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much stronger sharper hooks, and built ourselves a bream trace that could cope with pretty much
anything, with the added bonus that it also brought other species into the mix for those occasions when
the bream weren't feeding too well.
It was an all monofilament rig comprising a main spine of sixty to eighty pounds breaking strain with
three lighter droppers tied to swivels trapped in position by beads, and because we didn't have crimps
to fix their position back then, using such strong mono for the backbone of the trace meant that we could
simply tie a knot either side of the beads and trap the dropper that way, knowing the trace would still
be strong enough for conger or ling should they come along.
To help ensure that one might, the bottom dropper was tied at around three feet in length with a 6/0
hook to the same heavy mono with two shorter lighter droppers above it, the middle one with a 2/0
hook, and on the top dropper a size one to ensure we had all options covered. The only proviso was
spacing the droppers such that they couldn't self tangle on the drop, and it was a very productive rig.
Some might say that the small top hook was a wee bit flimsy for what might come along. Even when
baiting it with the tiniest of mackerel strips. And while there were occasions when it did manage to
bring up big fish, on others it didn't last the distance. The thinking behind it though was plainly and
simply ticks on the bucket list, which was still in its infancy back then.
Out over the Eddystone, though it possibly wasn't potentially as species rich as it might be today in the
wake of rising sea temperatures, there were still interesting and unusual fish to be had, the most
memorable of which was a relative of the bass, the beautifully patterned comber.
Talking to people in the south west, both anglers and commercials, as you might expect, it seems that
the Scottish trawler(s) working the Runnel Stone that fateful day didn't quite scoop up the entire
breeding stock, though the encounter certainly made a massive dent in it.
Over the past few years, particularly around the Channel
Islands, there have been signs of this slow growing late
maturing bream species tentatively but steadily struggling to
make something of a measured comeback.
Mainly small fish for the moment, known locally as chad's,
with a few middle range specimens dotted about here and
there. But gone still are the days when you could fill a fish
box with four to five pound red bream, and out over the
wrecks, not unrealistically set your sights much higher, with
the biggest ever specimen brought to the scales dragging the
needle round to over 9½ pounds on Mevagissey harbour.
The shore record not unexpectedly is a Channel Island fish.
Aldernay to be precise. The best specimen landed in Welsh
waters, though small by comparison to the south west is still
a creditable fish considering the circumstances, weighing in
at a touch over one and a quarter pounds from Amlwch on
Anglesey, which is more like a chunk of Cornwall dropped
into the Irish Sea than it is the rest of Wales.
Surprisingly, the Scots too get in on the act with a more than
creditable fish of four pounds ten ounces caught off
Ardnamurchan on the western mainland looking south
towards the Isle of Mull.
Phill Williams, Looe 1970’s
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