Big Catches Are Rare, But Any Catch Is a Win: My Winter Fishing Adventure on December 23rd
Let’s be real—winter fishing is never about hauling in cooler after cooler of trophy fish. Most days, you’re just out there to beat the cabin fever, test your patience, and maybe, if you’re lucky, reel in a few scrappy fish to make the trek worth it. December 23rd was one of those days: no massive haul, no jaw-dropping trophies, but plenty of small wins, frustrating moments, and stories to tell. If you’re a fellow angler who’s ever fought through cold wind, tiny bait-stealing pests, and frozen half-covered water, this one’s for you.
Prepping for the Day: Overnight Nests and Low Expectations
The day before, on my way back from a so-so fishing trip, I stopped to dig out three overnight nest spots near my house—only 2-3 miles away, perfect for a quick traditional fishing test run. I didn’t set my hopes high; winter fishing in small local ditches is a crapshoot at best, especially when temperatures hover between -4°C and 3°C (yes, that’s cold enough to freeze parts of the water).
I laced up my boots at 8 a.m. the next morning, grabbed just one rod and line setup (no need to overpack when you’re expecting nothing), and hit the pavement. The walk was crisp and quiet, with frost crunching under my feet—exactly the kind of morning that makes you question your life choices… until you spot the water.
First Spot: Frozen Ditches, Fat Little Carp, and Zero Action
Ten minutes later, I reached the first spot. The water was half-frozen—slushy sheets of ice covered most of the surface, but the edges near the grass were still open, right where I’d set my overnight nests. I cast my line into the first nest and waited. And waited. And waited another 10 minutes. Not a single nibble. Nada. Zilch.
I switched to the second nest, and finally—something! My line twitch, and I reeled in a tiny, surprisingly plump carp. When my fingers wrapped around it, I was shocked at how round and meaty it was for such a small fish. I dropped it into my bucket, feeling a tiny spark of hope. But that spark died fast. I waited another 30 minutes, not even a hint of movement on the line.
Let me tell you—fishing in a half-frozen ditch when it’s barely above zero degrees is no fun when there’s no action. I packed up, muttering to myself: “Small winter ditches just aren’t worth the effort. Note to self: skip this spot next time.”
Switching to Su Gou: Wind, Long Rods, and the Infamous Wheat Ears
By 9:30 a.m., I’d moved to my backup spot: Su Gou, a wider, more reliable stretch of water. The wind was perfect that day—blowing just right so fishing from the north bank was a breeze (pun totally intended). I pulled out my 11-meter rod with an 8.1-meter line, ready to do some long-distance casting (fishing pros call this “whipping the big whip,” and let me tell you, it’s way harder than it sounds).
I tossed a few clumps of bait mixed with rice wine-soaked millet into the water and cast my line. Immediately, I got nibbles—but I couldn’t hook anything. What’s going on? I soon figured it out: wheat ear minnows. Those tiny, annoying little pests that steal your bait before any real fish can get to it.
Here’s the kicker: I almost never see these guys in winter. Usually, a full day of fishing might net me one, if that. But this year? They’re everywhere. Swarming the bait, nipping at the line, and laughing (I swear) when I can’t hook them. I threw my rod down, pulled out my phone, and decided to kill 30 minutes playing games. No use wasting bait on these little thieves—let the real fish move in first.
Finally, Action: Double Catches, Carp, and More Wheat Ear Madness
After a quick game (okay, maybe two games), I picked up my rod again. First cast? DOUBLE CATCH! A small carp and a wheat ear minnow. I dropped the carp into my bucket and tossed the wheat ear into the grass. Let me be clear: I release almost all small fish, but wheat ears? I have zero mercy. They’re the bane of every angler’s existence—they’re around 365 days a year, steal every bit of bait, and are impossible to hook half the time. Good riddance.
By 11 a.m., the real fish finally moved in. I had a solid 20 minutes of nonstop action—reeling in one carp after another. Then, out of nowhere, I hooked a white minnow! That made three different species for the day—pretty impressive for a cold winter afternoon.
The Peak: Double Catches, a Mystery Fish, and a Stuck Line
Things really picked up around noon. Double catches became common, and I was in my element—reeling in fish, tossing back pests, and feeling like I had it all figured out. That is, until my line got stuck in a tree.
My 11-meter rod is longer than most tree branches, but somehow, I managed to wrap the line around a high fork. I pulled and tugged, my hands numb from the cold, until finally, the line came loose. And guess what was still on the hook? A weird little flat fish I’ve never seen before. The locals call them “ground crawlers,” but it’s definitely not a goby. I took a quick photo, tossed it back, and got back to fishing—still laughing at my own clumsiness.
The Slow Fade: More Wheat Ears, Small Carp, and a Last-Minute Trophy
After noon, the wheat ears came back with a vengeance. I think the carp had moved on, leaving the pests to take over. I switched spots after 30 minutes of nothing but stolen bait, skipped setting up a new nest, and fished without a float just to mix things up. I caught a few tiny carp, but I kept getting snagged on the bottom.
By this point, I was getting tired. My feet were cold, my fingers were stiff, and I was ready to call it a day—until I moved to one last spot, no nest, just casting blindly. First cast? Another wheat ear. Ugh. I was ready to pack up for good when I felt a heavy tug on the line.
I reeled it in slowly, my heart racing, and there it was: the biggest fish of the day, a fat carp that must have been 3-4 ounces. I held it up, took a quick photo, and couldn’t stop smiling. Finally, a real catch!
Wrapping Up: No Big Haul, But Plenty of Wins
By 4 p.m., the sun was starting to dip, and the temperature dropped even more. I packed up my gear, looked at my bucket, and sighed. It wasn’t a huge haul—just a handful of small carp, one white minnow, and a mystery flat fish. But here’s the thing: when I looked around, I saw three other anglers packing up with empty buckets. Total skunks.
As I walked home, my boots crunching in the frost, I realized something: winter fishing isn’t about the big catches. It’s about the walk in the cold air, the frustration of wheat ear minnows, the surprise of a mystery fish, and the tiny thrill of reeling in even a small carp. It’s about being outside, away from screens (mostly), and doing something that feels like a challenge.
If you’re thinking about heading out for winter fishing, here’s my advice: don’t expect to fill your cooler. Bring warm socks, a good phone game for slow moments, and zero mercy for wheat ear minnows. And remember—any catch is a win, even if it’s just one tiny, plump carp that makes your cold hands feel worth it.
