Tricky bream

The article describes the search for a successful attachment and fishing for bream.

The nearby small river is rich in fish, but "knows how" to hide it. And the fish here is just as secretive and cunning. Moreover, she is also moody, like all city dwellers. In a word, local fishermen suffered from it. Including me.

Summer 2017

Summer is not happy this year. It rains for weeks. This is especially the case when you are planning to go fishing, they say, it’s quiet and sunny. A pause between the rains. Set an alarm for two hours and fall asleep with a happy smile on your lips. Tomorrow is fishing. And tomorrow it will rain all day. Also at night it will knock on the roof. And then it seems that the whole world has become a big and monotonously tapping rain on the roof. And the gray sky, hung with puffy clouds-pillows, will not open. And do not see the sun for us anymore. There will only be a rustle of rain. And lazy water will never stop flowing along the road, becoming a dirty river.

This morning I’m going to a new place, almost ducking under the low clouds swollen with rain moisture. While it is not pouring, but just in case I brought PVC raincoat with me. Of the gear I have today, a homemade feeder, which once served as an onboard fishing rod for fishing on the “ring” off the right bank of the Volga. But here the side fishing rod came in handy for throwing feeder feeders at close range, and a small river is wide only in the spring, when meltwater flows heavily and assertively along the upper edge of the banks. In addition, a short fishing rod allows you to throw tackle under the very branches of trees. Old willows are often with real canopy tents above the coast and shallow coastal waters. Here you can no longer swing the branded feeder, whose length is almost four meters.


Here is the place. I discovered it last night. It was liked by slowly circling water and black depth just behind a narrow channel. But he did not catch at least one large fish here, although it obviously walked along the bottom next to the bait. This was seen on the paths of the bubbles. Someone unceremoniously ate the bait, which I threw to the bottom at the point of fishing. But I did not touch the bait on the hooks. And there I had dung worms matured in moss. All according to the theses of L.P. Sabaneeva. Like, the worm should be alert, fresh, ready for services. It should be strong on the hook. And for this you need to go through purgatory from the sphagnum, and in the tundra - from the reindeer moss.

So I have worms - well done. There are just animals on the hook. Meanwhile, it did not make any impression on the local bream. Planted maggots. It turned out, as the fishermen say, a “sandwich”. Again no reaction. The Bonduelle corn, for which I recently successfully caught large roach in the same river only upstream, did not become attractive for bream either (see the report here). I went over all the modern baits and baits, seasoning them with different attractants. I even scented the Worm flavoring on a living worm; there is one like that. But the bream, obviously, only laughed at the bottom of the black whirlpool, pulling its lips into the famous tube, and sucked on my bait, which smelled as if there was a confectionery factory nearby. I would eat it myself. But you can’t put the bait on the hook.

Nozzle from childhood

In the evening, an insight came. After all, since childhood, I caught here scavengers and bream for semolina and bread, skipping classes because of fishing. And I began to prepare secret weapons, and simply bought fresh Kuznetsovsky bread in a small shop selling rye bread, still smelling of real bread. I bought and sunflower oil, smelling of pressed seeds.

And this morning I put hooks of washed bread on the hooks, flavored with butter and aniseed drops. Everything is the old fashioned way. Cast. Expectation. And here the gatehouse of the onboard donkey feeder swung and leaned back. And immediately the wicker cord of the gear loosened. This is a classic bite of a bream! There is! Soon, a fish turned around on a cord, which, as it turned out later, weighed exactly one kilogram. Fishing was a success.

I advise you to read: Sprats from bleak