Lee Swords Fishing

The reputation of Ian Nairn as a chub anglers extraordinaire ( or should that be “extraordinairn”) goes well before him therefore it is with the greatest of pleasure I present this “guest chub” article that relays the story of a fantastic chub capture from a rising Dorset Stour that proves beyond all doubt that regardless of weather and conditions, you have to be in it to win it!

 

THE STOUR BIGGIE

By Ian Nairn

 

As I woke on Saturday morning it was lashing down and had been for some time by the looks of the amount of water flooding down our lane. I decided to brave it and take Stubble my lurcher for a walk, from my house the Dorset Stour is only a short walk along a disused railway line. I approached the new bridge that has been provided for the new trailway and I could see the river was in pretty good shape, however this would change over the next few hours as the previous night’s rain flooded into it. Twenty four hours is the usual time span for the change, but this year the Stour is more like a spate river, due to the prolonged rain since the summer.

I have always found one of the best times to be on the river is the moment it starts to rise, if you can be there at this precise moment it can bring great rewards.

I had been on the river on Wednesday so had a good idea of where I was going to fish, and had dropped a few baits in as I left, as is the norm. I also had a long chat with Alan Rawdon who was making his usual winter pilgrimage to the Stour. Alan is a good mate and is always a good laugh, but how he keeps his enthusiasm at his age and sleeping in his car for days on end is beyond me.

The rain had eased a little by the time I got to the river but it wouldn’t be long before it was back, the leaden sky was looking like it was about to burst again and so it proved – but not before I had the brolly up. The river had an awesome pace about it which has not relented all winter, however the swim I chose would be well fishable; downstream about six meters from me was a tangled mess caused by a recently fallen tree, in front of me was a deep gully on my inside with eight feet of water covering clean gravel,  from which I have had some huge chub, though not for a few years. A tree upstream of me and a  submerged spur of land caused a deflection in the current, giving me steady water under my bank – the perfect looking swim, but only in these conditions. Most of the year you would not give it a second glance.

I dropped a couple of lumps of the Hook Bait Company produced “3-B” paste into the swim, and went for a short wander to look at some swims lower down. It was at this point, due to the rain hammering down again, I decided to sit it out under the umbrella, something I would not normally do, but hoped it would pay off. Back under my shelter the incessant rain beating against the nylon was almost deafening.

I took the rod bands from the rod and put it together, 6lb krystonite straight through to a size 7 Drennan barbel hook, two gripper stops up the line followed by a swivel then two more stops below, a short link of nylon through the swivel and 3 swan shot formed the link. This was then baited with a lump of the Hook Bait Company 3-B paste with the hook-point left out to aid hook ups.

A short flick to my left and the trap was set, it was to be a waiting game, but not for long I hoped. The rain had eased a little and a flock of long tailed tits were happily chirping away in the willow to my right, their play was interrupted as a sparrow hawk came hammering into them from across the river, unsuccessfully I am glad to say.

The tip refused to move for the next hour or so. Time was now moving on, the rain had stopped but the temperature was dropping, my fingers were cold as I held the rod feeling for any indication of a fish.

As the isotope began to glow in the gathering gloom, I began to question my judgement and sanity, however a small swirl just upstream of me convinced me chub were present.

It was pitch black now, a blank was staring me in the face, then out of the blue the line tightened a little on my finger, it was all I was going to get, so I struck, just for a split second I thought the line was snagged on the debris that lay beneath the snag, then a thump on the rod signaled the start of the battle. It would have to be short lived in this swim, not a lot of room to play with, so I wound down and played the fish as hard as I could. In the light of my head torch a big bronze flank rolled over and into the net.

As I lifted my prize from the water it became apparent it was one of the Stour biggies. Resting the fish in the net I got the camera and scales ready, 7lb 4oz     was the reading, I walked back across the sodden ground to the van, the pain of the cold on my fingers was a small price to pay for such a beast of a chub.