Jon Savage aside, I'm still breaming. This penned after yesterday's Wembley shenanigans. Far away from the already madding crowds I would set out my stall for some rod bending action down on the Next Nearest on the firm boards of the Royal Box. The last few spots of rain dried on the windscreen as I unloaded the pantenchnicon, leaving all but the waggler rod inside. I had a round 4 hours to see what magic the golden grains could conjure up. You know the score, 13 foot Drennan,. 3.2lb bs Floatfish straight though to a B560 #14. A nominally 5 AAA insert peacock waggler, bulked with 4AAA and 3 number 4 down, not spread out and 2 number 6 anchors 4 inches over depth. Seven foot of depth, though some weed coming up which occasionally saw the shots hung up a bit.
Roach at first, as the Black Bream laced with corn, hemp and 6mm krill pellets settled on the bed and seeped out it's sweet attractants. Then the float lifted and sank away as this hybrid made off. I'd seen the length but knew it wasn't a big daddy roach as no vivid red about the fins in the water
The next fish to the party was different gravy, and though it didn't make off in a knuckle rapping frenzy it did try to get in the pads to my right and the reeds to my left (which bream don't really) and then disaster struck. I'd rescued an old tip section for my bust landing net but my hastily applied glue gun glue succumbed. I had to fish about with the handle to retrieve the net head then reach for the 42 inch net which the tench gratefully dived into as it wasn't the stink net....a glorious green goddess of a tench.