Eight months of winter here, the four - the rains

We were confident that the mountain - a pole of rain. In Colchis, the average annual rainfall of 2800 mm, and in the southern Urals, only 1200 mm. But here eight months of winter, but four - the rain. To "extreme rainfall" two o'clock we were sitting under a rock, hiding from the soul, which we have. met the owners of "Mount Olympus". Reassuring is that we are not the first, marking the ascent of Iremel so original. In Iremel put into his power some trails. She put on the Tyulyuk. We stopped at the palace, which, incidentally, played a modest role villagers smolokurni. Only on the fourth morning sailed across the sky pieces azure and the sun began to warm tongue licking wet forests. We rejoiced - in a way. We had to force the already ingrained in the liver Juruzan. River still does not justify the name "Quick." A peaceful and stately, she was frowning in the backwaters, laughed in the shallows. Sun cast into it a handful of lights. But as soon as we enter into it, as had to rely on the forelimbs. Juruzan showed her stubborn temper. Five of them, holding hands, we can hardly reach the opposite shore. For Petropavlivka Taiga trail their way along the ridge Bitch. Clearings turning rosy willow-herb. Under his feet flashed a dark blue flowers of the field of geranium, oily golden cup of night blindness. How come across flowers, herbs, with funny and mysterious names: Kukushkin, linen, wolf ears, black button of the two leaves - crow's eyes, hare panicles of oats. Under the fir trees lurked juicy tart leaves orpin. All blossomed in its own way, all in their own smell. I can remember the smells of wood, like Robert Mayer, the famous hunter of animals caused by the smell of the jungle. Even in winter, when the city's air so fresh, I'm clearly the sweet-scented perfume blossoming linden trees, the warmth emanates from her honeymoon brushes. I can catch a stress-free odor poplar tar, heated by the sun and the bright spirit of pine forests. Smell of the forest! It is a symphony. In her rage are the same passion, the tenderness, the same life as in music by Tchaikovsky. Not without reason Pyotr Ilyich so fond of the forest. Our trail now and then dived into the stream. The ridge is female - this cradle of rivers. Here and there a tuft of grass in the land of closed burrows. They were wire-mole traps. At dusk overtook host traps. Before thickset hut, half-covered with soil, burned a small kosterik. Almost without smoke. It can be seen, the fire spread experienced woodsman. Our appearance, he was not surprised at the greeting nodded. And he continued to rip off with deft movements of moles velvety skin. Summer mole today. Rains a lot. Throughout the mole digs. Where the worm rain - there he is. Mala small animals, and one area of ??our hands over her skin for a hundred thousand rubles for the summer. Hut cut down long ago. The walls of the larch. log in girth. With the brick oven, bunks and windows. What good's mansion? - Smiled krotovik, seeing that we are considering the hut. - Skeet so. Elder it was hidden from the world. Beard to the waist, shoulders - in the door sideways squeezing. Died, however. Before the war, more ... Here are some skit! Have long inhabited the Ural Kerzhakov-rebels. In Yuryuza-neither before the revolution of thirty thousand inhabitants - half of the dissenters. Religion! One of the most sad and confused human stupidity. It is hard to give us that people hated and killed each other only because they believed that the different tales. How much talent, will, how many lives given to fairy tales. That left us descendants, they are servants of God? Even now people realize that the spiritual slavery is even more senseless, cruel, than the physical.