Canyon Country Zephyr page 16

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Russian Green

The Author finally sees a Russian Summer

By Michael Brohm

After three trips to the Russian city of Perm, I’d still not seen the Kama River as anything but a solid sheet of ice. I’d not seen grass, or leaves on the trees, or the sun after 5pm. I’d traveled there only in the dead of winter when the temperature can reach 40 below. But this time I was making the trip in summer.

our way past small islands, standing tall with white-barked birch. Between clumps of tall reeds André had rigged long nets across channels where he knew fsh would be traveling. With the motor off, the boat was rowed slowly along the net. From the bow André would untangle the fsh trapped there... perch, carp and sauger. But the biggest prize, the star of the show, was a 55 kilo (121 pound) catfsh!

The Kama, named after the Hindu god of love, fows 1100 miles to meet the Volga River on its way to the Caspian Sea. Like the great expanse of Russia, it’sa big, wide river. I’d been invited to go fshing with André and his fshing buddies near the place where I’d ice fshed a few years earlier. I was anxious to see the river in its liquid state.

Back at the fsh camp, an old log structure at the river’s edge, the enormous fsh was carried to a table to be cleaned. Realizing we were going to eat the fsh then and there made me wonder just how old this thing must be. (I also wondered how close we were to Chernobyl!) André used a meat cleaver to chop off the foot-wide head. Gutted and laid open, he ran his hands under the skin, separating it from the fesh below. The entrails were gathered and carried far from the camp, as bears were known to be nearby. The fsh was marinated in a mixture of mayonnaise, citrus, dill, olive oil and white wine. André, folding it all together with his hands, skewered the cubes of fsh and laid them over the coals.

I was picked up at 4 am, a good time to start a fshing trip, and was told that I could sleep during the 4 hour drive. “Stupid people and the roads” is a saying in Russia about what’s wrong with their country. I’ve not found the people stupid but they are right on about the roads. There would be no sleeping on this trip. The 200 mile ride was a bone jarring, teeth rat-

TWO GUYS (l)....Fishing buddies André & An-dré. André (right) was a professional wrestler in Russia.

HOLDING THE FISH...Andre’ with the 55 kilo catfsh, netted in the Kama River, Russia.

tling shocker on ill conceived, long neglected asphalt. “Pothole” is not a deep enough word to describe the craters we encountered. (The roads are much better in winter, the snow and ice acting to level the ride.)

The big fsh fed all ten of us and none went to waste. We drank fruit juices alternated with shots of vodka and brandy. After the meal, André sat on a birch log with his guitar and sang beautiful Russian folk songs.

We arrived at a small village on the bank of the river around 9 am. Men sat at an outdoor restaurant under colorful umbrellas drinking beer and listening to loud Russian rock music. The river is dammed downstream to provide hydroelectric power and here it looked more like a huge lake than a river. From across the river came 2 small runabouts. Built in the 70s, the boats seemed too small for all of us and our gear. There wasn’t a life jacket in sight.

Although none of the Russians spoke english, I got that they were asking me, “What was the biggest fsh that you’ve ever caught, back in America?” I thought for a moment. Knowing we had just eaten their biggest catch of 55 kilos, I said proudly, “60 Kilos!” Smiling, they knew I was telling a fsh tale... all fshermen speak the same language.

---MB

Once out on the water it was heaven. A big, blue Montana-size sky spread out above. The spray from the bow was warm and clean. We made

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	Russian Green The Author finally sees a Russian Summer By Michael Brohm After three trips to the Russian city of Perm, I’d still not seen the Kama River as anything but a solid sheet of ice. I’d not seen grass, or leaves on the trees, or the sun after 5pm. I’d traveled there only in the dead of winter when the temperature can reach 40 below. But this time I was making the trip in summer. our way past small islands, standing tall with white-barked birch. Between clumps of tall reeds André had rigged long nets across channels where he knew fsh would be traveling. With the motor off, the boat was rowed slowly along the net. From the bow André would untangle the fsh trapped there... perch, carp and sauger. But the biggest prize, the star of the show, was a 55 kilo (121 pound) catfsh! The Kama, named after the Hindu god of love, fows 1100 miles to meet the Volga River on its way to the Caspian Sea. Like the great expanse of Russia, it’sa big, wide river. I’d been invited to go fshing with André and his fshing buddies near the place where I’d ice fshed a few years earlier. I was anxious to see the river in its liquid state. Back at the fsh camp, an old log structure at the river’s edge, the enormous fsh was carried to a table to be cleaned. Realizing we were going to eat the fsh then and there made me wonder just how old this thing must be. (I also wondered how close we were to Chernobyl!) André used a meat cleaver to chop off the foot-wide head. Gutted and laid open, he ran his hands under the skin, separating it from the fesh below. The entrails were gathered and carried far from the camp, as bears were known to be nearby. The fsh was marinated in a mixture of mayonnaise, citrus, dill, olive oil and white wine. André, folding it all together with his hands, skewered the cubes of fsh and laid them over the coals. I was picked up at 4 am, a good time to start a fshing trip, and was told that I could sleep during the 4 hour drive. “Stupid people and the roads” is a saying in Russia about what’s wrong with their country. I’ve not found the people stupid but they are right on about the roads. There would be no sleeping on this trip. The 200 mile ride was a bone jarring, teeth rat- TWO GUYS (l)....Fishing buddies André & An-dré. André (right) was a professional wrestler in Russia. HOLDING THE FISH...Andre’ with the 55 kilo catfsh, netted in the Kama River, Russia. tling shocker on ill conceived, long neglected asphalt. “Pothole” is not a deep enough word to describe the craters we encountered. (The roads are much better in winter, the snow and ice acting to level the ride.) The big fsh fed all ten of us and none went to waste. We drank fruit juices alternated with shots of vodka and brandy. After the meal, André sat on a birch log with his guitar and sang beautiful Russian folk songs. We arrived at a small village on the bank of the river around 9 am. Men sat at an outdoor restaurant under colorful umbrellas drinking beer and listening to loud Russian rock music. The river is dammed downstream to provide hydroelectric power and here it looked more like a huge lake than a river. From across the river came 2 small runabouts. Built in the 70s, the boats seemed too small for all of us and our gear. There wasn’t a life jacket in sight. Although none of the Russians spoke english, I got that they were asking me, “What was the biggest fsh that you’ve ever caught, back in America?” I thought for a moment. Knowing we had just eaten their biggest catch of 55 kilos, I said proudly, “60 Kilos!” Smiling, they knew I was telling a fsh tale... all fshermen speak the same language. ---MB Once out on the water it was heaven. A big, blue Montana-size sky spread out above. The spray from the bow was warm and clean. We made

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