Four Emptinesses, One Joy: My First Non-Empty Fishing Trip of 2024

Okay, let’s cut to the chase—2024 hasn’t been kind to my fishing game. I’ve hit the same spot by the Beilun District Government three times now, and the first two? Total busts. But last night? Oh, last night was different. Let me tell you about the time I finally stopped being a “four emptinesses” statistic and started enjoying the chaos. Spoiler: It wasn’t about catching big fish. It was about catching something—and the weird, wonderful joy that comes with it.

The “Four Emptinesses” Curse (And Why I Kept Going)

First, let’s unpack the title: “Four Emptinesses, One Joy.” If you’re not into fishing slang, “four emptinesses” (or “air force” in some circles) means you catch nothing. Nada. Zilch. And for the first two trips this year? That was me.

Trip 1: The Evening Ghost Hunt

First attempt: 6 PM to 9 PM. I set up my rod, cast my line, and waited. And waited. And waited. The only thing I caught was a cold breeze and a few weird looks from passing cyclists. By 9 PM, my hands were numb, my bait was still intact, and I packed up feeling like I’d just wasted three hours talking to a wall. Great start.

Trip 2: The Morning Drought

Second try: Morning session. I thought maybe fish are morning people? Wrong. I sat there from sunrise until midday, watching other anglers cast and reel (also empty-handed, to be fair) and wondering if the fish had all moved to a secret party. By noon, I’d eaten my sandwich, drank my water, and still had zero bites. Two for two in the “air force” column. At this point, I was this close to hanging up my rod and switching to birdwatching. (Spoiler: I didn’t.)

New Gear, New Hope (Or So I Thought)

Fast forward to March 16: My new fishing gear arrived! I’d ordered a Zhulu Crucian 4.5m rod, paired with a Wushuang Carp Toray line set (1.0 main, 0.6 sub, 3# sleeve hooks). It looked sleek. It felt light. I was ready to dominate the water. But work got in the way—no time to test it during the week. So when I got off early on duty last night, I grabbed my new toys and bolted to the spot. Third time’s the charm, right?

The Night I Stopped Being Empty (Sort Of)

I got to the spot at 5:30 PM—first angler there, which was a nice change. I set up fast: found the bottom, tossed in some bait, mixed my lure, adjusted my float. All the usual stuff. Night fishing is tricky, though—you can’t see jack squat. So I just sat there, listening to the water, watching the float (or trying to, in the dark), and waiting.

45 minutes later? Boom. A bite. Not a big one, but a bite. I reeled in, and… a tiny whitebait. Not a crucian, not a carp—just a little silver thing. But hey, it was something. And then? Another bite. Another whitebait. And another. By 10:30 PM, I’d caught a handful of these little guys. Not a trophy haul, but for someone who’d been skunked twice? It felt like a win.

The Chaos of the Crowd (And Why I Won)

Here’s the kicker: By the time I left, there were 5 anglers across from me. Four of them? Still empty. They’d been there for hours, same spot, same time, and not a single bite. One guy even stayed behind, stubborn as hell, still waiting for a fish that might never come. And me? I was leaving with a tiny pile of whitebait, grinning like an idiot.

Why the difference? No clue. Maybe my new gear was lucky. Maybe the fish liked my bait. Maybe it was just dumb luck. But here’s the thing: Fishing isn’t just about catching big fish. It’s about the experience. The quiet of the night. The thrill of a bite. The weird joy of outfishing four guys with nothing but tiny whitebait.

Four Emptinesses, One Joy: What It Really Means

The title isn’t just a fancy way to say “I caught some whitebait.” It’s about finding joy in the small stuff. The first two trips were “four emptinesses”—no fish, no luck, no fun. But last night? I had one joy: the thrill of a bite, the satisfaction of not being skunked, the weird pride of outfishing the guys across the way. Even if the “catch” was tiny, it was mine.

Let’s be real: Fishing is 90% waiting, 10% action, and 100% luck. Some days you catch nothing. Some days you catch a bucketful. But the best days? The days you catch something—even if it’s just a tiny whitebait—and remember why you love it.

What I Learned (And What I’d Do Differently)

Looking back, here’s what I’d tweak for next time:

• Bring a better light: Night fishing is dark. My phone flashlight wasn’t cutting it for checking the float.
• Try a different bait: Whitebait love my current lure, but maybe crucian would too? Worth a shot.
• Don’t give up after two busts: I almost did, but I’m glad I didn’t. Third time really was the charm (sort of).

Wrapping Up (Without the Cheese)

So that’s my story: two empty trips, one new rod, one night of tiny whitebait, and a whole lot of joy. If you’re a fisherman (or woman) who’s been skunked lately? Don’t give up. The next bite could be just around the corner. And even if it’s a tiny whitebait? It’s better than nothing. Trust me.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to clean my new rod and plan my next trip. Maybe this time I’ll catch a crucian. Or maybe I’ll catch nothing. Either way? I’ll be there, waiting. Because that’s what we do—we wait, we hope, and we keep fishing.