Spring. Vozhe lake, capercaillie

I was driving along a road broken by logging trucks. Then on the right, then on the left, there were exit roads from the forest covered with planks. It was a sad picture. I was returning home from an interesting, but very difficult hunt. I got a trophy there. But driving a distance of 70 km along a crushed stone road, spoiled all the best impressions of the time spent hunting. There were houses well-built in ancient times from time to time. They all belong to the typical northern architecture, crooked from time and abandoned by the owners. There were whole lifeless and abandoned villages by citizens. It was impossible to realize that the there was XX1 century outside the window, and I was driving through the territory of the country that won the Second World War, which had been living without wars for more than 75 years.       Right, but first things first. I often had to visit the Vologda forests working as an outfitter. I was there with hunters for grouse, grouse, woodcock, bear, moose. But it was my job. It was rare when I managed to take a weapon in my own hands and stand in the evening dawn on a woodcock. The clients were first.      I have developed good partnership and even friendly relations with a very interesting person - the Chairman of the Vologda Regional Society of Hunters and Fishermen, who was elected Chairman for the 9th time this year, Vladimir Vadimovich Kaplin. It was he who invited me to the spring hunt that year.  Hunting in the Vladimir region had already finished and it was just opened in Vologda. "Let's get together!", Vadimych said in his slightly stretched northern dialect, as many of his close friends called him. But it was not close. There were about 700 km away from my house to the place, Anisimovskaya village, Vozhegodsky district, Vologda region. It didn't take me much time to pack everything and I was on my way. It took us about 10 hours drive. But the worst thing happened at the very end, when I already wanted to relax. But it was not there. I had such a test of a broken gravel road. I could endure it for a few kilometers, but that highway stretched for tens of kilometers. I should have to concentrate even more not to fly into a hole disguised by a puddle, clean the windshield regularly, rear and side windows from sticky light-yellow liquid flying from under the wheels of your car and oncoming cars.        Oh, my god! I got out of the car, which looked more like a military armored car by the end of the trip, with small embrasures, and immediately fell into the warm embrace of an old friend. There was no time to hug for a long time. We quickly moved things to a huge house typical for the Vologda region. I accommodated in the cozy room on the second floor of the house, as an honored guest. It was a large spacious room with four windows on two sides. There was no stove in it, but I was used to sleep in any climatic conditions for 30 years, and was glad just to relax after a long move. But not immediately. Vadimych had already cooked a roast as it should be according to all the canons of hospitality, and we all went down to the first floor together. There was a well-built Russian stove. The room was warm and cozy, smelled of food. It was like a paradise for a Russian hunter.       We discussed the latest news and plans for my stay while having dinner.  I managed to arrive even by the time of the evening woodcock flights. After a quick snack, we jumped into the Niva and after 20 minutes driving were already at the edge of the forest, males of woodcock usually flied well as Vadimych said. I was in time even by the time of the evening woodcock flight. It was sluggish and slightly away from our place. I couldn't shoot any bird. Then we returned, drank tea and went to bed for the night. I feel comfortable in my sleeping bag, which always accompanies me on any trips in the center of Russia. So I crawled inside it, and fell asleep immediately.      The morning greeted us with the sun that peeked out from behind leaden clouds occasionally. It often rained, sometimes turning into snow. The North of the Vologda region! The weather was typical for the month of May in those places. Such weather haunted us throughout my stay in those wonderful lands and brought a lot of difficulties to the hunting process. But I’ll talk about it later.       That day was devoted to memories of the past, we did not see each other for a long time. The bathhouse was heated. It’s an obligatory thing on the North. Then started the process of smoking fish caught by Vadimych and his huntsman Ivan the day before I arrived. It was salted already. I was instructed to cut small, 4 centimeters, twigs from the branches of bird cherry. They were needed in order to expand the peritoneum of the fish so that the ribs would not stick together and were well smoked. Soon everything was ready. The fire was burning, despite the strong wind, alder shavings were on a pallet, fish grates in two tiers were loaded into the smoker. It remained only to monitor the fire and the smoking regime.       The fish smoked. It remained to wait for it to cool down and it would be possible to enjoy the gifts of Lake Vozhe. Few details. The lake is located on the border of the Vologda and Arkhangelsk regions and belongs to the Onega River basin. It is elongated in the direction from north to south. The length of the reservoir is 64 km, the width ranges from 7 to 16 km. Its dimensions are impressive. The lake is famous for its pike perch, which is fished on an industrial scale.      We didn't waste time while waiting for fish. The bathhouse had already warmed up properly and just waited for our coming. I could hardly describe everything that a Russian person, besides a hunter, experiences in the Russian bathhouse with an oak and birch broom.      A couple of hours later, we felt reborn, cleansed all the chakras and restored our biological aura. The fish and beer were right we needed at that time.       Meanwhile, the weather did not let up. The strong wind just raged sometimes and tore the roof.  In the evening, the wind died down, and we got a great opportunity to enjoy the woodcock flight. I must say that woodcock flight in the Vologda region is one of the most active and interesting. If the weather conditions suit the bird, you can see up to 20 flights in the evening. On average, 8-10 flights can please the soul of a hunter who has missed of hunting after winter. What else I need as just beautiful woodcock places, good company, a few successful shots and unforgettable impressions. It was dark when we entered the house. But one question still worried me. Time passed, but there were no chances to get out on the grouse. Strong wind, constant precipitation, made hunting on the place where the birds were seating almost impossible. Birds are not so active, but the most important thing is that it will be extremely difficult to hear talking birds.      One more day passed in anticipation. The weather didn’t change. I had to get ready to go back soon, but I hadn't used my chance yet. Vadimych invited his huntsman. His name was Ivan. He was of above average height, about 185 cm, very strong build, who looked at us sullenly. As it turned out later, Ivan also had a very complex character, which presented some problems in communication. Many Northerners correspond to that type as I could judge from my experience. I got used to it during my work and just communicating with hunters. So, I can always establish contact if it's necessary for joint activities.      So, we decided to try to use at least the slightest chance and move to the shore of the lake in the evening. Ivan, like all the locals, built a small hunting lodge by the water and tied a boat there. The nights were already getting shorter in the north at that time. We decided to start in at eight o'clock in the evening. Ivan arrived on a tiller block with a trailer. We loaded our bags and moved. The drive took not more than 10 minutes.      Soon we stopped at the edge of the forest. It was obvious that there was a road in those places some years ago. But at that moment it was flooded in places, places were badly broken. Nearby there was a path paved with wide logs. The logs have partially gone into the soft marshy ground. So in some places it was easier to walk on the ground than to use the logs. I asked Ivan how far to go to the lake, and he said that it was not much. I roughly guessed how long it would be. It could take an hour and even more. Distances in Russia are long. The walking man will master the road, and so, we set off, with a backpack, a weapon and a pole in our hand.      Finally, there was a break and the reflections of the waves driven by the wind. Then we saw the cabin. It was possible to approach it only by water in waders because of the flood. The locals try to lift the huts on stilts or put them away from the water's edge knowing the scale of floods in these places. The interior was a typical hunter's hut. There was an iron stove in the corner to the left. To the right was a table with two chairs. There was a bunk bed directly opposite the entrance at the far wall. In general, it was possible to spend the night and warm up in any weather. Ivan melted the stove quickly, scooped up water with a teapot right at the threshold and put it on the stove. We settled down at the table.       Meanwhile, the weather did not let up.  Sharp and strong gusts of wind and fine rain did not promise good prospects for capercaillie hunting. Sometimes the wind subsided a little. The door of the hut was open. We looked at the water in the hope that the drops would stop beating on the water surface. A woodcock croaked right above the hut. Then the second one. A couple of teals landed just right in front of the open door; The male began immediately to take care of the proud female.       Ragged clouds that were flying high were thickening the twilight. It doesn't get very dark in the north at this time. The kettle boiled and Ivan came out of the hut for currants. There on the North they call in it in different way. In general, the northern Vologda dialect is very interesting and I can talk about it separately. But not now. Five minutes later we were drinking a fragrant currant drink with the addition of tea, so I would call that elixir of northern health.  We drank one cup of tea, then another. Later we drank one more. We were drinking it slowly, steadily enjoying each sip.      And talk. It normal in such situations, when there is a lot of time before the hunt itself, and you discuss various topics with your companion, some of which are not even related to hunting. But the main theme was capercaillie hunting.      Ivan told me that the capercaillie place was located on a small hill near the water's edge.  The birds were talking, seating on the high pine trees. The place was good, not known by hunters. The huntsman was full or responsibility to his job and tried to protect him from uninvited guest poachers.  He was sure that the birds would be there, despite the windy weather.      So several hours passed in conversations and arguments. At two am we moved. It was a little earlier than we planned, but we rowed, so as not to scare the birds when approaching. We changed each other and in half an hour we were on the spot. The boat bumped into a soft, hummocky, swampy shore.      Ivan led me perpendicular to the water's edge. The wind did not abate, it shacked the huge, age-old pines and rustled in their needles. We stopped periodically and listened to talking birds, but in vain. We made one circle, then expanded the second circle. The silence surrounded us. Ivan was already desperate and began to worry. It was not in the rules of a Northerner to cheat. It was obvious that he was already a little nervous. Dawn was getting closer, other birds would start singing soon, and the needed place had not been found. I calmed him down, understanding the complexity of the situation.     We decided to go a little further, into a small swampy lowland. I heard a capercaillie song barely discernible in the wind not even 100 meters away, during the next stop. I pointed out to Ivan the supposed direction and immediately 90 degrees from that capercaillie, another one talked. I could tell by Ivan's face that he himself was very surprised at where the place had moved. But he didn’t admit it. So, we found it. In my opinion, the birds moved there because of the bad weather, wind and rain. Probably, they were not comfortable to sing seating on high pines, . But it was just my thoughts.       There was a swamp with low pine trees, high hummocks and beautiful white moss in front of us. The swamp was located below the traditional place and therefore was less blown by the wind. We clearly heard two singing capercaillie after walking a little forward. Ivan decided to listen to the one on our left, and directed me to the right. Then the most interesting thing began. I had never had such a difficult grouse hunt. I spent many times on such places with hunters or myself, made films and photographs of birds. It was like the art of hiding and approach at that time. It seemed everything worked against the hunter and in favor of the birds.  Gusty wind that was blowing from different directions, then removed the sound, then brought it closer, then took it away. I calculated the arithmetic mean, and moved slowly towards the capercaillie, constantly checking the course and location of the bird. It was generally not difficult to walk. The feet sank into deep moss, but thereby hiding the noise of footsteps. But it was difficult to find a tree behind which to hide from the bird if necessary. The low, sparse pine trees were a poor hiding place for a hunter, and I could be discovered at any moment. I had to constantly view the terrain and trees with binoculars. Nearby there could be a young capercaillie, or a squeaker, as it was also called by hunters. It can't talk like adult birds, but it hears everything around, unlike adults’ birds, which are completely deaf during talking. There were cases when it was such squeakers who spoiled the hunting, tearing off and alerting the other birds.       There were about a hundred meters left to the nearest talking capercaillie. Its song was sometimes drowned out by the noise of the wind, then it was heard again. I had already determined the approximate route of approach.  It became impossible to hide behind small pine trees, so I had to act more decisively. I didn't even have time to take a couple of steps under the next turning, as a heart-rending cry of some bird sounded right above my head. It was difficult to determine what kind of bird cried, but the scream was shrill and somehow even fierce. It was the first time I heard such a strong and audacious cry of birds. It finally drowned out the sound of the capercaillie song for a while. The wind added complexity to the situation.  The capercaillie also quieted down. Probably, it has been wary, since forest dwellers are good at detecting the sounds of danger of other animals and birds.        It screamed a couple of minutes. The bird broke and flew away. The capercaillie began to sing again.  I was slowly approaching him. Then, a small clearing covered with moss opened 30-40 meters away, which was surrounded by low pine trees. I stopped next to one of them in the hope of finding a bird. The capercaillie fell silent. I froze. The gun was in the right hand and on the forearm of the left. I couldn't even move my head. I was standing in an open area with no cover. The wind still shook the tops of the pines in gusts. The capercaillie, who was behind the one I was going to, began to sing. I didn’t move.      Suddenly I heard a timid sounds, it became louder and, finally it began to sing. I was peering into the pines that stood on the other side of the clearing, and noticed that one of the tops of the pines was swaying not because of the wind. It was rocked by a talking capercaillie. But it was not so easy to see the bird itself.  There were cases when I walked around a lonely pine tree with a client for more than 10 minutes, but I could not see the capercaillie then. As a result, it flew away.     Finally, I saw the black head of a capercaillie above one of the branches. I stood motionless. The capercaillie brought out its melody again. I already understood where and, most importantly, how it was sitting on that pine tree. The bird was positioned to my right side, with its head to the east. It was 35-40 meters to the capercaillie.  It was impossible to move further. I was completely out in the open and in its line of sight. I decided to shoot. It was still necessary to raise such a difficult MC 21-12 to the shoulder at that moment. I started to raise my rifle very slowly. The capercaillie suddenly fell silent after two songs. Probably it had a premonition of something or noticed me. I froze in the middle of the movement and waited for the capercaillie to sing again. After a long silence, there was a pause again. Then there were few sounds and a pause. I assumed that it could end with the capercaillie would take off and fly away. There was no time to wait.      I determined easily how the capercaillie's body was located and where I needed to shoot. The only problem was how to raise the gun, aim and shoot. It was impossible to make mistakes! When another gust of wind came, I raised my gun to my shoulder and sent a charge at the grouse almost without aiming.      The large dark body of the relic bird fell like a stone into the soft white moss. I was immediately ready to fire another shot but it wasn't necessary. The bird froze, spreading its wings. I approached the defeated old-timer of the Russian forests, stroked its feathers on the neck and body, paid tribute to Mother Nature for sending me such a trophy.        Suddenly Ivan appeared out of nowhere while I was looking at the grouse, the shot charge. It fell just in the place where we usually shoot – a small white spot on the fold of the wing and the base of the neck. He congratulated me on the loot. Probably he didn't believe in the luck of that day because of the difficult weather conditions. He was not very talkative, but noted that the trophy was worthy and he meant the skill with which I got it in such difficult conditions. We made some pictures and went back.       The capercaillie was a typical representative of its northern genus weighing 5-6kg! The heavy burden pulled my hand away pleasantly. I had to carry the trophy in my left and right hands. Nature gave us a little respite from the rain while I was hunting, and again covered us with fine rain. But we did what we wanted.        We also rowed to the hut. Ivan wanted to drink tea but I refused. I wanted to go home. I packed all my belongings in a backpack. And put the capercaillie carefully in the same place and set off on his way back alone. A sleepless night was making itself felt, and I tried to get to the village as soon as possible. The path was passed as in one breath. Then I laid out an honorary trophy in front of Vadimych. He congratulated me. It seemed to me that he was as pleased with the result as I was. We took some photos in memory of our stay on Vologda land and hunting.      I decided to have the rest, then stay on the evening woodcock hunting, and in the morning I would go home So, I managed to enjoy once again a beautiful northern evening, nature, a flight of forest waders, two of which replenished my trophy account.        Vologda has long and forever sunk into my soul and I am looking forward to the next trip to this amazing and beautiful land.   The hunter and outfitter Dmitry Vstovsky.   P.S. I would like to express my gratitude to my friend Vadimych (V.V. Kaplin) and huntsman Ivan for the wonderful time spent together and unforgettable hunting memories.