What’s Up, Anglers? It’s Your Pal Cao Here!
Okay, let’s cut to the chase—yesterday’s session at the driving school pond? Decent, but nothing to write home about. Here’s the thing: comparison is the thief of joy, right? If you don’t go home empty-handed, that’s a win. Fishing’s supposed to be chill, not a stress test. And hey, sharing the fun’s way better than hogging it all—“one joy is good, but many joys are better,” as the old saying goes. My mentor? Dude crushed it on the north bank yesterday. He and my mentor’s wife went back for an afternoon session, and by 5 PM, he called me up grinning—nearly a pound of fish, including two crucian carp pushing 2 ounces each. That’s solid, no doubt.
Morning Chaos: Fishing First, Tests Later
First order of business? Morning COVID tests. But wait—at 6 AM sharp, my mentor blew up my phone. “Let’s bounce early, kiddo—we’ll hit the pond first, then do the test at noon.” Genius move, honestly. Noon tests mean way fewer people, no 45-minute lines freezing your toes off. I called up Uncle Zhang immediately—“Ditch the test line, let’s fish!”
By 6:30, Uncle Zhang and I were rolling up to the pond. Weather’s been mild lately—perfect for early starts. Wait till next month, though—frostbite waiting to happen if we try this. My mentor was already there, staking out his same north bank spot from yesterday. Dude’s loyal to his honey holes, and for good reason.
My Mentor’s Line Game: Spoiling Him Rotten (In a Good Way)
Okay, let’s talk gear. My mentor’s got a leader box—three now, thanks to me. First one I bought him last year, second a month back, third last week. Why? Because if you’re stingy with leaders or hooks, you’re not fishing—you’re wasting time. Hooks dull? Change ’em. Leaders kink? Swap ’em. I’m not the best at tying hooks, but man—I’m fast. Tying hooks’s like tying shoelaces to me now.
Sticking to My Old Spot… For Now
My mentor tried to push me to his east—“Grass edge, kid. Fish love that cover.” The spot looked great, but I’m stubborn. My old south bank spot’s been good to me—why fix what ain’t broke? I settled in with three rods: 4.5m, 3m, 2.7m, all targeting the edges. Bites started fast… but the crucian carp? They were shrinking. Not just crucians—even the tiny stone morocks and fathead minnows were smaller than usual. Baffling, but hey—bites are bites.
By 7 AM, I landed one crucian pushing 2 ounces—decent. Then it was all small stuff: baby crucians, tiny stone morocks, even smaller fatheads. The whole school of fish seemed to downsize overnight. Uncle Zhang was in his old spot too—bites were okay, but same problem: tiny fish. Meanwhile, my mentor’s yelling from the north bank—“Two more 2-ouncers, Cao!” I couldn’t take it anymore. “Uncle Zhang, let’s move north. Clearly the good fish are over there.”
North Bank Switch: Game. Changed.
Nine AM, I moved to the northeast corner—Uncle Zhang hit the northwest. I swapped my 2.7m rod for a 3.9m, still targeting grass edges. Morning was fire—bites were steady, and the crucians were huge. Way bigger than the south bank’s runts. But then? Ten AM hit, and a southwest wind kicked up. Suddenly, the water was choppy—could barely see my float. Annoying, but not a dealbreaker.
Here’s the kicker: the north bank’s bite was slower, but the quality? Unreal. I landed 12 crucians pushing 2 ounces each—my mentor’s jaw dropped. “Told you the north was better!” he laughed. Most were 1.5–2 ounces, though I swear some were closer to 2.5. Either way, it’s been months since I caught crucians this solid. No tiny stone morocks here—just the good stuff. Only double I got was a pair of tiny fatheads, but who cares? Big crucians > small minnows any day.
The One That Got Away (Well, Two)
Let’s be real—12 big crucians? Understatement. First thing I did when I moved was try to snap a pic of two beauties… and they bolted. Slippery little devils—couldn’t hold ’em. Gone before I could blink. Bummer, but hey—more room in the bucket for the next ones.
Wrap-Up: Sharing the Catch (And the Beer)
By 12:30 PM, we packed up. My count: 12 solid crucians. My mentor: 5–6 nice ones. Uncle Zhang? Eh, he struggled a bit on the west end. I sorted out the best crucians and a few stone morocks, then dumped the rest of the small stuff into his bucket. My mentor didn’t want any—“Got enough for dinner!” So Uncle Zhang got the leftovers. Win-win.
Home I went: kept 4 crucians and a few stone morocks, gave 8 crucians to the old couple upstairs. Then called my buddy over—cracked open a case of beer, chowed down on fish, and got properly buzzed. No regrets.
Pro Tip: Bait Frequency = Fish
Here’s the real tea from today: bait frequency is everything. I didn’t use any separate chum—just kept casting, casting, casting with my three rods. Whether there’s a bite or not, keep the bait moving. That’s how you draw the big crucians in. Later, I remembered: the local shop’s got red worms now. Grabbed $1.50 worth—tomorrow, I’m trying the “meat sandwich” rig (worm + dough bait). Fingers crossed it’s even better. But hey—no overthinking. If the spot’s good, you’ll catch fish. No need to jinx tomorrow.
Shoutout to My Fellow Anglers
To all my northeast fishing crew: stay warm, keep casting, and never skip the grass edges. If you’re at the driving school pond, skip the south bank—north’s where the big crucians live. And if you catch more than you can eat? Share it. Fishing’s not just about the catch—it’s about the stories, the laughs, and the beer with friends. Catch you on the water!
