In search of bream on Sapsho

After the noisy New Year holidays, I wanted silence, solitude and fishing. Catching in a crowd is a pleasure, in my opinion, very dubious, and all the nearby reservoirs near Moscow and other large bodies of water are overflowing with fishermen who take full advantage of the long weekend. So I decided to go to the Smolensk region for a few days, to Lake Sapsho. Last summer I was there, I caught myself well, and most importantly, having walked many kilometers on oars with an echo sounder and a navigator, I found good places suitable not only for summer fishing. However, in winter I also had to visit this lake – I participated in jigsaw competitions, including the Russian championship. Sapsho is an interesting body of water in many ways. The depths of more than 10 m and the presence of bream, which I was convinced of in the summer, made it possible to count on good fishing in winter as well. Moreover, from the experience of the competition, I knew that in the end a medium-sized breeder comes up to the fed holes.

So if you catch on a specially chosen place, and not on the one you got by lot, but feed it longer. In addition, the lack of a strong fishing pressure that most reservoirs are experiencing could have worked. In general, one could expect that the local fish, and above all the bream, would be active and responsive to bait. On arrival, the first thing I did was to run around the lake on skis. This is not only pleasant, but also necessary: ​​I looked at how and what they fish for, talked with local fishermen. Some fished along the coast of medium-sized perch interspersed with roach, while others settled in the depths in the hope of bream. From conversations I realized that it was worth counting mainly on a medium-sized bastard, but a bite of a specimen from a kilogram to two, generally speaking, was also possible.

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Proceeding from this, I prepared double holes, since the rappov brace makes it quite easy. Now the main thing is that the bream should come up for bait, and then, as they say, it’s a matter of technology. There is not much time to search for fish, so it is worth feeding the holes in places of different relief and depth. I do one on the lower ditch, going from the island – in the summer there were always boats of the bream. The second is on the edge of a vast plateau with a depth of 10 meters. The third – in the lower part of the steep dump from the spit, extending into the lake about one and a half hundred meters. Groundbait – “Minenko – bream” and bread crumbs with the addition of bloodworms. Nozzle – bloodworm and bloodworm sandwich with maggot or burdock.

In the evening of the first day, he could not resist and decided to check the fed holes: was the fish going to bait? The result was disappointing: everywhere there are a lot of small, from a tadpole, ruff or medium-sized perch, fiddling with a jig at a depth of ten meters. Only at the spit, at an 8-meter drop, did a few larger breeds and a dozen gray brooks slip through. Local fishermen have the most unpretentious tackle: a hard gatehouse, a large jig and a line up to 0.2 mm thick, which, as it turned out, the local fish still sometimes manages to tear. I have not used such tackles for a long time, so I put a 0.12 mm line on a jigging rod, and 0.1 mm on a float rod. I realized my mistake on the second day, when at the very beginning of fishing near the island my “one” burst on the very first sweep. It was then that I regretted that the rods with no reels and devils, which I constantly catch on the Vazuz reservoir, remained at home. The second bite in the same hole, I saw only forty minutes later – my trophy was a bite of 800 grams, who coveted a jig with maggot.

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It was not bad, but then, instead of the expected bream, a small ruff began to actively peck, and I, having fed the hole with bait, went to the second point. The distance between the lured holes was three hundred meters. Of course, you don’t run too far, but, in my opinion, otherwise it is simply impossible to study the reservoir. On this day, I went around the remaining holes in a circle, but all without much success: the 800-gram podleschik remained the only decent specimen. This did not make me very happy. By the evening I skied all the prepared holes and fed them again.

In a small cove I saw a local fisherman, who, having finished fishing, was collecting girders. I asked how the progress was. The pike, according to him, was caught regularly, but there were no trophy specimens – a maximum of a kilo and a half. Perhaps this was due to the fact that all the girders were placed along the reed. He says that sometimes he catches at great depths – a trophy-sized pike really takes there, but bites happen very rarely. The next day of the show that, by feeding one place for several days, you can achieve good results not only on Yauza, Istra or Vazuz. In the morning, a hole on the deep central plateau unexpectedly worked, to which I almost waved my hand. From the first visit, she brought me a wonderful bite on the rise. After hooking, I had to conjure for five minutes over the hole, then handing over, then pulling up a thin line. When the bream nevertheless entered the paired hole with its muzzle, I quickly took it by the head and immediately realized that the fish belly would still not work – the constriction interferes: the hole, although double, but with a noticeable narrowing in the middle.

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Nobody could help. The nearest fisherman was half a kilometer away from me, and I didn’t really have to count on the help of skiers who occasionally rushed past. Therefore, I had to act independently. Squeezing the fish’s head tighter and lowering my hand into the hole so that my sleeve was wet, I gently unwrapped the bream so that it would go through the waistband not with its belly, but with a hump, and pulled with force. Succeeded! Then he sat for five minutes, wringing out his wet sleeve, and admired a large black fish lying on the ice. Even having lost some of its scales, the bream looked very impressive and beautiful. It looked like it was a little less than two kilograms – a real monster Sapsho.

My fisherman ended there. The frost with a decent wind quickly grabbed the wet sleeve, but I only smiled, watching the face of a skier passing by stretched out in surprise.

author Alexander FROLOV