Blank Savers and Windward Dreams

After last week’s success, I felt a familiar itch to get the rods bending again. The Airfield Lake still didn’t feel like it had truly switched on—something in the air wasn’t quite right over there yet. Instead of chasing ghosts, I decided to revisit my local club water. It’s a place I’ve promised myself to fish more regularly this year. Close to home, rich in memory, and, on the right day, capable of producing something special.

I pulled into the car park at 09:15 and was genuinely surprised to find not a single vehicle. Not even the usual Sunday regulars. That sort of quiet can be golden, especially on a lake where pressure can play as much a part in the fishing as moon phases or bait choice.

I did two slow laps, watching the water and feeling the gusts brush past my face—25mph winds forecast today, with the pressure dipping down towards 995mb by Tuesday. The north bank caught my attention; it had the wind hacking in for a large part of my planned session. Eventually, it was due to switch about, but for now, everything looked spot on. Low pressure and strong gusty winds were stacking up in my favour. Now it was just up to me not to cock it up.

My rods still had last week’s hookbaits on. With carp visibly crashing around, I didn’t want to fully commit to any particular spots until the other two overnight anglers arrived and set their gear up. For now, I kept things light and mobile, flicking out three little PVA mesh bags. One dropped tight into the right-hand margin, another punched out into open water, and the third nestled gently into the small bay off to my right.

It wasn’t long before the middle rod twitched into action. A tench came in first—classic early indicator that things were stirring. Soon after, the left-hand rod roared off. A short, fierce battle followed, ending with a 17lb 3oz mirror slipping over the cord. A tidy start.

By 15:01, the left-hand rod was away again. This one had some real intent behind it. The fish powered through the emerging lily pads, threatening to snag me at any moment. Luckily, the pads had only just broken the surface and didn’t offer much resistance. After a fair bit of plodding in the margins, I netted a long, solid common—28lb 6oz. A proper character, full of fight.

That carp came on the yellow Blank Saver—a hookbait I’ve kept on since last week. That little gem’s got something special about it. Light, bright, and evidently appealing.

By 16:00, I was ready to properly bait up. My back had been playing up, so the Spomb stayed in the bag. Instead, I sent four neat loads out with the bait boat. Clean, precise, and—best of all—no sharp twinges from a bad twist or lift. The only rod left to adjust was the one in the bay. That decision would depend on how things unfolded over the next few hours.

At 17:40, the bay rod burst to life. I’d been feeding 12mm pellets soaked in salmon oil into that zone for over a month. Nothing fancy, just steady prebaiting. I’d hesitated to commit a rod there overnight, but the bite was a good sign.

The fight was cagey, full of pads and twists, but eventually a pretty common of around 12lb slid into the mesh. Not a monster, but a sign the bait had done its work. I flicked the rig back out and gave myself until 20:00 to make a final call on whether to leave it there through the night.

Come 02:30, the lake had gone eerily silent. Calm spread across the surface like a sheet. The only sound was the occasional rustle of birds settling. Then, as if someone had flicked a switch, the middle rod shrieked. Another common—just over 10lb. I genuinely thought it was another tench until it woke up under the tip and charged out toward open water.

A new bag, a fresh Blank Saver, and the rig was back out. The rest of the night passed under a chorus of noisy birdlife doing laps of the lake. I drifted in and out of sleep, finally waking around 07:30 to soft light breaking over the trees and the kettle hissing for a morning brew.

After warming up, I moved the right-hand rod to its daytime position. The fish had been using a little pad-lined channel nearby, so I repositioned the middle rod in hopes something might happen by mid-morning.

By 11:00, the pads remained undisturbed. The carp weren’t interested. Time for a quick dash to the “Tardis.” These fish clearly preferred the afternoon bite window.

At 13:00, all rods were reset, and I was back in position. The lake surface shimmered, a few bubbles teased from the pads, and I sat watching and hoping for some action. I’d now switched all rods to the Yellow Blank Saver—no need to mess with success.

At 14:45, the right-hand rod screamed off again. Another common, desperate to reach the far corner of the bay. It pulled hard, line slicing through the water, but eventually it came in—a lean, torpedo-shaped fish with a rudder of a tail. About 12lb.

The fight twisted the line around a lily stem, so I had to strip a few lengths off and retie the whole rig. Thirty minutes later, the same rod tore off again. This time, a micro-carp, barely bigger than the hookbait. Still, it’s one for the tally.

By 19:15, the middle rod was away—this time from the lily channel I’d placed it in earlier. I managed to guide the fish out cleanly, avoiding one pad bed, then another. But on its third attempt, the carp buried itself deep. I rested the rod three times, gave it line, and eventually it swam free. Under the tip, it twisted and rolled. I was seconds from netting it when—ping—the hook flew out.

Proper gutted. I was still fuming when my mate popped over, all smiles with news of a 28-pounder he’d just banked. That lightened the mood. We’d both had a good one now. I repositioned the middle rod into open water for the night. The pads were no place to be battling carp in the dark. That bay rod stayed where it was, in hopes of a dusk runner.

At 00:46, the middle rod was away again. This one felt like a lump. It kited wide, forcing me to manoeuvre around the right-hand rod, but after a controlled ten-minute fight, I slipped the net under a lovely mirror—24lb 14oz.

I was just rebaiting when I noticed the right-hand rod’s bobbin sat high up at the buzzer. Was it me knocking it? Or a subtle take? These carp are sly, often mouthing baits and easing away with the rig without causing a full-on run. I picked up the rod—nothing there. I changed the hookbait anyway, just to be sure.

At 07:34, I woke groggier than usual—some odd dream about swans chasing me around a house still lingering in my head. The weather wasn’t as forecast either. Instead of cloud and wind, I was met with flat calm, bright skies, and still air. The kind of weather that makes you question everything.

But at 07:58, just as doubt crept in, the middle rod ripped off. A clean fight, straight from the open water, and a 19lb 12oz common was on the mat. A golden surprise.

Rather than putting the rod back on the same spot, I’d seen signs further off near some reeds by the bay entrance. That’s where I sent it this time. With the wind picking up, it could be a smart move.

At 09:50, the dusk-set middle rod finally screamed off with a small, aggressive six-pounder. Likely one of the stockies. They’re sharp and always hungry.

Come 11:39, the sun was blazing. Not a cloud in the sky. Sweat rolled down my back as I debated whether to pack up. A nearby angler had set up within earshot, and I wasn’t keen to spend a noisy night listening to someone else’s buzzers if the fishing was going to be slow. Still, I waited.

At 17:25, the right-hand rod tore off—but the fish kited straight into the pads. Despite my best efforts, it ended in a hook pull. The second one of the trip. Gutted again. I moved the rod further out into the bay and resolved to tweak the spot one last time around 20:00—prime bite time.

By 18:45, all rods had fresh rigs, and the last of my boilies were spread across the spots. I saved a handful—just in case things went manic. The wind picked up, finally delivering the conditions I’d been waiting for. The evening felt ripe. I hoped it would pay off.

That night, a storm rolled in with the kind of intensity you don’t forget. The wind battered the bivvy, gusts punching through at 45mph. False bleeps came in waves, but the alarms never screamed for real. Not one take. Absolutely baffling.

I woke at 07:30. Most of the gear was already packed from the night before—a habit I’ve formed during storms. Makes for a quick exit if needed. Just the rods to go.

And then the sky opened—rain, hail, and a rainbow slicing through the trees. I scrambled to finish packing, grateful for the trees sheltering me, and hit the road, soaked but content.

Another session logged. Lessons learned. Good fish banked. A few lost. And one more story to tell.

Until next time.

Richard

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