I have drifted through my angling life fishing here and there for a wide range of species that has resulted in me visiting many venues both home and abroad. Whilst my motivation particularly these days revolves around enjoyment it can also be driven by chasing targets.

            There are certain fish that have those defining landmark weights and with several species a double figure fish without doubt is that target. The merits can change over the years as species growth rates change but old school anglers like myself have grown up with these ingrained definitions.

            Thirty years or more ago I fished a well known lake in Hampshire hoping for a double figure bream and caught a personal best of 8lb 14oz. A double figure bream is an impressive looking fish and whilst many carp anglers have little regard for them I have always considered big bream enigmatic fish.

            Last year I fished a couple of sessions at Lower Tamar Lake targeting a double as they are relatively abundant in this mature shallow lake on the Devon and Cornwall border. Last year I failed to tempt a single fish despite fishing close to my good friend Bruce Elston who caught five big bream to 13lb plus fishing in the next swim. The follow up solo trip a couple of weeks later was a blank.

            In specimen angling terms a couple of twenty four hour sessions is not a lot of effort but the fact that I hadn’t caught that double niggled me. My problem in fishing is that I chase fish in too many waters. Bass from the shore, tope on boats, shark, salmon, stillwater trout, wild trout from small streams, carp, catfish, LRF fishing, beach fishing, rock fishing, perch fishing, eels and so the list goes on.

            Late April and there are a few bream coming from the lake and so Bruce and I set out to once again target them. Bruce arrives before me and chats with Bob the bailiff who kindly changes his plan offering us the chance to fish one of the few swims on the lake that has adjacent swims.

            It’s a warm sunny day with a light south west breeze blowing from behind. We both spod out a bed of bait consisting of sweetcorn, pellets and dead maggots. I elect to fish with Remix Secret wafters recommended to me by Chris Connaughton of Barnstaple Bait and Tackle.

            The traps set its time to sit back and absorb the surroundings over a fresh brew of coffee. The sun is slowly sinking behind in the western sky, the field behind is a mass of seeded dandelions and long grass. Birdsong fills the ebbing spring day, chiff chaffs, wrens and water birds all contributing to natures random ensemble of random melody.  Swallows, fresh arrivals from distant lands swoop above the lake. Grebes glide across stillwater’s. It’s a fresh and vibrant time in natures calendar and to be here in expectation is bliss.

            It is great to share the day with a good friend and we chat of life and of fishing past and present. There is undoubtedly something special about a longer session and the connection with the daily turning of the world and natures timeless essence.

            The light fades as the sun sinks beneath the hill and the many colours start to fade to black and grey. The first stars slowly appear twinkling in a cloudless sky as the night shift takes over. Large horseshoe bats gyrating over the water feasting upon unseen midges and other insects. A tawny owl hoots from nearby trees, the occasional fish dimples the calm lake.

            Bruce’s thrill alarm breaks the spell and I dash to the adjacent swim to witness an eel writhing into the waiting net. The dangers of using maggots…Fortunately the fish is lip hooked and the barbless hook slips easily from the eel, a species that is sadly in decline.

            Shorty after this a bream of 8lb 14oz signals that we are in the right area, or at least Bruce is; This is followed 30 minutes or so later by a superb looking bream of 10lb 7oz once again for Bruce.

            I settle into my sleeping bag willing my bite alarm to emit its thrill call but its all calm and still as I slowly drift off into a shallow sleep.

            I wake as the sky starts to take on a pinkish glow the sun slowly rising from the east as another day begins with colours once again developing. The dawn chorus of late spring and early summer is one of life’s precious delights. Sadly and perhaps imperceptibly its vibrancy and fullness is fading as the worlds rich ecosystems are slowly destroyed by much of mankind’s stupidity and indifference.

            As the light levels rise so my hopes of success fade and I contemplate my lack of connection. My doubts grow as to rigs, bait and location?

            Then at 6:30am bleep, bleep and a slowly dancing bobbin. I lift the rod and feel a slow ponderous weight wallowing out in the lake. The line cuts the waters surface and I watch anxiously as my prize is drawn slowly towards the water’s edge and the waiting net.

I know it’s a bream by its languid performance at the lines end, but is it that elusive double?

A deep bronze flank appears, the bream slips over the rim of the capacious net. I look down at my prize and feel confident that I have eventually exceeded my target.

            I secure the net and wake Bruce, from his deep slumber next door. The scales confirm 10lb 12oz. It’s great to share these moments in life. Then as we celebrate the alarm on the middle rod sounds and once again I coax a bream to the waiting net. At 9lb 12oz its another beauty and the fact that it fails to make that double figure target is less relevant as the mark has now been ticked off.

            The story doesn’t end there though for Bruce’s alarm interrupts and I dash over with my brace of bream awaiting a photo safely in the net. I wield Bruce’s net as a huge slab rolls over its rim, 13lb 7oz a new personal best for Bruce. If Carling did fishing trips quips Bruce! Another bream of 11lb 8oz later adds to Bruce’s tally along with a small carp and another eel.

            I Slowly pack up a couple of hours later content in my success and ponder upon that short sequence of action when all came right as a shoal of bream drifted over my hook baits. The line between success and failure is indeed slender in both fishing and life.