Yaman-Tau frowns

The station lies in a mountain bowl. This approach most wild and high ranges of the Southern Urals - Zigalga, Nara, Mashak. Here, the watershed, hence the running streams and rivers into the Volga, Ural, Ob. At the railway station live and hunters. Beat the squirrels, martens, foxes and hares, catch moles. One of them was bald, but strong and agile, boasted to us that the fall took the bear in a kilometer from the village. Hit in the head, but the "boss" rushed at him. Hunter threw up his hat. The bear stood up on his hind legs to grab her, but the hunter ripped his stomach with a knife. From Dvoynyshey climbed Big Shelom (1426 m). "Shelom" - means a helmet. We seemed as if climbed on the cap of the Urals-hero, who rooted to the ground and guarded wealth edge, arms outstretched from the Kara Sea to the Caspian Sea. Wildlife painting - top Shlomo. Clouds of sea waves attacked the hill. The sound of their rustling and noise. If there is a coven, he is here. On bare, with the stony slopes of the snow stuck somewhere sickly spruce, gnawed by frost, storms. Barely stay on his feet. Ten meters is not seen nothing. For orientation stuck twigs. The only non-secure place on the face - forehead - was covered with ice. Eyelash regedit. With Solomon visible in clear weather and lake Zauralye, and Bashkir steppes, and Jurmala. And we have not seen even the Yaman-Tau, which is ten times closer. Waded through the clouds, and below the heat. Peacefully and gently swirling white flies. Before the Yaman-Tau, the ultimate goal of our route from Dvoynyshey thirty-five miles of virgin snow. In this Bashkir - Poor Mountain. What can I say, she met us disgusting. Again, as before Baskakov, changed every ten minutes. We spent the night on the vast lawn. It was clear and cold. In such moonlight nights especially believe in the cold universe. Trunks crackling frost. Soon realized that no sleep till morning at a fire dance performed by freezing the tourist and sang. Yes, singing. "Snow," "Cold night," "The Polar Waltz", "Barbarisovy bush." In a campaign I started hiking songs. Though the country saw a new - a country where they live a simple, beautiful melodies and lyrics. In tourist songs usually no family, no tribe. In the best case it is known that the complexity of Odessa, or geologists. What is a fresh, vigorous, and sometimes sadly songs! About meetings and ladle, loggers and rockfalls. Hundreds of them. Wonder why there is no collection of tourist songs. Collect the same epic, limericks. Is not folk art? They have good, strong people who are not afraid to go into the night, in rain, in a blizzard. Tourist songs were not for concerts. In them, they fade as the rags are transformed into sun-sea-flowers - Predatory anemones. They do not otorvesh of tents, ski waxes and smell of burnt socks. They were born in the smoke of bonfires and without it sounding. We sang and tireless running in single file. Funny! People left out of the heat apartments to run all night under the moon promorozhennaya. But it was very nice. Silvery blue of the earth was bathed in, in sterile pure moonlight. There's even snow glowed. Returned to us the old fairy tales. And we wonder why there is not rosy bearded - Santa Claus, the German king and forest gnomes. How endlessly poured blue moon! Finally began to grow light. Gone are the watercolor-and-blue shade of paint thickens to the east and the ridge Mashak rolled out the sun. Skiing again began to rip open snowy linen. Cheeky slowly right over their heads, flying overweight grouse. While Sasha pulls off the shoulder gun, which, as in such cases, tripped over a backpack, three kilos of meat safely into the deep. Sasha did penance two partridges and Whites. During the day the weather changed twice: a "bucket", the clouds swirled over the Yaman-Tau. The second cold night settled in the foothills. Slept soundly: warmer, and has affected past sleepless night. In the morning it became clear - today Yaman-Tau did not take. Clouds filled "not only the top, but all the surrounding ridges. Products remained on the force for two days, and certainly has brought back ski runs. Reluctantly turned back. Poor Mountain has remained unconquered. Another night vpolsna in the snow, another day at the hare, and again Dvoynyshi. We luxuriate in the warmth. Last night the mercury in the thermometer dropped to minus forty. After semidiurnal sleep hosted a farewell banquet. The menu consisted of a single dish - Dreams Yaman-Tau. Exotic meat are the result of faulty food system caretaker. He let go of cooking two cups of cereal or pasta. No more, no less. "Dreams of the Yaman-Tau" brewed from the remnants of buckwheat, semolina and pasta, it took down the last half a tin of condensed milk and partridge. Instead of spoon bread rusk dust. We are expecting a train disrupting traffic lights green grapes, and a good, warm feeling to return.