Tales of an entomologist. About adventures and travel

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Papis, 24.10.2008 20:45

Hi! I propose to attract people from the outside to create a topic like "Entomologist's Tales", where top entomologists, and in general various advanced people, share their memories not necessarily on the topic of specific entomology, but about their trips, and all sorts of things that happened to them on these trips. For example, we met a transvestite Mongol on an expedition to Mongolia. Where among the yurts and unpretentious everyday life did this moslast miracle in a miniskirt, cheap leather boots and with the most vulgar make-up on a wide-cheeked face come from, I racked my brain for a long time. Then I stopped and began to perceive it as an artifact.
And such stories, I think everyone has more than one hidden away. I have at least a dozen of them myself. Here is one of them:
***
A friend of mine considered himself an artist with a capital letter. On each expedition, he took a large SLR camera with a bunch of interchangeable lenses. The camera rested peacefully in the bottom of the backpack. On the last day, overgrown with stubble and ragged entomologists organized a dump. They took out the supplies that had been uploaded for such an eventuality. Food and drink. A friend of mine would pick out the most picturesque rock in the neighborhood, put his ragged, worn-out sneakers on it, take his camera out of his backpack, and take a single photo.
In Moscow, I visited his home. The photographs were arranged in neat rows on the sideboard. All of them were signed. "My favorite sneakers. Tadjikistan. 1994" Or " My favorite sneakers. Kyrgyzstan. 1995 " everything in this spirit. He has already accumulated a dozen and a half of these photos. My friend cherished these photos very much. They served him as visible hangers in the wilds of memories.
Vova was also an artist. On the expedition, he took a huge "Pentax"with him. Vova was an artist of small forms. In Moscow, Vova shot nude women. But not entirely, but in parts. For example, the bend of the shoulder on the background of a window covered with frosty patterns. Or part of a woman's foot against the background of flowing water. Such an aesthete.
During the trip to Mongolia, Vova did not change himself. I was looking for new things. It could be anything: a piece of bark, an original stone, a play of light and shadow on the rock, a picturesque lichen, if only Vova was hooked.
Once there was a funny incident. Vova found a harpy butterfly caterpillar sleeping peacefully on a willow twig. The harpy caterpillar is a very photogenic creature. It looks like a small green sausage with legs. If the caterpillar is startled, it raises its head and freezes in the sphinx pose. On the head of the harpy are two large black dots - false eyes. On the other side of the body, a small fork. Touch the caterpillar and, one! Purple tails pop out of this fork. For this, the caterpillar received a second name-fork tail. Unexpectedly, and the tails don't smell like flowers at all. There's nothing wrong with the harpy's self-defense.
Vova liked the caterpillar very much, but Vova's caterpillar didn't. But she endured. It was a very patient caterpillar.
Stand in the sphinx pose? Please, Vova!
Do you want to release your ponytails? Yes, no problem!
Turn around to the light, and repeat all over again? Easily! What we should do.
But even the most patient caterpillar can reach the limit of its patience. On such persistent impudents as Vova, the fork tail has a special radical protective agent. On the chin of iron with a caustic liquid-ammonia. Like a can of gas in a woman's bag.
After another photo test, the harpy's patience ran out.
Taking aim, she very accurately hit Vova in the eye.
Heck!!! Vova shouted.
Water-s-s-s!!! Vova yelled again.
And many other things Vova yelled. But we will not talk about this here. This is a harpy butterfly caterpillar story, not an immersion profanity lesson.

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31.10.2008 0:18, Papis

I have been collecting butterflies and traveling for twenty years, and during this time I have accumulated all sorts of stories, adventures, and impressions.
Some of these stories happened to me, others to my friends, something I heard sitting around a campfire in the evenings, or lying in a tent, under the steady patter of rain.
It's up to you to decide which of these stories are real and which are just stories. The specifics do not allow us to go beyond the scope of the topic outlined here, otherwise it would turn out to be a weighty story with a beginning, a climax, necessarily with several sexual acts in the course of the action (where without it) and a denouement (of course, happy) at the end.
You can talk about a lot of things. For example, about how my friend, a hunting expert by profession, and named Seryoga Buslaev, took out a German deaf in life to hunt a capercaillie during the spring current. And, how, these two capercaillies met in the forest. And that, in the end, it turned out. Or, as Misha Zubov, a senior firefighter in the village of Barguzin and its environs, gave me an educational program. "The carp," he said, " is the second most intelligent fish. That is, one of the smartest!" I asked. "A dolphin, of course!" he would reply, and look at me as if I were an imbecile.
First bike:
We were young, full of energy, enthusiasm, and could move mountains. And even more we liked to wander around them with backpacks. So it used to happen, you take a backpack and well, let's wander around the mountains with it. You wander for a month or two, until hunger makes your stomach churn and you have all sorts of bad thoughts about your comrades who wander the mountains with you. You see, then - it's time to get down from these freaking mountains, and then hold me seven, I'm not responsible for myself.
It was during one of these walking, fermenting expeditions. Tents, sleeping bags, bowler hats, warm wearables, so that you don't accidentally hit an oak tree on the top of a mountain. Yes, I almost forgot, even nets, mattresses, cue balls, stains - this is already entomological specifics. The most persistent ones could have locked up the generator on the mountain with a supply of gasoline, so that up there, away from the hustle and bustle of big cities, they could start it, light a light bulb and stare blankly at it all night, waiting for some rare butterfly to fly on the light. Cuculia, for example.
And the products, well, what are the products? You take enough to lift your backpack off the floor and hang it on your shoulders. Mostly-dry rations. So it happened this time. There were four of us. We distributed everything in backpacks. It turned out to be thirty kilograms with a hook for each of them. We went from Tajikistan, downhill, downhill, and had to come to Kyrgyzstan. Something like two hundred kilometers on the road without refueling.
After the second week, we feel: either we have got used to it, or the backpacks have really become lighter. In general, in the body some lightness was formed and a constant sucking feeling in the pit of the stomach.
Then Sasha takes out a gray substance in a plastic bag from her backpack and says with pride.
- The queue for dry potatoes has also reached.
I was the most important skeet player on this expedition. Yes, and on the pots with bowls. He was responsible, that is, for ensuring that the personnel of the expedition did not accidentally starve to death.
"That's nice," I say, " and that's what we're going to make for dinner tonight."
Said and done. I boiled water in a pot and made potatoes. It's a simple matter. As a responsible person, I take the sample first. I feel something wrong. Well, it doesn't smell like potatoes. Yes, and the consistency does not resemble mashed potatoes. But in the package and the label was found. I began to study this label thoughtfully. It turned out that it was not potatoes at all, but quite the opposite - soy flour. Where did Sasha find her? It was in the early nineties, and she got to him either on landlies, or with humanitarian aid, and he, without understanding, threw her into a backpack along with the rest of the supplies.
Flour is flour, and we still have two weeks to wander in the mountains. And the lack of instant potatoes in our diet creates an irreparable gap. Because, there is this soy flour, well, you can not. It's like eating sawdust paste. No mind, no heart, no stomach. Oh, well. Each expedition chef has his own secrets. He takes with him various seasonings, herbs, red and black pepper, and all sorts of other botany. To deceive the taste buds and receptors. Food is the most important thing to slip through the mouth. And as the food fell to the bottom of the stomach, it took root there.
I began to conduct all sorts of experiments with this soy flour. Anoint it with vegetable oil, add salt and pepper to taste. Long or short, but I got something not entirely disgusting. A few kilograms of window putty with a persistent taste of monosodium glutamate. I rolled it into sausages and tell my fellow travelers.
That's what we'll eat for the next two weeks.
What is it? - my friends ask me.
Well, this is..., this is..., - I answer, - The product does not have an official name yet, if
there are any suggestions, so I am always open to suggestions and discussions.
The guys tried it.
"You can eat that," they say.
Of course. In our condition, we were ready to eat our shoe laces. So the product got its name - "It".
I'm going to eat "This One".
Don't eat all that stuff, leave it to me.
These are cute conversations between old friends somewhere in the mountains on the border between Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan.
When " It " ended, we were even a little upset. But our expedition had also come to an end, and it was time to return. Sasha returned to Alma Ata. We are going to Moscow.
A couple of years later, I met Sasha on another expedition.
You know, Seryoga, I often think of that expedition of ours.
- me too. Now I would like to try "This" again.
And you know, I found a new pigeon butterfly in Kyrgyzstan last year on an expedition
.
I know. You wrote to me.
Do you know what I called her?
How?
Neolycaena eto. (Neolicene "it"), " he said, smiling slyly.

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01.11.2008 9:48, Alexandr Rusinov

Yes, when we were younger, we also went on trips with a minimum of food... Sometimes there was only enough money for tickets. Everything was used - fish from local rivers, crayfish, frogs, cattail roots, etc. Much of the above turned out to be not only edible, but also quite tasty. I drew information about plant edibility from literature such as "Survival in the Forest" or "Wild Edible Plants". It was here that sometimes overlaps happened... Once we found ourselves on the bank of a small river overgrown with white water lilies. Then I remembered that I had read about the edibility of their rhizomes, which supposedly taste like potatoes. I quickly pulled out a few rhizomes from the river that didn't look or smell edible. People are interested - what am I doing? He explained that today the royal dinner will be delicious-you'll lick your fingers... Everyone said that once it was delicious , they would come and eat and went about their business. Having set up the rhizomes in a pot, he began to stew them. The smell was such that my appetite was somehow beaten off at once, but I don't want to give up the idea. It tasted even worse than it smelled, a savage bitterness that immediately triggered a gag reflex. And then my comrades began to return, and one by one. Everyone asked - well, how is it? I said-great, but don't eat too much - it should be enough for everyone. After this warning, the person would take a spoonful and put it in his mouth. After spitting and telling me what he thought, the person soberly decided that the others should also try. So this dish was tried by everyone, after which the remains were solemnly returned to the river. I still wonder if the authors who wrote about it in their manuals have tried to eat such rhizomes...

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02.11.2008 0:09, Papis

Another short story. This, however, is not Eugene le Moult, who was shone in the forehead by a rhino Megasoma actaeon during a night fishing trip in French Guiana, but nevertheless, this story also had to be:

I remembered another traffic incident. In the car, we raced along the asphalt road from Krasnovodsk to the north, to Kizil-Kiya, as part of three people. "We drove so fast — about 50 kilometers per hour. Still on the asphalt. Suddenly there was a short, deep buzz, a thump — and there was only one less of us. Vova was thrown back — one leg sticking out from behind the crates. The culprit of the robbery, Scarab, lay there, shell — shocked but not defeated. The beetle is about the size of a walnut and just as hard. This bomb carrier flew, unsuspectingly, on its bug business on a counter course. We gave the beetle military honors and threw it overboard. Then they began to feel sorry for Vova.
The bruise shone with novelty, the eye swam.

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02.11.2008 1:00, Pirx

Another short story. This, however, is not Eugene le Moult, who was shone in the forehead by a rhino Megasoma actaeon during a night fishing trip in French Guiana, but nevertheless, this story also had to be:

I remembered another traffic incident. In the car, we raced along the asphalt road from Krasnovodsk to the north, to Kizil-Kiya, as part of three people. "We drove so fast — about 50 kilometers per hour. Still on the asphalt. Suddenly there was a short, deep buzz, a thump — and there was only one less of us. Vova was thrown back — one leg sticking out from behind the crates. The culprit of the robbery, Scarab, lay there, shell — shocked but not defeated. The beetle is about the size of a walnut and just as hard. This bomb carrier flew, unsuspectingly, on its bug business on a counter course. We gave the beetle military honors and threw it overboard. Then they began to feel sorry for Vova.
The bruise was shiny and new, and the eye was swollen shut.

An episode from Babenko's book und ... (sclerosis, sorry) "People, animals and zoologists"... So etta was you

?!?!

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04.11.2008 10:01, Papis

Sorry, my joint.
Of course, this is Babenko, and Babenko is not me.
I'm just collecting. I pee myself, but I'm far from Nabokov and Aksakov

Here's another story:
There was this case in the Far East. We arrived after midnight on a commuter train to a small station. We disembarked, and quickly passed the village, went deeper into the taiga. It was dark in the forest, as you can guess where and by whom. The path is narrow, and even underfoot, after the recent rain slid and squelched. But, you have to go to find at least a small piece of open space. We walked for quite a long time. The people were already beginning to grumble. Then the chief stops and says: "Okay, guys, a smoke break, and I'm on a reconnaissance mission." Less than ten minutes later, the chief appears. Satisfied, happy. "I supposedly found a place. Cool. It's only five minutes." We come - the place is really chic and clean. We set up a tent, had dinner in dry water, than God sent, and on the side. I feel it's not quite smooth. The earth is in some humps. Well, okay, and we didn't sleep in such conditions. I'm not the princess on the pea.
And in the morning we woke up from a three-story mat. If the broadcast was on TV, or at least on the radio, the editor would score it with continuous "beeps" so as not to injure the not strong psyche. The speaker's language was flowery, full of idiomatic expressions and untranslatable but understandable local folklore.
"What a beep that is!!! Fucking beep!!! Beep!!! Beep!!! And also all their relatives three times beep!!! What a mu ... beep!!! Put up a tent in my potato field!
We rub our eyes and look out cautiously from the tent, as if the speaker did not move on to more decisive actions. On the porch of the house, with his hands on his hips, stands a hefty man in family books and swears not in a childish way. And our tent is right in the middle of a potato field. And we'll pop our eyes out of it.
The guy was caught not harmful and not spiteful, and we had it with us. The conflict was nipped in the bud.

Yes, and we became friends later and corresponded for a long time.

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05.11.2008 15:22, Papis

About entomology.
I've only heard about it, but I haven't read about it anywhere, and it's already become a legend. If you're wrong about something, please correct it.
***
The
first specimen of an autocrator (female) found in the Pamirs in 1911 was given to a major Russian entomologist, chamberlain of the tsar's court A.V. Avinov. He described it as an autocrator subspecies of the similar species Parnassius charltonius. Perhaps Avinov's service at court played a role in choosing the name. After all, autocrator means "autocrat"in Latin.
After the October Revolution, part of the collection of the Zoological Museum of St. Petersburg was taken to Germany, where the autocrator was seen by an Englishman (unfortunately, I don't know either his first or last name). He was sure that the avtokrator was a separate species of the genus Parrnassius.
This selfless scientist has devoted his entire life and fortune to defending his point of view. He organized three unsuccessful expeditions to mountainous Afghanistan. When the last expedition came to an end, and the result was zero, he realized that he was ruined, and there was no longer any hope of finding the butterfly. As the teamsters lifted the camel train to head for the coast, a butterfly flew down from a vertical cliff right at the scientist's feet. With trembling hands, he caught it, and lo! It was the gynandromorph of the Avtokrator.
Thus, he proved that the avtokrator is an independent species.
And 3 years ago in Kyrgyzstan, a friend of mine discovered the fourth species from this group of Parnassus (Charltonius, avtokrator, lox). I named it Parn. davidovi.
There hasn't been a discovery of this magnitude in 70 years.
Respect and respect to such people!

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07.11.2008 8:53, Papis

And here's another semi-entomological story
***
Andrey was the "new Russian". He already managed to make a decent fortune in the early nineties. And Andrey had everything. But something was missing. Some kind of search.
Unexpectedly, Andrey met entomologists. Andrey liked them very much. Cheerful. They don't work on the hair dryer, but, quite the contrary, they express themselves in literary language and insert all sorts of incomprehensible words into it. Where it is necessary to laugh, where it is necessary to be sad. Adequate, in general, guys.
Andrey decided to act as a producer for the guys. Give like money, for this, expedition, well. And I found a suitable topic. In Peru. Home of the cocaine trees. Conceived, done, what to put off-then. I took a drinking buddy, a video camera with a cameraman, three entomologists for extras, and a few packs of those from the nightstand. what's fatter, with green money. And, come on!
We were a little late in the capital. How not to visit the hot spots! But entomologists are rushing to the Pampas. Their metropolitan life touches little.
And ganjubasu grows all around-nemereno. As one famous singer remarked :" Go to the left - konopelyushka, go to the right-anasha. " How can you not fall into meditation smoothly turning into prostration. Only now the fellow travelers were restless. They light the lamp at night, catch butterflies, and roam the jungle during the day.
One day, the entomologists returned from another hike in the jungle. They sit under the awning and look at the butterflies they've caught. Andrey still can't leave after yesterday. In the hammock lies the song "Zero" listens. There are very good, correct words about a man with a cat. The song finished playing, Andrey gathered his strength, and went down to the river to refresh himself. Just bent over the water, feels the eyes on him. Not a good one. Intently.
Here the narration on behalf of Andrey ends. Then tell entomologists.
We're back from the jungle, sorting out the loot. Butterflies are different, about a dozen and a half, a few stick insects, a couple of scorpions, and a bird-eating spider. A big female. Sasha caught it. He covered her with his panama hat, still alive. We let her out, she crawls on the table with her paws, and touches her pedipalps. Chelicerae exposed, opisthosoma moves. We admire-beautiful!
Suddenly, from the bottom of the river, an inhuman cry is heard.
"Ah-ah-ah!!! Crocodile!!! Help-e-e-e!!!
The cameraman and Druzhban Andryukhin flew past as if blown up, and we followed them. We ran up and looked at it: near the river, the pile is small, people are fighting the reptile, and Andrey is saved.
"Got it!"!! Andrey shouts. "Got it!"
He turns to us, looking proud. He unclenches his fist. And there, indeed, is a crocodile. Slightly larger than a tadpole. Just a baby. He hid from the big and terrible world in zavodinka under a snag. One week without a year. Even a frog can offend such a person. Just kidding!
"The spider I caught will be bigger." Sasha asked skeptically.

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07.11.2008 14:40, barko

And here's another semi-entomological story
***
Andrey was the "new Russian". He already managed to make a decent fortune in the early nineties. And Andrey had everything. But something was missing. Some kind of search.
Unexpectedly, Andrey met entomologists. Andrey liked them very much. Cheerful. They don't work on the hair dryer, but, quite the contrary, they express themselves in literary language and insert all sorts of incomprehensible words into it. Where it is necessary to laugh, where it is necessary to be sad. Adequate, in general, guys.
Andrey decided to act as a producer for the guys. Give like money, for this, expedition, well. And I found a suitable topic. In Peru. Home of the cocaine trees. Conceived, done, what to put off-then. I took a drinking buddy, a video camera with a cameraman, three entomologists for extras, and a few packs of those from the nightstand. what's fatter, with green money. And, come on!
We were a little late in the capital. How not to visit the hot spots! But entomologists are rushing to the Pampas. Their metropolitan life touches little.
And ganjubasu grows all around-nemereno. As one famous singer remarked :" Go to the left - konopelyushka, go to the right-anasha. " How can you not fall into meditation smoothly turning into prostration. Only now the fellow travelers were restless. They light the lamp at night, catch butterflies, and roam the jungle during the day.
One day, the entomologists returned from another hike in the jungle. They sit under the awning and look at the butterflies they've caught. Andrey still can't leave after yesterday. In the hammock lies the song "Zero" listens. There are very good, correct words about a man with a cat. The song finished playing, Andrey gathered his strength, and went down to the river to refresh himself. Just bent over the water, feels the eyes on him. Not a good one. Intently.
Here the narration on behalf of Andrey ends. Then tell entomologists.
We're back from the jungle, sorting out the loot. Butterflies are different, about a dozen and a half, a few stick insects, a couple of scorpions, and a bird-eating spider. A big female. Sasha caught it. He covered her with his panama hat, still alive. We let her out, she crawls on the table with her paws, and touches her pedipalps. Chelicerae exposed, opisthosoma moves. We admire-beautiful!
Suddenly, from the bottom of the river, an inhuman cry is heard.
"Ah-ah-ah!!! Crocodile!!! Help-e-e-e!!!
The cameraman and Druzhban Andryukhin flew past as if blown up, and we followed them. We ran up and looked at it: near the river, the pile is small, people are fighting the reptile, and Andrey is saved.
"Got it!"!! Andrey shouts. "Got it!"
He turns to us, looking proud. He unclenches his fist. And there, indeed, is a crocodile. Slightly larger than a tadpole. Just a baby. He hid from the big and terrible world in zavodinka under a snag. One week without a year. Even a frog can offend such a person. Just kidding!
"The spider I caught will be bigger." Sasha asked skeptically.

The new Russian sponsors a butterfly hunting expedition in Peru and participates in it himself! And all this to the music of the band Zero! Grotesque!

"We were a little late in the capital. How not to visit the hot spots!"
"Roulette spins, jazz plays ..."

"- There is!!! Andrey shouts. "Got it!"
He turns to us, looking proud. He unclenches his fist. And there, indeed, is a crocodile. Slightly larger than a tadpole. Just a baby. He hid from the big and terrible world in zavodinka under a snag. One week without a year. Even a frog can offend such a person. Just kidding!"
"Nature is defeated, those who have been waiting are well done ... Wandering biorobot "

07.11.2008 23:13, Андреас

We were standing with a friend on the bank of the Kuma River, a kilometer from the traffic police post on the border of Dagestan and Kalmykia. Early May. Rain and fogs at night were interspersed with bright sunny days. It was very cold in the early morning. Pestered, flew in from the evening mosquitoes. There was only one blanket, and Doug had to steal it from each other all the time. But everything would have been fine, but at 5 o'clock in the morning on the top of the tree loch silver, - the male cuckoo began to yell furiously. The struggle with the blanket and the mosquitoes turned into a hopeless attempt to drive away this bird, overflowing with the breeding instinct. - As soon as you go out, drive away, and climb into the tent, - as in 5 minutes she flew again and counted endless years... - With her success, I already began to think about the fate of the" eternal Jew " Ecclesiastes...
- And then somehow we return from a hike through the traffic cops... "and one of them, to whom we just "complained" in jest about this cuckoo, gives us the dead bird and almost seriously demands "magarych, or some worthwhile souvenir" for saving us from sobbing... - In short, - no comments...

They took her to bury her; - but then I decided, like an Indian, - to cook her and eat the bird, in order to absorb the power of her love

of life-It turned out, of course, as always delicious. I did not eat the carcass , but gave it to my friend, who filled me with a wave of depression and melancholy. - So he nibbles on the last bone and sadly says: "PEEK-a-BOO, PEEK-A-BOO, PEEK-A-BOO"... - "You'll be next, - I laughed and began to roll on the grass"

And I also remember the feeling when a flock of swans flew and trumpeted low down the river in the morning fog (by the way, the neighboring lake was called Lebyazhye), and my friend and I, up to our necks in the fog, ran after them, waved our hands, also purred and tried to"take off"...

Or in the morning-cold catfish aspic, with potatoes, parsnips, garlic, wormwood and capers!!! - The spoon was standing!...

Or I will never forget avdotka's eyes reflecting the light of a flashlight!
- And huge fanged with constrictions skarits and purposeful scarabs!... "And clouds! "Just CLOUDS of rose moth and burdock!"!! But the biggest impression of course was made early in the morning by the wall of the traffic police booth (under the searchlight turned off at dawn, covered with moths and bears!!!
- And one more joke at the end: - Dagestanis and traffic policemen intimidated us with some wild, crazy boundless Kalmyks, with whom we must be very careful; - but we did not meet a single living Kalmyk in 10 days.... - Although-although-NO!!! "there was one," the head of the zhelenodorozhny district, " who almost shot us, mistaking us for herpetologists...(I have already written about this in "relations of ordinary people") - a team of hired "snake catchers" worked for him, supplying him with these reptiles to get poison from them, which he handed over to some Americans. - And he took us and the nets as left-wing competitors to his business.

It was all in 2003.

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08.11.2008 15:22, Alexandr Rusinov

Yes, I've been to those places.... I was particularly struck by the number of scarabs. It was impossible to go and read fortunes calmly, as several dozen hungry and very active scarabs gathered around, fighting among themselves from an excess of feelings.

Another unforgettable experience is the Chechen militia (if you can call several armed militants that). It was in 1992, we were traveling by train from Minvody to Astrakhan, and as you know, it goes through Chechnya... On the way there, we somehow got carried away, but on the way back they were busy with us closely.... I'll probably remember the feeling of the gun barrel on my ribs for the rest of my life. But they also somehow got out of it. They explained that we were biologists, apparently they realized that they didn't know what biologists were, but geologists also got a ride.

They didn't have the sense to go into the bag of lizard snakes, otherwise the show would have continued on

And, by the way, Andreas, how did you get there, really also through Chechnya?

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08.11.2008 19:09, Андреас

- I don't know how it is now (I didn't recognize it), but since 1994, the railway road was simply closed. And to Astrakhan from Mineralnye Vody they got through the station Kavkazskaya (Krasnodar Territory), Stavropol, Salsk (Rostov region), Volgograd.

- I just remembered how we decided to walk from that place-to look at the Caspian Sea... The distance is 40 kilometers. Kuma is no longer lost in the sand. - A wide channel has been made, forming a delta, floodplains and eriks. Gradually the road to the river valley disappeared; the reeds on the left bank grew taller and thicker for an immense distance (and we were walking along the left bank). The river itself also disappeared from view. There was no sun. My feet had been slurping for a long time. Gradually, the water was already chest-deep. Wherever you went, it was deeper. - Even back (!!!). Just at this time, bream and carp were going to spawn. The log fish rubbed and scrabbled at their feet. The feeling was on the verge of euphoric and panicky. We were saved by Russian poachers passing by on boats with prey. - They took us to a more or less stable shore and showed us which way to go in the direction of Red Magomed's Koshara. When we were finished, the women working in the yard hid inside, and huge dogs surrounded us and did not let us go until the shepherds arrived for 2 hours. I answered questions specifically and monosyllabically, in order to minimize the "pleasure" of communication. They made a bed for us (the infidels) in a separate room, although all the peasants slept in one in terrible cramped quarters. At the time of prayer, so as not to desecrate the walls of the barak that had turned into a mosque, we were ordered to leave. And the dog, almost the size of a lion, was still trying to sneak up and grab his legs. Fed simply and without frills.
- I also remembered how we passed a bus parked in the semi-desert on the river bank, near which black, overgrown and terrible Chechens were unwinding their nets. I stopped to chat with them in order to get a feel for their mood and possible intentions (in the steppe, you can easily get lost - so, - and just as easily be found if you want). A friend made me terrible eyes and began to dissolve technically in the coastal reeds...
- We also met border guards-Kalmyks on a motorcycle with a sidecar-who could not explain to us the ban on our movement towards the "border zone"... (it turns out that from Astrakhan to Kranovka, the entire coast of the Caspian Sea is overgrown with reeds up to 6 meters high (!!!) meters and a width of 3 to 10 kilometers (!!!). I don't think that my friend and I would have been able to overcome this obstacle and swim to Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan or Iran (Freaks!!!0

)

And I also remembered that on the highway in Dagestan, coins of 1,2
and 5 rubles were not printed in tents, explaining that this is "not money". And when I reminded them about the state law, they told me that "they do not live in Russia" (!!!!!!!)

- Yes, - by the way, - we got there through Neftekumsk (Stavropol Territory) and Kochubey (Dagestan), - and Chechnya is completely in the other direction - to the south-East of the KMV. And it was a hell of a long way from that place, and south-south-west.
- In Dagestan, on the highway in the bus, we were checked by camouflage officers with automatic weapons, forcing us to turn out all the pockets in the backpack and open jars with insects. - I will not forget the reaction of disgust and contempt that the "policemen" who were "disappointed" in the absence of drugs and weapons, who saw "worms" in the "kafirs"...

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17.11.2008 1:52, Андреас

"I remember once in Greece... - I asked to spend the night with my former neighbor classmate (Slavic), who was at that time married to a certain Michalis, a tyrant, psycho and moral freak from the Elins... "Her relationship with him has been very strained lately... "And then her mother came to see her... "Her husband was living separately at the time and was changing her name to missing. -
- No, they say , - here all the neighbors are snitches... - they will call the police, etc....
- And the weather was such when a good owner will not kick the dog out on the street...
I said nothing and went to the orange orchard. "It's raining hard. "By a shed, a lantern sways and creaks in the wind. I'm leaning back against the wall, shaking all over... - Here I hear-rustling... "he darted like a wild boar... - and I feel-a bug! - A huge smooth black carabus!!! "And I think it's great that I was sent!"!!

- And I also remembered-how in the winter every day one but every night a different moth flew and landed on the pole under the lamp near my basement; - And how, despite all the hardships and hardships, I brought everyone home without any losses or breakdowns!

Or somehow I go to the basement through a field of castor oil... - I want to eat terribly; - but there is absolutely no time. - What did I do, - I plucked about 30 pieces of seeds of this castor and chewed with pleasure. ... - After 30 minutes, he literally began to die... "It was so bad," he said, " that I can't describe these feelings, which I'll never forget. "So that's it... "I'm dying, then , and I don't know why.".. "I don't think I've ever eaten anything but castor oil..."
- And only after returning to Russia, I read in the encyclopedia, - that raw seeds contain some very strong poison for her; - And (!!!) - 2 seeds can easily be fatal (!!!) - And I ate 30 and didn't buzz! "I didn't even throw up."..

And I also remember how, out of nothing to do, I began to hose down the neighbor's abandoned plot of land for building a house, which was overgrown with weeds as dry as gunpowder, in the terrible heat and drought... - How the greens got into distilling!!! "They pecked at everything , but they didn't touch one plant with underground stems, leaves like lilacs, and flowers like the heads of cobras, somewhat similar to calla lilac flowers... "Well, as a young naturalist, I wonder why their chickens don't bite (it's not money, after all) ..." He took it, " and tried it... If it hadn't been for a piece of hose lying on the ground, which I stuffed down my throat to keep from choking... - you wouldn't have one would-be entomologist with you already... - About the fact that I was literally blinded by tears and snot, with a spasm of the respiratory throat... - I can only write in alphabetic characters that will not convey even a hundredth part of the whole sharpness of this unforgettable sensation...

"But mantises and grasshoppers were excellent food sources!" The seaweed that washed up on the beach during the storm was also very good. - it was not bad even from "Neranzei" - bitter-sour fruits of wild ornamental citrus trees. "The geckos and cotoneaster fruit were suppers. - But the most delicious, - was just a loaf of ordinary viscous bread with sesame seeds!, for 100 drachmas... - If you were lucky, - then 2, - or even 3 times a day...

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19.11.2008 9:26, Papis

Here is another not at all entomological story from Babenko:

***
And this story took place in the former Turkmen Republic in the dark Soviet times.
It was just the two of us on this trip. My partner Volodya studied everything about hedgehogs and other insectivores very thoughtfully. And how they run, and how they eat. In general, and in particular, Volodya had everything-everything about them is interesting to know.
It is easy to guess that he did not enjoy much reciprocity on the part of the research subjects. Therefore, hedgehogs had to be caught, no matter how sad. Catching them is easiest with a headlight and at night. Walk along paths in the valley, along roads and light up roadsides. On a good night, you can collect two or four small animals. Gradually, the hedgehogs became less and less, and the routes were lengthened, and soon Volodya collected just the necessary amount.
One night we took a particularly long walk along Sumbar, and by midnight we found only one hedgehog. We sat down for a smoke in the middle of the road. And the Kara-Kalinsky district of the Krasnovodsk region, as you know, is a border area. Sumbar flows along the Iranian borders. And now, on a quiet, moonless night, two men in paramilitary uniforms and breeches were lurking in the border zone. Volodya is very fond of going on expeditions in windings and soldier's boots. Tablet bags, bandolier, shotgun, plus to all the misfortunes-we "put on" faces also not festive-stubble and unwashed one. In general, everyone knows what a scientist usually looks like in the"field". One of us has a battery pack on his side and a headlight stuck to his hat.
We looked at the clock — it was almost two o'clock, and it was time to go to camp. Suddenly, on the road, shining headlights, rolls border "goat". And here Vova and I are sitting in the dust of the road! What will you do! Two soldiers and the captain jump out of the "goat".
- Hands up, sit down, who are you, don't move, drop the gun?! Of course, there's no need to move!
"What are you doing here at this hour, in this place, at this time?" Don't move!
But Volodya, a candidate of biological sciences, is very difficult to puzzle with unexpected questions. In addition, he remembered from childhood that it is always better to tell the truth. He said honestly:
— We're catching hedgehogs here.
It's been a long time since I've seen a man grow so sad as this captain. Because he immediately understood-orders or at least medals for such will not give. The medal is given to anyone who bravely catches saboteurs and enemy spies. To keep the border on the lock. And here, it turns out, there are two not enemy, but quite domestic madmen sitting.
So that readers do not join the same opinion, it may be worth explaining that it is here, on Sumbara, that hedgehogs are found, which are not, for example, near Moscow. And that's exactly how it's best to catch them at night with a headlight, these damned unique hedgehogs.
Sad border guards got into the car without examining the documents, without questioning the captured hedgehog. We carefully drove around the people sitting there (they were afraid that we would bite them) and disappeared in the distance.

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21.11.2008 11:14, Alexandr Rusinov

No, Andreas, this stone is not in your garden

, but now I'll tell you my story. Once upon a time, about 20 years ago, I served in the glorious Soviet army. I had to serve in the Far East in Primorsky Krai. Of course, my soul could not stand it and I began to collect insects, since some of them were in the middle of the local taiga and there were not only beetles and butterflies, bears occasionally looked in. The actual service was night duty, from which it was not allowed to leave under the threat of terrible punishments. But I soon noticed that there were poles between the guardhouse and the barracks, where powerful lanterns burned all night, attracting a lot of butterflies and beetles. Who there just wasn't, years in the middle lane on the UV resting... Of course, I could not resist such an opportunity and began to slowly visit there, dumping off duty, like I said - I went to the wind, and I return in 40 minutes and with the catch

There was only one difficulty-on the way past these lanterns from time to time a guard passed, which naturally was not in my plans it came in. Therefore, I had to constantly look around, and then quickly retreat into the twilight and return to the duty station through the vegetable gardens. For a long time I was able to do this, but one fine night I missed the approach of the guard-I was too strong and one particularly large and quick-witted peacock-eye did not want to knock on the lamp and fall into the grass... In general, when I strangled the peacock's eye and looked at the road, the guards were about 50 meters away, looking at me with interest. The prospect of familiarizing myself with the brig didn't inspire me, and I didn't find anything better to do than run into the nearest bushes and lie down there. Having reached the place where I disappeared, the guards began to persuade me to get out of there in a good way, apparently greatly underestimating my intellectual level

Without waiting for an answer, they began to shine a lantern into the bushes, also without much success, given the density of undergrowth in the Far Eastern taiga..Personally, no one seemed to want to climb into the bushes, so after persuading me to get out for about ten minutes, the guards left further along the route... I, having made sure that there was no ambush, ran through the vegetable gardens and rushed to the duty station. I made it on time, the personnel have only just started running around and they haven't reached us yet... Then, for part of a week, there were rumors about how the valiant soldiers of the guard chased a Chinese spy around the taiga for 2 hours, but he still escaped...

I must say that this event did not deter me from night outings, although I was more careful...

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21.11.2008 21:22, Papis

Two very famous Russian entomologists (so famous that I would not want to take their names in vain) went on an expedition to Peru. Their names were Ilya and Sasha.
As expected, we reached Iquitos, from which the legs of all expeditions grow. Entomological, including.
Circumstances forced them to stay in Iquitos. The expedition is no joke. Guide, route, equipment and many other unexpected reasons.
We got a hotel room. They are sitting. One day they sit, the next they sit. And long-legged mulatto women walk around Iquitos, looking around enigmatically with almond - shaped eyes with a haze. And around Iquitos, the Pampas stretches and beckons entomologists to enter into themselves. It's hard for guys without knowledge of the local language. Bored guys.
- Yes, as much as you can! - says Sasha.
"Yes, it's getting boring," Ilya replies.
And the sun, turning crimson red and huge, falls below the horizon. Evening comes, bringing the long-awaited coolness.
Entomologists decided to walk around the evening city. We left the hotel, chose a direction and went. They go around gawking, talking, talking. Two entomologists always have something to talk about. They got so carried away that they didn't notice how the business center ended, the advertising lights went out, and the high-rises were replaced by low-rise buildings.
Suddenly, out of the gateway, natives come out, about eight people, and surround them in a tight ring. All of them have an unkind expression on their faces, and one of them has a bagpipe in his hands. They address them in their own language, accompanying their words with eloquent gestures.
– In my opinion, we kick-ass, colleague-says Sasha.
"Did you notice that too?" Ilya answers.
The natives look at each other and discuss something animatedly. The one with Volyn poking her finger at Sasha and asking: "A Yankee?"
"But, senor, it's Russo," Sasha replies.
With the aborigines, a dramatic change immediately occurs. Their faces stretch into smiles. They begin to clap the entomologists on the shoulders in a friendly way, and the one with bagpipes pokes himself in the chest and says: "Che Guevara!", pokes Sasha in the chest and says: "Lenin!"
- Si senor, - agrees Sasha-Lenin!
The natives brought the hapless entomologists to the hotel and warmly said goodbye to them.
- What, hogosho colleague, that we are friends! - Says Sasha Ilya slightly kagtavya.

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27.11.2008 21:55, Papis

Professor of the Department of Soil Science Michal Petrovich, every year took students, laboratory assistants and postgraduates of his department to the field. This field was located in the Far East. It was done this way: cargo, tents, tools, kitchen utensils and much more were sent ahead of time by rail, then a landing party of students was sent to collect and bring all this in a divine form. Michal Petrovich was the last to arrive, ready for everything, with a small suitcase containing a couple of underwear and the most necessary things for soil scientists on any worthwhile expedition. The chief arrived at the destination station.
Good!!! The sun is shining, the birds are singing, in the grass every six-legged brotherhood chirps, jumps and rejoices in life. Two months of cloudless life ahead. Well, Michal Petrovich relaxed. I went to the kiosk to buy a fresh newspaper, to the station buffet, to drink coffee with a red fish sandwich, but while I was walking, I missed it, and there was no trace of my suitcase. Someone put on the legs.
What do people do in such cases? That's right, they shout " Guard! Police! Robbing! " and all sorts of other words corresponding to the moment. So Michal Petrovich was no exception. Yes, after all, shout, don't shout, and it's not much use. Michal Petrovich had to go to the linear police station. I came and introduced myself. All honor to honor. I, they say, so-and-so, not the last person in the Department of Soil Science at my institute, innocently suffered from marginals and sub-passionaries in the territory entrusted to you. The militia knows the people who steal by sight. In general, less than half an hour passed, and there was a long-suffering suitcase of Michal Petrovich.
Michal Petrovich bursts into tears of emotion and says: "Thank you very much, fellow policemen! Found a darling! I'm definitely not going to part with him now, I'm not going to let him out of my sight! "he takes the suitcase, I'll go."
"Stop! - the police say, - the protocol has been drawn up, the case has been given a legal course, now we will identify the object. (Where do they only learn to speak such official language!) What was in your suitcase?" says Michal Petrovich. He looks away and mumbles something unintelligible. Well, there was a couple of underwear and some other things. What are these things? - dissatisfied with the answer, the law enforcement officers insist. They take the suitcase by the handle and put it on the table. It was at this point that the opportunity occurred. The locks on the suitcase were old-they opened, the lid fell back, and all the contents spilled out on the floor. I don't know, I won't lie, maybe there was a pair of underwear and a razor "Kharkiv" given by my wife for the name day of Michal Petrovich, and the rest of the place was occupied by packages of condoms, condoms and other similar products of the Soviet rubber industry in the amount of about five thousand copies.
"However! one of the policemen gaped in surprise. "An expedition, you say? He looked at the professor's puny, stooped body.
Under his gaze, Michal Petrovich turned purple, then turned pale, completely fell off his face and seemed to shrink in size.
"Y-y-y-yes...
Michal Petrovich, well, did not pull on the role of a sex giant, capable of mastering so many rubber-technical products in two expedition months. He was a stooped, dry, small, elderly, gray-haired peasant with a goatee.
In the silence that followed, you could hear the gyrus creaking in the skull of the law enforcement official. About what was happening in his brain, what electrical impulses to which areas of the crust were rushing at the speed of light, what effect they produced, we do not know. Michal Petrovich, bustling about and muttering gibberish, was picking up loose rubber bands from the floor.
Soil scientists collect soil samples from various biotopes, and students do this throughout the expedition. A condom is an ideal place to store such samples. The sample is labelled and sent to the institute. where she lies, waiting for her turn to arrive. That was exactly what Michal Petrovich needed the condos for, and not what the policeman thought.
So the professor and the policeman parted without understanding each other, each thinking about his own.

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