‘Pheasants, rooks, pigeons and herons were everywhere looking for food. No doubt the herons were stalking frogs and toads which are on the move at this time of the year, making their way to the ponds of their birth. For the rooks though, it wasn’t just food, they were also nest building.’
The river Bain flows through the Lincolnshire Wolds. It’s a delightful part of England with rolling hills surrounding a flat Fenland landscape of dikes, ditches and huge fields. It’s a part of the world where for many years, I hunted pheasant, duck and geese with the same passion as I hunt fish today.
I first got to know the river Bain through the pages of ‘Drop Me a Line’ by Maurice Ingham and Richard Walker in early 1953. Maurice also lived in the small market town of Louth, where you could buy great pork pies, oven ready pheasants, excellent sausages and trilby hats. Hats made from pure felt with a genuine leather band.
The river Bain is a tributary of the river Witham, which of course was one of the top match fishing rivers up to the 1980’s. Being known for its huge bream shoals, with the Boston and Lincoln anglers catching their share of the fish. Let’s not forget Boston tackle dealer Jack Clayton who gave us the swing tip also anglers such as Fred Foster who made it work so well on the Witham and similar waters.
The river was once more in the news in late 1953, when Richard Walker fished the second of a three leg series of matches on the River Bain against Tom Sails, the Lincoln AA team captain on October 31st near Coningsby.
In the early 1980’s I often shot pheasant and ducks, my dog sometimes retrieving a pheasant or duck from the Bain. The river looked attractive to me from the first time I set eyes on this small meandering river.
The Lincolnshire countryside.
This tiny river averaged some three feet in depth. On the inside of bends, I sometimes found five feet of water, often with an undercut bank. What made these bends so attractive as a fishy spot and to the eye were the willow, hawthorn and brambles over hanging the river bank, making these spots look dark and secretive.
From my experience over the next twenty plus years I caught some very big chub, sometimes perch or a good size pike. In some areas there were roach, these fish were usually in the longer glides to be caught if you were careful around dusk. Occasionally I had a few fish, bread flake was the bait.
A Big Six Pounder
October 1986 I was on a trip to Louth, also a chance to fish the river for a few days; I had no problem in finding some water to fish with my friendship of several landowners who had invited me to fish the river whenever I was in the area. I could also purchase a Boston AA membership book which offered me some good water in Coningsby area.
I’d been invited to shoot pigeons, from my stand at the edge of a wood alongside the river, my attention was drawn to some movement in the water. It was then I spotted a couple of big pike probably twenty pound plus. In fact these were huge fish for such a tiny river, at the time I was shooting as a guest of Paul Evans. Paul and I had worked together in South America. Over dinner that evening I mentioned this to my host who said “You’re welcome to come and fish anytime” sadly Paul later died during an incident in the Middle East.
It was about ten o’clock next morning when I arrived parking about a mile upstream of the wood. With rain sheeting down I quickly got kitted out in waterproofs, picking up my binoculars I walked slowly downstream in the hope of finding those pike. I peered intently into the rain spattered gin clear water, not only did I not see the pike, I didn’t see any small fish. I was disappointed, more so with the shallow depth of the river. It probably averaged around three feet.
After walking perhaps a thousand yards and not seeing any fish. I could see the river was taking a sharp right turn. I walked a few more yards coming close to the bend in the river I could see the bed of the stream gradually shelving down to create a deeper pool on the inside of the bend. It was just possible to see the bottom in the slow moving water. Creeping closer to the water’s edge I got down on my hands and knees moving forward to peer into the water. I didn’t see any pike, but I could see three big chub. Probably the biggest chub I’ve seen in such a small river.
Creeping away I walked slowly back to the car thinking about those fish and trying to decide on the best approach. I put together my an Avon rod, centre pin reel, then threaded the six pound line through the guides before tying on a size 4 barbless hook. I chucked a loaf of bread with some cheese paste along with scales and plastic bag into a small shoulder bag, picking up my rod and net I walked off downstream to the wood.
This time as I approached the bend in the river and the chub swim. Getting down on my stomach I slithered forward until I was close enough to peer over the bank into the water. My three fish were still slowly cruising around. I said to myself “Those fish are for catching” as I threw in a piece of flake which ever so slowly sank down through the water settling on the bottom, slowly one of the chub moved across the stream then sucked in the flake, in the blink of an eye, it spat it out, then as quickly it sucked the flake back into its cavernous mouth.
Fifteen minutes later I baited with a chunk of flake, quietly as possible at the same time I slightly lifted myself off the ground, and then cast the bait upstream it landed with a faint plop. Holding the rod with just a couple of feet of the rod sticking out over the water I laid back on the ground rain was trickling down my back but I watched with bated breath as the flake moved a few feet before slowly sinking as it travelled downstream.
I could see the chub with their black tails and cavernous mouths slowly cruising near the opposite bank. One moved out into midstream, the other two followed. The first fish then spotted the flake; I watched it move into position to intercept my bait. Seconds later it moved forward sucking in my baited hook. I tightened into the fish, the water boiled as it rolled on the surface. Meanwhile the other two fish shot off down the river. By this time I was on my knees playing a big chub
Within five minutes, I had the fish in the net. It was mine. After zeroing the scales the fish was placed into the plastic bag then hoisted on the scales, it weighed 6-4-0 my biggest River Bain chub, at that time also my personal best.
St Valentine’s Day Bream
I was once again in the Lincolnshire Wolds to record a programme for my At the Waters Edge series on BBC Radio Lancashire; I would also have a few days fishing on the tiny river Bain just a few miles from Louth. Wednesday February 14th was a day made for photography rather than for angling with the spring-like weather.
A light wind was coming from an easterly direction with blue sky and bright sunshine, to make matters worse there had been a very heavy frost overnight, though I didn’t think that would stop the chub from feeding as the river would be high and coloured from several days of rain.
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Ken Greenall, a retired engineering fitter was my companion on this visit who also offered to do the driving; Ken is a match angler who usually fishes with a pole. It would be interesting to see how our different methods worked on this tiny river. Stopping off in Horncastle I picked up two loaves of bread, some luncheon meat for the fish, a couple of pork-pies for Ken and me. The Florist shop was having a busy day, and then I noticed the sign St Valentines Day. Oh, that’s the reason why so many guys were out buying flowers. For me it was going to be a day of chub chasing!
Driving up the river Bain valley is a nice experience when like me you do not have to drive. I could look around the countryside. Pheasants, rooks, pigeons and herons were everywhere looking for food. No doubt the herons were stalking frogs and toads which are on the move at this time of the year, making their way to the ponds of their birth. For the rooks though, it wasn’t just food, they were also nest building. Snow drops were about in profusion with the odd groups of crocuses. Many of the well sodden fields had small ponds due to all the rain. The ducks just loved these new feeding grounds.
After several miles of driving we turned off the busy A road on to a minor B road then once more pulled into Haltham Garage for a chat with Alan Gunn. Who filled me in with a lot more information on the river and its fishing? A more helpful guy you couldn’t wish to meet. Shaking hands I thanked him once more for his help and bid him goodbye.
Having left the main road we drove several miles along twisting country lanes to the spot Alan had suggest we should park up, I immediately thought We were in luck with no other cars around we had the place to ourselves. Perhaps everyone was out buying flowers. Pulling on our boots we trekked across the fields to the river, we had all the swims with bushes or trees and a small weir pool to ourselves as I thought. The river was as expected still highly coloured and flowing fast. The gauge gave a river height of three feet. I checked the water temperature it was 43 degrees F. good enough for chub I thought.
I decided to start off fishing the weir pool then slowly work my way upstream, chucking baits into all the likely looking spots. Ken chose to pole fish further downstream in the slower water. My tackle choice was quite simple; An Avon action rod, centre pin reel, 6lb fluorocarbon line and a size 4 Partridge barbless hook I would pinch shot on the line as and when I needed to. After so many years of talking and thinking about the river Bain I was ready to fish the river for the second time in two days.
I spent probably some ten minutes or so looking at the swirling water trying to work out where the chub were likely to be waiting for food to be swept down to them. I picked a small area of water about the size of a decent kitchen table close to the far bank and fed in a small ball of mashed bread. I pinched two LG shot on the line three inches from the hook and baited with was a big bit of crust. With an underhand swing the bait dropped into my chosen swim.
Within seconds a good fish was hooked which bored powerfully upstream in the fast swirling water. For a couple of minutes it was give and take between us but the combination of balanced tackle and skilful handling soon had the fish beaten. This was a good fish, I thought, as it was netted. It pulled the scales down to three pounds six ounces. Not a bad fish from a tiny river on a February day. Out with another chunk of crust. Within seconds I noticed the line had gone slack. I tightened into another fish, which again bored powerfully upstream. After some three or four minutes I had the fish coming towards the net. This must go four pounds I thought as it was engulfed in the folds of the net. I weighed this one and it went four pounds ten ounces. I was more than happy! I was like a kid with half a dozen Christmases all in one.
To make the session even better it was beautiful spring-like day. I sat for a while just talking with a couple of ladies who were out walking and bird spotting. As they moved on a guy turned up to ask about the fishing available. I gave him all the information I could, pointing out some of the swims where it’s possible to catch chub and showing my simple tackle set up. After a nice break in the warm sunshine I resumed fishing. Once more casting big bits of crust upstream then letting it roll downstream, watching the line like a hawk and feeling for anything that might be a take. Several casts later and no bites, I made my way over the river by the way of a small bridge then settled in close to the weir apron. Once more I cast a big bit of crust into the fast swirling water that was flowing up towards the weir and sat holding the rod feeling for a bite.
Suddenly a voice behind me said “Caught anything” I turned to see Alan. “Yes. Two nice chub, best at four pounds ten ounces both on bread”. As we sat chatting I felt the line tighten, the answering strike connected with a heavy fish. “Got a good chub this time Alan, must go five pounds or more it’s a heavy fish!” After a couple of minutes I had my first glimpse of the fish. No chub this, it was a bream – but not a skimmer – this was a big fish. In fact, when I got another look I realised it was a very big fish indeed! After a couple of minutes I had the fish coming towards the net, then it was mine as it sunk into the folds of my big landing net. It looked huge and completely out of place on this tiny river.
Turning to Alan I said “That’s a bloody big bream; we will have to weigh this one.” Out with the scales and the weigh net and then zeroed. The fish pulled the needle round to nine pound six ounces. I found it hard to believe and said so to did Alan. We re-checked the scales to ensure they were accurate. They were. We weighed the fish once more. Again the scales gave a reading of nine pounds six ounces. I told Alan who had guided me to the successful swims “That’s my best ever river bream in England”. The adrenaline was pumping through my body. I was on a high, the sun was shining and I had been very lucky in catching a big bream, and not the chub I was fishing for. But I couldn’t care less! I was more than happy.
I fished on in a bit of a dream and didn’t get another bite. With the sun going down, a cold mist spread across the fields. Ken and I packed up and made the long journey home. I shan’t forget that St Valentine’s Day for a long time. Sadly Ken didn’t get a fish even when he changed over to legering bits of bread. Still that’s fishing.
Writing & Images Martin James MBE, September 2022
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