I’m back at my winter water for a couple of nights before heading out for my last trip of the year on Airfield Lake. The rules allow a maximum of five nights before a mandatory 48-hour break, but I’ve been able to work around it by alternating between different waters in the same syndicate. It’s a bit sneaky but not against the rules—others stick to five nights, then wait out five days, to get around it.

Honestly, I wasn’t sure where to go or how busy the lake would be on a Thursday morning. By 6:30, I was up, having porridge, checking the weather, and planning my options. The pressure’s set to hit 1027mb by next Wednesday, which should make for an interesting final week on Airfield Lake. Night temperatures are holding around 10°C, with daytime highs around 15°C, and the wind changing direction daily—which isn’t ideal.

I arrived around 8:00 to find the popular swims taken—only about four good ones here. I scouted twice, weighing my options, and eventually settled on a swim that, ironically, has a reputation for “no carp.” But with the lake potentially filling up over my 48 hours here, I decided to give it a shot.

I cast out my marker rod as the southeast wind picked up, too strong to get the Deeper out as far as I wanted. Once I found the feature I was looking for, I spombed out 3 kilos of boilies on either side of the marker float. My plan: sit on that spot for the full 48 hours, leaving the hookbaits undisturbed—they’d still be perfect even at the end. With all the lake activity over the next couple of nights, I’m hoping to draw the carp down into my feeding zone.

Nightfall came quickly, and I settled in for my first night on the bank. Conditions looked promising: clear skies initially, then clouds rolling in with drizzle in the early hours, lasting until midday Friday. Perfect for an overnight or morning catch before the weekend anglers start arriving and departing—patterns the carp are definitely tuned into as they feel those vibrations echoing across the water.

At 5:30 a.m., my right-hand rod burst to life. Already awake, I jumped up, grabbing the rod and battling with what felt like a lump of a fish. It headed straight for the trees to my right, determined to make that its escape. I managed to turn it back, but just as I started guiding it towards my swim, it bolted for the corner where I knew there were some nasty snags. I swung my rod tip and carefully steered it back—but just as I was closing in, the hook pinged loose. After nearly 48 hours waiting on that bait, to lose it so close to the net was gutting.

With no chance of more sleep, I decided it was time for a brew and another bowl of porridge. Time to mull over what happened, see if I could’ve done anything differently, and move on—no point dwelling on it.

By 6:15, coffee was ready, and I was watching the lake wake up—a superb sight. I drifted off to sleep again, lulled by an hour of rain, and woke around 8:30 for another coffee. Then I packed up, took my time, and was out by 10:30, all set to prep the kit for tomorrow.

Until next time,
Richard

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