Amidst the thwarted work plans induced by the weather, I find myself on the bank this Tuesday morning, navigating through conditions that, while not perfect, are still manageable. The imminent threat of a storm looms over the week, and, quite inconveniently, it seems poised to strike on the very day I plan to head home. Adding to the calendar complexities, my wife’s Christmas party awaits on Friday night, and is also sending me back home. Interestingly, my inclination has shifted, and these days I find a greater comfort in spending weekends at home rather than on the serene lake.

As the second individual to set up on the lake, the absence of night anglers was conspicuous. Roger, dutifully tackling the day shift, and myself opting for a couple of nights, constituted the entirety of the angler presence. Straying from my habitual choice, I halted at the swim from the previous week, only to discern an unsettling feeling. A quick exchange with Roger in the Point Swim ensued. The morning air, still crisp, coupled with the residual warmth from the car ride, prompted me to recalibrate. Steering towards the No Carp Swim, I parked and watched the water, then walked to the bird hide. As my thoughts meandered through the number of options, the weather emerged as the pivotal factor, with forecasts indicating a swing from the North West to the South West over the ensuing 48 hours. The conundrum arose—while the conditions seemed ideal for the elusive carp in my targeted area, should I divert my focus to the Common once more this week?

In the end, the decision became crystal clear: concentrate on the target mirror and the specific fishing area if conditions proved favorable; hence, No Carp Swim became my unwavering choice.

Aware of the specific spots I intended to fish, I refrained from making assumptions about their current state. Preferring a thorough approach, I cast around a bit to check for any alterations. This practice, often overlooked, might yield surprises one day, prompting one to rue the lack of such diligence in the past. This time, however, not much had changed—a testament to the wisdom of this method.

My meticulous preparation extended to baiting both areas with four spombs each, loaded with boilies, crumb, and pellets. This strategic move aimed to provide both immediate attraction and a sustained, long-term bait presence in the swim over the upcoming three nights.

As darkness fell, marking the onset of my first night, I observed a couple of encouraging signs in the vicinity. Consulting the updated forecast, I noted a significant shift anticipated the next day, with a substantial pressure drop forecasted for Friday—the day of my departure. Fingers crossed, I hoped the carp would sense this impending change and become more active before I had to reluctantly depart.

The first night unfolded without any action, accompanied by a light frost in the morning. Ian’s arrival at around 09:30 brought an unexpected delight—a giant hot pasty for breakfast. Quickly setting up the coffee pot, Ian cast his rods along the margins to my right, hoping to unveil any hidden treasures. Despite the absence of bites by 15:00, the experience rekindled his fishing enthusiasm. It served as a poignant reminder that, even when the catch eludes us, the simple act of being by the bank holds a profound charm.

As darkness enveloped the scene, signaling my second night, the weather underwent a noticeable change. Regrettably, the pressure didn’t fall as low as initially forecasted, but the wind now blew from the South South East, with expectations of a more southerly shift and wind speeds potentially reaching around 35 mph. While not the ideal scenario, this shift still held promise to entice the carp into a feeding frenzy over the next two nights. Surveying my packed-up gear, I noticed a considerable dryness, raising hopes that I might successfully dry off the overwrap.

The night proved considerably warmer, thanks to the cloud cover and the altered wind direction, accompanied by a gentle overnight rain. My strategy for the day involved a hands-off approach to the rods, with the possibility of adding a couple of spombs over each bait—a mix of crumb and pellets—for good measure.

The arrival of my third morning brought with it a conspicuous absence of any bleeps, signaling the inevitable packing-up time. Soon, my thoughts began to orbit around the upcoming week’s trip, with an additional layer of contemplation reserved for the subsequent one—a potentially fitting conclusion to the angling exploits of 2023.