My First Day Back Fishing: Total Chaos (But Let’s Dive In Anyway)

Okay, let’s cut to the chase—this was supposed to be my triumphant return to fishing after quitting cold turkey. I moved to Jieyang (don’t worry, I’ll stick to English terms for spots, but trust me, the chaos is universal) and my friends wouldn’t stop bugging me to get back on the water. New gear arrived at 2:30 PM, I’d already scoped spots on Google Maps… what could go wrong? Spoiler: everything. But hey, that’s fishing, right? Let’s relive the disaster (and maybe a tiny win) step by step.

First Stop: Huanbei North River Bridge—Why Did I Even Bother?

I rolled up to Huanbei North River Bridge around 2:30 PM, excited to drop a line. But wait—no spots to cast? The bridge area was packed with… nothing? No open banks, no docks, just a concrete jungle. I thought, “Hey, under the bridge might be shaded and chill!” Yeah, no. The water was so murky it looked like someone dumped a bucket of black ink in it. Not exactly the “pristine fishing spot” I’d dreamed of. I lasted 10 minutes before bailing.

Second Stop: Monai Reservoir—Is This a Lake or a Dirt Puddle?

Next up: Monai Reservoir. Google Maps said it was a “scenic fishing spot”—sure, if you count “scenic” as “bone dry.” I pulled up and stared. The water level was so low, I could see the muddy bottom everywhere. No way I was going to waste time catching tiny minnow-sized fish here. Hard pass. On to the next one.

Third Stop: Fengnei Reservoir—Cash Grab or Real Deal?

Third time’s the charm? Nope. Fengnei Reservoir looked okay from the road, but then I saw the sign: $15 per rod per hour. The owner was like, “Oh, we’ve had 30-pound grass carp here!” I glanced at the tiny reservoir—no way a 30-pounder fits in there. Total scam. I nodded, smiled, and booked it before he could ask for my wallet.

Fourth Stop: Rongjiang South River—Finally, A Spot! (Sort Of)

I’d had enough of small reservoirs—let’s go big. Rongjiang South River is wide, open, looks like a real fishing spot. But first problem: the north bank had zero accessible spots. I drove up and down, sweating, until I found a tiny spot near the Baiyun Dragon Boat Training Base on the south side. Yes! Finally a place to cast.

Drama at Rongjiang: Rod Dragged Away, Then Nothing

I set up my rod, mixed bait, and… wait, the bottom was so uneven. I fumbled around, moved spots, and by 5:00 PM (yes, I was that slow) I finally locked in a spot. I tossed in a lure, turned to grab my water bottle… and my rod was gone. Dragged into the river! I lunged, grabbed it, and reeled in a tiny tilapia—maybe a pound? Not impressive, but a win! I got cocky: threw in red worm pellets, corn, even a block bait. Then… crickets. No bites. For an hour. Nada. Zero. Zilch.

Night Fishing Fail: Tide Drops, Then Anchor a Fish (Accidentally)

By 7:00 PM, it was dark. I decided to try night fishing—until I noticed the tide was dropping fast. Like, 2 meters fast. My spot was now 2 meters from the water. Useless. A random angler online DM’d me: “Dude, just anchor for silver carp—they fight hard!” I thought, “Why not?” Packed up, moved, and on the way out? I anchor a tilapia (another pounder). Cool, but not the 20-pounder I wanted.

Fifth Stop: New Xihe Reservoir—The Big One That Got Away (And Then Some)

I checked Google Maps again: New Xihe Reservoir. It’s huge. The map said “great for silver carp”—perfect! I packed up, drove, and first stop: a local tackle shop to ask about the reservoir. The owner was so excited: “Last week, someone caught a 20-30 pound silver carp! Netters got a 70-pounder once! It’s never dried up!” I was hyped. Bought 2 silver carp baits (one was a knockoff “Golden Edition Floating Silver Carp”—classic), a big buoy, a glow-in-the-dark float, new line. Total: $94. Ouch. But fish fever hit—who cares?

By the time I left the shop, it was 11:00 PM. Let’s go! I drove to the reservoir entrance… and all the gates were locked. No way to scout. I panicked—until I saw a narrow path someone had cut through the bushes. Perfect! I grabbed my gear (which is heavy, let’s be real) and hiked up. Sweating, panting, tripping over roots. Not fun.

I followed Google Maps, but the “fishing spots” were just overgrown weeds. The water was way below the path, and the bank was steep—impossible to get down in the dark. I thought, “Screw it, come back tomorrow.” Then I checked Maps again: there’s a west entrance I missed! I turned around, hiked back down, and… wait a second. The main gate’s sewer drain had a hole big enough to crawl through. I’d just hiked up a mountain for nothing. Ugh. I crawled through (don’t judge) and got back in my car.

Car Disaster: Flat Tire in the Middle of Nowhere

I drove to the west entrance—road was terrible. Potholes, rocks, everything. My sedan scraped the bottom so many times I cringed. Then—BANG. Flat tire. In the middle of nowhere. No cell service, no houses, just trees. I stared at the tire: it was already worn thin, wires sticking out. Of course this happens. I’m a mess.

Thankfully, I’m a tiny bit handy. I pulled out the spare, jacked up the car, and changed it in 15 minutes. Not bad. But then I noticed: the front wheel’s support shaft had debris wrapped around it. And the alignment was off. Oh great. I couldn’t risk driving to another spot—my car was barely holding together. I limped home, defeated.

Final Fish Count: Two Tilapia. That’s It.

So after all that: driving around, hiking, flat tire, $94 wasted on tackle—my total catch was two tiny tilapia. I stared at my new gear when I got home, thinking: “Is this a sign to quit again?” But then I remembered the tackle shop owner’s story: 20-pound silver carp. I need that. I just need someone to show me the ropes. Or at least tell me which spots actually have fish. And maybe to drive a truck next time, not a sedan. Oh, and check my tires before I leave. Lesson learned.

Anyway, if you’re a local angler who knows the good spots in Jieyang—hit me up! I’m begging for a 20-pound silver carp. My new gear deserves better than tilapia. And my car deserves a break. Until next time—fishing chaos, but I’m not giving up. Yet.