In the mornings I had to wake up not from the first rays, but from screams like "where b ** !!!" and "went to *** !!!". It was that fly in the ointment in a barrel of fragrant tasty honey for fishing on a wild river. To myself, I called this adventure fishing under the sign of a bear. Yelling, by the way, Igor Gennadich. You can say our guardian angel.

This is our friend Igor. Still alive.

According to the result. Until the owner of the place showed himself in all its glory, I managed to "feel" the hiryuz point and caught something there for all sorts of distortions. Like Carolina, self-bound flies and something else. Vadim then caught a grayling on "chips" there.

They drove in a water cannon to several places inaccessible to him. Something caught. The outing turned out to be oiled, but everyone was satisfied. We did not take the fish with us, except for dead grayling. The caviar, which I obtained, and also cooked by me, was eaten on the spot. By morning tea. A little has gone into the ear and the fire. the rest is released.

On the last day, between evacuation walks, the owner of the RPU with a hunting inspector rode up to us. They started yelling and downloading rights. They were sent away, and behind. A lot of owners divorced on our rivers. This is bad, but surmountable.

The last but one day was more impressive. We sit, as usual, around the fire, talking. Suddenly, upstream, an undead is drawn (three-year-old dystrophic). He creeps to us for a minute, but so far he does not see and does not hear us. Silent, watching. I didn’t even click the camera. It was interesting how far it would go. At a distance of 10 m, he realized that he was busy. Then I took it off. This "bastard" was taken aback at first.

She stopped, staring at us with her blind eyes. But he needs to go, but here it’s busy. He went around, through the bushes. At this time, "Creamy Foot" was located on the shore, 50 meters downstream. Bears have so-so vision, and rumor, God forbid, everyone. He heard the stirring in the bushes, and went to check. A few minutes later we heard a resounding “cripple!”. Then the sound of something breaking through the woody vegetation. A minute later, full of dignity, “Creamy Foot” took up his post, laid his head on his paws, and continued to graze us.

On the way back we stopped for a moment. Here Igor caught a worthy grayling. A good point in the situation.

Lastly, a couple of pictures that I myself like:

"Creamy Foot". Well milyaga.

Amanda K. Benson

Author: Amanda K. Benson

Hi, my name is Amanda K. Benson. Since you, dear reader, have appeared on the page of my blog, it means that you are interested in something. Then you need to know who is writing these articles for you. We will meet and I will tell you a little about myself.

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