Bob Roberts

My monthly fishing diary ...

THERE’s a bream theme to this month’s diary. And why not? They may not be as fashionable as barbel and carp these days but that doesn’t mean, on the right tackle, they aren’t great fun to catch. Trouble is, it’s only when you try to catch bream by design that you realise how tricky they can be. It wasn’t exactly a month of hauling and bagging up, far from it. But it all turned out right in the end...

Week one...

I regard myself as fortunate to live in fairly close proximity to South Yorkshire’s River Don. You certainly would not have said that 50 years ago when it was heavily polluted but I can now travel 10 miles upstream to catch wild trout and grayling, or I can head a similar distance downstream to the fish- filled tidal reaches where, despite challenging access and strong tidal flows, big bream, barbel, chub, roach and dace galore can be caught in among occasional flounder.

Split the difference, almost anywhere between Doncaster and Rotherham, and it tends to be silver fish city. Yet you would hardly realise it as the banks are largely deserted.

With time at a premium I dropped on to the Earth Centre length, park parked my car in the new housing estate, walked around 20 yards and dropped into the first peg I came to. This wasn’t a flier, just a bog standard Don peg, chosen because there was enough room to plonk my seatbox down comfortably. There was no- one else fishing as far as I could see.

My first job was to prepare a few Bag ‘ Em expander pelle pellets, not a lot, perhaps two decent handfuls and that was it, bait- wise. I had with me a pole, just the one top section fitted with doubled- up No. 5 solid elastic through two sections and I set off by cupping in a few expanders via a small pot, plumbed the depth at around 10 feet and rigged up a 1.5g float. My shots were bulked two feet from the hook with a couple of small droppers finished off with a size 16 hook. It really doesn’t get much simpler.

The biggest surprise was having to

wait ten minutes for my first bite but in all fairness the river hadn’t fished well in a match on the same stretch at the weekend. The bottom of the shelf was a good way out, about 13 metres, and that gave me a few problems in the gusty wind. If I let the float run I was more likely to catch roach and even an odd rudd. The skimmers wanted the hookbait nailed down, which is probably why the weekend’s match was won on the feeder.

That option wasn’t open to me as I’d only brought a pole and I have to say I found the high bank behind me a little tricky when shipping back but when you add all the negatives together you get a positive. Catching a fish every cast can be a little boring, but having to work for each bite and overcome obstacles is far more rewarding and helps you to understand better what works and what doesn’t.

On sessions like this I’m always trying to learn, analysing what I’m doing, trying to solve the puzzle in front of me. I came to a series of conclusions. I would probably have improved my catch rate by mixing up a bit of groundbait to concentrate the fish. A few worms would not have gone amiss.

I should have stepped up to at least a 2g float. And most importantly of all, I should probably have fished further out, with a feeder, because the previous week’s colour had dropped out. I could catch more roach by shallowing up but if I wanted skimmers it had to be hard on the deck.

Needless to say I caught my fill of fish. No sign of the bigger bream that are widespread but chunky skimmers obliged at regular intervals. And, of course, I was late home for tea, as usual, thanks to having about ‘ 15 last casts’.

Week two...

I suppose I shouldn’t complain, but my last three trips to the River Thames have coincided with high temperatures and the flow practically non- existent. And because the week is spent cruising between Abingdon and Marlow with friends on a boat, early mornings were a pipe dream and evenings were mostly spent socialising. So not much chance of serious fishing!

This year I had set myself the target of catching a decent Thames bream

( or three) and made a few enquiries as to where the best locations might be, which is all fine and dandy except you are only ever going to fish in the vicinity of where you can moor up.

Three days in I had barely wet a line outside of a bit of fun catching small perch on light jigs. The trip also coincided with my birthday and a trip to a fine restaurant so my chances were dwindling away.

Things took a turn for the better on the fourth evening when we moored up close to a known bream area. I banged out 20 feeders full of sweet fishmeal groundbait and pellets, then went to bed. Next morning I rose at 7.30, had a dozen quick casts to top up the swim and then left things to settle down over breakfast.

On my return I had indications and liners straight away. For half an hour I caught skimmers almost every cast, the best getting on for 3lb, and then the swim switched off. No bites, no liners, no indications, nothing. The sun beat down from a cloudless sky and my chances of a big bream evaporated with the morning dew.

It was my intention to top up and have another go that evening but late that afternoon I watched a bream roll 50 yards upstream of where we were moored, tight over to the far bank. Then another one head and shouldered. Ten minutes later I was opposite the fish watching very carefully for signs of activity, rod at the ready. By an amazing coincidence this was the only unoccupied mooring on the stretch.

It was also the exact moment when a great long narrow barge hove down on me, the driver shouting, “Look out, I’m coming to moor there!”

I could have cried were it not for me laughing so much. Such was the guy’s haste to snatch the last mooring he appeared to have forgotten his teenage son was stood on the front of the barge as he ploughed into an overhanging bush, pinning him rather awkwardly to the front cabin.

Served him right!

Anyway, that didn’t quite scupper my ambitions as there was a small gap just off to the left between two bushes but it was a right old parrot cage. Quite narrow, with shrub alders growing out horizontally from the 3ft high bank at water level and thick weed extending a further four yards out into the river. And then another bream rolled. Blow the obstacles, this was game on!

What a difference being in the right swim makes. I was into fish from the off and some of them were proper lumps, so heavy one snapped my landing pole net like a carrot as I tried to lift it over the foliage. Unfortunately I rapidly ran out of light but for an hour I was the Thames bream king and couldn’t put a foot wrong.

One evening and one breakfast session was enough to satiate my bream dreams and I spent the rest of the week playing Swallows and Amazons with Peter Smith in his tiny dinghy catching perch and small pike from here and there. Cruising the Thames has really opened my eyes. Hardly any angling pressure other than from swarthy looking folk with lure rods. Couldn’t help thinking how many inaccessibly mouth- watering chubby looking swims I saw as we cruised by at a snail’s pace. And all those weir pools, too. Am I missing something?

Week three...

Back home I felt like I was coming down with something, which I self- diagnosed as a mild dose of bream fever, because I really fancied catching some more slabs, but where to go? It was surely time for me to take a look at the tidal Don. I’ve not fished it so far this season and a quick check of the level and tides revealed it to be at normal summer level, backing up for the first hour of my window of opportunity, then running off. Perfect.

I can’t believe I was the only angler fishing, again, but that meant I could fish a flier. Apart from a strong facing wind and crystal clear water, everything looked perfect. Alas the fish didn’t want to play ball and after three hours without a tremor on the tip I gave up. An unexpected early autumn blank. Oh well, it happens.

When faced with the inevitable I accept defeat gracefully and put my energy into the next trip. Yes, we all have days when we struggle. My solution is to accept it and move on. Let the fish win, for a change. It’s part of the game. Revenge will be sweet.

Week four...

My revenge began by targeting one of the most prolific bream swims on the River Trent. Well, it would have done had someone not arrived ten minutes before me and was setting up in the very swim!

Five hours in the peg next door without a bite saw me heading home, licking my wounds knowing I should have got up earlier to secure the swim.

I wasn’t giving up though. I decided to target a famous Trent hotspot and boy, was it hot? The sun blazed down from a clear blue sky, high pressure dominating meant there wasn’t a breath of wind and the river was crystal clear. What could possibly go wrong?

I’d gone all old school, groundbait feeder, casters and worm, surely no bream could resist, yet two small perch were all I could muster after four hours from my only two indications. I was all- but defeated when the sleeper rod, baited with a boilie on the off- chance of a carp, hooped over and the clutch began to sing.

In truth I would have preferred to catch a bream. That had been my goal species all month long but it wasn’t to be. Nor was it the river carp I was secretly hoping for. Of course, it was a barbel, a good one, mind, and one I shouldn’t be turning my nose up at, but when you have your bream head on it still adds up to failure.

But a glorious failure and one that I’ll take all day long over a miserable blank. Three blanks on the trot at this time of year would surely be too much to bear.