During the visits to his native Vasilyovo, Valery Pavlovich Chkalov always tried to find time to go hunting or fishing. He was fond of these activities since childhood, knew the surroundings well, had rather good skills, and was known among his acquaintances as a great marksman.
In the woods, the famous test pilot was just as reckless as in the sky. He became very upset if he missed and got worked up if the cartridge got stuck in the barrel.
Chkalov hunted both alone and accompanied by locals, with whom he was still on friendly terms. Among the fellow villagers of the heroic pilot, an amusing story was recounted.
“Once Valery Chkalov went hunting with the huntsman Gordeich — an old man who lived at the Vasilyovo backwater. He was deaf, with poor eyesight, and very passionate about hunting. The hunters loved him: Gordeich knew many hunting trails and had a lot of funny stories and tales to share. So, Chkalov and Gordeich were once walking along a long edge of the forest, with a small talk to keep each other company.
Chkalov soon went ahead. In an aspen hollow, he shot a hare and decided to play a trick on Gordeich. He tore a piece of paper out of his notebook, wrote something, folded the paper into a tube, and put it in the hare’s ear. And then he set up the hare, as if alive, on a hillock — and went to Gordeich. At that very moment, the old man was coming out of the spruce forest. Chkalov sat down, and made a sign: keep quiet, look, here is a hare, can’t you see?
Gordeich, excited, tossed his gun up and shot the hare with a right-and-left. He ran up and picked up the hare by the ears. The old man was joyous like a child. And Chkalov burst out laughing —like a child, too.
‘Wait, Gordeich, ’ Chkalov remarked, as if nonchalantly, ‘look, there seems to be a note in the hare’s ear.’
‘Indeed, ’ said Gordeich, perplexed, and suddenly looked somehow diminished. ‘Come on, let me see.’
Gordeich took out his glasses, took his time to unfold the note, and read aloud: ‘Dear Gordeich, don’t kill me. I’m already dead. Hare.’
The old man was enraged. He cried out in anger:
‘Is that what real hunters do?! ’
Chkalov hastened to calm him down:
‘Sorry, Gordeich, the fault is mine. As for the hare, leave it to yourself. You would have got it sooner or later, anyway.’
‘That is for sure, ’ the old man said in a conciliatory tone. ‘You, Chkalov, are a real hunter.’”
In the woods, the famous test pilot was just as reckless as in the sky. He became very upset if he missed and got worked up if the cartridge got stuck in the barrel.
Chkalov hunted both alone and accompanied by locals, with whom he was still on friendly terms. Among the fellow villagers of the heroic pilot, an amusing story was recounted.
“Once Valery Chkalov went hunting with the huntsman Gordeich — an old man who lived at the Vasilyovo backwater. He was deaf, with poor eyesight, and very passionate about hunting. The hunters loved him: Gordeich knew many hunting trails and had a lot of funny stories and tales to share. So, Chkalov and Gordeich were once walking along a long edge of the forest, with a small talk to keep each other company.
Chkalov soon went ahead. In an aspen hollow, he shot a hare and decided to play a trick on Gordeich. He tore a piece of paper out of his notebook, wrote something, folded the paper into a tube, and put it in the hare’s ear. And then he set up the hare, as if alive, on a hillock — and went to Gordeich. At that very moment, the old man was coming out of the spruce forest. Chkalov sat down, and made a sign: keep quiet, look, here is a hare, can’t you see?
Gordeich, excited, tossed his gun up and shot the hare with a right-and-left. He ran up and picked up the hare by the ears. The old man was joyous like a child. And Chkalov burst out laughing —like a child, too.
‘Wait, Gordeich, ’ Chkalov remarked, as if nonchalantly, ‘look, there seems to be a note in the hare’s ear.’
‘Indeed, ’ said Gordeich, perplexed, and suddenly looked somehow diminished. ‘Come on, let me see.’
Gordeich took out his glasses, took his time to unfold the note, and read aloud: ‘Dear Gordeich, don’t kill me. I’m already dead. Hare.’
The old man was enraged. He cried out in anger:
‘Is that what real hunters do?! ’
Chkalov hastened to calm him down:
‘Sorry, Gordeich, the fault is mine. As for the hare, leave it to yourself. You would have got it sooner or later, anyway.’
‘That is for sure, ’ the old man said in a conciliatory tone. ‘You, Chkalov, are a real hunter.’”
