With the recent ban on ice travel, this page of Vladivostok history goes back to the past.
From ancient times, the local population had a courageous custom – until April to wheel the surface of the vast Amur Bay in all directions, for fishing, to isolate, or simply to cross the way to another shore. The creators of Mission: Impossible would bite their elbows when they saw these missing shots – a silver-shaped Toyota cutting off at wild speed, leaving behind a strip of water and crumbling beaten ice in a quilt, or a solid specially sealed jeep slowly leaving the door as its crew runs through a specially expanded lounge and runs cold-blooded on the roof, throwing heavy winter boulders and fishing supplies on the ice. There are not very many cars – under a hundred a year. For the powerful three hundred thousand car tribe of Vladivostok, normal municipal roads remain much more dangerous to this day.
Most cars went to the water quietly, without people, when spring winds took ice into the open sea. Unfortunate fishermen climbing the helicopter staircase, which they did not promise to the pilots to catch the machine, but those from the sky always showed a Russian gesture from the elbow. Rare cars that made the bull-bull on the go together with the crew, failed strangely not in the sea, but right off the city shore, in the unchanged fateful places, where the warm water of the sewerage spills under the ice.
One such case came to local TV and radio news a few years ago, so I have hundreds of thousands of witnesses.
The Black Crusade blinked only fifty meters from the shore, the entire crew saved safely by giant jumps. The car was entirely new, the place was small, so the owner of the jeep decided to spend on raising his vehicle, almost drowning the crane and the crane in the attachment. Well, or as it is called, this long heavy fucking with a lifting arrow-spin-like, I will call it an evacuator.
The final phase of the operation has arrived on TV. The rescue team consisted of two men with long thin armaturins, which they ticked into the pier, until the soft "tik-tik" changed to the bell.
“Jin and Jin.” Another couple of footage sneaked in the evacuator cabin, probably to drown together was more fun. There were a couple of lifted cars on the ice.
The third hanged on the hook - a good submarine. The cruise has not yet been found. His master no longer seemed to know whether to grieve him or laugh at him.
It felt like the man was not allowed to fish – he ran along the shore, begging – “kids, you are not in a hurry there, you are still feeling there!” He was found fifth.
I don’t know how the owner of the cruiser divided his catch with the rescue brigade into spare parts and metal. But I know from my acquaintances a short continuation of this story. Shortly after the TV show, the owner of the cruiser was called - the owner of the submarine, who drowned only three weeks ago, was found. He offered to give him the car for an outrageously modest reward. Juridically, all rights were on his side – the submarine remained his property. At the reasonable question, what the hell the subaric did so much time on the seabed, his owner answered that the sign "parking is forbidden" on the bottom of the Amur Gulf is absent. In response, the owner of the cruise truck threatened to return the submarine back to the parking lot.