It was the final stretch of 2024, and I decided to take one last roll of the dice at the  Estate Lake. Along with me was an old friend, eager to catch up while chasing carp. The downside to our plan was that the best chance of success lay in fishing over the dead lily pads, and unfortunately, the closest swims to these spots were at opposite ends of the lake. We parted ways, each staking out a promising location, with the understanding that we’d reel in our lines the next morning and spend time talking about the one where I landed a beautiful common carp just before Christmas. This area was clearly teeming with carp, and I’d spotted plenty near my friend’s pitch. We’d been the only ones booked to fish until a couple of latecomers arrived, snagging their own spaces. It was a minor annoyance, but such is the nature of fishing—conditions were prime, apart from the unusually high pressure of 1034 mb.

I chose a swim that gave me access to a bank lined with dead lily pads, perfect for deploying my bait boat. The plan was to drop my rigs and freebies into the small bays nestled among the lily pads. My choice of freebies was Co-De Solubles again, their dark colour a deliberate attempt to keep the swans at bay. After a recent hook-related mishap, I used 12mm white hook baits, consistently producing the best bites in this lake.

The first night, however, was uneventful. The carp seemed uncooperative, and I suspected they were congregating in the middle of the lake rather than down in my corner during the dark hours. Perhaps a change of swim or a focus on open water would improve my chances. The wind was forecasted to pick up later in the day and blow toward my end of the lake, which could work in my favour. I decided to increase the bait on each spot to see if that would make a difference.

Around 10 a.m., I wandered over to chat with my friend. He’d had a productive session, landing two 20-pounders and a mid-double. We spent a few hours catching up before I returned to my swim, just in time to dodge a rain shower. The wind was picking up nicely by then, boosting my confidence. I adjusted my strategy, moving two rods to the open water where carp had been intermittently showing themselves since the previous day. I was convinced that the commotion in the open water last night had been carp crashing about.

As the afternoon wore on, my optimism grew. Yet a nagging thought lingered in the back of my mind: despite the improved conditions, there seemed to be less activity overall. The only consistent sightings had been near the small island surrounded by lily pads. I’d have to rely on the wind’s influence to bring them my way, though the slight chill in the air gave me pause.

The evening brought warmer winds and a light drizzle, improving conditions further. Carp began to crash nearby, and my excitement grew. Yet, my buzzers remained silent. Twice during the night, I was jolted awake by the sound of carp crashing out, but still, my lines stayed untouched. Frustration mounted as I sipped my first brew at 6:30 a.m., reflecting on the trip while staring at the still waters. With only a couple of hours left, I struggled to understand what had gone wrong. The wind was pushing down nicely, and the air remained warm—conditions that should have been ideal.

I had to remind myself to stay confident, trusting that I’d done everything right. Sometimes, the carp simply don’t play ball. Despite my best efforts, this trip wasn’t yielding the results I’d hoped for.

As I packed up my gear and prepared to leave, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. Yet, there was also a sense of resolve. This wasn’t the end—just a chapter in my angling journey. The lake and its elusive carp would be waiting when I returned for my first trip of 2025. And who knows? Maybe next time, the dice would roll in my favour.

Until then, Richard

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