Nansha River No. 2 Embroidery Fishing: Unexpected Carp Catch & Whimsical Cat Encounter

That Urge to Fish After a Long Day (Spoiler: No Regrets)

Let’s be real—when you’ve got fishing in your blood, even a packed day can’t stop you from chasing that bite. Last week, I wrapped up a crazy busy evening around 8 PM, and my brain was screaming, “Go fish. Now.” I begged my family for a quick pass (they’re used to this by now), grabbed my gear, and bolted to Nansha River. Why that spot? Well, the No. 2 Embroidery area has a rep for calm waters, and let’s be honest—8 PM is prime time. Mosquitoes are MIA, tiny bait-stealing fish are asleep, and it’s just you, the rod, and the quiet. Perfect for targeting small crucian carp (carp’s tiny cousin, basically).

Setting Up Shop: Gear That’s Made for Small Fish (Oops, Not Carp)

First, I picked my go-to spot near the No. 2 Embroidery section—nothing fancy, just a flat bank with easy casting. My setup? A 4.5-meter rod, 0.8 main line, 0.6 fluorocarbon leader, and size 2 hook (super tiny, right? Total crucian carp gear). I mixed up my usual bait: a little commercial mix, some corn, and a dash of the secret sauce my buddy swears by. As I was prepping, the guy next to me hauled in a small crucian—score! That meant the fish were biting, so I knew I didn’t mess up the spot.

Warming Up the Spot (AKA Boring Casts That Pay Off)

I tossed two handfuls of rice wine bait (my go-to for drawing in small fish) to make a quick nest. Then I started casting—over and over again. 10 casts, 15 casts… nothing. Then, bam—a tiny twitch on the float. I held my breath, waited for a small downward jerk (the crucian telltale), and lifted the rod. First fish in the bucket! It was a tiny crucian, but hey—opening day jitters? Gone. Then… silence. The guys next to me packed up around 10 PM (total buzzkills), and suddenly I was the only one left. Just me, the river, and the dark. Talk about “fishing alone in the autumn river” vibes—super dramatic, but low-key lonely.

The Whimsical Cat That Stole the Show (And a Fish)

Let’s fast-forward to the chaos. I was sitting there, staring at my float, when a black-and-white cat trotted up. It plopped down 10 feet away, staring at me like, “You got snacks? Specifically fish snacks?” I joked, “Want a fish?” No response (cats are rude). Then it sauntered to the water’s edge, pawed at the surface like it was trying to catch a minnow. Oh, I get it—you’re a professional. I grinned and said, “Next one’s yours, buddy. On the house.”

Ten minutes later, the float dipped. I cast, felt a tiny tug, and hauled in a 2-ounce crucian. Perfect for a cat! I set it on the ground, and that little furball? It hesitated for half a second (total cat attitude), then when the fish flopped, it pounced like a pro—snagged the fish in its mouth and bolted into the bushes. I laughed so hard I almost dropped my rod. That cat’s got better hunting skills than me, no cap.

The Big One: Size 2 Hook vs. 2-Pound Carp (Spoiler: We Won… Barely)

After the cat heist, I went back to my boring float-watching. Then—BOOM—the float vanished. Total blackout. I lifted the rod, and my heart dropped. That’s not a crucian. It was heavy—like, “did I snag a log?” heavy. I tugged gently, and it moved. Oh no. That’s a carp. My gear? Made for tiny fish. My bait? Just crucian food. I thought, “This line’s gonna snap. I’m gonna lose this.”

I did the only thing I could: slow, steady pressure. I let it run a little, reeled a little, repeated. It circled a few times, and I caught a glimpse of its mouth—that’s a carp! I panicked even more, but then I saw the water splash, and I knew I had to pull it in before the line gave out. No net (rookie mistake), so I dragged it to the bank and dove on it—hands first. Just as I grabbed it, it did a carp flip (you know the one), and my 0.6 leader snapped. But wait—I had it on the bank! I scrambled, pinned it down, and finally got a good hold. It wasn’t huge—maybe 1.5 pounds, almost 2—but for a size 2 hook? That’s a miracle.

Side note: I wish someone was there to see that. I was hyped, sweating, and probably looked like a maniac rolling around on the bank with a carp. But hey—bragging rights, even if it’s just to my cat later.

Wrap-Up: When the Bite Gets Too Exciting (And You Call It Quits)

After that adrenaline rush, I was done. My hands were shaking, my line was a mess, and I couldn’t focus on tiny crucian bites anymore. I packed up, released the rest of the fish (including the cat’s potential snack), and headed home. On the way out, that same black-and-white cat trotted up—mouth still covered in fish scales. I laughed and said, “Sorry, buddy—no more free meals tonight.” It just stared at me like I owed it something. Typical.

Looking back, that night was wild. I went for small crucian carp, ended up with a carp that should’ve broken my line, and made a new (furry) friend. Is Nansha River No. 2 Embroidery my new favorite spot? Maybe. Will I bring a net next time? Absolutely. And will I keep an eye out for that cat? You bet—next time, I’m bringing extra bait just in case.