A Day Chasing Poachers with Omsk Fisheries Inspectors
In such heat, the boat was too hot to touch
My workday started not in a familiar office chair but early in the morning on the bank of the Irtysh River — I stood barefoot on scorching sand, peering into the river, waiting for a boat. Today we had agreed to take a ride on the water with Yuri and Yevgeny: the task was to inspect the water area, seize dangerous fishing gear, and, if lucky, detain poachers who set nets in circumvention of the law.
Beautiful views of Omsk opened up from the river
A small four-meter motorboat approached us. It couldn«t get closer to the shore — a sandbar got in the way, so I had to roll up my pants and wade into the water. I somehow climbed onto the high bow, and immediately the scorching metal that lined the boat began to burn my feet. The sun that morning spared no one, even at that early hour. We settled on a wooden bench behind the inspectors.
Steering a boat for the first time
We were greeted warmly and with genuine enthusiasm — it was clear they were sincerely glad for the company for the next couple of hours. Yuri grinned slyly and said: “So, shall we go catch some crooks?”
Yuri has worked in fisheries protection for 10 years
That«s how I ended up in fisheries protection — for exactly one day.
Inspectors always carry protective equipment in the boat in case of aggression from poachers
Flying over the water, the wheel in my hands
Fishermen ran away from the water in their underwear
The motor roared — and we didn«t just float, we literally flew over the smooth surface of the Irtysh. The wind whipped my hair, cool splashes hit my face, and views of Omsk opened up that I had never seen before. We set course toward Cheryomushki. We went for a long time, and all the vacationers on the shore followed us with their eyes: children waved, adults turned around. Because of the loud motor, talking was pointless — we just rode in silence, catching the wind, sun, and freedom.
There were a couple of small fish in the net
Somewhere halfway, Yuri unexpectedly suggested I take the wheel. There was no fear — only curiosity. However, before handing over control, he decided to “encourage” me: “Keep in mind, last year guys crashed into that concrete block in the river. Three had broken vertebrae, one was never found,” he nodded toward the platforms floating past.
Such a net would incur a fine of 2,000 rubles
After such support, I gripped the wheel noticeably tighter.
Yevgeny untangled sticks from nets all the way
From the first minutes, Yevgeny and Yuri seemed light-hearted and cheerful to me — constantly joking, teasing. It felt as if I had gone not to work but back to childhood, to the river with my father. True, unlike that fishing trip, today the “catch” was supposed to be entirely different “specimens” — the poachers themselves.
Yuri taught me to identify violators from afar by their movements
But despite all the humor, the inspectors looked imposing: broad backs, powerful shoulders, and the inscription that every poacher on shore tries to make out — “Fisheries Protection”.
The men always go on patrols together
The men keep themselves in good physical shape, though they complain without embarrassment about age, eyesight, and old ailments. Yuri is 63, with 12 years in the police behind him, and his experience in law enforcement structures has helped him on the river more than once. In ten years as an inspector, he has seen it all.
Along the way we met many seagulls that scattered when frightened by the boat
— Sometimes they run away, sometimes they«re drunk, sometimes they attack, provoke, start barking.
We cast the hook not far from the shore — poachers usually set self-catching gear in these places
— And what do you do in those moments? — I asked, frightened.
This is what a self-catching gear looks like
— Cover your ears, I«ll say it, — Yuri smirked (hinting that he wanted to swear). — It varies. Once I lost my temper, and they dragged me through the prosecutor»s office for three years afterward.
Sterlet doesn«t need to be fed; it bites on bare hooks
— I«ve even been shot at, — Yevgeny added calmly, adding to the collection of inspectors» tales.
All the catch is packed into bags
I sat at the wheel for almost the entire journey. Surprisingly, the inspectors weren«t worried at all — they sat relaxed in the back, especially when they learned I had a driver»s license.
“Consider it the same, just without road markings,” Yevgeny smiled.
Stop, where are you running!
At some point, Yuri«s voice cuts through the silence: “Fishermen!” — and I»m instantly pulled from the driver«s seat. The inspector sharply turns the boat at speed, and a wave drenches us from head to toe. We race toward the shore, where I can barely make out two male figures.
— How did you spot them with such bad eyesight, huh? — I shout.
— I feel them, and Zhenya sees nets right through the water, — Yuri laughs, continuing to drive the motorboat at full speed, not slowing on the waves.
Meanwhile, panic already reigns on the shore. The inspectors shout:
— Where are you running? Stop!
— Come here, guys! — there«s a feigned ominous chuckle in the man»s voice, and the violators scatter in all directions.
It turned out that before our arrival, two men had been hunched over a net — trying to untangle the gear and retrieve their catch. The catch was trifling, but the fine and criminal charges awaiting them were no joke. In the end, the fishermen abandoned their things, gear, and catch. The bank is steep, with sharp branches and stones all around, but the violators had no time for that: their legs carried them away at any cost, just to avoid meeting the law. Zhenya and Yuri didn«t try to chase them — they just laughed after them.
“I«m already old, my knees hurt,” Yuri grunts, climbing out of the boat. “Everyone runs away, no one wants to talk.”
I«m still standing in the motorboat in slight shock — especially after their own stories about attacks. But the inspectors rush into battle for the fish without a shadow of fear, forgetting all the traumatic stories from the past. Meanwhile, Yevgeny is already examining the trophy on the shore.
What the violators left behind was a beam trawl. The contraption looks like this: a long net tied on both sides to tall sticks. Yuri comments on the find: “All seized nets are handed over to the organization. The net itself is inexpensive — about two thousand rubles [~$22]. But the fine for using a net is 2,000 rubles without fish, and separately each fish is 250 rubles, regardless of size. Here there are a couple of chebak fish. They all get so scared and run away for some reason. There«s nowhere to run, so they dart about. But you can»t catch anything decent with these nets, only small fry. But the very fact that it«s prohibited...”
While Yuri mentally calculates how much fine the violators avoided, Yevgeny loads the net into the boat. Later, while moving, he will remove the mesh from the sticks — the wooden poles will fly into the water, and the net will be neatly packed into a large garbage bag. The fish were released back into the river by the inspectors — alive and unharmed.
“Take a seat, it«s about to get even more interesting,” Yuri promised meaningfully.
A trained eye, an open soul
After the brief “skirmish” with the poachers, we moved on. Along the way, we kept encountering fishermen — quietly sitting in inflatable boats with fishing rods, patiently waiting for a catch. As we passed by, the inspectors peered intently at each one: according to them, experience allows them to determine at first glance what a person is doing and what fish they«re after.
“Here, take a close look,” Yuri nods. “You can see how he sits, which hand holds the rod, which rod — and from that it«s clear what fish he wants to catch. There»s no panic, he«s just sitting calmly, we don»t touch those. Well, I could pull up and ask what he«s doing, but I already understand he»s harmless.”
On the way to the next spot, Yuri and I had a heart-to-heart talk. Because of the roar of the motor, I had to sit right behind his back on a narrow board at the very side — holding on tight so as not to fly overboard. And then this strong, stern man unexpectedly began to talk with longing about his life.
— Everything is the same... Honestly, I don«t remember what I did yesterday. It»s all monotonous. I don«t see summer; winter is easier. I»ve been working like this for 10 years. I ended up here by accident, walked and walked and ended up here by chance. A friend of mine worked here, he brought me in. Before that I was a restaurant director, 17 years in the food industry. I left because I got tired of it, all restaurants and restaurants, — the man tries to joke through the longing and fatigue. — I get up at three, always have breakfast, because who knows when I«ll eat next. Then I start working. I ride around, look, fish, later I go to the office and write papers, then I go home, rest a little, and back out at night. And so it goes in circles.
— And how does your family feel about your work? From your stories, it seems like you live here, — I ask.
— I don«t have a family... — Yuri answers quietly and with longing, looking into the distance, and falls silent.
A dead, awkward silence hangs. Only the motor roars louder than usual — as if filling the pause. A moment later, the inspector tries to joke:
— I don«t know how they feel. The ideal husband — never home, — he laughs, but it»s clear: the topic is heavy, the conversation is hard for him. — After the restaurant business, I opened the Actor«s House, “Bear»s Corner.” I was a manager, director. Got tired of it, left. Then Rostelecom, head of department. And then — fisheries protection.
— Aren«t you bored? Life used to be so fun, active.
— Everything gets boring. And here I«m already bored. Retirement is soon. I won»t be able to work in fisheries protection anymore, only until 65, then no — they kick you out, civil service. I don«t know where I»ll work afterward, who«ll take me.
— Aren«t you sorry to leave?
— Yeah, but what«s the difference, everything gets boring, — he sighs. — Yeah, there are nuances here. I»m a romantic by nature, sunsets, sunrises — I like all that. It«s beauty.
Trawling, searching for self-catching gear
The motor suddenly falls silent — we slowly stop. Yevgeny takes out a hook, and I look at the men questioningly.
“Now we«re going fishing,” the inspector answers cheerfully. “It»s called trawling, searching for self-catching gear.”
The boat is not in the middle of the river but somewhere by the trees, near a floating island. The inspectors assure: over years of work, all secret spots along the shores have been studied thoroughly — by snags, abandoned structures, old ships.
Yevgeny throws the hook into the water and guides it along the bottom carefully, trying to find nets. Meanwhile, Yuri expertly steers — moving the boat forward or backward so the current doesn«t carry it away. We freeze, watching the coordinated work, and the conversation naturally returns to the interrupted topic.
— It«s a pity, I feel sorry for them all, — Yuri says quietly. — I understand they live off the fish they catch. I already know everyone here, everyone knows me and hates me. There are some I»ve fined 10 times already, but they show up again because they live by this. Take that old man, his pension is tiny, what«s he supposed to live on — what he catches, he sells somewhere, fries some to eat.
— Got one! — Yevgeny suddenly interrupts him.
An endless rope with sharp hooks appeared from the water — fish were thrashing on them. Yevgeny leans over the side and carefully gathers the gear in his hands.
“The gear is very scary, I think,” Yuri explains. “There are big hooks, and there have been moments when a person pulls out the gear, there«s a sturgeon on it, he unhooks it, and when the fish thrashes, all the hooks pierce his hand one by one.”
When the multi-meter rope was pulled from the water, they began to remove the fish. Sharp hooks pierce the sterlet through. I ask what will happen to the wounded fish.
— It won«t survive, — they answer in unison.
— That«s the kind of gear. It»s all holey, practically dead, — they show the bloodied sterlet. — The hook pierced its guts. They«re made so that if it barely hooks, it instantly penetrates deep into the skin. The sterlet is a dumb fish, it plays with the floats and jumps onto the hook itself. People make these nets themselves, sharpen the hooks.
Nine sterlets already lie on the bow of the boat. The men carefully pack the nets and fish into bags. If poachers are caught with such a catch, the fine will be considerable. For each sterlet — 4,500 rubles [~$49], plus a criminal case for using prohibited gear. Yuri has learned all the prices down to the kopeck over the years.
“Sturgeon — price 4,082 rubles [~$44] per tail, any size, sterlet — 4,572 rubles [~$50], pike — 925 rubles [~$10], nelma — 10,800 [~$118], ide, bream — 500 rubles [~$5], burbot and many, many others.”
For dessert
Next we tried our luck in a few more spots — cast the hook, but without result. It was time for a “smoke break.” The men turned off the motor and took out containers of food and a thermos from the boxes. We politely declined the food, but the inspectors strongly recommended trying the tea.
“Drink, don«t be afraid. I go to the forest myself, gather various herbs, dry them, and then make teas from them,” Yuri boasted, and immediately after my first sip, he cracked another joke: “Well, that»s it, start the timer, we«ll test my tea on you.”
The drink turned out to be surprisingly tasty: herbs with wild cherry gave a pleasant sweet-and-sour aftertaste. We rested for only about twenty minutes, but in that time the current carried us more than a hundred meters. We started the motor again and set course back.
After our catch, Yuri faces paperwork at the office, and I face an article about a day spent on the river as a fisheries inspector. One day, two nets, nine sterlets, a dozen jokes, and one very candid conversation — and as a farewell, tea that will surely be remembered for a long time.
