The first opportunity appeared in September. I was invited by Witia to hunt ducks on fish breeding ponds, located in the hunting grounds of some other Russian hunting wheel. We left at night to take positions on dikes in the dark. In the huge military "Kamaz", almost 20 hunters were seated. There were some canvas sacks on the back. As explained to me, there were pontoons with which you can pick up the shot duck (the dogs were not there). I was the only Pole in this group. The Russians (and in fact the "Soviets", because there were also representatives of the Asian republics), already while driving, quickly pulled out bread, bacon, onion and spirits from their sacks' backpacks, preparing to hunt.

Upon arrival, several hunters along with all their luggage got out earlier. The rest, including myself, drove the entry gate to the State Fisheries Farm, reaching the place from which we went on foot. We came to, as it turned out later, the largest pond, whose shores were overgrown where there were bushes and on the water's surface there were several small islets surrounded by rare rushes. In the darkness, I took a stand in the clump of bushes growing on the causeway and began to listen to the whistle of flying birds. After a while, the east began to gray. The day was wake up. Somewhere in the distance I heard flying ducks and a few quick shots. It was already quite bright, and I did not even have the chance to shoot myself. Somewhere in the distance a different group of hunters must have hunted, for shots could be heard, and from that direction one could see ducks pulling high. They were far too high for an effective shot, but my neighbors still beat them sharply, of course with no effect. In the end, the ducks stopped flying. Seeing the arrival of Witia, I thought it was the end of the hunt, but the rest of the hunters were not coming. In the meantime, he sat down next to me and said we would stay until the afternoon, because ducks often like to come back at this time. He pulled onions, cucumbers, bacon and bread from his bundle, announcing that it was time for breakfast. After a while, she added a canteen, barely diluted with water, spirit. During our "breakfast", from the direction of the island about 300m away from us, we heard shots. I grabbed the gun, looking around, but nothing was flying in the air. After breakfast, Witia went to his post, and I spread out comfortably in the grass. The sun warmed up more and more, the spirit was warming too, so slowly my eyes began to close. Suddenly, I heard another two shots from the same island. I woke up immediately, but as before, I did not see anything. It was repeated twice more. Finally, I heard a loud whistle and I saw that the rest of the company gathered to return to the car. With the car it turned out that there was only one coot on the schedule, despite the large number of shots. He said goodbye to us, and then he closed the gate behind us, guarding the ponds of the caretaker, who judging by his strongly uncoordinated movements, had to eat "dinner" in addition to "breakfast". We set off along the gravel road towards the main road.

For the first turn a team of "Pontooners" waited for us on the road. They started to load their manels into a pitch. As the first, they loaded large canvas bags and behind them paddles and the rest of the smaller things.

On top, they threw pontoons and went back home. After entering the asphalt road, the ride was more convenient, it did not throw us around the entire truck box. At one point in the corner of my eye I saw something moving in one of the bags. I nudged Witia in the side and looked at him questioningly. The man admitted with a laugh that the "Pontooners" instead of hunting, caught the net with fish. One of them "feeds" the guard, and only fired to make some noise. That's how I came back from duck hunting with some nice carp.