Chasing Shadows on Airfield Lake

After a few days of scratching my head, poring over weather apps, wind charts, and half-forgotten notes, I finally made the call. Easter Sunday morning. Something about the timing felt right—maybe not scientific, but instinct counts for a lot in this game. I loaded the gear and headed back to a place that has lived in my head for years now—Airfield Lake. The mythical monster common had been circling my thoughts again, and whether it’s real or just a legend, I couldn’t ignore the pull any longer.

Some say it’s been seen, others swear they’ve lost it. Hell, I’ve even glimpsed it myself once, a broad back breaking the surface on a still morning like a submarine turning in the shallows. There’s a whisper that someone may have had it and kept quiet, and I wouldn’t blame them either. But regardless of whether that fish exists or not, Airfield is just one of those lakes that gets under your skin. It’s not just about chasing a fish—it’s about the magic of the place itself. Peaceful. Timeless. Fishing here is therapy.

I pulled into the car park just before 09:30. There were nine other anglers spread across the complex, which surprisingly left me with a lot of freedom to choose a swim. It’s rare to get that kind of opportunity on a bank holiday, so I made the most of it. I lapped the lake twice, watching for signs and trying to make sense of what the lake was telling me. The weather had been up and down all week—high pressure slowly building, with southwesterly winds and light rain forecast for the afternoon. Classic carp-catching conditions.

After some deliberation, I opted for the north bank, setting up on one of the islands tucked into the northeast corner. The idea was to get ahead of the coming wind, hoping it would start pushing down this end and bring the fish with it. I’d be sticking with what I know—Nutrabaits Blank Saver boilies. It’s a two-rod water, which always feels like a restriction when you’ve got multiple ideas bouncing around your head, but I settled on a simple plan. One rod to the margin on my left, over a few pouches of mixed-size Nutrabaits boilies in white and yellow. The other went out to a lovely silty gully I’d marked on a previous trip, with six medium spombs and a small Castaway-PVA mesh bag packed with Nutrabaits pellets.

The first real action came at 15:01. The right-hand rod buckled over, and after a lively scrap, I slipped the net under a hard-fighting 14lb 5oz common. It wasn’t the mythical monster, but it was a start—and a welcome end to the blank. The white Blank Saver had done its job.

The rod was soon reset and back on the spot, and I settled in for the next 48 hours. I had a good feeling about the swim. Something just felt… alive.

Late Night Whispers

By 22:47, the same rod was away again. I’d forgotten how pitch-black Airfield gets at night. No moon, no nearby light sources—just darkness like velvet pulled over your eyes. Fishing in it feels like being completely removed from the rest of the world. But there’s a raw beauty in that, too. I could just make out the rod tip trembling in the gloom as I played my second carp of the session. Another one for the White Blank Saver.

A fresh PVA bag and hookbait were swiftly back out, and I sat there debating whether to spomb more bait. Not the easiest task in pitch black, but something told me I’d need to keep them fed if I wanted to hold fish in the area.

Then at 00:38, the right-hand rod ripped off again. This one felt different straight away—heavier, more deliberate in its movements. It held deep and slow, testing my patience and my tackle. At one point, it bolted toward the right-hand margin, brushing past a dead tree branch that snapped free and floated across the swim. Luckily, it didn’t cause any drama, and with steady pressure, I coaxed the fish under another low branch and into open water in front of the swim.

It took a few more tense moments before I finally drew it over the net cord. 24lb 8oz of lean, powerful common. That one got the heart going.

I took the opportunity to top up the spot with two dot-spomb loads of bait while the fish were clearly active and moving through. You don’t always get extended feeding spells on this lake—if you sense one’s underway, you lean into it.

A Slow Start and Shifting Winds

I woke around 07:45—later than usual—but clearly needed the kip. First things first: coffee. The margin rod still hadn’t had a bite, and I started to worry slightly. The majority of the carp I’d seen were out in open water. Historically, the margin spot had produced fewer bites, but they’d often been the better fish. It was a gamble worth sticking with… for now.

The predicted southwesterly wind had arrived, but it wasn’t expected to stick around. By noon, it would be swinging west, then northwest, with light rain lingering. Still, it felt like bitey weather.

By 13:00, I’d waited out a short spell of rain, hoping it might encourage a few fish to feed. But nothing stirred near the margin. Decision made—I needed a new spot. I was looking for the end of a bar, hopefully further out than the original gully. The Deeper app came in handy, as always, and after a couple of exploratory casts—checking horizon markers carefully—I found what I was after.

I put ten medium spombs over the new spot and made the call to swap both rods onto the White Blank Saver. The margin had gone quiet, and I wasn’t going to waste another night ignoring what the water was telling me.

Evening Gold

At 18:30, the right-hand rod was away yet again. From the moment I pulled into it, I could tell this was another good fish. It plodded stubbornly, refusing to give ground, testing my angles and patience as I guided it away from the overhanging trees to my right. I had to sink the rod tip and walk it gently in front of the swim, slowly wearing it down.

Finally, I got a glimpse—another lovely common. When the scales read 22lb 7oz, I couldn’t stop smiling. That’s what it’s all about. These Airfield fish may not be easy, but when the plan comes together, it’s pure reward.

Then, at 22:30, the left-hand rod screamed into life for the first time since moving it to the new open water spot. This fish was a wild one—short, fast bursts of energy, darting left and right in the darkness. A lean 12lb common, full of fight and attitude.

Getting the bait back out in total darkness wasn’t easy, but I’ve got a system. I place a straight stick on the ground pointing directly at my horizon marker. As long as my casting position lines up with that stick, I can be confident the lead’s landing where I want it. Crude, maybe—but reliable.

That second night turned out to be quieter overall, which is something you come to accept at Airfield. The fish here are nomadic, and you can be surrounded by them one minute and staring at empty water the next.

Final Moves

By early morning, the air had a different feel. Colder, fresher. I was up early again, sipping coffee and watching the water. At some point around 06:30, I noticed carp ghosting through the margins again, moving slowly under the scum line building up near the reeds to my left.

With just a few hours left, I moved the left-hand rod back into the edge, hoping to tempt one last bite before packing down. That scum line looked too good to ignore—a natural holding area, especially after the mild rain.

I gave it until 09:30, when the inevitable packing down began. The gear was slowly dried and stacked, and I gave the lake one last look before heading off.

Reflections

No sign of the mythical common this time, but three twenties and a couple of backups made for a proper return to Airfield. More importantly, I left the place with a head full of ideas and a burning desire to come back.

That’s the thing about this lake—it doesn’t just test your angling. It stirs something deeper. Out here, under the wide skies and among the whispering trees, it’s not just about catching fish. It’s about reconnecting with nature, with yourself, and with the quiet thrill of not knowing what might be lurking just beneath the surface.

Until next time.

– Richard

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