How many times have I caught fishing on the Moscow River below the capital, and I have always been haunted by the feeling of the inferiority of the process. Why? Yes, because the watercourse, on the shores of which about 30 million people live, cannot be clean by definition. Fishing in a large gutter is, perhaps, fishing, but with very large reservations. I do not want to take my favorite Japanese reel for such fishing, and you start to think about other accessories. General entourage also does not console. Pieces of fittings and bottle fragments protrude from the water, and all the time the desire to wear metal soles on their boots does not leave. There are places in which plastic bags, rags and used rubber products No. 4 cling to hooks on each cast.
The banks of the river are very cluttered and look more like a big dump. In a word – "Dump". It's a shameful nickname, but the Moscow fishermen themselves call their river that way. And if you remember that the fish here also has a very specific smell and is completely unsuitable for food, since its meat contains heavy metal salts, then recently I don’t want to fish here at all. But this time my friend managed to persuade me to go to the "lowest levels", where the water in the Moscow River was supposedly already quite clear, and the fish was caught not local, but inland, from Oka. I resisted for a long time, knowing full well that all this is complete nonsense. But the friend got the last trump from the deck, saying that the place is secret and there are a lot of fish there.
We found the road to a secret place with difficulty, having sailed more than an hour in complete darkness over muddy fields. There were already several cars on the shore. “These are limbs,” said a friend. “Here, the burbot is simply terrible, often caught on a jig, and a very large one.” Here you want to catch a pike perch or a pike here, for example, but it does not work: burbots do not let the bait pass, they immediately rush to it. So you caught, it happened, the whole day of some burbot ”. When the morning fog cleared a little, I saw what I was most afraid to see: the water in the river was very high and the willow bushes along the coast were flooded. But they said that the water was already completely dumped! Or is it the rains made their adjustments?
Get ready, get dressed, go out. While walking from the car along the coast, we were met in rare openings between the bushes of the scaffolds and the jigoviks. From conversations it became clear that "almost zero" – because of the high level and strong currents. The upper point where we came is a shallow plateau near the main current. According to my friend, there are a lot of perch and bleak here, often large pike visits these places. The working weight of the bait, even on such water 10-12 g. Do not bite, and I move below. Everywhere, where there are hollows unoccupied by anglers, it is almost impossible to make a cast – the branches of trees hanging from behind interfere. And if you can still throw, then only within the sector of about 30 degrees – then again interfere with bushes. I move along the river, gradually I reach our car. There is already a friend there – he also could not find any convenient places for fishing anywhere.
A minute later, his joyous cry is heard – he pulled grams into eight hundred pounds. Well, I think it started! But it was not there. No more poklevok. Move a little lower. Surprisingly, even in the calm under the shore there is no fish, not even a perch. Dima catches on the side, puts a small size twister. But for the time being we are catching and removing only snags from the river. I have never seen such a large number of various larvae and worms, as on these flooded branches. Entire colonies of caddisflies, future mosquitoes, dragonflies and beetles. Very rich food base for bottom fish.
Despite the air temperature just below zero, all the rings on the spinning rings are heavily frosting, and the tulip and the top three rings are wedged in the cord and completely tight. Pour the silicone grease, dip the spinning rods into the water, knock gently on the forms, shake off the ice. I'm tired of running along the river, all the more it makes no sense: after all, according to a friend, this is the section of the river that is the most working. Let's wait for the pike perch Some grandfather, walking along the shore, said that a kilometer away from us under the bridge is an army of spinningists, who are also trying to catch fish. They don’t bite at our neighbors, they one after another collapse and leave. We will work while casting, practice in the most distant casts. There is time to compare our spinnings in range.
At the next posting, when the bait left the riverbed for irrigation, I felt a gentle, but resolute bite and hooking. At the end of the cord, strong resistance immediately appeared. I managed to exhale: "Yes!" – and quickly raised the spinning straight up and even slightly back. By the form it became clear how strong and large in amplitude the jerks the fish make. Dima instantly exhausted his fishing line and ran closer to the shore to help in case of something to pull out the fish. Zander? No, I say, it seems to me that a very large pike. It's just that it's shallow here, and it lacks depth for ordinary maneuvers.
Be crazy, what a mad resistance! Monotonous "locomotive" jerks almost a meter in length. But I decide not to stand on ceremony and force the fight to prevent it from getting into the coastal bushes or under the snag. He began to drastically pump it higher, to the surface itself. That kind of went on the sly. But I soon rejoiced: the fish sharply dived and rested in a snag about twenty meters from the shore. Neither there nor here. “I resist,” I say to Dimona, “I cannot move.” I would guess to hold it so a little more in a stretched, fixed position. Maybe a little more humble would be. Especially since the durable cord allowed to do this. But I take a hasty and wrong decision: I open the reel arm, pressing the spool with my hand so that the fish will have the opportunity to step back. Probably, with a small fish, this number would have passed easily, as it was more than once in my practice. But this, sensing relief, abruptly rushed to the side. There was a feeling that the bait was hooked on the bumper of the car, and he abruptly started from the traffic light. The cord immediately sags lifeless. I was all wet, my heart was pounding, my pulse was about 200 beats per minute.
Then we had lunch. Then we went to the rested upper points. They didn’t peck there, and we decided to go back the other way – along a large stream, almost a river. And on this rivulet we stumbled upon something that made me forget even about my failed trophy. On the shore lay dozens of fallen trees. They were visible everywhere, as far as the eye could see. Came across real giants – in the girth in the butt. The trunks were thinner and neatly cut into small logs. Everywhere among the lying trees, trampled paths were diverging, along which branches and logs obviously dragged to the river. Beavers! This is their job.
And here is the dam. It blocks all the channel from coast to coast. The construction is so powerful and capital – no fish will pass. “Yes,” said Dima, “there are only three trees left from the whole grove, and soon they will also tumble down. Next year, there will be a real desert here, and the river will turn into a swamp littered with rotten logs. ” I finally forgot about the lost fish, and even the impressions of the shores of the Moskva River littered with debris faded against the background of this sad landscape with a dying river and a forest made by beavers.
author Vladimir GERASIMOV