2024 Fishing Log #58: From Inflatable Boat to Shore Fishing at White Horse Lake’s Lotus Area

November 11th. A day that started with high hopes on the water and ended with a surprising bounty from the shore. Let me tell you, sometimes the best fishing plans involve a major, last-minute change of venue. This is the story of how a bad back and a cramped boat led me to one of my most memorable sessions this season at White Horse Lake.

The Grand (But Cramped) Boat Plan

My fishing buddies are the best. Seriously. Old Jia went and bought a dedicated fishing inflatable boat, and Banker Jiang invested in a fishing float platform. The best part? They didn’t ask for a single penny from me, just my company out on the water. How lucky am I?

We arrived at the lakeside, full of anticipation. They pulled their new gear from their car trunks and started the inflation process. Jiang had an electric pump, but still needed some manual help to top it off. Jia had a foot pump. I played the supportive friend, pumping 280 times for Jiang and another 200 foot presses for Jia. My contribution to the expedition: sweat equity.

Jia was fully prepared, as always. Jiang… was missing a few essentials. I scavenged some rope from Jia and even found a couple of long poles from an old, moored metal boat nearby to help Jiang secure his platform. Then came the heavy lifting. Let me tell you, a fully inflated 2.8-meter boat and a 2.5-meter platform are bulky, awkward beasts. Getting them into the water was a proper workout.

Jiang asked, “Who are you going with? With Old Jia?” I agreed, promising to join him on his platform next time. I boarded Jia’s boat. He’s a hands-on guy who can fix his own car, so piloting a small boat is child’s play for him. “Boss, you just sit tight. I’ll handle everything,” he said. I sat obediently as he expertly rowed us out.

The destination was only about 50-60 meters from shore, a patch of lotus stems. We quickly tied up to some old bamboo poles sticking out of the water—relics from old aquaculture nets. Jiang did the same about 80 meters away from us.

The view from the boat was classic White Horse Lake wetland. Beautiful. But my first concern popped up: the water was shallow. Really shallow. This wasn’t the high-yield vegetable lotus; it was the scenic type, all stems and leaves without big roots.

Jia drew an imaginary line down the middle of the boat. “You fish on that side, I’ll take this side.” I dutifully used my bait dropper to create eight fishing spots in a semi-circle around us. The east side was painfully shallow, maybe 30 cm. The west side was better, about 1.1 to 1.2 meters deep, as it was an old boat channel.

The Reality of Boat Life Hits (My Lower Back)

Here’s the brutal truth about a 2.8-meter boat for two grown men: it’s TINY. The space was incredibly cramped. We had just enough room for our essential gear, with zero space to move. Standing up made the boat rock alarmingly. Sitting down… oh, the sitting. The cross-seats were so low. My back, which had a lumbar disc surgery sixteen years ago, started protesting almost immediately. A misstep a month ago had re-aggravated it, and low seating is its worst enemy. Sitting in Jia’s Fiat is bad enough, but he was thoughtful and brought a cushion. It helped, but not enough.

Low seat = pain. Standing or sitting high = okay. Lying down = perfect. But you can’t lie down in a fishing boat!

Jia started catching fish almost right away—two crucian carp. I managed to hook a small silver bream, but it threw the hook. All the while, a dull, persistent ache was growing in my left side. The weather was changing too; the forecast promised rain and a temperature drop tomorrow. My old surgery site always acts up before a front moves in.

After enduring the pain as long as I could, I had to admit defeat. “Old Jia, I’m sorry. My back can’t take this. Can you please take me to shore?” Without a word of complaint, he put down his rod, untied the boat, and rowed me back. I waved a sorry goodbye to Jiang on his distant platform. Jia went to get a weed cutter from his car, planning to return to the lake, while I trudged north along the bank, searching for a new spot, feeling a bit defeated.

Shore Fishing: The Unexpected Turnaround

This little boat detour cost me precious morning time. Every obvious, clear spot along the bank was taken. Some guys even hogged multiple spots. I follow the old, unspoken angler’s rule: first come, first served. So, I kept walking.

I found a spot where the reeds and tall grass looked a little less dense. Pushing through, I discovered a hidden tunnel! Overgrown reeds had arched over an old path, creating a secret passage to the water’s edge. Perfect. I felt like a fishing explorer.

I ducked back out, grabbed my gear, changed into my boots, and crawled through my new secret entrance.

I was in my own private world. A wall of reeds behind me, a vast expanse of lotus stems, withered leaves, and swaying grass in front. The wind was chilly but manageable. Here, there was no one to bother, no one to compete with. Just me and the lake. It was glorious.

I got to work clearing a small platform for my gear and started setting up my spots. To the left, the water was about 1 meter deep. To the right, closer to 2 meters. I baited spots on both sides. I even found a marker across a patch of dense grass and managed to bait a spot in the lotus patch opposite me, a long rod’s reach away.

The Action Begins (And a Houdini Fish)

About 30 minutes after baiting, I started fishing. The wind was playing with my light float, so I switched to a heavier sinker and a “sleeping hook” rig. Red worms were the bait of choice today.

My first cast into the far opposite spot resulted in some nibbles. Small fish, probably. I reeled in, added more worm, and cast again. This time, the take was different. A solid pull. I struck! The fish bolted straight into a tangled mess of lotus stems. I had to horse it out. A black snakehead! The thrill was instant. Every angler knows the heart-pump a predator fish delivers.

I took a quick photo and put it in my fish bag. Back to fishing. That spot went dead—the snakehead had spooked everything. I moved to the next spot. More small fish nibbles, then… silence. Suddenly, a *splash-thump* behind me. I turned. The snakehead had JUMPED out of my bag and was flapping towards the water! I lunged, grabbing its tail, but it squirmed free and vanished. Unbelievable! A true escape artist. It was only about a pound, a juvenile. “Fine,” I thought. “Go grow up, you clever little thing.”

Back to the float. The spot that had gone quiet after the small fish stopped? A big fish had moved in. The float dipped twice, then sank. I struck again. The rod bent beautifully. This was a proper fish. I carefully guided it through a clear lane in the lotus stems, saw the hook was secure in its lip, and lifted it ashore. A beautiful, large crucian carp (what we call a “big plate”). My mood skyrocketed.

And my back? All the crouching, standing, and focusing made the pain completely disappear. The best therapy.

Just then, my phone rang. It was Jia. “Any action?” he asked. “Yes!” I said, “What about you?” “Nothing. The water’s too shallow here, no fish. I’m coming ashore too.” He hung up before I could ask about Jiang. I later found out Jiang was having the day of his life.

Dialing In the Pattern

I let the “big plate” spot rest and tried others. The deep-water spots on the right? Dead. Not a single bite all day. The shallow spots on the left? Every single one held fish. It was clear: after many days of stable, warm temps around 22-23°C (72-73°F), the fish had moved into the shallows.

The spots I’d baited in tight little clearings among the lotus stems produced a fish or two, but not consistently. The winners were the two spots I’d placed in slightly larger, more open areas within the lotus field. They produced the most fish and all the large crucians. Every time I caught a few from these “honey holes,” I’d replenish the bait with a small amount. It kept them active.

By noon, I’d landed another large crucian from the first hot spot. Then, from the other open spot, after some smaller fish, the float did a delicate dance before sliding away. Another solid strike, another “big plate” was on the bank.

After topping up the bait a third time in that spot, around 2 PM, I landed my fourth and final large crucian of the day. These four alone probably weighed over 1 kg (2.2 lbs) combined.

The Afternoon Frenzy

After a quick lunch, the action shifted. The deep spots remained dead. But the shallow spots, especially the two open ones, kept giving. Even the tighter spots started producing in the afternoon. I could stand in one place and reach five different baited areas. From 2 PM to 3 PM, it was almost non-stop. I switched to earthworms for convenience, and the fish didn’t mind at all.

For one glorious hour, I must have caught another kilo of fish. These crucian carp were stunning—dark backs, bright white bellies, full of fight. They jumped and splashed, a sure sign of healthy fish in good water.

At 2:30 PM, Jia called. “Still getting bites?” “Are you kidding? It’s crazy here!” I said. He was done for the day. We agreed to meet at 3:30 PM. I knew I should go help him pack up the boat, but the float kept diving. I forced myself to stop at 2:50 PM and packed up.

Gathering Up and Comparing Notes

By the time I got to Jia, he was already done packing. I felt bad for not helping. We went to check on Jiang. He was deflating his platform. I helped him fold and pack it.

Then came the show-and-tell. Jiang had crushed it! He landed a massive Wuchang bream (Megalobrama amblycephala) that later weighed in at 1.3 kg (nearly 2.9 lbs)! Plus another kilo of crucian carp. His secret? He stuck to his strength: float fishing (what we often call “Taiwanese fishing” for suspended rigs) in the deeper water off the edge of the lotus field. His foray into the shallow lotus with a traditional rig only netted him two medium-sized fish. Proof that you should play to your strengths.

Jia was tired from the boat logistics and had called it early, with about a kilo of fish. My total haul from my secret reed tunnel? The four large crucians and a pile of solid medium-sized ones, making for a very satisfying cooler.

Real Takeaways from the Lake

This trip was a rollercoaster that taught me more than a dozen planned outings could. Here’s what really stuck with me:

• Know Your Gear (And Your Body): That inflatable boat is a fantastic tool for accessing remote islands or crossing channels. But as a static fishing platform for someone with back issues? A hard no. I’m still curious about Jiang’s float platform, though. That’s a test for another day.
• Pre-Frontal Activity is Real: The day before a significant weather change (rain and a 10°C/18°F drop coming tomorrow), the fish were absolutely feeding. They knew a lean time was coming and were packing on the calories.
• “No Universal Rules” is the Only Rule: This one blows my mind. Same lake, same weather, same general area. My deep spots: dead. Jiang’s deep spot: held a monster bream. My shallow spots: on fire. Jiang’s shallow spots: nearly dead. It screams that you have to be mobile, adaptable, and willing to experiment on the day. Don’t get locked into “deep is better” or “shallows are best.” Fish where the fish are *today*.
• The Reward for Exploration: That hidden tunnel in the reeds led to a pristine, untouched spot. In pressured fishing areas, putting in the extra effort to find less obvious access points can pay off massively. The fish there are less wary, more willing to bite.

As we packed the cars, I made sure to gather all our trash—bait containers, food wrappers, the lot—and tossed it in the lakeside bin. Leaving the place cleaner than we found it is the least we can do for these waters that give us so much joy.

So, next time your Plan A falls apart because of a cranky back, a broken piece of gear, or just plain bad luck on your first spot, remember this log. Don’t get frustrated. Get moving. Your secret tunnel, your hidden honey hole, might be just a little further down the bank. Tight lines, everyone.