Riding the Wind on Meadow Lake

With heavy showers forecast over the next few days, I shuffled around my gardening work, pushing jobs to the end of the week. That gave me a chance I couldn’t ignore—two nights on the bank. The car was already loaded before I had time to second-guess myself, and by mid-afternoon I was crunching down the familiar track toward the lakes.

I was surprised to see a couple of good swims still free. For a moment, I nearly swung the car around and headed straight to Airfield Lake. The southwesterly was tearing across its wide waters, piling into the big island swim—a spot that’s hard to walk past when the conditions line up.

But something made me pause. I’ve always had a soft spot for Meadow Lake, even if it doesn’t always produce. Less angling pressure, fewer distractions, and a kind of quiet character all its own. It’s the sort of place that tests your patience but rewards effort in its own way. In the end, I couldn’t resist the temptation.

Setting the Trap

I picked a swim that faced straight into the wind, knowing the carp would likely have followed it up. It had been years since I’d last set up here, which added to the sense of anticipation. I quickly pitched the bivvy before the first of the squalls swept across, then got to work with the rods.

Out came the Fish Deeper app, though in truth, it was more for reassurance than practicality. With the wind gusting hard and waves chopping across the surface, there was no chance of casting the sonar far enough to make it useful. Still, I’ve grown to love its functions, and even when I’m unable to use it properly, it sharpens my thinking.

I soon switched to the marker rod, leading around until I felt two likely areas—cleaner spots among the weed that felt firm under the lead. One was at 11 wraps, another at 14. Both gave me confidence. I clipped up, checked my horizon markers, and added a couple of wraps on one to keep my options varied.

Then came the baiting. I started with four large spombs of pellets and hemp, followed by another four loaded with Nutrabaits boilies and solubles. A decent spread, enough to draw fish in but not overdo it.

The plan was simple:

• Right-hand rod — a solid PVA bag, ideal for cutting through the weed and holding tight despite the crosswind.

• Left-hand rod — a snowman presentation over the baited area.

By the time I got both rigs out and settled, darkness was already closing in. It’s amazing how quickly the nights draw in this time of year. By 2100 hrs, it was properly dark, the bivvy zipped up against the wind, and I was listening to the water as the first carp crashed out there somewhere in the night.

False Hopes

I lay in the sleeping bag with a sense of anticipation that kept sleep at bay. Every few minutes, I heard another fish break the surface. Surely, it was only a matter of time. But the night slipped by without so much as a bleep. Dawn came grey and heavy, the air damp with drizzle, and I couldn’t help but feel a pang of surprise.

The forecast promised a mix of sunshine and showers—classic unsettled conditions. I told myself that today would be the day.

By 1215, a break in the showers gave me my chance to top up the swim. I fired another four spombs of each mix, keeping the spot lively for the coming night.

The Wrong Species

At 1730, the first rod finally bent round. For a few seconds, my heart leapt—until the fight revealed itself. Not the heavy plod of a carp but the more erratic wriggle of a tench. A lively scrap, and a good fish, but not what I was here for.

An hour later, the bobbin pulled up again, and this time a big, fat bream slid into the net. Before I’d even reset properly, a smaller bream followed not long after.

I reset the rod with another solid bag, but my enthusiasm was fading fast. As much as I love catching fish, I had no intention of spending the whole night bream fishing. The bags went back out, but I told myself it would be the last effort for the evening. If the carp were going to show, they’d have to push the nuisance species aside.

Second Night

Morning came damp and heavy again. By 0900, I was staring out at the lake, more than a little deflated. The carp I’d expected on the wind simply hadn’t materialised. Instead, I was left with two tench, two bream, and a growing pile of wet kit.

The rain thickened as the hours passed, drumming on the brolly and turning the ground to mud. I sat there weighing up my options: another night or call it a day?

At 1230, I checked the forecast one last time. Heavy rain warnings were in place from 0100 through to 1400 hrs tomorrow. Carp don’t often respond well under those conditions here, and I had no appetite for packing down in a storm after another blank night.

Decision made—I’d give it a few more hours, then load up and head home. Hopefully, I’d keep most of the kit drier than it was already.

Reflections

So, that was that. Two tench, two bream, no carp. Not the result I’d been hoping for, but that’s fishing. You take the rough with the smooth, and sometimes, even when conditions scream “carp,” they just don’t play ball.

Still, I came out, gave it everything, and walked away knowing I’d tried my best. And as every angler knows, there’s always next time.

Until then
Richard

Get 10% off Deeper with Code – RICHARD10