Steep banks of the river Seim

Steep banks of the river Seim The train stopped. I’m here. I go out onto the path and go to the Seymov distance. I have not been to these places for a long time. The road spreads through the forest, among tall, slender birches, gnarled willows and elms. A tall grass, hiding the mink of lizards, tickles the birches of the heel :). And behind the wall entwined with wild grapes willows, a bird’s freckled out.

The molehills cross the path with convex, loose shafts. These blind “miners” are looking here is not anthracite, but only food. Although the principle is the same: digging – then you live …

On the way I meet a sign with the inscription “Dew”. This is an old fishing base. There are hundreds of small plywood houses on stilts. Most of them have long been abandoned. But some particularly inveterate anglers still look here. To live with a week, and fish. My path lies through this base and further, to the river.

The case for the fall, but the summer has not yet passed positions. It’s still warm. And only the variegated colors of the willow jungle and the aquamarine blue of the sky give out the end of August.

Crossing the field, I come to a large bay. The house of rescuers, bright among the birches, was bored – the season is running out. The path runs along the bank, between the birch-tree wall on a hillock and willow, which is close to the coastal thickets of high sedge.

Early autumn gave me that day a bucket of soup boxes. Entire meadows of these mushrooms filled the motley grass under the birches, almost on the path itself. Something hissed and stirred in the bushes. It turned out that the snakes were tangled in tangles. So they are preparing for fast cold and winter.

Here, in front of the bushes part and before me a magnificent view opens. Under the sandy slope, briskly bending around the trunks of poplars sticking out of the water – the Sejm rolls. The canal winds, forming that bottomless swamp pools, then washing entire islands, surrounded by ruts. And on the opposite shore – a forest, impenetrable and majestic.

I go down from the cliff to the water. From the very edge, the bottom abruptly rolls away, into the greenish darkness. And under a strip of bulrush at that coast – beats asp. He with his mighty tail stuns the stickers and collects his catch – shell-shocked, lost orientation fish.

For the next turn you see a big tree. His roots washed away the flood and the crone collapsed into the river. This is evidence of the immense power of the floods raging here in the spring. The power of the river, for centuries, cuts its way among the sands, changes the channel, forms the old people, the canals, the islands. The Sejm is my own river.

Category: Fishing stories

Tags: , , ,