Soft Bites Don’t Matter—Just Prove Target Fish Are in Your Spot

Let’s be real: life’s been a mess lately. The pandemic’s dragged on way longer than anyone thought—four years and counting, and it still won’t let up. Streets close out of nowhere, you turn a corner and boom, “road closed” signs block your way, forcing you to loop around. Every day’s a new “wolf is coming” rumor, and half the time it’s nothing, but the stress sticks. Constant COVID tests, endless health codes to scan—if you’ve got anxiety, this stuff’s a nightmare. Even our neighborhoods are locked down: my building sealed two of four gates, my dad’s sealed three. Some folks still gather and ignore rules, others follow and get stuck with extra hassle. It feels like we’re all just treading water, waiting for something to give. But hey—thank goodness I picked up fishing. If everyone was as chill as anglers, the world might actually slow down. Viruses? They’d have nowhere to spread. Okay, maybe that’s a little self-aggrandizing, but c’mon—fishing’s my escape. And lately? That escape’s been pretty productive.

Today’s Perfect Fishing Weather (Finally!)

Yesterday was brutal—strong east wind, no one on the river. Today? Calm breeze, temp dropped 4-5 degrees, but still way too nice to waste. I grabbed my gear and bolted for the water. When I got to the spot, there were already a few other anglers nearby—good sign, means the fish might be active.

Why I Ditched the Central Bridge Spot

Yesterday I scoped out the Central Street Bridge—great water, but way too windy. Plus, it’s downtown: tons of people walking by, neighbors waving, strangers chatting. Fishing’s supposed to be quiet, right? You can’t zone out when someone’s stopping to ask “how many you caught?” every five minutes. So I nixed the bridge and headed straight for Winter Rui Garden Fishing Platform—my go-to old spot, untouched for a day, so the bait should’ve settled in nicely.

Setting Up & The Unexpected Detour

I dropped two old bait spots—figured after a day off, the fish would be hungry. Barely five minutes after I cast, I heard that all-too-familiar announcement from the nearby fitness square: “Mask up, stay 2 meters apart, no cutting!” Yep, another mass test day. Ugh, but I had to go—“do your part, stay safe” and all that. So I packed up my rod for 15 minutes, waited in line, got swabbed, and hightailed it back.

First Cast = Target Fish Win!

When I got back, I thought, “Please let the fish still be there.” First cast—boom! A dark, scruffy target fish (let’s be real, it was ugly). I stared at it, half-joking: “Why you gotta be so fugly?” It didn’t answer, obviously. Second cast? A nicer one, smaller but cleaner—barely 20cm long. Third cast? Another target fish. Score! Then… nothing. Total lull. The float would twitch, dart, even jump— but every time I lifted the rod, empty hook. What the hell was going on down there?

Figuring Out What’s Biting (Without a Fancy Float)

Here’s the thing: I use traditional seven-star floats, not those fancy vertical ones for Taiwan-style fishing. Those fancy floats show every tiny nibble, but mine? Not so much. So I’ve got a trick to tell what’s in the water: check the worm on the hook.

• Crucian carp (my target): Gentle eaters, no teeth. They’ll nibble the worm but rarely tear it—just shift it around the hook.
• Trash fish (small stuff): Aggressive! Whitebait, minnow, even tiny gobies—they’ll rip the worm to shreds in seconds. Small catfish or loaches? They’ll leave big bite marks.

Today? The worm was barely touched—so crucian carp were definitely in the spot, just being finicky. When small fish are bugging you, just wait: big fish show up, the little guys bolt. Works every time. I stuck around, and sure enough, a few more bites came through.

Day’s End: Small Catch, Big Win

By the time I packed up, I had six crucian carp—smaller than usual, but all over 50g (over an ounce, for you metric folks). Two were decent size, too. And here’s the best part: I let ’em all go. Catch-and-release isn’t just a rule for me—it’s respect. The water’s their home, and I’m just a visitor. A lot of my fishing buddies give me flak for it, but hey—next time I come back, those fish might be bigger, right? And the water stays full for everyone else.

So yeah—soft bites, lulls, even the occasional ugly fish? Doesn’t matter. As long as I know my target’s in the spot, I’m happy. Fishing’s not about the catch (well, mostly not)—it’s about getting away from the chaos. The tests, the rumors, the closed streets? They fade when you’re staring at a float, waiting for that first twitch. Today was a good day. Can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings—maybe a bigger fish, maybe more lulls, but definitely more peace.