Climbing Mountains and Sore Feet, but Big Fish Soothe the Heart: My Fishing Trip to Tan Shan Reservoir

Let me tell you-there’s nothing like a fishing trip that starts with a hike up a mountain to make you question your life choices… until you land a monster fish. That’s exactly what happened last weekend when my buddy dragged me (and three other guys) to Tan Shan Reservoir. Dude swore it was his cousin’s spot, no feeding, just wild fish. Spoiler: The hike sucked, but the payoff? Worth every blister. Let’s dive in.

The Plan (and the Hike from Hell)

First off, let’s get the boring logistics out of the way-because you know I didn’t care about any of this until we were already sweating our asses off:

• Location: Tan Shan Reservoir (middle of nowhere, basically)
• Time: Arrived at the foot of the mountain at 10 AM, got to the water at 11:30 AM (thanks, slow hike)
• My Gear: Gamma Carp 7.2 rod (don’t ask me why I brought a 7-footer-thought I’d need it for distance, turns out the water was shallow AF)
• Line & Hooks: 3lb main line, 2lb leader, size 4 hooks (overkill? Maybe. But I’m paranoid about big fish breaking off)
• Bait: Old Faithfuls (you know, the “three olds” every angler swears by), some random silver minnow bait (for… who knows), and live worms (the real MVP for testing waters)

So here’s the thing: My buddy’s cousin owns the reservoir, but it’s so remote, he never feeds the fish. Just lets ’em grow wild. Sounds dope, right? Until we drove as far as the car could go (which was, like, a dirt road that ended at a “NO VEHICLES BEYOND THIS POINT” sign) and had to hoof it the rest of the way. The mountain path? Rocky, steep, and covered in roots that kept tripping me up. We were out of breath within 10 minutes. One guy even complained about his boots-classic. Took us a whole 90 minutes to reach the water. By the time we got there, I was ready to sit down and not move for a year. And then… we saw the reservoir.

Wait, That’s a Reservoir? It Looks Like a Puddle!

Y’all, this year’s drought hit Tan Shan HARD. The water was so low, I could see the old tree stumps sticking out of the mud. I grabbed my rod, tied on a weight, and cast it out to test the depth. Guess what? Only 1 meter deep. ONE. METER. I turned to my buddy and said, “Dude, are you sure there are fish here? This looks like a bathtub.” He just shrugged and said, “Trust me, man. They’re down there.” Yeah, okay, whatever you say, buddy.

We set up our spots along the shore-nothing fancy, just plopped our chairs down on the dry mud and got to rigging. I decided to start with live worms (always a safe bet for testing if anything’s biting). I hooked a whole worm (didn’t want to waste half of it), cast it out, and sat back. Waited 1 minute. Then… the float twitched. Oh! I grabbed the rod, pulled up-nothing. Just an empty hook. The worm was gone. “Bastards,” I muttered. Stupid little fish stealing my bait.

My Buddy’s First (and Almost Last) Catch

Meanwhile, my buddy (let’s call him Jake) was using the “three olds” bait-you know, the mix that’s like 5% corn, 30% wheat, 15% something else that’s supposed to be magic. He cast it out, and we all went back to our own rods. 5 minutes later? His float disappeared. “WHOA!” he yelled, yanking the rod up. The line went tight-tight. “It’s a big one!” he screamed. We all crowded around, watching him fight the fish. It took 10 minutes-wait, no, 10 minutes (felt like 100)-to reel it in. Finally, we saw the flash of silver: a grass carp, probably 5 pounds. “YES!” Jake yelled, hauling it towards the shore. Then… disaster.

“Wait, where’s the net?” I asked. Jake froze. “Oh shit… I forgot it.” Oh no. Oh no. He tried to lift the fish by the line-bad idea. The carp thrashed, the line snapped, and it swam away like nothing happened. Jake dropped his rod and started pacing. “NOOOOO! That was my big one!” he yelled. We all laughed (mean, I know, but it was hilarious). “Dude, you forgot the net? How?” I said. He just kicked a rock and mumbled, “Shut up.” Classic Jake move.

My Turn: Finally Landing a Monster

After Jake’s epic fail, I was like, “Okay, fine, if the three olds work, I’m switching.” I dumped my worm rig, mixed up a batch of the three olds, and cast it out. But wait-you can’t just cast and wait. You gotta “chum” a little, right? So I cast three times in the same spot, letting the bait sink and then reeling it back slow. That’s supposed to make a “feeding spot” for the fish. After the third cast, I sat back. Waited 1 minute. 2 minutes. Then-float down. “Got one!” I yelled, yanking the rod up. The line screamed-this was bigger than Jake’s. “Hold on tight!” Jake yelled. I did. This fish fought like crazy-ran left, ran right, even tried to dive under a tree stump. But my Gamma Carp rod? It held up. After 15 minutes (felt like an hour), I had it near the shore. “Where’s the net?!” I yelled. “We don’t have one!” someone shouted. Oh right. So I grabbed my fish basket (the thing I use to keep my catch alive) and held it open. The fish swam into it-splash. I pulled it out. “Holy shit,” Jake said. It was a grass carp, 7.2 pounds. “YES! YES! YES!” I screamed. I was so happy, I forgot my feet were still sore from the hike.

The Rest of the Day: A Small Win, Then Silence

After my catch, we all got excited. Another buddy (let’s call him Mike) cast his three olds out. 5 minutes later? He got a bite. His fish was 6.3 pounds-smaller than mine, but still a solid catch. We cheered him on, and he managed to get it into his basket (no net, but we were getting good at this). Then… nothing. At 1:22 PM, the fish just stopped biting. We cast, we waited, we changed bait-nothing. Just a few tiny minnow bites. By 4 PM, we’d only caught 10 little minnows and one catfish (which we threw back, since no one likes catfish). Ugh. The bite died completely.

Time to Go: Sore Feet, Happy Heart

We didn’t want to stay late-Tan Shan is in the middle of the woods, and none of us wanted to hike down in the dark. So we packed up our gear, loaded our catch (my 7.2-pounder, Mike’s 6.3-pounder, the 10 minnows) into the coolers, and started the hike back down. The hike down was worse than the hike up-my legs were shaking, my feet were throbbing, and I kept tripping over the same roots. But hey, at least we had fish. When we got back to the car, we all collapsed into the seats. “That hike sucked,” Jake said. “But the fish? Worth it.” I nodded. “Next time,” I said, “we’re bringing a net. And a ATV. And maybe a helicopter.” Everyone laughed.

Final Thoughts: Would I Do It Again?

Hell yes. Even with the sore feet, even with Jake forgetting the net, even with the drought making the reservoir look like a puddle-this trip was one of the best fishing days I’ve had in years. The fish were wild, the fight was real, and the company was (mostly) good. Next time, we’re gonna check the water levels first, bring a net (duh), and maybe leave earlier so we don’t miss the bite. But for now? I’m just gonna enjoy my 7.2-pound carp-grilled, with some lemon and garlic. Yum.

Oh, and if you’re thinking about going to Tan Shan Reservoir? Here’s a pro tip: Wear good hiking boots. And bring a net. And maybe a water bottle. Lots of water. Trust me.