Mid-Autumn Fishing: When the Pond’s Big, You Catch All Kinds of Fish

Let’s be real—if you’re a fisherman, holidays don’t mean squat. Christmas? Nah, I’m checking the weather app. Thanksgiving? My tackle box is packed before the turkey’s even thawed. So when Mid-Autumn rolled around this year, there was zero chance I was staying inside. Daytime sun, nighttime moon—watching the moon rise and set, wax and wane, that’s the good stuff. But full moon? Oh man, that round, bright beauty? Mid-Autumn night is hands down the prettiest, most magical night of the year. As the saying goes, “The brightest moon of the year, a time for hearts across miles to gaze together.” But me? I was gazing at a fishing rod, not the sky. Priorities, right?

My Mid-Autumn Fishing Plan (Spoiler: It Involved Zero Family Chores)

Here’s how I sold it to the wife: “Honey, I’m going to connect with nature! The moon will be amazing, and I’ll be back before dinner!” Translation: I’m going to sit by the pond for 12 hours, ignore all texts, and maybe forget to eat. She just rolled her eyes and said, “Fine, but don’t come home complaining your back hurts.” Classic wife move—she knows me too well.

So I dragged myself out of bed at 5 a.m. (yes, 5 a.m. on a holiday) because I knew the good spots fill up fast. Plus, weekends are getting scarce for fishing lately—work’s been crazy, so this was my last shot for a minute. I threw my tackle box in the car, grabbed a granola bar (fancy, I know), and hit the road.

Half a Year of Fishing Struggles: Why I Was Low-Key Nervous

Let’s recap my fishing journey since I started going solo earlier this year. Spoiler: It’s been a mess. I’ve fished the local ponds near my place, and I haven’t had a real “haul” in months. Nada. Zilch. So I sat down and listed the reasons—because I’m a nerd who overthinks fishing:

• Seasonal chaos: I’m in southern China, and summer here is brutal. Like, “your skin burns through your shirt” brutal. Fish hate that—they hide in the deep, dark spots, and good luck getting them to bite.
• Tackle fails: My first set of line and floats? They died a slow, painful death. I replaced them with a new setup, but it never felt right. Like wearing shoes that are half a size too small—you can walk, but it’s not comfortable.
• Rod-hopping disaster: I’ve been guilty of this big time. Instead of sticking to one rod, I’d switch between 3, 4, even 5 rods in an hour. “Oh, this one might work better!” Nope. It just confused me, and the fish probably laughed at me.

So this Mid-Autumn trip? I was determined to fix at least one of these. Spoiler: I fixed one, broke another, and learned a valuable lesson (sort of).

The Fishing Setup: New Gear, Old Habits

I showed up at the pond, and thank goodness—my favorite spot was still open. I set up my new line and float (finally got around to tweaking that), then grabbed my 5.4-meter long rod first. Why? I have no idea. I’ve never liked long rods. They’re heavy, hard to cast, and my arms turn to jelly after an hour. But I thought, “Maybe today’s different!” Spoiler: It wasn’t.

First, casting: I’ve gotten pretty good at that—landed the bait right where I wanted every time. But then? The fight. When I’d hook a fish (if I hooked a fish), I could barely feel it. It was like reeling in a plastic bag. No fight, no tension, just… meh. And my arms? By hour 3, they were screaming. I kept thinking, “Why am I doing this? I have a shorter rod that works!”

The “Fish Strong” Incident: When a Fish Outsmarted Me

Then, out of nowhere, I felt a tiny tug. I lifted the rod, and—wait, was that a fish? I reeled it in, and holy cow. It was a small fish, but man, was it tough. I call it my “Fish Strong” (original, I know). When I netted it, it started thrashing around like crazy—like it was mad I caught it. I stared at it for a second, and then thought, “This little guy’s got more fight than I do today.” So I dumped it back in the pond. No way I was keeping a fish that tough. It deserved to live another day (and maybe come back to bite me later).

That’s when I snapped. I threw the 5.4-meter rod on the ground (gently, don’t worry) and grabbed my 3.9-meter “lucky rod.” This thing? It’s my MVP. I’ve caught more fish with this bad boy than all my other rods combined. It’s light, fits my hand perfectly, and I can feel every tiny tug. Why did I ever switch? Stupid, stupid me.

Switching to the Lucky Rod: Game. Changer.

As soon as I switched to the 3.9-meter rod, everything changed. The first cast? Bite. Second cast? Bite. Third cast? Bite. It was like the fish were waiting for me to stop being an idiot. I used my go-to bait: maltose fermented bait (fancy, right?) plus a little “all-kill” scent and fruit acid. Don’t ask me why—it works. I’ve tried a million baits, and this one’s the only one that doesn’t make the fish swim away.

By the end of the day, I had almost 10 fish. Some I kept, some I let go (including a few that were too small). Was it a world record? No. But for me? It was a win. After months of nothing, I finally had a decent haul. I even forgot to take pictures of a few—oops. But who cares? I was too busy smiling.

Lessons Learned (Again, Because I Never Listen)

Let’s be honest, I already knew most of these. But sometimes you need a kick in the butt to remember:

• Stick to what works: My lucky rod is lucky for a reason. Stop trying to be fancy with long rods. They’re not for me.
• Don’t overcomplicate it: Switching rods every 5 minutes? Stupid. Focus on one rod, one bait, and wait. Patience is a fisherman’s best friend (even if I’m terrible at it).
• Fish have feelings too (maybe): That “Fish Strong”? It made me realize that some fish just don’t want to be caught. Letting it go felt better than keeping it.

And hey, the wife was right (don’t tell her I said that). My back hurt like crazy, and I forgot to eat lunch. But was it worth it? Abso-freaking-lutely. I spent the day outside, watched the moon rise, and caught some fish. What more could a guy ask for?

Wrapping Up: Will I Do It Again? Duh.

Next holiday? I’m already packing my tackle box. The wife will roll her eyes, I’ll forget to do chores, and I’ll probably mess up the first hour with a long rod. But that’s part of the fun, right? Fishing isn’t about being perfect. It’s about being outside, forgetting your problems for a day, and maybe catching a fish that’s tougher than you are.

Oh, and if you’re wondering about the “all kinds of fish” part? Yeah, the pond’s big, so I caught a little of everything—some small, some medium, one that was almost big enough to brag about. But the best part? The “Fish Strong.” That little guy’s still out there, waiting for me to come back. And I will. Soon.