"Эрнест Хемингуэй. Big two-hearted river" - читать интересную книгу автора

shore until he came out on the shallow bed of the stream.
On the left, where the meadow ended and the woods began, a great elm
tree was uprooted. Gone over in a storm, it lay back into the woods, its
roots clotted with dirt, grass growing in them, rising a solid bank beside
the stream. The river cut to the edge of the uprooted tree. From where Nick
stood he could see deep channels, like ruts, cut in the shallow bed of the
stream by the flow of the current. Pebbly where he stood and pebbly and full
of boulders beyond; where it curved near the tree roots, the bed of the
stream was marly and between the ruts of deep water green weed fronds swung
in the current.
Nick swung the rod back over his shoulder and forward, and the line,
curving forward, laid the grasshopper down on one of the deep channels in
the weeds. A trout struck and Nick hooked him.
Holding the rod far out toward the uprooted tree and sloshing backward
in the current. Nick worked the trout, plunging, the rod bending alive, out
of the danger of the weeds into the open river. Holding the rod, pumping
alive against the current. Nick brought the trout in. He rushed, but always
came, the spring of the rod yielding to the rushes, sometimes jerking under
water, but always bringing him in. Nick eased downstream with the rushes.
The rod above his head he led the trout over the net, then lifted.
The trout hung heavy in the net, mottled trout back and silver sides in
the meshes. Nick unhooked him; heavy sides, good to hold, big undershot jaw,
and slipped him, heaving and big sliding, into the long sack that hung from
his shoulders in the water.
Nick spread the mouth of the sack against the current and it filled,
heavy with water. He held it up, the bottom in the stream, and the water
poured out through the sides. Inside at the bottom was the big trout, alive
in the water.
Nick moved downstream. The sack out ahead of him sunk heavy in the
water, pulling from his shoulders.
It was getting hot, the sun hot on the back of his neck.
Nick had one good trout. He did not care about getting many trout. Now
the stream was shallow and wide. There were trees along both banks. The
trees of the left bank made short shadows on the current in the forenoon
sun. Nick knew there were trout in each shadow. In the afternoon, after the
sun had crossed toward the hills, the trout would be in the cool shadows on
the other side of the stream.
The very biggest ones would lie up close to the bank. You could always
pick them up there on the Black. When the sun was down they all moved out
into the current. Just when the sun made the water blinding in the glare
before it went down, you were liable to strike a big trout anywhere in the
current. It was almost impossible to fish then, the surface of the water was
blinding as a mirror in the sun. Of course, you could fish upstream, but in
a stream like the Black, or this, you had to wallow against the current and
in a deep place, the water piled up on you. It was no fun to fish upstream
with this much current.
Nick moved along through the shallow stretch watching the banks for
deep holes. A beech tree grew close beside the river, so that the branches
hung down into the water. The stream went back in under the leaves. There
were always trout in a place like that.