Winter Fishing Trip to Luoma Lake: A Real-Life Adventure (or Lack Thereof)

Okay, let’s cut to the chase: winter fishing is no joke. Especially when you’re heading to a big lake like Luoma Lake, and the weather’s doing its best to mess with you. Last Saturday, my coworkers Lao Wang and Lao Yang and I decided to give it a shot—three days off work, a little adventure, and maybe some fish. Spoiler: the fish were not interested. But hey, that’s part of the fun, right? Wait, no. Wait, maybe. Let me tell you how it went.

The Weather: Not Great, But We Went Anyway

First off, the weather. It wasn’t freezing cold, which was a plus, but there was this thick haze that hung around until the afternoon. Like, you could barely see the trees across the road kind of haze. And then—bam—southwest wind picked up. Man, that wind was no joke. It was strong enough to make you squint and hunch over, even when you were just walking. But we’d planned this, so we loaded up the car and hit the road.

Getting to Luoma Lake’s Second Weir: The Road That Tested Our Sanity

Now, let’s talk about the drive. We knew Luoma Lake was a bit off the beaten path, but wow. The directions were something else: take the Huanhu Avenue east, don’t go all the way to the Maolin Bridge, then turn south onto a dirt road. Dirt road. Oh, right. That dirt road? It was rough. Potholes everywhere, ruts that made the car bounce like a toy, and spots where it was so muddy (even in winter) that we had to slow down to a crawl. My car’s a sedan, so I was low-key panicking the whole time. Lao Wang was in the passenger seat laughing, saying, “This is why we should’ve taken my truck!” Thanks, Lao Wang. Real helpful.

After what felt like an hour (but was probably 20 minutes), we finally saw the lake. And right by the shore? Two small huts. Some chickens and cows were hanging out on the slope below them. The guy who owned the huts was outside, so we waved and asked if we were in the right spot. “Yep, second weir’s right there,” he said, pointing to the left. “First weir’s on the right. Watch the shallow spots—they’re full of grass, but the government’s been cleaning it up lately.” Hmm, cleaning up the grass? That sounded like bad news for fishing. Fish love grass, right? Oh, we’d find out soon enough.

Exploring the Weirs: Shallow Water, Less Grass, and a Dead Duck

We parked the car (thankfully without getting stuck) and walked down to the shore. The lake was huge—stretching out as far as we could see, even with the haze. Between the first and second weirs? A shallow area full of water plants. But like the local guy said, the grass was way sparser than usual. “Government’s been dragging it out,” a nearby fisherman told us. “Says it’s for the lake’s health, but man, the fish don’t like it. They hide in that grass.” Great. Just great.

As we were checking out the shore, Lao Yang pointed to something in the water. “Hey, what’s that?” It was a dead water duck, floating near the edge. No idea how it died—maybe the cold, maybe a predator, maybe it just had a bad day. We didn’t get too close, but it was a weird, sad little sight. Made us wonder if the lake was having a tough winter too.

The Fishing: A Lot of Effort, Very Little Payoff

Okay, time to fish. We’re traditional anglers, so we set up our rods and started making bait balls with rice wine (our go-to winter bait). Each of us made 5 or 6 small balls—we weren’t expecting a big catch, just enough to make the trip worth it. The water here? Only 1 to 2 meters deep. Super shallow. But we thought, “Maybe the fish are in the deeper spots nearby?” So we spread out: I went a bit west, Lao Wang and Lao Yang went east, and a couple other fishermen were already set up opposite us.

We waited. And waited. And waited some more. The wind was still blowing, so our rods were swaying a little. We checked our bait balls every 15 minutes or so—nothing. No bites, no tugs, nothing. Lao Wang called over, “You got anything?” “Nope,” I yelled back. Lao Yang was quiet. Maybe he was napping? No, he was just staring at his rod like it owed him money.

Then, finally—something! Lao Wang’s rod twitched. He grabbed it, reeled in slow. And… a tiny crucian carp. Like, tiny. Maybe 10 centimeters long. “Wow,” he said, holding it up. “That’s the only one we’ve got all day.” Lao Yang and the other fishermen? They were still empty-handed. After a while, Lao Yang sighed and said, “I’m out. This is too boring.” Lao Wang followed him. So it was just me, the wind, and the lake.

Releasing the Fish: A Little Respect for Our Only Catch

I looked at the tiny crucian carp. It was cold, probably a bit stiff from being out of the water. We didn’t want to keep it—too small, and it’s winter, so the fish are already struggling. So I gently put it back in the water. And you know what? It didn’t swim away right away. It just floated there for a second, then slowly wiggled into the grass (the little that was left) and disappeared. “Thanks for showing up, little guy,” I said. Even if it was the only one, it made the trip feel like we didn’t totally waste our time.

Lessons Learned (and Future Plans)

Winter fishing at Luoma Lake? Hard. Super hard. The shallow water, the sparse grass, the wind—all of it worked against us. We talked about it on the drive back: “Next time, we should try the rivers around the lake instead,” Lao Yang said. “The lakes are too big, the fish are hiding somewhere we can’t find. Rivers are smaller, deeper maybe?” Lao Wang nodded. “And we need to take my truck. That dirt road killed your car, man.”

So tomorrow, we’re gonna hit some local rivers. Who knows? Maybe we’ll catch more than one tiny fish. Maybe we’ll get stuck in the mud again. Maybe the weather will be worse. But that’s the fun of fishing, right? You never know what’s gonna happen. I’ll let you know how it goes—stay tuned!