Fishing Tales And Stories

It’s now the first of October, and the countdown to the Airfield Lake closure has begun. With the end in sight, Ian and I had agreed this would be our last social of the year. Once November rolls around, Ian switches over to day sessions when the weather suits him. I must admit, every winter I get that little bit closer to following suit, but I’ve yet to decide if I’d actually be happier sticking to daylight hours. There’s something about a night on the bank — the stillness, the waiting — that’s hard to give up.As usual, our late-Tuesday chat stretched into Wednesday afternoon. We went over the forecast, our swim options, and broke it all down into first, second, and third choices, just as we always do. After last week’s session, where the sudden weather change completely knocked the carp off feeding until Ian’s final night, we both felt the same swim made the most sense. Without even discussing it at first, we’d both come to the same conclusion — Tower Point, fishing back into the big lake again.By mid-morning Wednesday, I arrived at the lake to find it still and quiet. A cool northeasterly breeze brushed across the surface, pushing the early autumn leaves against the margins. The swim was free — perfect. Ian rolled in shortly after, and we both set about getting camp sorted. 

After missing out on the lakes entirely last week—bar a few fleeting, frustrating hours by the river—I was itching for a proper session. The river had been enjoyable in its own way, but watching Chub ignore my hookbait for five hours tested my patience more than usual. You can catch up on all the drama from my last blog or video, but suffice to say, I was ready to return to somewhere with a proper bedchair, bivvy, and the solid thump of a big carp.This week, I’d cleared the decks: three nights at my disposal. I’d planned to arrive at the lake around 2pm on day one, but the weather forecast looked atrocious. Every radar I checked showed a deluge sweeping across the South. So, I took the gamble—called off my gardening jobs and pointed the van towards Ringwood. Looking back now, I probably jumped the gun. The rain just didn’t show up near the lakes. Classic.

The weather’s been playing havoc with my gardening jobs this week. Monday was a complete washout — I got rained on everywhere I went. Tuesday turned out better though, and as I’d managed to move a job forward, I suddenly had a free afternoon. Perfect timing, because the forecast showed a good blow coming in from the south — rain from noon onwards. These carp love a proper wind pushing down the lake, and it looked ideal for the next few days.I’d already spent Saturday morning going through my Fish Deeper app on the computer, marking out a handful of potential winter spots. I wanted to familiarise myself with the lake again and explore a few new areas, so I’d dropped several pins on the map as possible targets.When I arrived, there were only two swims available from the shortlist I’d picked out — one near the top of my list and one right at the bottom. Luckily, the better option was free, so I slipped straight in. First thing I always do is boot up the weather forecast again to get the most up-to-date information. As luck would have it, the rain had been pushed back by a few hours — which turned into about six — giving me plenty of dry time to set up properly and get everything sorted before the heavens opened.

This trip didn’t get off to the best start. Before I’d even wet a line, one of the back wheels on my barrow had a puncture. Then, as I started unloading, I realised my bank sticks were still at home in the fishing cupboard — the very cupboard I’m meant to empty completely before every trip to avoid this exact situation. Clearly, a bit of fine-tuning is still needed in my system.Thankfully, things soon took a turn for the better. Ian, ever the legend, brought down his pike pod to save the day, and to my relief, the swim I’d been baiting up all month was free. You guessed it — the same one as last week. History tells me this swim produces well at this time of year, and I’d have been daft not to fish it again.

My original plan was to spend a few nights up in Suffolk with my oldest friend, Rob, but unfortunately, things didn’t quite line up. Instead, I found myself with four nights on Airfield Lake. The conditions weren’t looking great, with heavy rain forecast — though apparently, we still need it. As far as I know, there’s still a hosepipe ban in place.I’d been up in Rutland last week, visiting family, staying in one of the lodges at the Rutland Hotel — absolutely fabulous spot. The water levels there were low, but not quite as bad as I expected.Regardless of the weather, I decided to get set up today. Getting the rods out early gives me an extra chance of nicking a carp or two.I had a couple of swims in mind, but in truth, when I arrived, it was easiest to set up near the car park. As luck would have it, that spot turned out to be one of my planned options — the double gravel swim I fished last time. The other option was the swim I’d used previously when the wind was pushing hard onto that bank.Lately, I’ve been thinking more about fishing on the back of the wind. With a strong south-westerly due to blow through all week, the double gravel swim felt like the better choice. The low pressure, however, had me slightly concerned — I’m convinced it’s been putting the carp off feeding. Oddly enough, the so-called perfect carp-catching conditions don’t always seem to be the best ones.

Sometimes, the best sessions happen when you least expect them. As luck would have it, I managed to squeeze in a couple of unexpected nights on the bank this week. After finishing my gardening jobs for the day — plenty of lawns cut and borders trimmed — I packed up the tools, swapped the mower for the rods, and made my way down to the lake.I nearly drove to Meadow Lake out of interest, but deep down I knew I had to stick to my October plan: make the most of Airfield Lake before it closes for the winter. By 1:30 p.m., I was pulling into The Tower car park, which, to my delight, was completely empty. That sense of peace and opportunity you get when a lake lies still before you never gets old. I’d been on the same swim for my last few sessions, but I fancied a change of scenery — something to refresh my perspective before the gates shut until March.Spotting Something Special

elcome back to another fishing adventure. There are weeks in carp fishing when everything seems to line up, and others where nothing goes to plan no matter how hard you try. This session fell somewhere in between—full of excitement, a few golden moments, and some lessons that will stay with me for the next time I return to Airfield Lake.The Build-UpThe week before, I’d wrapped up a slow-going trip with not much to show for my efforts. My mate Ian, though, had managed a couple of nice carp after I’d left, and he’d also spotted a few milling about in my water. That gave me some confidence—I clearly hadn’t been far off.Still, what really concerned me as I prepped for this session was the weather. The wind had swung round to the north, which usually spells trouble at this time of year. A cold northerly can kill sport dead, and with autumn knocking on the door, I wasn’t sure how the carp would react. On the flip side, the sun was shining, and with it came a surprising warmth, even with the chill of the breeze.After a good chat with Ian, weighing up our options, I decided to give the same swim another go before trying the island again. We’d seen a very good fish show over there the previous morning, a big carp that looked to be every big, even from 300 yards away. I knew the fish were here—it was just a case of proving it by getting one on the bank.Tight lines and be lucky!

Welcome back to another fishing adventure. Trip 30 Carp Fishing - The Double Gravel Swim – September SessionAfter a good look around the lake earlier in the week, backed up by studying my old records, I decided the Double Gravel swim was my best bet. It wasn’t an easy decision, but with no other clear signs of carp activity elsewhere, it stood out as the most logical option. This swim has produced for me in the past, often with a bit of patience, and it’s one I’ve built confidence in over the years.The first thing I always do when settling into a swim is to get the marker rod out. Even though I know the area well, I like to double-check that everything is still as it should be. Weed shifts about, silt builds up, and there’s nothing worse than assuming a spot is as clean as you remember only to find it’s changed. The rod whistled out into the wind, clipped at the right distance, and the lead hit down with that firm, reassuring thud of clean gravel. A couple of drags confirmed it. Perfect. The long-range gravel bar was still there, sharp and defined, while the closer line I’ve favoured before was equally inviting.This time, though, I wanted to tweak things. Normally, I’d fish further out, but my gut told me to bring one rod shorter. It felt like a gamble, but sometimes carp fishing is about breaking habits. The plan was simple: one rod fished closer with solid PVA bags, the other at long range on a proven spot that has a knack for throwing up the bigger carp every so often. That second rod, however, would be fished with single hookbaits only.Tight lines and be lucky!

Welcome back to another fishing adventure. With the weather all over the place from midweek onwards, I found myself juggling gardening jobs and studying forecasts more than I’d like. The plan had been to head to the lake on Wednesday morning, but after a closer look at the charts, Tuesday afternoon was clearly the better choice. Rain was due to sweep in around 5 p.m., and I needed to be set up well before then.I hit the deadline perfectly, rods out and camp sorted, only for the weather to delay its entrance until much later that night. For once, the timing worked in my favour. With just six weeks left before Airfield Lake closes for the winter, I’ve committed myself to focus here. Time has flown this year, and while I’m not exactly looking forward to the coming cold, a recent change in medication will hopefully help with my perennial issue of frozen hands.Tight lines and be lucky!

Welcome back to another fishing adventure. 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.Tight lines and be lucky!

Welcome back to another fishing adventure. West Stow Country Park Carp SessionFishing sessions often carry a strange sense of anticipation, as though every trip holds the possibility of something special—something unforgettable. This week’s trip was one of those rare occasions when the excitement had been building steadily for days. Not only was I heading back up to West Stow Country Park, a place that carries its own quiet charm and challenge, but I was also fishing alongside my oldest friend, Rob. We’ve shared countless hours bankside together over the years, and whenever we plan a session, it always seems to take on an extra layer of importance.The Journey NorthMonday morning started early—brutally early. I was up at 04:00, the kind of hour where the world outside is silent, and only the occasional fox or owl breaks the stillness. By 04:30 I had the car loaded, rods stacked neatly, bait buckets wedged into the boot, and the kettle washed up from the night before. The air was cool, fresh, and full of promise.The roads were surprisingly clear. No roadworks on the M3, no speed restrictions, and even the dreaded M25—a road that can easily turn a good mood into frustration—was running without issue. I took this as a good omen. Heading north via the A414, the old Northern Orbital Road, then pushing on to the A1(M), I felt the tension ease out of me. By the time I merged onto the A14, the sun was climbing, lighting up the fields with a golden haze.Of course, the A14 wouldn’t be the A14 without drama. I nearly witnessed a couple of accidents, careless drivers cutting across lanes and others forced into evasive action. Fortunately, the sensible heads among us kept it safe, and I pressed on, shaking my head at the madness.At 07:10, I rolled into the West Stow Country Park car park, the familiar landscape unfolding around me. There’s always a strange mixture of calm and excitement on arrival. Part of me just wanted to rush to a swim, set up, and get lines in the water. Another part of me knew the importance of slowing down—taking the time to look, listen, and read the water.Tight lines and be lucky!

I must admit, I nearly didn’t bother going this week. After a run of scorching hot days, the thought of sitting lakeside in 30-degree heat with the carp sulking in the margins wasn’t overly appealing. Yesterday had hit 30°C, and the forecast promised the same for the end of the week, but today was a different story altogether—just 22°C, overcast, with a welcome breeze moving across the lake. A short break in the relentless heatwave. That alone convinced me it was worth a go.Ideally, I’d have liked to fish Tuesday into Wednesday night, as the conditions then looked even more promising, but work and commitments meant that wasn’t an option. So I settled for Wednesday into Thursday. Sometimes you just have to make do with the window you’ve got.I rolled up around 1:30pm, gardening jobs done and dusted, and immediately felt a lift in mood compared to the past few stifling days. To my surprise, the lake was almost empty—only three other anglers dotted around. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen it so quiet, probably not since the winter months.

Three Choices, One Bay, and an Eighteen-PounderIt’s not often you walk onto a carp lake and find yourself with options — real options. Not the “one free swim nobody wants” kind of choice, but the sort where you actually stop and think for a moment, weighing up which peg might put you in front of the fish.This week, luck was on my side. Meadow Lake, usually busy at the best of times, had space. Three swims stood empty, all of them with potential.The wind was the deciding factor. A stiff south-westerly was pushing across the lake and piling straight into one of the bays. This wasn’t just a lazy breeze — it had that warm, pushing quality that can transform a swim. In my head, the picture formed instantly: coloured water pushing into the margins, food drifting in on the current, and carp using the cover of wind-chopped water to feed without fear. 

Back on the RiverbankFor the first time in a good few years, I found myself back on the riverbank—rod in hand, heart quietly hopeful. I wasn’t under any illusions of grandeur; this wasn’t about hauling out a barbel first cast or breaking personal bests. This trip was more of a test run—to see if my kit setup was workable and to rediscover that old river rhythm.As it turned out, I wasn’t burdened with as much gear as I feared. You know how it usually goes—too many bits, bags full of "just in case" items—but surprisingly, I’d only brought a touch more than necessary. A few tweaks here and there and it’ll be bang on. It felt good just travelling light again, wandering down to the river with purpose but without pressure.1545 – A Glimmer of InterestI had a sudden, sharp take—well, sort of. It turned out to be an aborted one. Closer inspection showed the hook point had snagged a small twig, just enough to blunt it. Still, it told me something was down there, inspecting the bait and showing an interest in the swim. A glimmer of hope.I was fishing with 8mm Big Fish Mix pellets and matching boilies as hookbaits. Ideally, I’d have used small PVA bags to create a tighter attraction around the rig, but in true riverbank fashion, I forgot to pack the PVA. First lesson learned—or maybe just re-learned.The Case of the Vanishing ChubWhat puzzled me most was the complete lack of interest from the chub. This spot should have screamed chub holding territory, yet I hadn’t even had a knock. Not a pluck, not a twitch. Nothing. I’d watched fish spook off the area earlier, but even that had slowed to a standstill. They weren’t having it.I tied up two new rigs, making subtle adjustments in presentation, hoping a change might trip them up. Still, silence. The rigs looked spot on in the margins, but confidence alone wasn’t enough today. It had me questioning the whole setup, especially the main line. It might be time to switch to something finer, more supple, or just less visible before the next trip. There’s a niggling feeling it might be the final piece of the puzzle.Calling TimeI held out until just before 10pm, but my session ended slightly earlier than planned—thanks to my head torch batteries giving up the ghost. And yes, I’d tested them over the weekend. Clearly not well enough. Another lesson chalked up.Despite giving it my all, I left with a blank. Not even a nibble to show for my efforts. But honestly? It didn’t sting like it used to. I’d already made peace with this trip being more about learning than catching. That said, the lack of action has me itching to go back to the drawing board—reassess the rigs, rethink the baiting approach, and maybe do a bit more late-night research online.The river’s a different beast to the stillwaters I’ve spent so much time on. It moves, it changes, and it demands your full attention. But I’m in no rush. This was just the beginning.Until next time,Richard

Session Journal – Early JulyWith the heatwave finally taking a break and a couple of free nights in the diary, I found myself back on the bank in early July. Reports from the lake weren’t exactly encouraging—it had been fishing hard, and water levels were the lowest I’d seen in years. Still, it was all to play for.Ian had arrived the day before and mentioned that the lake was very busy. I messaged another member to check if he was doing his usual one-nighter, hoping I might be able to slide into his swim once he’d packed up. Fortunately, he was, though the timing wasn’t ideal—I had to drop my youngest off at 4:00 a.m. for a school trip. The alternatives were trying to go back to sleep or sitting around at home, neither of which appealed in the slightest.

A Blowout, a Buzzer, and a Battle – A Session to RememberWith the weather nudging into the high twenties—26, maybe even 28 degrees—it was too hot for my liking. I knew sleep at home would be a restless affair, so the lake felt like the best escape. I wrapped up my last gardening job by 11, shot home to load the car, and just had one last task—drop the eldest off at her boyfriend's. From there, it was lake time.By 12:30, I was finally on the road… and right into a dose of classic British road rage. According to the red-faced man in the Audi A4, I was somehow in the wrong for not letting him dive into my lane, after he’d undertaken me in a long queue of traffic without so much as an indicator. A bit of polite signalling might’ve helped rather than waving his fists at me through the window. Ah, well—onto better things.I’ve been running a bit of a side plan lately: swing past Meadow Lake on the way to Airfield Lake, and if a decent swim is free, I drop in. This time, fortune looked to be smiling—my preferred shady spot was vacant. Perfect. Or so I thought.

Welcome back to another fishing adventure. It’s been a week longer than I originally planned, and to be honest, I’m still not 100% sure I should even be out fishing. But after surviving a couple of days back at work and feeling reasonably okay, I figured some bankside recovery time was just what the doctor ordered.The man flu struck hard while I was away camping in Wales. I ended up coming home three days earlier than planned—and truthfully, I probably should have cut the trip even shorter. Just to round things off, I had a tyre blowout going over the old Severn Bridge. Thankfully, the Highways Agency and the AA were absolutely brilliant. The whole situation was sorted in just over an hour—1 hour 15 minutes to be exact—and I was back on the road. A real credit to both services.Tight lines and be lucky!

There are moments in carp angling when instinct kicks in—when the changing sky and shifting pressure whisper that now is the time. After a prolonged spell of still, bright weather, a dramatic change had been forecast. A low-pressure front was moving in, bringing with it a band of rain followed by patchy showers. To any seasoned angler, this was a beacon—conditions that just scream feeding spell. I knew I had to act.With a few gardening jobs to wrap up first, I spent the morning moving soil and trimming hedges, watching the clock and keeping a close eye on the weather updates. The wind direction hadn’t shifted dramatically, but the incoming rain was what had my attention. It was around 1400 hrs by the time I finally loaded up and headed out, tired but fired up for a proper 40-hour session.As I approached the lake, I already had a plan formulating in my mind. I was hoping the wind would gain strength and push directly into the bank I had in mind—a bank that had given up good fish in the past under similar conditions. To my surprise, as I crept along the tree-lined margin, I spotted a few carp moving. They hadn’t been showing much lately, so this was an early sign that my hunch might just be spot on. It always pays to watch, and I took it as a quiet confirmation from the carp gods that I’d timed this right.Tight lines and be lucky!

There’s a certain freedom that comes with two nights on the bank — a kind of rare permission that makes every cast, every move, that much more purposeful. I’d been granted that freedom once again, thanks to the understanding of my wife and family, and I wasn't about to waste it. After a couple of tricky sessions that ended in blanks, I was determined to get it right this time. If the carp were going to make me work for it, I was more than willing to put in the effort.I pulled through the gate just after 9 a.m., taking my time as I unpacked. There was no mad rush — the fish hadn’t really been on the feed lately, and I knew the conditions still weren’t ideal. We were enjoying a slight rise in temperature — the kind that gets you thinking spring might finally be here — but the wind was doing its best to convince me otherwise. That persistent easterly was still biting, bringing a chill that cut through layers. Forecasts predicted gusts up to 30 mph, and I’d experienced enough blank nights recently to know I didn’t want to be sitting head-on into that wind again.Tight lines and be lucky!

With limited time available to me for the rest of May, I really need each trip to count.After a few hours of gardening this morning, I arrived at the lake in the early afternoon. The conditions weren’t ideal—there was a fresh northeasterly wind blowing across the water, bringing a chill with it. Still, I’d seen no signs of spawning since Sunday, and that continued today. Unfortunately, visible signs of carp were scarce too, aside from a few indications in the area I’ve chosen—though not in any great numbers.Tight lines and be lucky!