Of course, that is an extremely simplified version of possible events - if only it were that easy, especially when big fish are the target. But what I’ve said is, at least, basically true, and anyhow, the gist is that if we stick to proven formulae for long enough it usually all comes together sooner or later. But there comes a time when we have to throw the text books through the window, for sometimes we are presented with an opportunity that demands we forget about the usual conventional method and try to catch a fish with whatever means seems best at the time. What I’ve found over the years is that when the time comes to grasp an unexpected opportunity of catching a big fish, it is usually with a method and/or a bait that you wouldn’t normally be using for that species, in that water.
The best thing I can do is tell you what happened on a couple of occasions when I’ve been presented with an unexpected opportunity.
Bream
Some time ago a friend and I fished a local lake for big bream. As far as I know we did everything right, approaching the fishing with methods that had been successful on many other occasions. We arrived in the evening in plenty of time to get settled in for a night session, and to claim a favourite swim that was currently very productive. We used the boat to place a marker in the swim, fed it with groundbait, feeder maggots (squats), maggot and caster, and then set the tackle up on the platform. Two rods each, tackled up with 4lb lines and 14’s hooks, rigged in the usual paternoster style, one with swimfeeder and the other with straight bomb, were set up on rod-pods with bite alarms and butt indicators, and then we sat down to await the magic hours. These were from 11pm to first light, with 12am to 3am being the real hot period. But it was not to be, we didn’t have a bite all night.
At 8am we started cooking breakfast, the time when any bream action is usually over and thoughts of going home begin to enter your thoughts. The cloudy, warm night had turned into a sunny, more than warm day, even at that time in the morning. It was going to be extremely hot. The surface was flat calm, and the sky had only a few wisps of cloud drifting across the pale blue backdrop. It wasn’t a fishing day, more like a sunbathing, picnic type of day.
As the last remnants of bacon sandwiches were washed down with a cup of hot tea we saw the first black back slice through the surface, a hump that could only belong to a big bream. It was 60yds away too, and the ripple that emanated from that rolling bream had hardly flattened out when another bream broke surface two or three metres to the right. Then another, this time a few yards farther away and still heading away from us. But by that time, without saying a word to each other, we were drawing float rods from holdalls like arrows from a quiver. We knew exactly what we had to do. After all, it wasn’t the first time such an opportunity had presented itself.
Within a few minutes we had tackled up with sliding floats, using 3lb main lines, and 2.5lb hook lengths to 16’s hooks. These were loaded into the boat, along with a landing net, bait boxes of maggot, caster and worms, seats, catapult, and tackle boxes. We rowed across the mere to a spot where, according to past experience, the bream would head for next. It was a race to get there before they did, to make sure we could drop the mud-weights, fire in some bait, and be settled and waiting for them with the minimum of disturbance.
This was one of those times when things worked out exactly according to plan. Every few minutes we spotted a bream rolling, and each time they were closer, until one rolled close enough to my friend's float to cause it to sway in the swell from the roll. My heart missed more than one beat when we knew the bream had entered the trap. Would they succumb to my single redworm tipped with maggot, or my friends single redworm tipped with caster?
They were coming into the swim from my friend's side, and his float was the first to slide across the surface and then disappear. The bream fought well on the relatively light tackle, but luckily it kited to one side and then in a big semi-circle and was landed behind the boat, away from the swim. Even so, I couldn’t help but wonder if the hooking of that fish was going to be enough to spook those that remained. It was a beautiful bream that my friend cradled in his arms just before he slipped it back. It weighed 5kg. But I didn’t have long to dwell on it, for my own float shot under, and my tightening of the line met with that inimitable thumping that all big bream men know and love so much.
It had been less than an hour since we had moored the boat in that swim and ambushed the bream, and in that short space of time we had landed two in double figures, a better result than the night session that had produced nothing more than two line bites. Seeing those bream roll had presented an opportunity, and one that had to be taken advantage of with simple float tackle, for the high-tech bite alarms, rod-pods and other sophisticated gear was out of place in that type of situation, where an attack had to be mounted from a boat at very short notice.
Barbel
Another opportunity presented itself during a visit to a nearby river a few years ago. I intended to fish for chub into darkness, that magic time when chub come alive. I’d arrived far too early though, and had two to three hours to kill before dusk fell, and although it was a mild late autumn day, with the river running as clear as tap water, I decided to tackle up a float rod and fish for small fish for a couple of hours. I threaded a 5lb line through the 13ft match rod (it was the lightest reel line I had with me, with not knowing I’d be fishing for small fish) and tied on a 4lb hook length. Hook was a 16’s, which was the smallest I could get away with for bread fishing, which was the only remotely suitable bait for small fish I had with me. Certainly better than the lobworms, luncheon meat and cheese paste I’d brought along for chub. Float was a straight waggler, bulk shotted at mid-depth, apart from a single shot about a foot from the hook.
I mashed up two slices of bread and sat for about five minutes, just feeding tiny pieces into the head of the 3ft deep glide, hoping to get the small fish well on feed before I attempted to catch any (and it all passed the time away to bring closer the fishing I really wanted to do). Before I picked up the rod to send a bait down I saw a white flash at the tail end of the swim. Great, I thought, they’re onto the bait. So I pinched a tiny piece of flake around the shank of the 16’s and delivered it to the swim. As my float reached the tail end of the swim, when I was obviously looking in that direction, I had a clear view of the next white flash to appear there. That was no small fish. Chub, I thought, and it looked a good size. I retrieved the tackle, and switched the 16’s for a 10’s, tied direct to the 5lb line, and then fed a few more pieces of mash before I tried another cast.
I soon realised they were not chub, they were barbel, lovely bronze barbel, flashing their white bellies as they turned over to get their underslung mouths to the bread that was floating down just a few centimetres under the surface. Why they refused the particles that had sunk, and were trundling along the bottom I’ll never know. Perhaps it was more fun to perform somersaults to get at the bread higher in the water. Who says fish don’t know how to enjoy themselves?
I slid the float down to fish just 2ft deep, and then pushed all the bulk shotting right under the float. The bottom shot remained where it was, which meant it was now mid-way between float and hook. I pinched a piece of flake onto the shank of the hook, and then fed a few more small pieces of mashed bread into the swim, following them down immediately with my hooked offering. It worked like a charm, the barbel were coming up from the bottom so fast to intercept the loose mash they didn’t have time to spot any difference between the loose feed and my hook bait. In the next hour or so, before they either went off feed, or were spooked due to me catching a few of them, I took six barbel from a little over 8lb to a best fish of 11lb. My chub fishing suffered later though, for I had used up all the bread I had with me, and I was certain I would have caught more than the three I did manage to catch if I’d had bread to offer them. Who knows? But I wasn’t complaining.
These days I go better prepared for the unexpected, rarely being without a float rod, and usually with a good selection of baits and various bits and pieces of tackle. You just never know what you’re going to come across, and it’s as well to be prepared for almost anything. The trouble is, all my efforts to lighten the load I carry are more difficult, for everything I pick up with a view to leaving it at home are met with the thought: better not, you never know just what you might............................
