Aspen in the wind

Autumn aspen in the wind October. I live at home on one of my legal weekends. And next door is, and pulls me like a magnet to myself, my favorite lake is K.

And so, after a five-minute walk through the familiar road from childhood, I come to my karmic stronghold.

When I walked along the shore of the lake, it seemed that I knew every path and bough here, every bush and grain of sand.

In the light breeze, the leaves of the coastal aspens fluttered. They alternately broke away and fell on the icy lake surface and floated, sailed …

On this day nature was calm. Retreated rain and chilling winds. The Indian summer has come. This year, more than ever, later the Indian summer. It was a reminder of the beautiful years I spent on Lake K and in its surroundings.

I walk along the dam, avoiding puddles that left recent cold showers. Here, on the right is the favorite place of my fishing teacher, Uncle Vasya. We have many carp in this significant pit. Next, in the reeds, a little progal. Here my neighbor Viktor Dmitrievich liked to sit. He is no longer with us, in the best sense of the word. He moved and now he develops lakes near Kharkov. Many good fishermen used to visit Lake K. It’s nice to remember the communication with them. I’m moving on.

Beyond the wall of gray rush can be seen the narrowing of the lake. On the opposite shore, at the water’s edge there is a memorable stump. Many positive fishing memories are connected with me with this place. I caught carp here, even when that stump was a beautiful poplar. Caught and after.

Then stretched a narrow duct – the sleeve, as I call it. In summer, here is the realm of line and perch. Minke whales always stand under the willow bushes, hanging over the water. Maybe now one of them, stirring raspberry fins, tracks down the fry. Liny has long been asleep, wrapped in silt, like a quilt. And now, they probably doze and dream about their summer adventures in the mysterious underwater jungle of Lake K.

Here is the hill on the bank of the channel. At the foot of this hillock pass in a dense bush. Here, too, is a great place for fishing. One of my favorite places. I like to sit here with fishing rods. In this isolated corner, cut off from the world. To contemplate, to rest with the soul, as if to dissolve in the misty air of the morning and wait for the appearance of the red sun. When it rises and pierces with billions of ruby ​​swords all the gaps in the foliage. This is an incredible picture!

Now the leaves of the willows are almost gone. Their carpet has covered the whole coast. Under this blanket a whole colony of some strange mushrooms took refuge. They speculate with their suspicion and ignorance – no one is tearing them …

It’s time to go. Finally, I sat down over the water, watching the leaves that had found peace on the lake bottom. Frozen rain. I know, these are tears. So my favorite lake escorts me. He does not want me to leave. But nothing can be done. Do not cry, Lake. I’ll be back! 🙂

Category: Fishing stories

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