November 2nd: Why Baima Lake Feels Like a “Sure Thing” (Spoiler: It’s Not)
Let’s be real—when you spot a spot that looks this good, you can’t help but think, “There’s no way this place doesn’t have fish. I’m gonna catch a ton today!” That’s exactly what went through my head when I pulled up to Baima Lake with my buddy Jiang. The shoreline was packed with thick reeds, bushes, and wild grass—so dense you could barely see the water. But that’s usually a good sign, right? Fish love hiding in cover. So we laced up our boots, grabbed our gear, and started trekking along the reed line, looking for those “fisherman-made” gaps where others had beaten a path to the water.
Jiang picked his spot first, then I set up about 100 meters to his left. From the dam, we could see the whole wetland: endless lotus beds and reeds, planted in neat rows with narrow channels of open water between them. Straight across a kilometer was the Sunflower Wetland Park, and three kilometers down the lake road was the south gate with ticket booths. But today? We were sticking to the wild side—no tickets, just reeds and hope.
Setting Up: Depths, Baits, and Reed-Clearing Chaos
First step: tie on hooks and test the water depth. Turned out to be over 2 meters! That meant I needed to use a bottom feeder to drop bait right where the fish might be. I started with four spots: two in open water, two among the lotus leaves. To my left, previous anglers had trampled down about 10 meters of reeds, so I could reach a few more lotus beds—added two more spots there.
After dropping bait, I swapped my regular boots for short ones (big mistake, but I wanted to travel light) and grabbed a machete to clear more reeds. Those things were thick—old, brittle stalks mixed with fresh, sharp ones that sliced like paper. I hacked a path, stepping on the fallen reeds to make a “road” (since my boots were too short for the shallow water). By the time I was done, I was sweating—but it felt good. Better than sitting around waiting for bites, that’s for sure.
Weirdly, I started thinking about how useful reeds used to be back in the day. My grandma wove reed flowers into warm “wool shoes” for winter, and we used reed stalks to make mats and even rain hats. Now? They just sit there, dying off every year. Only time anyone touches them is before Dragon Boat Festival to pick leaves for zongzi—and even then, most people just buy pre-made ones. Wild, right? How times change.
After clearing 20 meters, I added four more spots. Just then, I heard voices from the left—two guys in an inflatable raft gliding into the lake, heading for the untouched lotus beds across from me. Lucky ducks. They had access to spots no one else could reach. I envied that raft—total game-changer for fishing.
The Morning Bite: Slow, Fussy, and Full of Regret
I headed back to my gear, sat down, and had a quick tea. Scrolled through WeChat (yes, I still reply to all those “good morning” messages—old habits die hard) and checked my fishing forum posts. One guy joked I was “writing about missing a girl” with my “hope-disappointment” vibes. Made me laugh. Meanwhile, the raft guys were already catching fish—way ahead of me.
I started with the first open water spot. Over 30 minutes, I landed four fish: three small crucians and one about 1.5 ounces. Bites were slow and light—had to twitch the line every 7-8 seconds to get attention. Red worms were too good at attracting tiny fish, so I switched to earthworms. Game-changer. Earthworms are still the king this time of year, no doubt.
The sky was perfect—bright blue, sun shining down, lake like glass. Only sounds were the raft guys chatting or yelling when they lost a fish. I texted Jiang to check in: he wasn’t having much luck. I told him to stick it out—we hadn’t even fished all our spots yet. He agreed, but I could tell he was frustrated.
Next up: the second open water spot. Nothing. Third and fourth lotus spots? Zilch. Went back to the first spot—landed one more. Turns out those old spots had been fished a million times. Dead zones, probably. Or maybe the fish just hadn’t moved in yet. Who knows? Fishing’s weird like that.
So I headed to the new reed-cleared spots. Finally—some action! Each spot gave up one or two fish, which is normal for lotus beds. Fish come in small groups, bite once or twice, then move on. You just have to rotate spots.
One time, a fish pulled my hook into a lotus stem. I shook the line, lost the fish, but the stem stayed hooked. Had to grab a long-handled sickle to cut it free. No hook losses today—win! Fishing always makes time fly. By noon, I had barely 10 fish. Ugh.
Lunch, Regrets, and “Fish Envy” for the Raft Guys
Time to rebait and eat. I added more bait to some spots, made new ones too. Here’s the big mistake I made: I forgot to rebait every hour. Lotus beds only hold a few fish at a time, so you need to top up the bait to keep them coming. The weather was nice—10°C in the morning, 20°C+ at noon—fish were still feeding to fatten up for winter. If I’d rebated more, I probably would’ve caught way more. Lesson learned (again).
While eating, I waved at the raft guys. Their spot was untouched—virgin territory. No wonder they were catching bigger fish left and right. I was so jealous. If I was 10-20 years younger, I’d buy a raft in a heartbeat. It’s like a fishing superpower—get to spots no one else can reach, explore wetlands, cross small rivers. That’s the real fun, right? Not sitting in the same old spot every time.
Afternoon Turnaround: Shade, Wind, and a Big Surprise
By 1 PM, the open water spots were dead. I moved left to the lotus beds, checking each spot one by one. If there were fish, they’d bite right away; if not, it was a waste of time. At the northernmost end, three spots had bubbling (fish activity!). I set up so I could reach all three—adjusted my floats to cover the distance. Landed fish from every one.
As the sun dipped lower, the light changed. Sunlit areas were warm and bright, but the shade from willows and reeds turned everything a deep blue—what I call “mystery blue.” Super cool to see the contrast. Each spot gave up 2-3 fish now. The afternoon bite was way better than the morning—warmer temps meant fish were more active, biting faster instead of being lazy.
By 2:30 PM, my spots were in full shade, but the raft guys were still in the sun. They were catching even more—one guy landed a big crucian, and the other joked, “I hate catching those! They always get stuck in the lotus.” I could hear every word. Then I headed back north and landed my biggest fish of the day: a 3+ ounce crucian, fat and feisty. Almost got stuck in the lotus, but I pulled hard and got it out. Its lower lip was hooked through—no escape.
Just then, a fish splashed in another spot. I cast, felt a bite, but the fish slipped away. Pulled up a rotting lotus leaf instead. Oops—scared the whole spot off.
At 2:30 PM, a south wind picked up, rippling the lake and flipping lotus leaves. Reeds swayed, their stalks rubbing together in a loud rustle. I went back to the new open water spot—small waves, but didn’t stop the bite. Float sank a little, I lifted—fish on! That was my last catch of the day.
Wrap-Up: Fish Counts, Raft Dreams, and Taking Trash Home
By 3:15 PM, I was packing up when Jiang showed up. He’d caught about 2 pounds, but most were tiny (under an ounce) so he released them—only kept a few for soup. His biggest was 4 ounces, another 3 ounces. The raft guys were also packing up, gliding to shore. Jiang was obsessed with their raft—kept asking about price and where to buy it. I just listened. On the way back, he said, “Help me pick one—send me the link, I’ll buy it.” I nodded. Next time, we’re going where no one else can go.
Here’s my haul for the day—nothing huge, but a fun day out.
And yes, I took all my trash home. No littering—leave the lake cleaner than you found it, always.
So that’s the day. Was it the best fishing trip ever? No. But was it fun? Hell yes. The harder it is, the more I want to go back. Next time? Raft included. Can’t wait to see what we find in those untouched spots.
