It's a part of the world where years ago I would hunt pheasant, ducks 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 back in the very early 1950's. Maurice lived in the small market town of Louth where you can buy some good pork pies, oven ready pheasants, excellent sausages and trilby hats. These hats are 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 1970's. It was known for it's huge bream shoals, with the Boston and Lincoln anglers catching their share of fish. Let's not forget Boston tackle dealer Jack Clayton who gave us the swing tip and anglers such as Fred Foster who made it work so well.

The river Bain isn't an easy river to fish; it's very narrow, shallow and steep banked with several small weir pools. In many areas the river is less than twenty feet wide and three feet deep but it can offer such exciting fishing. Forget all about catching big bags of fish, tackle boxes, umbrellas etc. This river is a roving water, catch one or two fish then move on. It's not a river where your friend can fish ten yards up or downstream of your swim, he needs to be another 400 yards or more away.

I have fished the river quite a lot of the past couple of years with great success even taking bream to 9-6-0. Yes, it was a lucky fish, I was trying to catch chub but I didn't complain, I loved the experience. That's one of the beauties of this sport of angling, you never know what you might catch.

This is a small river; it's that small it could easily be called a stream. It has a lot of wildlife on and around it's banks to keep the most avid naturalist happy when the fish are not biting. Last Sunday as I sat working a bit of cheese paste down the swim, a stoat appeared on the far bank, it was out on a hunting trip. I watched the stoat, at the same time feeling for a fish to bite. It was fascinating watching this ferocious hunter going about its business. When it eventually got hold of a small rabbit the scream of it's prey was certainly blood curling. I have heard it plenty of times, but I reckon it would have given a few dog walkers a fright.

Pheasants, partridges, geese, yellow and grey wagtails, robins, wrens, coots, little grebe or dabchick and moorhens are in profusion. Kingfishers, blackbirds, thrushes and many more birds can also be seen. On three occasions I have seen several foxes as I have arrived at the water around dawn. On my latest trip I witnessed a big skein of Pink-footed geese, probably five or six hundred, flying south, no doubt heading for the Wash estuary. How I enjoyed my days on the Wash marshes hunting geese. What great days they were.

Having left the BBC Radio Lancashire studios around 6-0am after a very early morning session, I headed off to Lincolnshire. Skipton, Bradford, the M606 then the M62, M18, and the M180 before picking up the A15 for Lincoln then Horncastle. It was a grey soft morning with a light drizzle in places but with just the odd lorry and a few cars. It was a very pleasant journey. As I listened to the Beach Boys and Buddy Holly, the miles were soon eaten up. The leadened grey sky in the east started to become lighter as dawn appeared. On the horizon there appeared a small open area of lighter coloured sky, which quickly changed to a light golden yellow tinged along the right hand side with soft shades of pink. It was a wildfowlers dawn, also hopefully a fishers dawn. The sky continued to change from various shades of yellows, golds, pinks and blues. It was quite dramatic. I felt if the day stayed fairly overcast and warm then it would be good for fishing. I mention the weather being warm, it was far warmer than it had been the previous week when I had been on the Teme.

My tackle was quite simple; an eleven and a half foot Avon rod, Mitchell 300 reel, 6lb Masterline Illusion and a size 4 hook. I pinched on 2 LG shot some 6 inches from the hook. My baits today were cheese paste, bread crust and flake; all three baits had produced good fish over the years. I chose to fish a small weir pool despite the locals saying there wasn't much to be caught. That might be true if you're fishing small hooks and those little white grubs, but I have found it difficult for chub to resist a good hunk of bread or cheese paste drifting seductively through the swim.

After casting out I got the camera set up, in case I did get a good fish. As I was focussing on the rod tip it pulled around, bite one missed. Rebaiting, I cast again and immediately had bite. This I missed. Rebaiting again, I recast. I was ready for anything. As the tip moved I hit it and felt a good fish. For a few minutes it was the fish who was winning this tussle. No way could I get any line back on the reel but after some minutes the fish started to tire. I was able to take in some line and get the fish coming upstream to the waiting net when it suddenly dived in towards the bank and become fast on a snag. No way could I get any line - then all went slack; the fish was gone. I was gutted. I had been too casual and took it for granted the fish was mine, that was a very good fish. Perhaps a good five.

As I sat watching the rod tip I thought over the events of the past hour, realising I had taken too much for granted. In fact I told myself I was a bloody idiot for being so cocksure, confident and blasť. I had no one to blame for those missed bites and lost fish except myself. I fished on for another two hours without a bite then decided it was brew time. After a brew and sandwich I rebaited with a big bit of crust then cast out toward a spot on the far bank where the current swirled backwards to the weir. Half an hour later the rod tip moved just fraction of an inch, I struck, knowing it was a bite, connecting with a nice fish. After a few minutes it was netted a lovely looking winter chub in perfect condition. It weighed 4-10-0; a quick self portrait picture and it was released.

A light rain started to fall but the weather remained quite warm, the water temperature was 42 degrees F, conditions were quite good. I was a confident angler. An hour passed without a bite. It was decision time. "Should I move?" I asked myself. Five minutes later I was winding in. I had decided to fish the next pool known as the Bridge pool some 400 yards downstream and pulled over onto the grass strip alongside the road. I stood on the bridge looking down in the pool wandering what it held. I settled in with an hour of daylight left. Immediately I had a chub about 2lbs this was quickly followed by another fish of the same weight, in the next three casts I had three more fish all about the same weight. Time for a move as I didn't think I would get a good fish from this pool today. I chose a swim 200 yards downstream with an overhanging tree on the far bank - the river was all of sixteen feet wide, the light had virtually gone.

I cast out a piece of crust then sat trying to see the rod tip in the gloom. Twice I was sure the tip had moved, but no, it was just my imagination. After a few minutes I wound in then rebaited with a big hunk of crust; casting this time so the bait would roll under the trailing branches. Seconds later I felt a pluck on the line and struck. I was into a good fish which twisted and turned into the current as it tried to seek sanctuary in the tree roots. I wasn't going to give this fish any chance of escape and stepped into the water. No way was this fish going anywhere except my landing net! I heaved the rod back over my right shoulder and dragged the fish towards the net, it was off balance so I cramped on the pressure and bullied it into the net. As I lifted the net I knew it was a good fish. Parting the net mesh I was surprised how good a fish it was, "must go five" I thought. Out with scales and weigh net. After zeroing the scales I placed the fish into the soft netting and heaved the scales skywards then, shining the torch on the clock face, I could see the scales giving me a reading of 5-4-0 or 5-5-0. I settled on the weight of 5-4-0. I was a happy angler. In fact I was very happy angler! I punched the air and shouted "Yes, Yes, Yes another five" And this one from the river Bain where, they tell me, it's not worth the effort.