It was the kind of decision that required careful thought. After hours of analyzing weather forecasts, reading reports, and thinking about how Meadow Lake had been fishing over the weekend, I finally decided that it was the right time to head down to the club water for a few nights. Hopefully, I could bag a couple of decent fish during my stay. I had been itching to get back, and the timing felt right.

I arrived at the lake just after 08:30 hours, the morning sun barely peeking through the clouds. As I made my way down to the water’s edge, I bumped into another member who was also booked on for the same few nights. We exchanged pleasantries and had a good chat. He had already dropped his bucket into one of the swims at the back of the wind—a sensible choice, considering the weather. He had spotted a carp already, though he mentioned that there were fish showing all over the lake. According to him, the back of the wind was looking like the most promising spot, and I had to admit, it made sense.

But as I stood there, looking out over the vast expanse of water, it felt a bit silly to set up right next to him. The entire lake was practically empty, and I didn’t want to crowd his space. Besides, there were plenty of potential spots to choose from, and I needed to find the one that felt right.

I walked around the lake, taking in the scenery. The wind was mostly coming from the north, which made things tricky. I couldn’t entirely avoid it, but I knew that finding the right spot was crucial. After some deliberation, I decided to set up in the swim I had used last time. It was the one that gave me the best view of the lake, and I’d had some success here in the past. It just felt like the right place to start.

Once I was set up, I positioned my rod where I had seen and caught carp before. The area seemed promising, but as the afternoon faded into evening, it became apparent that the fish weren’t here. I could sense the problem but hoped that things would change overnight. Perhaps the carp would move in while I slept. However, at 6:00 AM the next morning, I was awoken by a pair of crows squawking at each other from the oak tree next to my swim. As I lay there listening to them, my thoughts turned back to the issue at hand: I was in the wrong area.

The right area, it seemed, was right in the teeth of the cold northerly winds. I knew what that meant—I’d have to move if I wanted to catch anything. The thought of enduring those biting winds didn’t appeal to me, not at 60 years old. I wasn’t as willing to endure the harsh conditions like I had been in my younger days. These days, comfort was just as important as the fishing. But at the same time, I knew that if I wanted a chance at catching a carp, I’d have to face the cold.

I sat there for a moment, weighing my options. My mind raced, torn between the urge to catch fish and the need to stay warm and comfortable. After a few moments of internal debate, I made my decision. By 06:30, I was packing up. A couple of bags, my bucket, and then the rest of my gear. I wasn’t going to overload myself or the barrow. There was no rush; I wanted to get everything set up properly. My goal was to have the rods in the water by 08:00, giving me a good hour of bite time before the day really got underway.

By the time I was ready to cast out my first rod, it was just before 08:00. I’d just placed the rod on the spot when, to my utter disbelief, the bite alarm screamed. I could hardly believe it as I struck into a fish, the line pulling away from the bank. After a brief but intense fight, I had a lovely mid-double in the net. The move had already paid off, and I felt a rush of satisfaction. It was certainly worth the effort.

By 10:00, I had the home set up, the kettle on, and was enjoying my second coffee of the day. It wasn’t until nearly noon that I realized I hadn’t even had breakfast. It was one of those moments when you’re so focused on the fishing that you forget about everything else. But it didn’t matter—things were looking up.

All my rods were placed in different areas: one in the dead pads, another in the channel between them. I could remember exactly where I had cast them, and I made a mental note to take a photo this time to help me next winter.

I had used a variety of pop-ups on each rod, each with a different flavor. But it was the pink one that had brought in the first bite. That got me thinking—it might be worth switching to all pink pop-ups for the rest of the session, maybe even trying a favorite combination of flavors that had worked for me in the past. I also put out some 11 mm pellets that had been soaked in hemp oil—perfect for attracting carp in the area.

As the night approached, I felt hopeful. Just before midnight, my right-hand rod screamed off, and I quickly jumped into action. Unfortunately, the fish was smaller than the previous one, but it still counted as another carp for the session, bringing my total to four for the year. It had been a slow start, but I was beginning to see the potential. The moon was full, and I couldn’t help but feel that I might be in for a night of action.

Getting the bait boat out in the dark is never easy, and I’m certainly not the best at it. It was a bit of a zigzag as I steered it back out to the spot, but thankfully, no one else was around to witness my less-than-graceful handling of the boat.

At around 03:00, my middle rod was away. I had been a bit concerned about this rod, as a group of mallards had been diving around it, disturbing the hookbait. I always worry about the hookbait being pulled off, even though I blob down the floss to secure it. Thankfully, this time, it was still in place, and after a brief fight, I landed another lovely common. It wasn’t a huge fish, but it was a mid-double, and I couldn’t complain. I just hadn’t found the bigger carp yet, but I was optimistic.

That night was a success, and I felt a sense of relief. It wasn’t a monster catch, but I was happy with the progress. The frost had arrived with a vengeance, and the wind was still biting, but I was determined to make the most of it. The next day was spent in the bivvy, sheltering from the cold north wind. Even with heated gloves, I couldn’t escape the chill, and I longed for the warmth of the sun.

After a quick lap of the lake to see if I could find any concentration of carp, I realized that the fish were all over the place. They were crashing about, but it seemed nearly impossible to catch them during the day. Still, I had to give it a try. I put fresh baits out, added a little more bait, and settled in for the final night.

Unfortunately, the last night didn’t go as planned. Not a single bleep from the rods. I couldn’t help but think that the full moon and the hard frost had something to do with the lack of action. The carp seemed to have gone quiet, perhaps because of the clear skies and the chilly temperatures.

Despite the lack of action on the last night, it had been a memorable few days on the bank. I managed four carp, including a couple of nice mid-doubles, and I had learned a lot. I’ll be back at Meadow Lake next month, chasing that elusive upper 40. But for now, I’ll enjoy the memories of a challenging but rewarding session.

Until next time,
Richard

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