It’s still windy so back to the river. Time to get those bream out of my head. I was back after Ruffe today, Pope, Snotty, Tommy…they are present at Beccles, not rare for me to catch them but uncommon though they can be numerous at times and the fella in the tackle shop had told me he’d had over twenty the other evening while trying for gudgeon to use as pike livebaits. Well, though we’d planned to go from Wainford to Earsham we altered this as it was only the pair of us who were fishing now. The pair of us. Yes. For some unbelievable reason I was taking Paul along again. He’d never had a ruffe in his life though so I guessed I was in safe mode. I did some quick research to improve my chances. Mr Pennel wrote in The Anglers Naturalist, published in 1863:
[i]Although, however, a purely river fish, and considered as by no means unpalatable food, it is seldom sufficiently numerous in this country to become an object of exclusive attention to the angler, but is usually taken incidentally whilst in pursuit of other fish, and more particularly whilst raking for gudgeon, the small larvae and other insects turned up during this operation possessing apparently an equal attraction for both species. The ruffe, also, like the gudgeon is very easily tempted by a red worm, which, if offered in judicious proximity to his nose, he will rarely ever refuse.[/i]
The worms came from my compost bin. A big bunch all around the rim. I had those and maggots and a look of grim determination. As we headed for Beccles, me still seething at Paul as we drove. Of course we still intended going to Wainford, just later, so after unloading I decided to sit with a dry bum and try to get one from the bottom of the slip while Paul tackled up. All I had a was a beautifully marked and fine perch which Paul failed to get a photo of before it escaped from my hand though he managed one of me landing it
Cheers Paul. I decided to give it a few more minutes. It was nice here.
It was too nice, I was danger of falling sleep. I paddled out through the quay to swim number one.
Tying up next to the ‘No Mooring’ sign I cast to the drop off and waited.
I waited ages. Paul sat there mid swim drifting around and giving out bad vibes so I dispatched him on a pike hunt with my lucky lure and my spinning rod and reel.
I still couldn’t catch on the leger though. Nothing else for it, I stuck on double red maggot, dangled it in midwater off the bow next to the pilings and immediately pulled in a fine perch. Then another.
A third drop and I had a lovely rudd, a wonderful golden sheen on its flanks.
I moved. Tried on the shelf again. Different coloured maggots.
One missed bite and loads of weed. I moved again.
Nothing. Paul was under the bridge then moved into my bay and started fishing my chub spot. Great spot for lots of species this. Lillies, rock, mud, silt, rubbish, fast water and eddies, pilings, concrete…I went the other end and had a chub, roach and rudd then moved around to join him.
He was pulling perch. I spied one that backed under a rock then ignored my maggots a cm from his nose.
I feigned indifference in return and started to fish the bay. Paul caught another perch.
“Oh, hang on, no it’s not…” My head whipped around. “Uh, um, Mark, ummm, I don’t know how to tell you this…”
I really do hate him. See that? It’s Pope Tommy Bleeding Ruffe.
He’s five yards from me! The least he could do is keep quiet about it, especially with the next two. So inconsiderate! I swore at him for the next hour as I failed to catch anything that wasn’t a dace or a roach or a rudd while he kept cackling.
I’d all but given up, bites becoming non-existent, just sucked out maggots on occasion. I moved around and tried fishing directly overhead as it was so difficult to see the bites or strike them.
Then I remembered my research, namely Izaak Walton’s words from the Compleat Angler though I hadn’t any earth.
[i]“You must fish for him with a small red worm, and if you bait the ground with earth, it is excellent[/i]
I’d forgotten about the worms, so had Paul. He was determined to catch on worm though so we both swapped over. And the magic happened…
Yes, that had me elated! Time to go. I told Paul we were going to get lunch then try Worlingham for bream, lunch hopefully seeing off the drizzle and Beccles has good chips and the finest chippy sausages. That’s when he caught a roach.
“Isn’t that a bream?” I asked. I heard the hesitation then “oh, um, yeah. It is.”
I had visions of him becoming groundbait as I tried frantically to get my rod back into action though the leger had wrapped itself into knots on being stowed. That’s when he saw the 4lb bronze bream enter my swim through his polaroids. And move out by the time I had retied another rig. Sweetcorn failed, maggots failed, worms failed. We went to wash our hands at Tesco and thence to the chippy. By which time it was pouring so we headed home.
Addendum. The slip was already occupied by aggressive, hissing swans.
Paul decided to feed them.
That boy ain’t all there.
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