It was the long-awaited annual social with my old friend Rob, a reunion we’d been looking forward to for what felt like ages. Last year, we’d been forced to abandon our trip due to the lake flooding, but this October was different. I had arrived at West Stow County Park in the hopes of catching some good fish, making up for last year’s lost opportunity. If things went well, I even had plans to come back at the end of the month for another session. West Stow held a special allure for me, and the urge to fish it at both the beginning and end of the season was too tempting to resist.

I rolled into the lake’s parking area at around 7:30 a.m., and as luck would have it, Rob was just walking through the gate to scout out the lake. It was perfect timing. We each grabbed a bucket and began our walk around the water’s edge, scouting for swims. After careful consideration, we picked two spots side by side, happy with the open-water features and nearby islands. The lake seemed to be alive with promise, as carp bubbled away in the distance. It was a picturesque morning, the sun warming the cool air, and I couldn’t have asked for a better setting to start our trip. After a drive that started before dawn, at around 4:15 a.m., I knew a nap would be necessary later, but for now, the excitement was too much to ignore.

By the afternoon, I was more than ready for a rest. The fresh air had me feeling pleasantly drowsy, and I dozed off for a while in my chair. I woke up to a couple of bleeps on my left hand rod, a sound that always stirs anticipation in a carp angler’s heart. About two hours later, the middle rod gave a few bleeps as well. Although neither resulted in a fish, the activity around my spots was promising. Something was moving down there, and that gave me a lot of confidence going into the first night.

The night, however, turned out to be uneventful. Not that it was surprising—the lake was getting busier, and I suspected that the increased pressure was pushing the carp away from our side. With more anglers arriving, especially on a Friday night, the fish were likely seeking refuge in quieter waters. I had hoped to see some fizzing, the tell-tale signs of carp feeding on the bottom, but the lake remained still.

As the morning dawned, I brewed a pot of coffee and made some porridge, watching the lake for any signs of movement. Around 11:00 a.m., Rob decided to move his swim from my left to my right, which I thought was a good decision. The carp seemed to have moved into quieter areas, and with someone now fishing directly opposite me, I hoped the added pressure might push the fish toward us.

By mid-afternoon, after hours of observing the water with no more signs of carp activity, I made the call to move one of my rods. I had seen some fizzing earlier in the day, and I figured it was worth targeting that area. My biggest dilemma was which rod to move, and after some internal debate, I settled on recasting both my left and middle rods to the same spots. I was confident in those locations. However, I moved the rod that had been placed toward the island, thinking the left-hand rod was more likely to produce a bite based on what I’d seen over the past 24 hours.

At 7:45 a.m. the next day, I finally had a take on my middle rod. The fish fought well, and I was excited, only to realize that it was a tench, not a carp. Unfortunately, I didn’t even get it into the net before it managed to slip the hook. I was gutted; there were some big tench in this lake, and landing one would’ve been a great start. Nevertheless, I quickly reset the rod, hoping my luck might change.

By lunchtime, after another quiet morning, I decided to make one last move. I repositioned both the left and middle rods onto a large gravel patch that I knew held potential. The silty area I had been fishing hadn’t produced any bites, and I suspected the carp were too preoccupied with natural food sources in the water. I figured that by targeting the gravel, I might intercept a fish that was transitioning between the silt and gravel zones. At this point, I had to try something different.

The afternoon was spent relaxing, chatting with Rob about old times. We cooked our own meals for dinner and soaked up the last of the sunshine before nightfall. It was peaceful, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that time was running out for me to land a carp.

At 7:30 the next morning, I had another odd take on my middle rod, only to discover the rig had tangled. This was unusual for me, as I pride myself on my rigs. After thinking it over, I realized it might have been human error. I wasn’t used to fishing such deep waters, and perhaps I wasn’t feeling the lead down properly on every cast. Although it had only happened twice in three nights, it was enough to make me reconsider my technique.

As the morning stretched on, I marvelled at the stunning sunrise, a brief but beautiful sight that only lasted about ten minutes before fading away. With just a few hours left, my goal was to pack up and leave by midday, hoping to be home by 4 p.m. But more importantly, I had about three hours left to fish and avoid a blank—something that hadn’t happened to me since April or May of that year. I was long overdue for a catch, and the thought of going home empty-handed weighed on me.

Unfortunately, the trip ended without a carp on the bank, marking my first blank in months. It was a disappointing end, but I was already planning my return later in the month. Mockbegger Lake wasn’t done with me yet, and I wasn’t done with it either.

Until next time.

Richard

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