I’m a city dweller. And as a city-dweller, I’m used to the fact that I am always surrounded by comfort and civilization, I am accustomed to the noise of transport, factories, factories. Nearby shops, bus stop, telephone. Fast cycle of life, alternation of days, weeks, months. You do not have time to look back – and already a year has passed, and now it’s again the first of September, again school and studies. And so the moments of “separation from civilization” are very pleasant and memorable for a long time. For example, the way that Dad and I spent the summer fishing.
This summer I was in the village with my grandmother. One day my father came to the house and we decided to go fishing. We woke up that day early. It was just getting light, and
We sat for a long time, waited, but the floats did not move, although my dad said that it is best to peck at dawn. We changed the bait, again casting the fishing rods, but nothing was caught. Papa complained that he had not fed fish since the evening. And then I thought that it would be nice to put a bread and a worm on the hook at once. So I did. It was not long before my float began to pull down. Hooray!
But it turned out that when the fish pecked, you still need to be able to pull the fishing rod correctly, so that the production does not fall off the hook (to snap – to raise the fishing rod with a quick and sharp movement). Papa congratulated me on the initiative. Then things went more fun. Once, two fish broke off from my hook, but my father pulled one after another.
When I wanted to pull out the fishing rod once again to change the bait, I did not succeed. The line suddenly stretched, and the fishing rod began to bend menacingly. “Daddy, help!” I could not restrain myself. He jumped to me, and we began to pull the fishing rod together. I was afraid that the line was just tangled and we are pulling some snag (too suspiciously quietly behaved fish, if it was she). But the fishing rod jerked, then again. It’s good that the fishing rod I got strong, otherwise it would just break. “Lead carefully to the shore,” his father instructed. “Smooth!” I did so. The fishing rod survived, the line did not tear, and on the hook hung a huge (as it seemed to me) fish – bream. I just could not believe my eyes.
When we came home and weighed our catch, it turned out that this big fish weighed as much as all the small fish. Dad chuckled, and I was unusually proud of myself: the first fishing – and so successful. Well, let them say that newcomers are always lucky.
Until the end of the summer I went fishing sometimes myself, sometimes with friends. Grandmother cooked fish dishes with pleasure. She cooked it, and fried and salted. And every time she wished me a successful fishing. And to my departure grandmother prepared a wonderful stuffed carp.