Even at the spring exhibition, friends invited them to go with them to the closing of winter fishing in the Arctic, on the Kola Peninsula. The offer was tempting because you can go fishing on those lakes and streams, which are almost impossible to reach in summer due to the features of the relief. Read the beginning of the article here.
Every day we went to different places. Lakes, streams, rivers flashed like a kaleidoscope. Apparently, the rest program was thought out in advance. Of course, fishing is interesting and exciting. Moreover, in different water bodies the fish has characteristic morphological features.
On one lake with clear light water, a perch with an elongated body, sandy color with a blue tint, pecked at. In some streams, there were squints, the scales of which were purple, and without the characteristic mosaic pattern on the body. Well, grayling, as always, differed in the shape, size and color of the sail.
Fishing on girders
On the one hand, walking fishing in different places is more fun and varied. I caught it here, there is no bite or the fish is too small, we take off and move on. But I took the girders with me, and really wanted to catch pike on them, best of all trophy.
And finally we arrive at a large elongated lake from which a river flowed. We decide to try the gutters here, on the border of the calm and the current, at the place of the lake-river crossing. In order not to waste time in vain (and everyone caught fish “in one pot”), we agreed that we will use the first fish caught as live bait. Literally five minutes later, they pulled out a 200-gram perch, and he was caught on a small oscillating spoon with bacon on the hook.
The tee on the vent is large enough, the last trip to the Khanty-Mansi taiga taught me not to save on size. I measure the depth, fix the line on the vent and lower the lively perch into the water. Before I could straighten up, the flag went on. Live bait caught too nimble, you should cut off the fin on the tail, just like a fishing line unwinding.
We’ll have to go into the water again. I drag the line and feel that there is a pike, and not a small one. I make a control sweep, bring it to the hole, and the “swing” begins. As soon as you bring it to the ice, it rests against the ice and drags it down with a jerk. I hold the line a little, give slack, and the fish immediately regains 2–3 m. It can be seen that one cannot do without a hook.
The ice is thick, so it is not immediately possible to hook it. Finally I press the pike to the edge and gradually begin to wind it into the hole. Water gushes and spreads over the ice. And now a toothy muzzle appears – the hook hit exactly under the lower jaw. A little more, and the 6-kg trophy is defeated.
The day passed quickly. There were regular catching of perch, trimming of the “toothy” balancer and spinner, and between the bites – warm-up runs from one flag to another. There were a lot of idle bites. We caught medium-sized, up to 2 kg, pikes, but this was no longer there. Dusk has descended, it’s time to sleep. In the evening, I presented the local fishermen with a DVD with films about fishing.
The last morning has arrived. At breakfast, the guys laughed for a long time, discussing the episodes of the film they watched: “You have funny fishing: first, they throw a bucket of food into the water, then they catch a small fish, and then they release it into the water. It is unclear why then catch. ” Indeed, this is incomprehensible to them, because there is no fishing pressure here yet.
As usual, we leave for a new location. This is a flowing lake among the swamps. The day is excellent – sunny and without wind. We drill holes, measure depths, try to fish. Bites are rare, but a large, over 0.5 kg, black perch without stripes is caught. Moreover, its dorsal fin reaches the height of the fish body. I have not yet met such. It literally squeaks into the hole, because it dissolves a luxurious ridge and rests on the ice with thorns. You have to lower your hand into the hole in order to take it by the gills and pull it up. It is too big for live bait.
Trying to catch something smaller, I tied small spinners, jig, but all to no avail: the bites are rare, and the perch is just as large. From time to time, a pike came up and cut off the spoons. I lost two excellent Williams, a two-tone Jig and a Whitefish with knocked out scales. The breakage pattern is the same. The spoon plays for a long time, vibrating finely with the body. Hanging vertically, it makes slow damped oscillations, followed by a bite. First, the perch bites, after a pause, an unexpected blow is felt, a jerk, and you have to tie a new bait. Eh, took a little.
The sun is over the zenith, and not a single zenith has yet been delivered. Nothing to do. We’ll have to cut the large fish into pieces and put the girders on the hooks. A new surprise awaited me. The scales of the perch turned out to be so dense that the knife did not take it well and pierced the hook with very great effort.
Many were skeptical about my idea with pieces of fish, but I was sure: if there is a pike, there will be biting. And so it happened. During the placement, a flag lit up at one of the girders. Hooking, and some fish pulled powerfully on the line, which burned my hand. Having unwound the line almost to the end, the fish jerked sharply and broke the leash. Another flag lit up, hooking, the fish did not catch. And on the third there was a break.
Gradually I notice that there is a certain pattern in these cliffs. A cliff at the fisherman on the far left. Pause. The spoon was cut off from the neighbor sitting next to me. A bite on a girder, a sweep, but there is not even an imitation of a fight. The distant angler has cut off the bait on the right side. The series of cliffs continued. Beavers are not found here, which means that the pike is mischievous.
The spoon caught a perch with a damaged dorsal fin and a slightly scratched side. Not cut and chipped, as is usually the case, but barely scratched, like a nail on a concrete wall. This means that all the “sailors” with soft scales have long been eaten. Only the most armored, in black robes, survived.
Local guys decided to reason with the “grandmother” – the pike, setting a pike trap-samolov with a piece of perch on it. A wrench from “Buran” was installed across the hole, and instead of a fishing line, a strong three-core cord was tied. After a while there was a clap. It seems that the ice has cracked somewhere. Heading to the hole with the trap, I saw a piece of rope instead. Everything. Zherlitsy can be reeled off, my line is not designed for such a “beast”.
After another break of the spoon, the local gentleman Aleksey politely asks for permission to take something from the Moscow tackle and chooses a floating wobbler-two-piece perch coloring. Everyone is watching his actions with interest. Having planted a load on the fishing line, he ties the wobbler by the middle and lowers it into the hole. As usual in such cases, everyone starts joking, competing in wit. Not at all embarrassed, Alexey pulls out of the hole first one, then another pot-bellied perch. The jokes stop.
After another bite, a kilogram pike appears on the ice. Another bite, a few seconds of struggle – and a break. The wobbler remained in the teeth of an invisible underwater giant, or maybe he is not alone there, judging by the number of bites and tackle breaks.
On the way to Moscow, we amused ourselves with conversations, they say, maybe it’s good that the “grandmother” – the pike was not caught. Firstly, there is a reason to come back for it, and secondly, we could not take it without a pest, given the thickness of the ice. Yes, and the locals finally threw a pinch of salt on the wound of fishing pride, saying that on the first ice they caught a 5-kg pike with wide transverse teeth marks. Indeed, there is a reason to return to uncover the mystery of the forest lake.
Once again, the endless gray tape of the road is wound around the wheel axle. Winter is gradually receding, crawling away with gray strips of snow into spruce forests and ravines. The sun is shining brighter and brighter. The waters of the overflowing streams are already seething, here the river carries the last pieces of ice, and along the road hazel and alder catkins have fluffed up. Here and there, golden buds of goat willow burn, around which furry bumblebees and the first butterflies hover. Winter fishing is complete and quite successful. I would definitely like to come back here again.