Tales of an entomologist. About adventures and travel

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22.12.2013 13:01, Wild Yuri

"The text often mentions the collection of insects — the author uses Latin names for plants and animals, giving away his familiarity with natural history. This is another face of Mochulsky. An army officer, an employee of the General Staff, a scout who sometimes leads sabotage detachments into battle, then visits the courtyards of the eastern lords… He was in Persia and India, Ceylon and Panama. It turns out that these are all side classes. His true passion is entomology. Paganel hasn't been invented yet, and Viktor Ivanovich collects beetles everywhere. He collected a huge collection, described many new species, the types of which are now stored in the Zoological Museum of Moscow State University in Moscow. This passion saved his life when he was captured by the highlanders: after searching his pockets and finding half-crushed beetles, he was considered an imbecile."
From the abstract to a recently published wonderful book: http://expert.ru/expert/2013/37/infernalnyij-entomolog/.

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22.12.2013 14:30, Valentinus

"The text often mentions the collection of insects — the author uses Latin names for plants and animals, giving away his familiarity with natural history. This is another face of Mochulsky. An army officer, an employee of the General Staff, a scout who sometimes leads sabotage detachments into battle, then visits the courtyards of the eastern lords… He was in Persia and India, Ceylon and Panama. It turns out that these are all side classes. His true passion is entomology. Paganel hasn't been invented yet, and Viktor Ivanovich collects beetles everywhere. He collected a huge collection, described many new species, the types of which are now stored in the Zoological Museum of Moscow State University in Moscow. This passion saved his life when he was captured by the highlanders: after searching his pockets and finding half-crushed beetles, he was considered an imbecile."
From the abstract to a recently published wonderful book: http://expert.ru/expert/2013/37/infernalnyij-entomolog/.

Yura, thank you!
We need to get this little book, otherwise you look at the labels-Mochulsky. Now I will know more about this person.

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17.01.2014 17:23, Penzyak

A rare entomologist does not like to fish...
Here is a literary corrected story from the life of a fisherman in the neighboring region...
Oh, summer is a small life...

TWO IN THE BOAT NOT COUNTING THE FISH:

"Are you going fishing?"
"Why not?"
"I want to..."
"There will be wind... "
So I'm going to stay at home again?"
"It's going to rain!"
"You'll find snow on your Internet if you don't take me fishing!"
- I'll go to Korennaya, to the pike perch. There's a wave, you know what?
"Well, you bought a new boat. You told me to take me.".. Forgot!!?
... Okay?! Just don't complain later.
- Yay!!!
Jumps like a child, throws himself on the neck. I'm angry with myself for not being able to say no. Another hemorrhoid is provided. I'm going to the garage to get the boat. A call to your mobile phone.
"Take the tent, please.
- Why, we're not spending the night here?
"Just in case I want to lie down on the beach.".. And don't forget your sleeping bag...
"So you'll be on the beach?"
"No, I'll go with you." What if I like some island? I'll lie down there...
"What am I going to do?"
"Well, you can ride beside me, and then you can pick me up."
- I'm not going to ride side by side, but to catch fish! How many times to explain!
The soul of the idea is in the bud. Because then you'll need a table, a chair...
"U-u-u...harmful.".. Well, at least get some high chairs, we're not going to be swimming all day.
- We will! Or sit at home, there are chairs and tables there…

"Wake up at three.
"What are you doing?" I don't get enough sleep anyway!
To be honest, I'm dead reluctant to get up so early on my day off.
"How long do you need to get ready?"
"Well ... an hour... maybe...
— Okay. We get up at five and leave at six. At seven with pennies on the shore, at eight on the water…

The alarm clock on your phone gives you your favorite jazz passage. It sounds very different to us. I jump to my feet, my usual joyful impatience immediately taking over. I push her.
- Wake up!
Sits down. His sleepy face shows an expression of inhuman suffering. And falls back.
"Why don't you go?"
"I'll go!"
I am a master planner, but g....... th human factor makes adjustments.
It's about seven o'clock. Rattles something in the kitchen. On the balcony, I light another cigarette, joy giving way to hopelessness. There is only one response to requests to speed up:
"You're not helping me! That's why it took so long!"
Something? Lay down your grub? Everything else from the evening in the car.
Finally, at eight o'clock, we go out. I carry a huge bag. If it's just food, they're hiding something from me... And two more bags, and a towel falls out of one of them.
"What's it for?"
"You're weird. Don't know why you need towels?

On the way, bent like a cat on the seat turns a toy navigator.
"Why is he lying?" You've got a speed of more than a hundred and forty, and he shows a hundred and thirty-six!
"He's not lying. It's the speedometer that's lying.
"Oh, come on... I don't like him... You're showing better...!
And the eternal question is a philosophical question:
"Have we passed Marx yet?"

Finally. Have arrived. Before us is the mirror of the bayou. I nervously assemble the boat. She wanders along the shore, examines beetles and periodically scares them with shouts:
"Ouch! Look, who's that?"
And it's tempting to make jokes like about the reproductive organ in a demi-season outfit... But I'm holding back for now.

We're leaving. Calm. The sun is starting to get hot... I enjoy the river expanse, nature and delicious air...
There are several boats on the spit, waiting for asp. Then the first perch pot. From several PVC decks, fishwomen pull sailors with balbers with cambric. One advanced catches with a popper.
Boats are becoming less common, I'm going to the root. Here and there - small boilers, I ignore. Forty minutes later, I anchor at the island, collect a spinning rod.

She asks to free up "her" place-the bow of the boat to the front bank. He sits down, reclining on the bottom, puts a "hundred" jackets under him and begins to embroider... a new hobby... for how long? Things moved out of your nose are annoying and disturbing, and the usual course of events is disrupted.
From the first throw, a chub. Then a second, a third. The fish is small, about three or four hundred grams each. I change the wobblers, I get a perch...
I'm shooting, moving. She's not happy, you're fucking killing her on the move. Rafting along the island. Fish caught, caught a kilogram pike. I change my location again. She has to sit on the can every time, sitting on the bottom is uncomfortable on the move. Once it's settled in the nose, I start the engine. Three or five casts and beyond. It bounces back and forth.
"Are you leaving again?" What you don't catch here!
...I'm dropping anchor.
"How long will you be staying?"
…That is, to sit on her bank or crawl into her nose.
For the tenth time, she is absolutely sure that I am mocking her.
"What difference does it make to you where you catch it?" There's a fish jumping! You throw far, throw in all directions!
At the last joint fishing trip, she even suggested that I catch "in the shade"...

...She always needs something in her bag…
I kneel on the tank and take a leak. Unstable balance.
"Don't move. I'm going to fall!
"I need to get -"
- And I d....th! Can you sit still for a minute?!
- What a brute you are...
oh.... in half a boat, abruptly starting. She falls off the jar and onto her back... and ... for spinning! I catch her at the last moment. The wobbler's tee bit into the sleeve of her windbreaker.
"Don't move!
I try to get the hook out by holding her shoulder… She starts laughing, the sleeve twitches, and the second tee cleaves my finger.
!! Well, what are you for "у..@..е" lesnoye!
Chaplin was right when he said that the most sincere laughter among people is caused by other people's suffering. A light chuckle turns into laughter to tears, to hiccups. Although in such cases, she always says that she laughs not at the event, but at my comments. But something is hard to believe.
I laugh along with her, spattering the boat with blood. She can't see it, though, because she's sitting with her back to me. And it's good - that would be a cry...
I looked for a Band-Aid, but couldn't find it. Wrapped it in a bandage.

Let's move on. The sun is hot – the blessed one opens her windbreaker and gracefully leans back and bends like those beauties from the pages of glossy glamour ... tans... closing her eyes and covering her nose with a piece of paper...
I'm unbearably thirsty…Please kindly...
- M ... nya give me the thermos, please!
Silence. More insistent...
- M..I hear, give me a thermos.!?
No reaction.
"Are you deaf?"
- I – "у..@..е" lesnoye...
"I know. Please give me a thermos flask!!!

Herring began to appear, but not concentrated. Lonely?h?n?huge bursts!!! There may be asp here. Casting from the tenth cling kiloshku. Then a couple more, equally small ones. All fish are traditionally released. I'll take you deeper. A very large herring sits down. I haven't seen them in a long time. I lift it by the cord, and at the last moment the fish flies off the hook.
- Why did you let the herring go?!
-...What do you mean?
"I want herring, and you let it go!"
"I didn't let you go... She got off.
"Coming off in the water!" I saw her. So I let you go! You keep letting go, you can't even catch me a herring!
"Do you really need a herring?"
- Yes!!!
"I'll catch you a ton of it." You'll eat three meals a day! All winter long!
I go to the gap between the islands, where herring is usually collected at this time. So there are gulls, the water is boiling. Casting for ten meters, the fish immediately sits down. I take it off and put it in a bag. Lying on the cylinder spinning begins to twitch thrown under the boat spinner grabbed another greedy beast. I keep catching them. I take out a fish on a stick. Two of the three fall back into the water, and the fool is with them. I took five or six pieces. It's hard to think of a dumbest activity. I put the spinning rod, start collecting the second one, on the pike perch.
- And I also want to catch herring! He reaches for the stick.
"Don't touch the spinning rod.
It reaches out...
- Don't touch the spinning rod...
grabs it, tries to unhook the spinner from the loop...
- Don't touch the spinning rod!
Unhooks, swings. The overhang is two meters, the handle is closed. I grab the stick at the last moment.
"Isn't my finger enough for you?"
"Well, I can do it… You taught me...
...For the hundredth time, I explain and show you. He throws it five meters, and a herring immediately sits down. It rolls almost up to the tulip, lifts the fish into the air.
"Open the shackle!" Holy shit!
He doesn't understand. I throw off the bow of the reel, the fish splashes into the water, reeling the cord.
"Now go ahead." Just not to the end!
"I've already caught it, so why is it in the water again?"
... Kick-ass.
This time the leash goes into the tulip before the bait, the spinning rod bends. Another moment, and the tip of Han. Ohrenevshaya fish finally dumps for good. I put my spinning rod in the boat and snatch the stick out of my hands, yelling... There are tears in her eyes.
I'm trying to smooth things over.
- M...nya please do not touch anything in the boat without asking! The sailor must obey the captain-otherwise we will sink nafig!
"Am I a sailor?" You're missing something. I am a vip passenger, and the captain may be written off after a failed flight!
Just like that. Me and m-K. As always.

I punch the pike's edge. Empty. She doesn't say anything. The recent ripples are getting stronger. Time for a bite to eat.
"Can we get something to eat, honey?"
"I don't want to."
... Trying to get food.
- You need to eat on the beach!
"Why is that?"
"All normal people eat on the beach!"
Yes, the insanity is getting stronger...
- Should I take you to the shore?
— I don't know.
"Who knows?"
"Well, I don't know what kind of coast it is.. What if I don't like him...
"Sand on the right, rocks on the left. Where are you going?"
"I want to go swimming!" Here!
It doesn't get any easier from hour to hour. Bathe... That's something. She completely lacks the instinct of self-preservation on the water. How many times have I jumped from an anchored boat to a rapid? It drifted into the grass on the spit, into the strongest reverse current with eddies in the quarry. The water temperature doesn't matter. You, like, catch it, and I'll swim. Then it ends with me frantically pulling out the anchor and catching her, and she laughs happily...

- why?
- On kachan!
"I want to go to the bathroom!
....???!!!
"Are we going ashore or not?"
- No!
"Off the boat, then. Not a big deal, I hope?"
"Ham..."
Another attraction…

I decided to eat on the boat, and thank you for that. A huge number of containers, jars, plates, canned food, seasonings, herbs were born... A chopping board, a knife, forks, spoons, a can opener, and the devil knows what else.
I finish my meal in five minutes and watch the process in her performance with longing. From boredom to the vertical under the boat, herring is caught again!
"Eat a salad!"
"I don't want to."
- Try a sandwich!
Don't want.
"Eat an egg!"
Don't want.
"Is it hard for you to eat an egg?"
"Ugh, you burnt pancake!!! It's not hard for me to eat an egg!! I've done harder things in my life...
No-ho-choo! Is that clear?!
"Crazy..."
It should be noted that as a well-bred girl, she is extremely negative about swearing. I, although in life I am an incorrigible swearer, as they say street childhood... I practically do not swear in front of her. But in moments of emotional excitement, the mask of piety does not hold on to me.
After twenty minutes, he collects everything. thank God. No, I was happy early...
The next issue of the program is tea party. With a thermos, cups, cookies, jam ... I want to cry…

The wind is getting stronger, and I haven't even got up for a pike perch yet. I'm going to the ship's passage. I'm trying to go rafting. A bite! I'm anchoring myself. Wave-from half a meter.
"I'm getting seasick..."
... Fishing lasts ten minutes. I can't catch her, her discomfort affects me. In addition, there are lambs, you need to get out.
I go out on the skimmer.
"Are you trying to kill me?" I'm going to lose my head!"
"What the hell are you doing in a boat if you're not even holding your head?"
Quiet water is twenty kilometers away. I could have walked alone in about forty minutes. In a gentle mode, we will cut for two hours.
What is surprising is her complete lack of fear of the elements. In the most fun place, the wave is under eighty centimeters, and the meter ones also skip. He smiles and hums something...

But everything ends sometime, we go into the bayou, it's quiet here. I give full throttle, fly over the island, down a little more... turn off.
What a beauty all around! The boat drifts past tilted trunks. A small fish frolics, and a chub under the bank grabs a bug from the surface. In the middle, the perch slurps, squeezing the fry up. They don't take prisoners here...
I smoke, enjoy the peace. She looks around. After a smooth turn, a small grass spit appears. It's calm here. On the surface of the water along the grass, there are periodic splashes, circles are carried away by the current. A small asp. I throw the anchor, collect the third spinning rod, equip it with sbirulino.
Future sherespers grab the bait on each wiring, they have six or seven hundred grams each. A light wand loads your hand pleasantly. Once, during such fishing, a five-kilogram asp fell in at this place. Since then, I always hope for a repeat of the miracle. But instead of a miracle - reality:
"I'm tired." Why don't we go home?"
Her voice is soft, her eyes pleading. Well, it's just that kitten from the cartoon ... but in me selfishness fights with male nobility. Nobleness ... wins this time, although I really want to catch more fish. The evening is just beginning, and soon a kilo chub should come out on the spit. Yes, and I haven't caught a pike yet, there is a well-studied reed wall nearby.
"Okay, we're going.
I begin to disassemble the spinning rods. She moves over to me and sits on the jar next to me.
"Well, you're in the way, joy..."
I'm as soft as ever. Just plasticine...
- I won't bother you, I missed you...
I sigh, continue to pack, uncomfortable. I try to move the open box with the jig, and it turns over. Several kilograms of lead are dumped into the boat. Collect.
When I'm done, I hook my foot in the cramped space and tip the fishing box over... Dozens of spinners with tees are spilled on the bottom of the multi-colored confetti. They also spilled out on the anchor line, with all the hemorrhoids that followed. Once again, I am convinced of the excellent quality of fishing products - it is very difficult to unhook lures from the rope. In the end, with the help of "some mother", everything is put together by joint efforts. Go to the starting point.

Someone's car is parked on the spot where I roll out the boat. They don't usually leave their cars here. You'll have to carry everything on your own. We're landing.
There's no one in the car, but I notice the windows are down. I pass the passenger door. Opanki! A charming creature sleeps on the unfolded seat. The girl's man's shirt is unbuttoned, revealing a very good chest. Well, at least some positive news! I take a small involuntary pause and tap on the roof of the car. The mistress of charms opens her eyes.
"Mademoiselle, excuse me, but where is the driver?"
He looks from me to his bare chest and covers it with a slow, shameless b...... m movement, but not completely! Oh, women, women... There is no escape from you.
"Probably at the bottom.
Smiles.
-...What do you mean?
"Yes, he dives. Under the water. This is the sport. And what?
"Your car is in the way. "I'll
leave now, no problem."
Like that. A man would say "I'll drive you away". But at least he wouldn't get my radiant smile.

Fees, the most disliked stage of fishing. You can also drive into the garage and unload...

"Have we passed Marx yet?"...

At home. Night. We fall asleep.
"I don't understand… And this... The monster... well, I mean "у..@..е" ...why lesnoye? We weren't in the woods... It should be water-based...
Well, how can you be offended by it?
"Are we still going?"
She was tired, she was seasick, she'd heard too many nasty things from me. And he wants to go again.
"Go to sleep." Let's go. We will definitely go...

This post was edited by Penzyak - 20.01.2014 09: 55

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30.01.2014 0:25, Wild Yuri

The forum is not the same... The flood of new topics, "meetings" in the old ones is going away. Only reports will remain soon. Yes, and I don't want to write stories myself anymore. Clearly, there are some changes "in the spaces". And I'll post the classics. Nabokov! Which I'm reading now - for the first time in... perhaps all 15 years. His aesthetic, sometimes just heroic episodes...

Only my parents seemed to understand my mad, sullen passion. Sometimes my father, so unperturbed, would suddenly burst into my room from the veranda with a distorted face, grab the net and rush back into the garden, only to return ten minutes later with a long moan of "Ahhh" - he had missed the wonderful el album! Whether it is because "pure science" only torments and makes an intelligent philistine laugh, but excluding my parents, I remember only misunderstanding, irritation and mockery in relation to my butterflies. Sometimes, when we were going on a picnic with my cousins, and I remembered that there was a wonderful nature reserve next to the chosen grove, quietly, without disturbing anyone, but already feeling that I was getting on the nerves of the family, I would carry my modest belongings in advance to the charaban that smelled like tar, or the red car that smelled like tea (so smelled gasoline in 1910), and some elderly relative or strange governess with a sawyere says: "Vraiment, Volodya, would leave the grid at home just this once. After all, you will play kash-kash and Cossacks-robbers-what does butterflies have to do with it? Do you really like to spoil everyone's fun?" At the roadside sign "Nach Bodenlaube" in Bad Kissingen (Bavaria), I had just caught up with my father and the monumental pale-faced Muromtsev, the recent chairman of the First Duma, when he turned his marble head to me and said importantly: "Look, boy, just don't chase butterflies: it spoils the rhythm of the walk." In the early spring of 1918, on a narrow path from Gaspra (Crimea) to the sea, cramped with fragrant bushes, a Bolshevik sentry, a wobbly-legged fool with an earring in one ear, wanted to arrest me for signaling with a net to British ships. In the summer of 1929, when I was collecting butterflies in the Eastern Pyrenees, I don't think there was a time when, as I was walking through a village with a net, I looked back and didn't see the villagers turning to stone as I passed, as if I were Sodom and they were Lotte's wives. Ten years later, in the Alpes-Maritimes, I once saw the grass behind me swaying in a soft, serpentine way, and as I went back, I stepped on a fat field gendarme who was crawling on his stomach, convinced that I was lawlessly catching songbirds for sale. America showed perhaps even more morbid interest in me. Sullen farmers would point out the no fishing sign with a silent gesture; cars would roar derisively as they sped along the highway; sleepy dogs, indifferent to the stink of a tramp, would growl and come at me; little children would ask me what it was all about. at my baffled mothers ' houses; old seasoned tourists wanted to know if I was a fisherman collecting grasshoppers for a nozzle; Life Magazine called asking if I wanted to be photographed in paint chasing popular butterflies, with a popular explanatory text; and one day, in the desert, somewhere in New Mexico, A huge black mare followed me for two or three miles among the tall lily-bloomed yucca trees and straining cacti.

* Right, Volodya (fr.).
** To Bodenlaube (German).

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This post was edited by Wild Yuri - 30.01.2014 00: 28

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31.01.2014 15:28, Penzyak

quote=Wild Yuri Forum is not the same... The flood of new topics, "meetings" in the old ones is going away. Only reports will remain soon. Yes, and I don't want to write stories myself anymore. Clearly, there are some changes "in the spaces"...

- No, Yura, it's us who are getting older and I would say not more experienced - but more sophisticated in various questions of life... And of course in entomology!

I WOULD LIKE TO CONGRATULATE EVERYONE ON THE UPCOMING KIND OF UNRECOGNIZED HOLIDAY (I WOULD EVEN SAY SO-WITH THE UNOFFICIAL ZOOLOGIST'S DAY):

HAPPY GROUNDHOG DAY!!!

True, for Russia, the groundhog will soon become a rarity! "Near-sport" shooting with powerful optics at poor animals will definitely finish them off in the near future, at least in European Russia and Ukraine... And judging by the current situation with beavers on our territory I would call this holiday so:

HAPPY BEAVER DAY!!!

This post was edited by Penzyak - 31.01.2014 15: 33

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01.02.2014 1:34, Wild Yuri

It's good that we don't catch butterflies from the boat...

My friend catches it sometimes from the car window. Smashed to pieces in his van, which he rushes down the forest dirt road, from his mountain home, with frightened tourists in the back... Shouts: "Yiya! Banzai!" Sticking his hand out of the window with a net and even picking up the iridescent birds and pigeons fluttering in front of the car. Very funny person. I wrote about it in this essay: http://www.proza.ru/2014/01/02/1178. Accepts entomologists on a billet. It's beautiful here, in the neighborhood, and at home. I advise you to visit him sometime! If you're interested, I'll give you his phone number.

This post was edited by Wild Yuri - 02/01/2014 11: 32

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23.03.2015 21:07, Wild Yuri

Tales of an entomologist it's time for the Red Book. They're dying out... I rarely write myself anymore. I don't have time. Some other era has arrived. However, I recently wrote a new one. Not even a bike. And so it was. Yakutia, where the rivers shine with golden sand, the sky is covered with diamonds at night, and predators treat you to beer... And this is not a dream!

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predator

– The real story of summer 2009 –

Who in the office sprinkles at the computer, who stands at the assembly line of the plant, but there are people who earn gold mining. They wash it. In trays. Just like in the Klondike days. And they are called in Yakutia and Kolyma, where they most often fish, "predators". Because they work without licenses. We do not give them for free gold fishing, unlike, say, the United States and Canada. And there are also many prisoners among them...
- Be afraid of predators! - I was told by a Kamaz driver with whom I was hitchhiking in Yakutia. "They'll kill you for a can of stew...
" - broadcast a friend in Magadan. "Cannibalism is not uncommon in these parts.
- If you see a muddy stream in the mountains, go away! The predator above... " the third one taught me.
Being a butterfly collector, I roamed the mountains of Yakutia and Kolyma, listening to the sounds and looking at the streams. I was happy to lose weight. But there were no predators. Bear only a couple of times. I blew the vuvuzela. Good, by the way, from the bear remedy. Both of them were running… I caught interesting butterflies. I'd almost forgotten about the predators.
And so he "rolled out"…

An abandoned traffic police post near the semi-abandoned village of Artyk. Forest, ruins… I'm trying to catch a car on a deserted road to go to Susuman. There are no cars. They are rare here. It's also a day off… Suddenly a guy with an eggplant of beer appears out of nowhere. Shaven head. There are tattoos on both arms below the short sleeves of the striped shirt. Wide smile...
- What are we standing for?
- Yes, here... I'm catching a car.
"Who are you?"
– Entomologist.
"Someone?" A, who catches boogers...
Quite an educated passerby. Just over 30 in appearance. Bandit pronons. Invites me to sit on the bench at the post. They sat down. He hands me a beer… I can see it on the label – super strong.
"I don't want to, thank you."
I wouldn't take anything from such a friend. And then he will say later: you owe me a favor...
- And what?
– I don't drink." It was encoded.

"That's right. I have to go too... " he said thoughtfully.
He took a sip from the bottle. He squints at me.
– And what do you, such a forehead, catch ... Let's wash the gold with me!
My stomach went cold... predator! But he didn't show it, so I asked:
– How's that?"
"How... how... haven't you heard?" A stream, a tray, and all that stuff. 30-40 grams of gold for two people a week is easy. There are streams where it is possible and a hundred ...
- And then what?
"You're a total sucker! Take it to Ingushzoloto…
There is such a "company" in the Magadan region and Yakutia. Black gold buying. Ingush people. Anyone who needs to know their phone numbers. And in Susuman, in the center, the car is standing with the door open, Caucasian music
from there...
I don't know what to say. I hear the sound of a car. I jump up from the bench and run to the road. This miracle is behind me! I'm voting… He waves, too. He made a face: Like, bro, give me a ride! "Bro" in the car accelerates...
- Listen, - I say – - what's your name?
- Oleg.
"My name is Yura.
He shakes my hand.
- Oleg, you better sit down, and I'll run out!

He grinned wryly. They returned to the bench. I was hungry. I took a cookie out of my backpack. I offered it to him. Refused.
"They call us carnivores... freaks... and we're geologists!" my friend said in a drunken tone.
He took a sip of beer from the bottle.
he pointed his hand at the mountain. "See the streams over there? I know which one has how much gold. I see...
He started telling me about rocks, faults... a lot of things about the presence or absence of gold. Just like in butterflies! I can also tell by the look of the mountains where there might be some..."
– We're geologists, Yura. Predators are bitches ... cops ...
- Catch them?
- They catch you.
I remembered the stories of my friends about the special groups of the Magadan and Yakutsk departments for combating illicit trafficking in precious metals. This abandoned traffic police station only imitated traffic control. In fact, they were looking for gold from drivers and passengers. They searched the luggage... "Loaves" with outfits drove along the roads, and they searched passers-by, looked for muddy water in the stream...

"They don't ... kill for gold.
"
Round head turned to me, a wild squint in her eyes.
– You're not a tracker, are you?"
Yes, my friend is drunk. Or maybe he wants to "get to the bottom". Cops! Cops! They killed more than one predator in this area. The gold was taken away and handed over to the same Ingush people. A group of bandits in uniform was exposed not so long ago.
– I'm an entomologist ... an expert on butterflies. Lepidopterologist.
This tricky word always helps out in difficult situations. People immediately switch to its "comprehension" ...
- Lepido… How?
I repeat.
"Lepidopt...
the sound of a car." I run to the road. He's coming for me!
"Uh! Uh!" he yells in the direction of the car, waving his hand and the bottle.
Kamaz rushes past, covering us with dust...
- Oleg, you sit!
"No, I don't want to sit down..." he grins.
A subtle thinker. He puts his arm around my shoulders. Well, in the second bottle. You need to keep an eye on the free one.

I free myself and go to the bench. He staggered after her. In trouble… At least take your backpack and stomp along the road. So this Kent guy will follow me!
"Well, what a life in Russia, what a life..." he suddenly sobers up, falling into philosophy.
He says that he was in Germany not so long ago. Turns out he's German! And his mother lives there.
– I came to Muter, sat down in the yard to smoke ... the police in 10 minutes. They're babbling something. I sent them to f... they took them away.
He described his adventures in his historical homeland. Drinking parties, police… My mother wouldn't let me go home.
– And what about Russia started?
"Ah, yes... that's their life in Germany, Yura! There's...
the sound of a car.
- Oleg, sit down! Sit down, I say.
I run to her. He rolls after me… You can see it from the road. Zhigul accelerates.
– In short, Sklifosovsky, you don't know how to catch... - Oleg looks at me sternly.
He strikes a match and lights a cigarette. Are standing.
"We're going to wash tomorrow..." he puffs out of his mouth. – It's a good stream.… Give me a beer!
He's out of it. He wants to go to Artyk for a beer. Or maybe it will "leave" completely. But now I'll get my wallet, and there I have thousandths...
– I don't have any money. Tourist, hitchhiking ...
- Well, you, damn... No, tomorrow for gold!
He says, looking at me slyly, that he needs an assistant. It's difficult for one person. Was. Killed him ... yesterday.
"See, I'm limping. I was finishing him off with my foot!
And then it suddenly dawns on me… And does the guy "drive" ? Maybe he's just kidding. "Thug" dreamer?
The car hums.
"I'll catch it now," he says, moving toward the road.
"Go to the bench!"
– You can't.
- Oleg...
He waves his arms, yells… The Jeep speeds by.

Behind him is another car...
- Oleg, stop!
I wave a pleading hand in her direction, imitating the face of extreme necessity. Mikrik stops. The window is lowered by a third… The driver asks me, looking at Oleg:
– What do you want?"
– Take me there. Me alone! He won't go...
And in a whisper:
– Get me away from this bro… Linked it.
"Sit down."
I run to get my backpack. The driver tells me to put it in the back seat. I put it down. Oleg is standing nearby. I approach him. I shake hands at parting...
- Well, come on, brother! I look into his eyes.
He's a little upset.
"You shouldn't have....
I take the seat next to the driver. I wave to Oleg… Let's get moving.
He suddenly throws up his hands after us. Runs to the bench… And off to the track with a bag of cookies!
I left it to him. He thought: I forgot!
He waves a painted hand, a bag of cookies, and yells something at us… It disappears in clouds of dust.
"He's a beauty," the driver says.
- Predator.
- Maybe. There are plenty of them here.

This post was edited by Wild Yuri - 25.03.2015 23: 23

Likes: 14

23.03.2015 23:30, Valentinus

Thank you, Yura!
Just fine!
Your stories stay in your soul for a long time! Thanks!!!

I remembered wandering in Dagestan, in the floodplain of the Terek River.
Deep woods, back roads, and a sense of constant danger. It's like there's action movies waiting for you around the corner.
On that day, the weather was sunny, there were a lot of butterflies fluttering around, and I tried to make a complete list. I ran along the back roads and memorized. One nymphalid, toli klossiana, toli draughtsman, came down from the trees to the road a couple of times, but I couldn't catch or identify her. In pursuit of her, I abandoned the car and went deep into the floodplain forest. A few minutes later, a clearing opened up in front of me, I was happy, but when I began to wander through it, I saw small trenches, targets, piles of shell casings. I felt uneasy, because I had visited this place several times and was very close to this camp. I immediately imagined what would have happened to me if I had been trained here.
I didn't go there again, although I'm not a coward.

Likes: 5

03.04.2015 11:21, Penzyak

Dedicated to Russian professors in China and other Hong Kong and Macao...

Story 4. Where does the Chinese mosquito spend the winter?

"You can't resolve any issue? Then take up a survey of his present and past... "Mao Zedong," Let's Rebuild our Studies, " May 1941, Ed. Proc. Vol. III

Do you still not know where the Chinese mosquito spends its winter? I'll tell you now. If anyone has heard, we once drained the swamps around Leningrad. But all these grandiose plans for the transformation of nature, combined with environmental illiteracy, always and everywhere turned out to be sideways. Does the mosquito need to live somewhere or what? And he, poor fellow, crossed himself, mastered the Petrograd semi-flooded basements. As they used to say in stagnation, God grant Siberian health and Caucasian longevity to our housing and communal services! May it be empty! Mosquitoes, like all insects, love warmth. Our mosquito, for example, "gets up on the wing" when the air temperature steadily exceeds 12-14 ° C. And when it gets colder, the mosquitoes disappear. Pay attention to this – it may come in handy! In general, the biomass and species diversity of insects increases with decreasing latitude - from the pole to the equator. At least at sea level. No wonder tropical China is full of mosquitoes. Every decent hotel here has mosquito nets - canopies. But sleeping under them is not very comfortable. Therefore, in my university hotel room, I used "eco-friendly" methods of fighting. I batten down all the windows and doors and turn on the air conditioners at full power and minimum temperature. I must say that their air conditioners do not give less than 16 ° C. After a while, there are no mosquitoes in the room. Still - the most cool. I think, where did they go? After all, the windows and doors are battened down! I arrange a search, or, as Chairman Mao used to say, an " examination." But it turns out that the mosquitoes have relocated to the bathroom and kitchen, where the cold has not yet reached. I continue to "chill". Now the mosquitoes are nowhere to be seen. But, after all, the windows and doors are battened down!? That's what an inquisitive pioneer naturalist means! I'm arranging an even more thorough search-an examination of the entire room. And do you know where I found it? You'll never guess! In the bathroom, in an empty plastic bag for dirty laundry! It's still warm there, and everyone spends the winter there! Hence the simple and effective method of controlling Chinese mosquitoes. You batten it down, put an empty bag in the tub, turn it on, "chill" it, wait, carefully wrap the bag, and do with them what you want! You can move it to the next room or trample it under your feet. Who likes what. By the way, after the events held, the mosquitoes stopped coming to me at all.
I told my Chinese comrades. They didn't believe me. I had to demonstrate. He asked me to dress warmly. We got dressed. Came. Then for a long time they drank my cold jacket (kit. – beer), clicked their tongues and said: "Sergey, bitches past pidzhou arsi tso-tso!". Which translates roughly to: "it's good to drink cold beer in the heat with a decent person, but without mosquitoes!".

PS. But a holy place is never empty! This is how the people formulate the universal laws of conservation of mass and energy? A couple of weeks after the "disappearance" of mosquitoes, two cockroaches, each the size of the floor of a matchbox, began to appear in the evenings. They must be edible-I've seen them sold at local markets. Unlike my mother, I'm not afraid of cockroaches. They've never bitten anyone before! I'd love to hear the bitten man's impressions. Cockroaches appeared long before the Pharaohs. So they still remember serfdom. Therefore, I have not yet begun to eat" my "cockroaches, but"examine" them. They come in the evening and immediately-to the ashtray. There are cigarette butts, and they eat the ashes with an appetite (apparently, there is not enough calcium and salt). They are especially "happy" if they find an apple core in the ashtray – they seem to love apples!
PS 2. There are still some small and not very mobile flies in Guangzhou. But they don't bother people, thank God! So the popular expression: "Flies eat you!" is not appropriate here. But these flies always strive to settle in the computer keyboard! They don't seem to react to the cold. Therefore, I haven't figured out how to fight yet. Even at night, bats fly over the hotel. But they don't fly into the rooms.
PS 3. I don't know if there is a series "Entomology" in the journals Izvestiya Rossiiskoi Akademii Nauk (Proceedings of the Russian Academy of Sciences).

This post was edited by Penzyak - 03.04.2015 11: 21

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