Return to Yujia Bay: Bites Right After Casting—What’s This Fishing Rhythm?!

Okay, let’s cut to the chase: I’ve been a fishing slump lately. Like, *real* slump. You know that feeling? When you hit the water, set up your gear, cast for hours, and all you get is… nothing. Nada. Zilch. My fishing buddies? They’ve ghosted me. “Nah, we don’t wanna waste a weekend with the ‘air force general’,” they say. Harsh, but fair. I’d been feeding the fish more than catching ’em, so I needed a win—bad.

The Setup: Why Yujia Bay (Again)?

First off, let’s talk about the date: February 4th. That’s Lichun—Beginning of Spring in the lunar calendar. Also, the first weekend after the Lunar New Year, and after a solid week of “adulting” (aka working nonstop). My brain was fried, so fishing wasn’t just a hobby—it was a reset button. But wait, the weather? It’s been all over the place. Winter’s last gasp, temps bouncing between cold and “meh.” Fish hideout spots? Total mystery. I’d tried Beicheng Village (fancy meat buns, but no fish), Cha River (fast current, just pole-twisting frustration). No luck. So I thought: *Screw it, let’s go back to Yujia Bay. It’s familiar. Maybe the fish missed me?*

Prepping the Bait: Screw the Store—Roadside Finds Win

Yujia Bay is known for a specific fish: *Acheilognathus* (wait, no, the local name is… whatever, it’s a silver beauty with red tail fins). To catch ’em, you need snails. Not the fancy aquarium kind—freshwater snails from the roadside. So the day before, I tracked down an old guy selling snails by the side of the road. Dude’s a legend—he knows exactly which snails the fish love. Bought a handful, crushed a few (pro tip: take the snail “butt” out—fish hate the gross part), and headed out.

The Drive: Crossing Yujia Bay Bridge (No GPS Needed)

Weather check: Low temp 2°C, wind 2 mph. Should be okay, right? I loaded up my gear—8-meter pole (yes, *8 meters*—I’m old school), fishing chair, tripod, the works. Drove through the village, crossed Yujia Bay Bridge, pulled over. And guess what? Three other anglers were already there, deep in their “fishing trance” (you know, the stare at the water like it holds all life’s answers).

The Spot: Yujia Bay’s Secret Weapon—The Weir

I set up at the weir. Why the weir? No current (thank god—no fighting the pole), no tide issues (it’s a weir, duh), and the water looks clean. No murky muck here—you can see the bottom a little. Perfect. I set up my chair, jammed the tripod in the ground, pulled out the 8-meter pole. Let’s be real: I’ve been doing this for 20+ years. My setup routine is like a *real* ISO 9002 process (okay, maybe not *official*, but close). Pole out, line on, float attached—bam, done. Grabbed my trusty hammer (yes, I carry a hammer to crush snails—don’t judge), smashed a couple, hooked the snail “meat” on the hook. Big cast—*splash*—right where I wanted it.

The First Bite: Wait, That Fast?!

I sat down, pulled out my breakfast—pancake wrap (street food, *chef’s kiss*). Stared at the float: 14.8 meters out, two little red tips showing. Spring sun was low, slanting across the water. A couple wild ducks were swimming—one dove under, popped up 10 meters away. Cool, but I was focused on the float. Then… *twitch*. Wait, was that a bite? I stuffed the last bite of pancake in my mouth, sprinted to the pole, and hauled back.

Oh! Oh right! It’s on! The line tugged—*that* feeling, the one that makes your heart race. I reeled it in, and there it was: silver, tiny scales, red tail fins glowing, dorsal fin tall and sleek. Way prettier than those boring stocked carp. I grinned like an idiot. Stuck it in my bucket, didn’t even re-bait—cast right back out. *Boom*—another tug. Second fish! The guys across the way were still yanking their poles (probably trying to feed the fish more), totally oblivious to my double kill. I was like, *“What’s this rhythm?!”* I even grabbed my “lucky” spoon (okay, it’s a regular spoon) and tossed some crushed snails far out—just to be nice.

The Slump Returns: Fish Ghosted Me

Then… nothing. I missed a bite (probably my fault—daydreaming about the pancake). Wind picked up, sun climbed higher—so bright I had to put on my polarized sunglasses (game-changer, by the way). No more bites. Nada. The fish vanished. Even the tiny minnow pests (you know, the ones that steal bait and drive you crazy) weren’t around. No *Opsariichthys* (wait, another local fish—whatever, it’s a nuisance). So I thought: *Maybe the north bank is warmer? Fish go shallow when it’s sunny.* So I picked up my pole, moved to the shallow water. Sat there for 30 minutes. *Nothing*. The float just bobbed with the waves—teasing me, like, “We’re not playing today.”

People came and went. A new group of anglers showed up, then left. I walked around, and guess what? Found some lost gear! Fishing folks lose the dumbest stuff. Like, *this* (holds up a tiny lure) and *this* (holds up a topwater lure with a rattle inside—probably expensive). Nice score, but it didn’t fix my fish problem.

Waiting It Out: Self-Heating Meal & Garbage Duty

By noon, I was hungry. My wife (bless her) gave me a self-heating hot pot for the trip. *Self-heating hot pot!* I was shocked—she usually teases me about “wasting money on fishing.” So I heated it up, and while I waited, I picked up trash. You know how it is—people leave beer cans, snack wrappers. Gross. So I grabbed a bag, cleaned up the area. No bites, but at least I wasn’t leaving a mess. Karma, right?

The End: Gotta Go (Wife’s Orders)

I stuck around. Tried deep water, tried shallow water. 1 PM, 2 PM, 3 PM—nothing. By 4 PM, the bank was empty. Just me. I know from past trips that 4-5 PM is usually a hot bite, but my wife texted: *“Come home early—we have stuff to do.”* Ugh. Fine. I packed up. Checked my bucket: two small fish, still alive (cold water keeps ’em kicking). I released ’em back. *“Thanks for the fun,”* I said. Then I double-checked my spot—clean as a whistle. No trash, no gear left behind.

Quick Fish ID: Blackfin Goby (For a Friend)

Oh, right! A buddy texted me earlier, asking about a weird fish he caught in the flower field area. It’s a *Sarcocheilichthys nigripinnis*—Blackfin Goby. Just so you know, if you catch one, it’s not rare, just… odd-looking.

So that’s the day. Started with a bang, ended with a fizz. But hey—two fish is better than zero. And I didn’t get ghosted by the fish *entirely*. Next time? I’m staying later. And maybe bringing more snails. Or a better pancake. Either way, Yujia Bay’s still my go-to. Catch you on the water!