My forest life
If he was born in a forest village and from childhood he listened to the sound of the forest, the talk of fast rivers and streams, you simply cannot imagine life without a native nature. And now, in adulthood, I want to share everything seen and experienced. A lot was taught by father and grandfather, old hunters. I learned a lot myself.
In the fall of 1967, I studied in the 5th grade. Father first took me to hunt moose. Before that, I had gone without him, shooting small crows out of small ones and grouse. The weather was pleasant that morning, although it had snowed before and it was freezing at night. Walking in front of me with a kurkovy double-barreled gun, my father did not allow me to charge the rifle. You never know, we go together. Crossing the stream Sevazh, climbed a steep hill. From it the neighboring slope is clearly visible. And before us cutting: conifer trees cut down, and aspen and birch left. Began to descend into a hollow, and literally in two steps two elks jump out of us, with a bang they go away at the maxims. The father shoots at them, the shot rattles too loudly, but the elk leave as if nothing had happened. Father turns: “Why didn’t you shoot?” I answer: “Yes, I cannot insert the cartridge cartridge from my excitement.” So close sahatiy not seen before. After a short silence, the father showed flayed fingers and said that in a hurry he put both fingers on the triggers, a simultaneous shot came out of both barrels, and the bullets went higher without hitting the animals. We looked, followed the trail – neither wool nor blood. Go ahead. I feel guilty in front of my father. I have never experienced such excitement before.
The time is after noon, it is time to boil tea, and tiredness in the legs; we are not walking along the road. The father turns around and says: “If you are not tired, go around that cutting towards the Chur Lake, and I will go to Ozerny Stream and make tea” “Not tired,” I certainly answer. I walk along the wall of the forest. On the left – cutting: aspens, birches stand, they were not chopped, hardwood did not go to the alloy – sank. From a hillock I see smoke rising in the distance — there is a father.
Only I was going to go to him, and suddenly my heart began to pound: an elk stands 120 meters from me and gnaws a lying aspen. I throw up the rifle, but I can’t catch the fly, my hands are shaking. I lay down for a deadwood, put a gun on it, close my eyes and calm myself. It seems to lie too long, finally the excitement subsided. Looking at the neck. I shoot. Elk falls on the front of the knee. What a good shot! Joy takes my breath away. Sukhaty rises and swaying goes in my direction. I bullet for bullet shoot in the head, and he goes like an armor-piercing. It remains 10 meters, now floods, I rise and I want to run across for the aspen standing nearby. The bull went on a swing, two jumps and fell down, raking and tearing out small Christmas trees and birch trees from the root. Standing next to an open elk stag. I want to scream from overflowing feelings. Or maybe something screamed; for it is me, the meter with the cap, the rifle flush with me, and I knocked down this giant. Father comes up, shakes my palm and congratulates.
There will be a lot of successful hunts ahead, there will be a streak of bad luck, there will be bears and wolves alone, there will be sunrises and sunsets, all life ahead. But the first hunt will forever remain in my memory as the first love.