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 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 still 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.Tight lines and be lucky!