That's the way the angler

The main thing is that the fish peck, then you can come to terms with all the inconveniences. And it’s joyful to feel close to Mother Nature, which has given birth to us for love and good deeds.

There are places in Mari El where the smoke of the Fatherland is sweet and pleasant

On the banks of the forest rivulet it was quiet and deserted. Two thin rods looked into the water from the flyers and multi-colored floats raised to the tops hung motionless.

It’s good that there is a raincoat, otherwise it would be necessary to leave fishing not saltyly slurping. Before lunch, the fish did not bite at all. Well, at lunch - what a bite? It seems like a bummer happened today, spent half a day, dirty rain, not outdoor recreation, but pure abomination. Well, no spiritual joy - just frustration. Throw these addicts. Not a craft - to feed half a day in the rain in the wilderness of mosquitoes.

The float of one of the fishing rods twitched and went to the side, the fishing line was pulled. Cutting - a lane in the palm of your hand. There is an initiative. Not large fish, but caught. So on the second fishing rod pecked. Gone ... The track went measured and often. The second fishing rod had to be postponed - it interfered. On a couple of maggots planted on a hook, they managed to catch 5-6 fish. Forgotten and mosquitoes, and heavy rain. Even the hood will be removed from the head, the baseball cap is slowly getting wet, and it has begun to pour water over the collar. Spit. Another hook, more ...

Gracious God, are there any joys in the world comparable to this

After all, spitting fish, except salted for beer, you won’t eat it, in a word - a small patch. But what a pleasure it is to feel at the other end of the fishing rod a resisting fish that does not want to be eaten even by the crown of nature - man, and it spins on a hook, trying to break loose and deprive you of the joy of primitive prey. Sometimes she succeeds. At such a moment, a supposedly intelligent man reads out the neighborhood with tirades, from which the fly agarics and boletus mushrooms hidden in the grass blush even more. The fish pecks incessantly, as if lined up under water in a queue near the bait with a hook hidden in it.

Finally, the sky begins to clear, the sun comes out from behind the clouds and gilders the sandbank. Everything around takes a different look, as if after a long sleep you opened your eyes in a sunny strawberry glade, where an abundance of colors refreshes the brain and makes the world fabulously beautiful.

Pine trees begin to breathe, spreading the smell of resin around the area, a small bird's shell, having stuck around the surrounding thickets, is cast out in all ways by whistles and trills piercing the space in all directions. Along the channel of the river, maneuvering between the coastal bushes, a crazy owl flies inaudibly, like a ghost, unknown to whom it was driven into the afternoon whirlpool from a secluded shelter. This eerie bird has a gloomy appearance, such a diabolical incarnation in living flesh, devil's horns stick out from the head, and in the eyes there is an abyss.

Brightened. The forest began to sparkle with colors, in the raindrops on the leaves of the nettle, the purest diamonds sparkled with riches that no one could master. Lepota ...

But the fish stopped biting

It is on time. The cage is half full, and I don’t feel like catching it anymore. Desire is knocked down. I just want to look around with wide eyes. Korostel - dergach somewhere beyond the meander of the river at the edge of the meadow "combed" the neighborhood with his strange song, as if he were walking through a plywood with a comb. Above the head, the nasty bird Jay squealed in a bad voice, it is she, the infection, the people around me are announcing my presence.

It’s too early to leave, but you don’t want to catch fish anymore. I need a drink of tea

A bonfire is going quickly, a teapot on a flyer. Specially brought with him from the village. Thermos is not that. Water from the tap is dead. And here, on a stream from a clean river stream, it was typed, boiled at the stake and not with Indian tea, but with St. John's wort, wild rose, currant leaf and Ivan tea spiced up. Magic drink smelling of Fatherland smoke. He swallowed, squeezed his eyes - and you are already in heaven, and around the boundless beautiful country - Russia . And you can’t close it neither with dark clouds, nor with iron fences, because the great ones gave it and the beauty unspeakable from the human soul grows. And there are no barriers to this, because while we are alive, after prolonged rains the sun will always appear so that the world will again become what it should be. Where love and kindness rule. Where through thorns you can long and joyfully walk towards your goal. Where there is an opportunity, even in the rain to catch plots and lips to feel the taste of the Fatherland, swallowing a seagull from a sooty teapot.