I started to mull things over in my head. The session wasn’t turning out as planned. The quiver tip was a motionless one except for the gentle nodding to the rhythm of the approaching ripples. This wind was already strong and it seemed to be getting stronger. Overhead the heavy clouds gave the scene a bleak quality. Now, the angling literature would tell you that overcast conditions with a good ‘chop’ on the water are great for bream. It appeared then, that these bream hadn’t caught the weather forecast. I reeled in and changed the hookbait. A lovely, oily pellet this time. Maybe I should put on a white flag and call a truce. It looked like a blank might be on the cards but given my recent run of success I knew my luck would have to change sooner or later.
For now I made cups of tea, very much aware of the fact I had done all I could to try and tempt some more of these quality fish. Over the last few weeks the water has changed dramatically. I’ve watched big beds of weed spring up in the margins, almost overnight, and have been frustrated by the heavy silkweed now taking over vast areas of the lake bed. It has become a haven for wildlife. The tiny fry, probably a month or so old, have begun to take up residency amongst these beds of rich, green ‘candy floss.’ They dart out tirelessly, presumably for tiny life forms that have unfortunately become dinner. Every once in a while however, it is the fry who become an item on the menu as a little perch surges from behind a reed stem. When the fry prove a little too crafty to catch it is the pond skaters and water boatmen that need to watch out. Time for a re-cast. Triple red maggot this time, I think.
The carp angler fishing in front of me on the other bank decided it was also time for a re-cast, followed quickly by twenty or so boilies being catapulted out over the area. Dinner time. But not for the carp. Three or four gulls began swooping down, picking off the boilies before they had time to sink. Much to the carp anglers frustration. This feeding activity then attracted the ducks, their young, and a coot or two. We’ve all been in a similar situation. It’s best to admit we are in their environment. Far better to let them leave the area of their own accord than try clapping or scaring them. It still doesn’t mean its not frustrating.
The red maggots had now been in the swim for forty five minutes and it was time to revert to my starting bait of sweetcorn. It was now well into evening. The wind was beginning to drop. The waters surface which only an hour a go was threatening to wash over the peg was becoming like glass. The clouds that had helped the wind cool the air had also began to disperse, allowing pleasant evening sunlight to warm my back. According to the text books my chance of any bream had dwindled dramatically. But it was ok. Because if you remember these bream hadn’t read the script.
Half an hour later the tip swept around. A moment of utter disbelief and not-at-all-surpised mixed into one. I was into a good bream and I couldn’t help but laugh. Once it was over the rim of the net that is. I’m certainly a person who doesn’t count their chickens until they’re on the bank. A good six pounder lay on the mat. It was held up for a quick picture in the blinding sun, and released. The fish sulked for five minutes before finding its was through the strands of weed separating it from the deep water. The next cast produced another bream. This time a seven pound fish and straight after that another good six pound plus fish. Three fish in the space of forty five minutes.
And that was that. With the light rapidly fading and not being able to fish into night I started to pack away. On the drive home I reflected on the session. It was certainly an eye opening one for me regarding bream. Maybe you should not believe all you read in books. After all they are wild creatures and are not going to live up to their reputation all the time. I can honestly say though that there was never a dull moment. The amount of animals and insect to watch, there is always something to enjoy. A pastime within a pastime you could say.
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Until Next time tight lines