That Day I Ditched the Crowds (and Almost Got Stuck in Mud)
Let me tell you—fishing can be a total rollercoaster. One minute you’re reeling in nothing but seaweed, the next you’re fighting a carp that feels like it’s trying to yank your rod into the water. For weeks, I’d been coming home empty-handed—total skunks, every time. But February 20th? That day changed everything. Let’s break down why this trip was different (spoiler: it involved mud, a random fried rice lunch, and a whole lot of luck).
First off, the weather was perfect: sunny, 15–21°C (that’s 59–70°F for my US buddies), and a light northeast wind at 1–2 knots. No rain, no crazy gusts—just the kind of day that makes you think, “Today’s gonna be the day.” I grabbed my gear after work, swung by a street vendor for a box of fried rice (hey, a angler’s gotta eat!), and bolted to my usual spot. But when I got there? Some random guy had beat me to it. Ugh—fishing spot drama is real.
So I did what any stubborn angler would do: I wandered. For 30 whole minutes, I trekked up and down the bank, peeking at spots, checking depths, and avoiding the old guys who always hog the best shallow water. Finally, I found it—a tiny, muddy nook that looked totally unassuming. Most people would’ve passed it up (especially the “grandpa crew” who only fish the paved spots), but I thought, “Why not? No one’s here to steal my fish.”
Spring Fishing Rule #1: Grass = Fish (But Watch Your Step)
Everyone says spring fishing is all about shallow water and grass, right? I decided to test that theory. The spot I picked had a depth of about 1.6 meters (5 feet)—super shallow, just like the pros recommend. And get this: for 100 meters up and down the bank, there wasn’t another angler in sight. No competition, no one yelling “did you catch anything?” every 5 minutes—just me, the water, and the birds. Bliss.
But here’s the catch (pun intended): the spot was low. Like, really low. To get down there, I had to jump from the bank. Big mistake. I landed right in a puddle of mud—my boots were caked, my pants had a brown streak, and suddenly I realized: “Wait, how do I get back up?” The grandpa crew was smart to skip this spot. But hey, desperate times call for desperate measures, and I was desperate to catch something.
The Fish That Surprised Me (Spoiler: They Were Hungry)
Once I set up my rod, I cast into the grassy edge. Within 10 minutes, I felt a tug. And then another. This spot had everything: margrabe (mossos), shi drum (stone mullet), common carp, and tons of crucian carp (Chinese carp). Let me tell you about the shi drum first—those little guys are strong! They fight like they’re twice their size, and most of the time, they hit so hard the float goes straight under (that’s a “black float” for you anglers). Up close, they’re chubby and kinda cute—until they start thrashing around on the bank, then they’re just messy.
But the real stars of the day? The crucian carp. I was catching them left and right—sometimes even double headers (two fish at once!). The weird thing? I barely saw the float move. Most of the time, I’d reel in to change bait and realize there was a fish on the hook. Total surprise! But here’s the sad part: 90% of those crucian carp were full of eggs. If I squeezed their bellies (gently, promise), you could see the eggs oozing out. That’s a big no-no for me—you never want to catch fish with eggs, especially in spring.
The Big One: The Carp That Made Me Sweat
After an hour of catching small stuff, I felt a tug that nearly ripped the rod out of my hands. My heart dropped—this was a big one. I was using a size 3 hook and 0.8-pound test line (super light for big fish), so I knew I had to be careful. No net, either—total rookie move. I just had to hold on, keep the line tight, and pray it didn’t snap.
That carp fought for 10 minutes—swimming away, diving down, even jumping out of the water once. I was yelling (thankfully, no one was around to hear) and my arms were shaking. Finally, I got it close to the bank. No net, so I did the only thing I could: I leaned over, grabbed the line, and hauled it up. It was a beauty—probably 2 pounds (maybe more, I was too excited to weigh it). I was so proud I took a million photos.
Why I Let All the Fish Go (And Why You Should Too)
By the end of the day, I had about 6 pounds of fish (the bucket alone weighed a pound—total chaos). But here’s the thing: almost every fish was full of eggs. I didn’t want to take them home—first, I’m lazy (cleaning fish is the worst), but more importantly, those eggs mean more fish next year. There’s an old saying: “Don’t eat crucian carp in February—their bellies are full of eggs.” It’s true!
So I released every single one. I know some anglers will say, “But it’s free food!” But think about it: if we take all the fish with eggs, there will be no fish left to catch next spring. I’d rather have a fun day catching and releasing than a freezer full of fish that I’ll never eat. Plus, it feels good—like I’m giving back to the water that gives me so much joy.
Final Thoughts: Fishing Isn’t Just About Catching
That day wasn’t just about hitting the jackpot after months of skunks. It was about finding a random spot, getting covered in mud, fighting a carp that made me sweat, and remembering why I love fishing in the first place. It’s not about the number of fish you take home—it’s about the moments: the quiet of the water, the surprise of a bite, and the feeling of reeling in something bigger than you expected.
Next time you’re skunked? Don’t give up. Try a random spot, follow the spring rules (shallow water, grass), and remember to release the fish with eggs. You never know—you might have a day like mine.
