To what fish became fastidious to food. Today, give her a worm, tomorrow maggot ... It was good in childhood. You chew a heap of bread grated with garlic, and the crumb on the hook. And every day I was caught! And now you are picking up a bunch of nozzles, and it’s not a fact that it’s in stock. This article explores the topic of catching a mine of fish on a feeder.
Early morning. In the east, it is just starting to get gray. Even in all its glory, the night sky, guarded by a horned moon. A gentle breeze ripples the water of the Quiet Don. Carefully, so as not to frighten away the silence, we take out gear from the car. “Let's listen, ” the comrade offers, pouring hot coffee from a thermos. We sit on the cover with the boat and leave for nirvana.
Summer dawn is short. The stars fade, rolls over the floodplain forest to the rest of the moon. The owl gasped, the jay screamed. Somewhere behind, in the branches of a wild pear, a pichuga sang in a thin voice: “On the way, on the way, on the way ...” A crack duck whistled above the water, returning from feeding, and, making several circles, flopped noisily near the reeds.
It’s time for us to take up our favorite hobby, for the sake of which it’s not too lazy to get up at two in the morning and drive more than one hundred miles. The comrade is preparing to disturb the predator. Shakes the boat, sets up the fish finder, loads spinning rods and boxes with baits. I, walking along the coast, choose a place for catching white fish on the feeder. Beauty! On the left there is a high slope, running down a steep cliff to the river. On the right, hiding long branches in a thick reed, the willows bent down. In between - a flat coast with a small cliff, smoothly turning into a small sandy beach. About forty meters from the shore - a red beacon. So, there is a channel edge. An ideal place for fishing on bottom gear (docks, feeders, etc.).
My friend is already in the boat. With a wave of his hand, he grabs the oars. I ask him to walk with an echo sounder in the place of the alleged fishing. And there is. There is a good edge in front of the beacon, and the beacon itself will serve as a marker. Comrade wants “no tail, no scales” and directs the boat to the opposite shore. And good luck to you, "perch hunter."
Having chosen a place closer to the slope, I endure the necessary things. Once again I wonder how I used to do without all this. What does the benefits of civilization mean! The presence of the car not only expanded the circle of the fished reservoirs, but also allowed to indulge in your favorite pastime with maximum comfort. It is now impossible to imagine a long bus ride, trekking crossings with a backpack behind you and a fishing rod in your hand, spending the night on bare ground ... Oh, youth, youth!
A tube with rods, a box with tackles, a bucket for bait, a bag with nozzles, a cage, fishing rod stands, a folding chair ... And this is not a complete list of things that are jammed under the roof of the car.
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Kneading the bait in a bucket, collecting tackle, lay out the bait. Maggot, dung worm, crawled out (I talked about creeping out here), boiled pearl barley, canned corn. In the tackle box, in small bags, small (8-10 mm) boilies of different smells. Critically evaluating the “menu”, I select maggot, time-tested nozzle. Two larvae of a meat fly briskly twitch on a hook. Well, with God!
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A good and effective recipe for making boilies
Trout Feed Boilies
Habitually pulling the feeder behind, I make a cast. 40 meters - a very comfortable range for the feeder. The feeder, smoothly describing the arc, splashed to the desired point. Having fixed the fishing line under the clip, I am guarding the tackle. The first minutes do not bring a bite. Nothing, now feed! Over the next 20 minutes, I train in the casting technique, feeding the fishing point. And here is the first bite. The top, trembling finely, began to nod. A soft hook, and the first roach beats in her hands. There is an initiative!
I look into the distance at a friend. I wonder how he got there? You can call, but once again I do not want to distract. Throwing it again. Silence. I stand for several minutes and exhaust the tackle. I load the feeder and change the maggot on the hook. Nothing again. Within half an hour, not a single bite. I change the nozzle. At the beacon, bursts of large fish are periodically visible. Excitement is growing.
While I was trying to stir up the stubbornly unwilling fish, the sun rose from behind the slope. The tenth hour! Fishing time flies unnoticed. Without despair, I recall all the wisdom of feeder fishing (full information about the feeder here). I change the length of the leash, reduce the size of the hook. Of the nozzles I tried all the possible options. The quote from the film “Features of the National Hunt” comes to mind: “There are no fish here!”
By 12 o'clock, exhausted from heat and anger, I called my comrade. A vigorous voice, therefore, with a catch. Waving my hand, I go to set up camp and cook dinner. I lay out a table in the shade of a tree. The day breeze pleasantly cools a sweatshirt wet from sweat. I do not want to go out in the sun. Coming sailed, tiredly happy. He was more fortunate. There are dozens of selected perches on a kukan (about a kukan for fish).
Do not have a hundred rubles ...
Having lunch, we sit in the chill, discussing morning fishing. With envy, I listen to a tasty story about the "furious" perch, pecking several times on the same wiring. “There are a lot of small perches, ” says a friend, “200–250 grams each. Tired of letting go. ” Here you go! For whom, a 250-gram perch is small, and for whom a 100-gram roach is a joy. I complain about bad luck. A friend only smiles and offers a place in the boat. No, I was hooked. I decide that I will persistently catch with a feeder, and no perches will seduce me.
Having bathed, we fall asleep in a chill. What a dream! Spinning half an hour on an air mattress, I go swimming. Comrade smiles sweetly in a dream. He must be dreaming of a huge perch ... Having freshened up, I pulled on a long-sleeved shirt, polarizing glasses, a baseball cap and went fishing. I find hemp oil in a box. To bait him!
After sitting in the sunshine for two hours, having drunk one and a half liters of water and not having achieved a result, I return to the camp. The comrade has already woken up and pickles perches for smoking. Hmm, reluctantly agree to perch fishing. I take out a spinning rod and a box with baits. "And you tried on polystyrene"> crucian carp and breeding.
And it all ends ...
It was evening. A satisfied comrade arrived with a new portion of perch. Now I was not ashamed to show the cage. But there was no great joy from a successful evening fishing. Not today, I myself saw through cunning fish habits. If it weren’t for chance that a friend got foam balls, I wouldn’t see a good bite for me. Live and learn.
For cooking, the fish soup got dark. South nights are short. It seems that the sun only subsided over the horizon, and coals of stars were already scattered across the sky. The birds fell silent. The thump of asp on the rapids ceased. The Pacific Don falls asleep. It is time for a traditional fishing dinner. Tasty fish ear cooked by a friend. It is not for nothing that he conjures for a long time over the bowler, fomenting an appetite. The first portion is swallowed instantly. The second - with feeling, sense, arrangement. It has already drawn smoke from the smokehouse. It fits salted perch from lunch. Have you tried hot smoked perch "> Rubber shock absorber above water