A few dozen men brave the east Ukrainian winter to go fishing on frozen Lake Krynka in a bid to relax, but few can forget the war raging around them.
"The war is there but we like to fish, so we come anyway," said Vasily Ocheruk, 72, whose passion for fishing almost matches the fervour of the fighters on the nearby battlefield.
Even when the Krynka river, around 40 kilometres (25 miles) northeast of self-proclaimed rebel capital Donetsk, was next to the war's front line between June and September, pensioner Ovcheruk kept coming to fish.
"Of course, sometimes we fled," he said.
Today, the centre of fighting has moved some 30 kilometres away, to the besieged transport hub of Debaltseve.
The rumble of distant artillery reaches the lake's shores, but is masked by a glacial wind where the fishermen sit in the middle of the lake, swaddled in thick jackets.
Andrei Tsyupko has drilled three holes in the thick ice, a few metres away from his friend Vasily. He stopped coming when the lake was on the frontline.
"I missed it. Really missed it," said the 71-year-old former miner with a chiselled face.
He has been fishing since 1953, and returned here with unabashed happiness in October.
"It's not a good day for fishing. There's too much wind," sighed Vasily, who has caught just three fish in five hours. "And a raven took one!"
- Catching a break -
While waiting for the fish to bite, the war often comes to the surface first.
"It's difficult to think about anything else. We're here but the young ones are at war," said Vasily, pulling his fur hat down over his ears and pouring himself a cup of tea.
"I wonder when all this will end, how we will rebuild, what we will leave for our grandchildren."
Andrei also thinks about the war, which has already killed at least 5,100 people in nine months.
"I wonder what our lives will be like, how we will make sure there's no more war," said Andrei, whose faith in a separatist victory is unwavering.
"I think a lot about what will happen when the war is over," said a man who gave his name as Gennady.
"I also think about my job," said the the 50-year-old electrician, unemployed because the war forced the factory he worked at to close down.
"My wife works in Donetsk," he explains, putting a maggot on a hook. "But every day I wonder if she'll make it home."
His friend Sergei Gerugin is the only one who manages to "empty his head" of the war.
"I don't think about anything," he said.
Suddenly Gennady stands up and pulls up his line, a fish at the end. The two men exchange a smile.
Irrespective of the catch, "we have a good time," smiles Andrei.
Vasily will share his catch with his daughters and grandchildren.
"I'll make fish soup. It'll be great with a bit of vodka."
A few dozen men brave the east Ukrainian winter to go fishing on frozen Lake Krynka in a bid to relax, but few can forget the war raging around them.
“The war is there but we like to fish, so we come anyway,” said Vasily Ocheruk, 72, whose passion for fishing almost matches the fervour of the fighters on the nearby battlefield.
Even when the Krynka river, around 40 kilometres (25 miles) northeast of self-proclaimed rebel capital Donetsk, was next to the war’s front line between June and September, pensioner Ovcheruk kept coming to fish.
“Of course, sometimes we fled,” he said.
Today, the centre of fighting has moved some 30 kilometres away, to the besieged transport hub of Debaltseve.
The rumble of distant artillery reaches the lake’s shores, but is masked by a glacial wind where the fishermen sit in the middle of the lake, swaddled in thick jackets.
Andrei Tsyupko has drilled three holes in the thick ice, a few metres away from his friend Vasily. He stopped coming when the lake was on the frontline.
“I missed it. Really missed it,” said the 71-year-old former miner with a chiselled face.
He has been fishing since 1953, and returned here with unabashed happiness in October.
“It’s not a good day for fishing. There’s too much wind,” sighed Vasily, who has caught just three fish in five hours. “And a raven took one!”
– Catching a break –
While waiting for the fish to bite, the war often comes to the surface first.
“It’s difficult to think about anything else. We’re here but the young ones are at war,” said Vasily, pulling his fur hat down over his ears and pouring himself a cup of tea.
“I wonder when all this will end, how we will rebuild, what we will leave for our grandchildren.”
Andrei also thinks about the war, which has already killed at least 5,100 people in nine months.
“I wonder what our lives will be like, how we will make sure there’s no more war,” said Andrei, whose faith in a separatist victory is unwavering.
“I think a lot about what will happen when the war is over,” said a man who gave his name as Gennady.
“I also think about my job,” said the the 50-year-old electrician, unemployed because the war forced the factory he worked at to close down.
“My wife works in Donetsk,” he explains, putting a maggot on a hook. “But every day I wonder if she’ll make it home.”
His friend Sergei Gerugin is the only one who manages to “empty his head” of the war.
“I don’t think about anything,” he said.
Suddenly Gennady stands up and pulls up his line, a fish at the end. The two men exchange a smile.
Irrespective of the catch, “we have a good time,” smiles Andrei.
Vasily will share his catch with his daughters and grandchildren.
“I’ll make fish soup. It’ll be great with a bit of vodka.”
