2024 Fishing Log #66: A Slow Day on the White Horse Lake Tributary and a Virtual Friend Made Real

Man, some fishing days just don’t go according to plan. You have the spot, the gear, the time… but the fish? They have their own meeting you weren’t invited to. This is the story of one of those days on a tributary of White Horse Lake. A day of stubborn winds, elusive bites, and a surprisingly cool encounter that made the whole trip worthwhile.

The Solo Mission Begins

It was December 13th. I had tried to rope in my friend, Principal Feng, for a trip. Wise man that he is, he checked the forecast and sent me the local fishing platform’s index. Low temps, high winds—his verdict was a firm “not suitable.” Can’t blame him. Early morning frost, slippery banks… not ideal for anyone, let alone an older gentleman. So, I went alone. Sometimes, the solitude is part of the appeal.

I headed to a spot where a friend, Jiang Xing, had some great luck in the past. The “honey hole,” as they say. I arrived just in time to claim it, but honestly, from how the day panned out, losing it wouldn’t have been a tragedy. It had become a real “chicken bone” spot—promise without payoff. No sooner had I finished pre-baiting my first spot than two cars pulled up. Two younger guys hopped out. One of them pointed right at my spot and said, “That’s a good place.” They moved on, one to the north bank east of the bridge, the other to the south bank. The race for space was on.

The Virtual World Meets the Riverbank

I went about my business, setting up six spots near the bridge and another four spread out to the west. That’s when another angler walked up, started a conversation, and upon hearing my accent, dropped the question: “Are you ‘Yanbo Diaotu Ding’?”

I was stunned. The virtual world and the real one suddenly collided. “Yanbo Diaotu Ding” is my online handle on the fishing forums. For a second, I froze. Do I admit it? There’s a distance between your online persona and the person holding a fishing rod. I said, “No.” He nodded and walked west. As I continued setting up, he called back, “You haven’t baited further west here, right?” I confirmed I hadn’t. He turned back to his car to get his gear.

Then it hit me. Wait, I’m going to write about this trip! He’ll read the post and know I lied. I’d be the “boy who cried wolf” of the fishing forum! I walked over and came clean. “Do you often visit ‘The Angler’ site?” I asked. “I am Yanbo Diaotu Ding.” He laughed. He said he reads the posts often. I asked how he guessed. “Your Siyang accent,” he said, “And I’m Xue [Name]!”

Wow. We were already WeChat friends! We’d chatted online before because of our shared hobby. He’d even asked me for the GPS location of this spot two days ago after reading my first post about it. I had sent it to him. The irony! We’d gone from virtual acquaintances to a real-world handshake on a windy riverbank. What are the odds?

Why This Spot? The Allure and The Crowd

Xue told me he’d finally made it out today. And he wasn’t the only one. The word, it seemed, was out. The bridge soon hosted six cars. Seven or eight anglers descended on the area—some went west, some east, some south. There were pole fishermen, raft fishermen, but mostly traditional anglers like me.

My immediate thought was: “A crowd guarantees failure!” Too many lines in the water, too much disturbance. A spot can get “fished out” quickly in terms of the fish’s mood, if not their actual numbers. The peaceful tributary was now a bustling hub.

The Fishing Begins: A Flash of False Hope

After letting the spots settle for over an hour, I adjusted my float. The water was about one meter deep, a consistent depth that made setup easy. To save time, I started with a simple earthworm. Dropped the hook in the first spot… and immediately saw action! The top float bead quivered. A couple of gentle taps, I lifted the rod, and a small crucian carp, about two liang (roughly 100g), was on.

My spirits lifted. Could this be a repeat of Jiang Xing’s legendary haul? I switched to red worms (bloodworms), thinking they’d be more enticing, and moved to the next spot.

Second spot, a few subtle movements of the hook, and another small crucian came up. The air temperature that morning was -5°C (23°F). In such shallow water, to get bites this early? Was the fishing resource here really that good?

Nope. The southwest wind answered for me. It had been blowing since morning, and now it was relentless. Facing south, the wind hit me head-on. Small waves chopped the surface. My float, with its “skyward hook,” was being tossed around by the wind, dancing everywhere except over my baited spot!

The Struggle Against the Wind and Wait

“Any luck?” I heard from behind. It was Xue. I showed him my two small fish. “About an ounce each,” I said. He shook his head. “I haven’t had a single bite. Not one.” He had baited the exact spots I used on my first, successful 7-catty haul here. I told him to be patient—you never know. Just then, while staring at my motionless float, I gave the rod a slight lift to “tease” the bait. Bingo. A nicer, palm-sized crucian carp was on the hook!

Xue had been watching and didn’t see the float move. “That fish was teased up,” he noted wisely. He spent the waiting time walking along the bank, stretching his legs.

Four fish in the net. And then… silence. That was the end of the good times. All six spots near my gear bag fell dead quiet. Time to scout the western spots.

The Great Walkabout: Chasing Shadows

I trekked up the bank. First western spot, two baited areas: nothing. Second spot, one area: nothing. Third spot, under a tree, required shortening my line to 1.7 meters. I spent time cutting and re-tying, all for… nothing.

The young guy who had followed me in the morning was now doing the same dance, running between his pole-fishing spot and his western spots. We were all racing against the clock, against the fish’s mysterious schedule, terrified of missing the mythical “bite window.”

I retreated to my gear bag. The spot was sunny, sheltered from the now-shifted north wind by the big embankment. No fish? Time to sunbathe and scroll. Checked the news, browsed the fishing forum, scrolled through Douyin. It got boring. So, I’d pick up the rod and try again. This is how the hours slipped away, minute by minute, never to return. A familiar feeling for any angler on a slow day.

A Glimmer, Then More Waiting

Back at my main spots, one on the left, near a grass line transitioning to open water (a classic “fish highway”), showed life. I managed three crucian carp in succession from there. I added a little more bait to that spot as a “thank you.” The other five spots? Comatose.

By noon, my total was nine fish, all from the six original spots. Xue came over, packing up. He was calling it. “No action at all,” he said. “Dead spots. Looks like only the area right around the bridge has fish. You got some, and the kid east of the bridge got a couple, including two around half a pound each.”

I thought he was leaving too early. Cold water, shallow depth—sometimes the fish just move in late. We said our goodbyes, promising to stay in touch online, of course.

The Afternoon Grind: Patience Wears Thin

Lunch. Then back to it. The six spots: silent. A walk to the four western spots: silent. Up the bank, down the bank. I told myself it was good exercise. At least I was outdoors.

After 2 PM, the bridge got lively again. A raft angler arrived, casting long lines into the river center. Then two more came, baiting the open water south of the bridge and the grassy edges. This place was officially a “social media famous” fishing hole.

The Late Afternoon Surprise

Then, at 2:30 PM, a miracle. The western spots, asleep for seven hours, woke up. I had switched back to earthworms, thinking their wriggling might be more attractive than the static red worms.

• First western spot (two areas): The near-shore spot yielded two fish. The one in front of the grass yielded one. Then done.
• Second spot (one area): One bite, one fish. Immediate. Then nothing.
• Third spot (under the tree): This was the jackpot. About 1.4 meters deep, in front of a reed clump. My line was tangled in a paper mulberry tree, making it tricky. First drop: the float moved, I struck, fish on. Second drop: same story. Third drop: the line got dragged toward the reeds. I struck hard. Heavy! This was a bigger fish, a “foolish big crucian” as we say, fighting hard. I couldn’t horse it in. I had to play it, tire it out. After a good 30-40 second fight, it surfaced, exhausted. I carefully guided it to the net. A beautiful, solid fish.
• Fourth drop: the float moved again! Another strike, another hook-up—a nice palm-sized fish. But it bolted backwards into a mess of dead leaves and floating weeds. A reed stalk hooked onto it. I tried to lift, but the reed acted like an anchor. The fish made a desperate escape, probably leaving a piece of its lip on the hook. A true “warrior breaking its lips to survive” moment. After that, the spot was dead.

I returned to my base by 3:20 PM. One last sweep. The two left-hand spots gave up one fish each, quickly and aggressively. The other four were empty. By 3:30 PM, I was done.

Final tally: Nine in the morning, nine in the afternoon. Not great, not terrible. For a day like this, I’ll take it.

Reflections and the One That Got Away (To a Better Spot)

Later that evening, Xue messaged me on WeChat. He had moved to a small ditch near the White Horse Lake farm after leaving. There, he caught several dozen fish.

And there’s the lesson, isn’t it? Every day has a different fish mood, different weather. You never know which spot will be hot and which will be a frozen dinner for the fish. I believe all the streams and rivers around White Horse Lake hold fish. It’s about the right weather, the fish being in the mood to feed, and you being in the right place at that exact moment. When those stars align, it’s pure joy.

“Opportunity favors the prepared mind.” It’s a simple, almost cliché truth, but on the riverbank, it feels like divine wisdom. You have to be out there, trying different spots, different baits, enduring the wind and the skunks, to eventually stumble upon that opportunity.

Oh, and I brought all my trash back with me. Always leave the spot cleaner than you found it. That’s a non-negotiable rule.

So, that was Log #66. A day of low activity, a frustrating wind, but also a day where an online friendship became a real one, sharing a nod of understanding on a cold bank. The fish weren’t exactly jumping in the net, but the experience was still full. Until next time, tight lines… and maybe check your WeChat friends list before you deny your online identity!