The beginnings of fishing

In the rush of discovering new places, searching for better and original lures, acquiring more and more perfect equipment, as if we forget how and when our game of "fishing" began. The first fish. Coming out and worked out. These were not record-breaking specimens, but they were a real 'trigger' for taking fishing seriously as a lifelong hobby. It is them and our first contacts with water that we owe the current form of fishing. Personally, I fondly remember the first pike trips, discovering the beauty of spinning, and through them – beautiful nature.

Here is a report from one of them. This is what a colleague wrote to me over a dozen years ago. It's spring 19… r. We're finally going together. Maps on the bus, plans. We change them at the last minute. Instead of a big river, we choose the smaller one, far north. That `s nothing, that you didn't take the rubber boots – it will be there somehow. The large river has dry banks, this one probably poured out.

We drive. Change on the way. Long hours on the bus. Finally there. We welcome the river as holiness. Sandwiches and sticks together. Conversations with the locals. In the evening, we sit down by the boats tired. Give me, Zbych, your stick, I'll quit a couple of times, I'll see how it works. On the second throw, a sudden jerk. After a while my first pike of the year is struggling on the shore. Regular.

We go to sleep, because the night is short, and you have to get up before dawn. We walk through the sleepy countryside. All you hear are the dogs barking and the milk cans chiming. There is frost. Avoid smaller puddles. We pass the larger ones barefoot”. I have transferred you several times. The water is painfully cold. "No wonder" – is finally 30 April. Finally, we begin. The sun is getting higher – it warms up chilled "vagabonds"”. First beating and it is. "Good" – for taking. Then another, third, the biggest – fifty few cm. I sit down tired. It's coming noon. I take off my shoes and socks. You are still "shooting", you don't have a fish. You are stubborn – you don't quit.

While I am resting, you suddenly scream, that you have something big. I run to the shore. A few meters away from me, in short shorts, I can see the thick body of an Esox. A little bit of a nerve and with a firm grip you take it out of the water. Is beautiful. We measure – 63 cm. "Two” banking. I envy you, Zbych. We come to the sewer, the encountered anglers mostly without fish. Confused, they wave their hand resignedly. Too much water for them, too early for a pike. Spring comes two or three weeks late in this region. I get another one on the channel.

Probably enough for today. We come back. We look out the window while the train is walking. Have a look… river – we were fishing there. We have to come back here… We understand each other without words.

Autumn. Same water. We're driving a tractor, on the cart - fishing rods on bags with "potatoes". It's October. Cloudy, it rains, so warm. Drop off. A march through a sea of ​​reeds taller than us. At the bend with a huge pit on the opposite bank, I take out the first one. The catfish is strangely fat. It has a burbot inside, and even tempted a small spinner.

You "dry" fat hunchbacks. You have a net of beautiful fish. The perches are dark green with blood red fins and underbelly. Biebrza. From peat water. Great. It's almost noon. Time for dinner. "Tourist" salty as hell. Cholera, we forgot to buy something to drink in the village.

A woman she meets is willing to do business. Perch net for two liters of warm milk. It's good. Who would scrape so many withered hunchbacks there?. But that's a woman's problem. Delicious milk – straight from the cow.

It's raining in the south. There is no what, we come back. Shortcuts, it will be closer to the stop. You can already see the village from afar. The rain is getting more intense, we don't even have a thread on us anymore. Well, that it's not far away. Oh my! – bathroom, maybe left, a bit shallower there. "Old" – retreat, we can't go through, too deep, too swamp. That we will try? A bit cold. "And they brought"? For what, we're wet anyway. October bath. Something new. This is what a trapper looks like. Local farmers are finishing harvesting potatoes., They must get so wet. My? – …probably too…

Today we're going fishing in a nice car, with "bajer" equipment. The vest, laptops, fishfinder on the boat, and neoprene, this is normal. In general, everything is OK., just a little bit of something missing…