Third Time’s the Charm? How I Finally Nailed a Fishing Trip After Two Duds

Let me tell you, fishing can be a total rollercoaster—one minute you’re hyped to reel in a monster, the next you’re staring at an empty bucket wondering if the fish are on strike. For me, it took three tries to get it right at Huai River (wait, no, wait—wait, I need to stick to English, but let’s just say this river spot I’ve been eyeing). Let’s dive into the chaos, the near-disasters, and the sweet victory of finally catching a haul that didn’t make me want to sell my rods.

The “Great Start” That Turned Into a Hot Mess (First Attempt Vibes)

First off, let’s rewind to the first two times I hit this spot. Spoiler: they were garbage. First trip? I went at dusk, caught a few tiny guys, then tried night fishing—nada. Zero bites. Zilch. I sat there in the dark, sipping lukewarm coffee, wondering if the fish were all hiding in a secret cove laughing at me. Second trip? I woke up early, packed my gear, got to the river… and some guy rolled up like he owned the place and told me I couldn’t fish there. Are you kidding me? I drove 45 minutes for that? Total buzzkill. So when Tuesday rolled around (and yes, it was a restricted day for my car—perfect excuse to play hooky), I was equal parts nervous and determined. Third time’s the charm, right? Or at least, third time I don’t go home empty-handed.

The Morning From Hell (But We Fixed It… Sort Of)

Okay, so the plan was: wake up at 6 AM, eat breakfast, grab gear, hit the river by 7. Sounds easy, right? Nope. I woke up on time, chugged a bowl of cereal, laced up my boots… and then saw it. My car tire was flat. FLAT. Like, completely deflated, looking sad and useless in the driveway. I panicked for 10 seconds, then remembered there’s a tire shop two blocks away. Thank god for small towns (or at least, small tire shops that open early). I threw the tire in the backseat, ran over, and waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, at 8:30, I was back on the road. By the time I pulled up to the river, it was 9:30. Classic “early bird gets the worm, but this early bird got a flat tire and missed the worm” moment. Ugh.

Scouting First = No More Embarrassing Booty Calls From River Cops

After my last failed trip (the one where I got kicked out), I learned a rule: always scout before you set up. So instead of hauling my 50-pound gear bag straight to the water, I grabbed my hat and walked the bank. I spotted a guy with a sea rod (you know, those long ones for casting far) and struck up a chat. “Hey, man—anybody kicking people out today?” I asked. He shook his head. “Nah, last week was a one-time thing. The warden’s off today.” YES. That was the green light I needed. I sprinted back to my car, grabbed my rods, and hauled everything to the bank. Let’s do this.

Rod Choice Drama: 7.2 vs. 6.3 (Spoiler: I Chose Wrong… Then Right)

Originally, I planned to bring two rods: a 7.2-meter and a 6.3-meter. But when I checked the water depth? It was almost 4 meters. If I set up both rods close together, the 7.2’s bait would be way farther out than the 6.3’s. That means all the fish would go for the 7.2, leaving my 6.3 high and dry. So I swapped the 7.2 for a second 6.3. Smart move, right? Here’s the setup:

• Rod 1 (main): Bait with dough (you know, the smelly stuff that fish love)
• Rod 2 (backup): Hooked with wheat grains (slow, but good for patient fish)

I set both rods up, dropped my bait in the water, and leaned back. Let the games begin.

The First 3 Hours: Crickets (Literally, Not Figuratively)

From 10 AM to 1 PM? Nothing. Well, almost nothing. I caught four tiny minnows (or whatever those little guys are called—they’re too small to keep). I stared at the water, sipped a soda, watched a heron fly by, and thought: “Is this gonna be another dud?” The sun was nice, the scenery was pretty, but I came here to fish, not sunbathe. I almost packed up. But then…

The Wheat Grain Win (And Then the Switch That Changed Everything)

At 1:30 PM, my right rod (the wheat grain one) twitched. Then it bent. I grabbed it like my life depended on it. Reeled in… and got two small crucian carp (those are the round, cute ones). Nice! But then? Nothing for 10 minutes. I remembered something: wheat grains are slow. Fish take their time with them. Dough is fast. It’s smelly, it’s bright, fish go crazy for it. So I switched the right rod to dough. BOOM. That was the best decision I made all day.

The Hour of Glory (1:45 PM to 2:45 PM)

From 1:45 to almost 3 PM? I was on fire. Nonstop bites. I reeled in 15-20 crucian carp, each between 1-3 ounces. Some were tiny, some were decent. I was laughing, my hands were covered in fish slime, and I didn’t even care. For the first time in three trips, I wasn’t just “fishing”—I was catching. It was like the fish finally decided to show up to the party. I even took a quick video (but don’t tell anyone—I was too busy reeling to film properly).

The Slow Down (And Why I Still Left Happy)

By 3 PM, the bites slowed down. A lot. I think I cleaned out the local crucian carp population in that spot. I added more bait to my rods, but nothing. Just a few tiny nibbles here and there. So I packed up around 4 PM. When I dumped my bucket on the bank? It was 4-5 pounds of fish. Not a monster haul, but way better than the first two trips. I was tired, my back hurt, but I was grinning from ear to ear.

Final Thoughts: Is Third Time Really the Charm?

Let’s be real—fishing is 9% patience and 1% luck. My first two trips? Bad luck. Third trip? I got lucky, but I also learned from my mistakes: scout first, pick the right rods, switch bait when it’s not working. Would I call it a “success”? Yeah. Would I call it a “big win”? Not exactly (still waiting for that 1-pound carp). But for now? I’m happy. Next time, I’m gonna try a new spot, maybe bring some corn bait, and see if I can catch a bigger one. Fingers crossed. Oh, and if you’re planning a fishing trip? Don’t give up after one or two duds. Third time might just be your lucky day.

Oh, and one last thing: if your tire goes flat on the way? Don’t panic. Just find a tire shop, wait it out, and get back on the road. The fish will still be there (well, most of them).