A Post-School Run Detour to the Fishing Spot (With a Heavy Side Note)
It was the afternoon of December 5th, 2024, and I’d just dropped my student off back at school. The clock was ticking toward 2:30 PM, and my original plan was to head to Lisha River, the channel I’d fished not long ago. But let’s be real—last time I went there, I got skunked so bad I still cringe thinking about it. So I hit the gas and veered straight for an unknown tributary of Guanzhuang River instead. Why? Two tiny crucian carp I spotted there the day before were enough to give me hope. Sometimes, you don’t need a trophy catch to chase—just the promise of any fish works.
On the drive, I passed Xingzhuang Bridge, and my mood took a nosedive. I’d heard the news: a 17-year-old junior high student had jumped off the bridge the day before. 17! That’s such a bright, young age—full of stupid mistakes and big dreams, not the end of a life. I couldn’t stop shaking my head. I don’t believe in superstitions, but that bridge felt heavy that day. What could make a kid that young think there was no way out? It stuck with me the whole drive, even as I focused on the fishing ahead.
The Fishing Stats You Need for Winter Success (Or, In My Case, Mild Success)
- Time: Afternoon of December 5, 2024
- Location: Unknown tributary of Guanzhuang River
- Weather: Cloudy, 0°C to 7°C, 2-level north wind, air pressure 1030 hPa
- Water depth: 1.2 meters
- Fishing rod: 5.4m spinning rod
- Line setup: 1.5 main line + 0.8 leader line
- Hook: Size 4 Gold Sleeve hook
- Bait: Red worms
I checked the fishing index on my app before arriving, and let’s just say it wasn’t screaming “GO FISH!” Winter fishing is always a gamble, but when nearby spots are either frozen solid or completely dead, you take what you can get. The index said “moderate,” but I’ve seen those lies before. Still, I was already committed.
Arriving at the Spot: Chaos (But For Tiny Fish)
I pulled up to the tributary at 2:47 PM, and my first thought was: “Whoa, where did all these cars come from?” I half-excitedly, half-nervously assumed someone had hooked a monster fish—something big enough to make the local fishing gossip circuit. But no, turns out everyone was here for the same thing I was: tiny crucian carp.
A quick chat with a fellow angler confirmed it. All the nearby fishing spots had been dead lately, and this random little ditch was the only place where you could actually catch something that wasn’t a minnow. Makes sense, I guess—when the big rivers aren’t cooperating, us fishermen crowd the tiny spots like seagulls around a french fry.
The best, most fish-proven spots were already packed, and I’ll be honest—winter or not, I don’t love being squished between 10 other guys all staring at the same water. So I headed upstream, looking for a quiet spot away from the crowd. Call me a loner, but I’d rather fish alone and catch one fish than fish in a group and catch… well, maybe one fish anyway.
I finally found my spot: a little nook right next to a willow tree hanging over the bank. It was perfect—quiet, sheltered, and best of all, totally empty. There were even three pre-made holes in the reeds (bless whoever did that) and a clear patch of water between two patches of grass, perfect for my float setup. I set down my gear, ready to get started.
Two Hours of Waiting, One Tiny Fish (And a Lot of Self-Doubt)
I skipped pre-baiting the spot because I was running late, and honestly? I’ve never been great at it anyway. I grabbed my 5.4m rod, tied on my 1.5+0.8 line setup, and got to work threading red worms onto the size 4 Gold Sleeve hook. Let me tell you—threading red worms is the worst part of winter fishing. They’re squishy, they wiggle, and I always end up getting worm slime under my nails. I’m used to the easy rubber band method, but I’d forgotten my rubber bands that day. Ugh. It took me way longer than it should have to get the worms on right.
I started with the three reed holes, “tickling” the bait around to attract fish—winter fish are lazy, you have to practically hand-feed them. First hole? Nothing. Second hole? Nada. I started to panic a little. Was this spot a dud? Did all the fish crowd the downstream area with everyone else?
Then, the third hole: after a few gentle tugs, I saw it—a tiny, faint twitch on my float. Winter crucian carp bites are so subtle, you’d miss them if you blinked. I waited, twitching the bait again, and then there was a second little dip. I yanked the rod up as fast as I could, and there it was! A tiny crucian carp, flopping on the line. Yes! I wasn’t going home skunked!
And then… nothing. I fished for the next two hours, moving between the willow spot, the reed holes, and even a little patch of grass upstream. I twitched the bait, adjusted my float, even switched out my red worms twice. But the water stayed dead. No twitches, no dips, no nothing. The sun started to set, painting the sky pink, and I still only had that one tiny carp to show for my time.
As I reeled in my line, I couldn’t help but laugh at myself. The old saying really is true: “No pre-bait, no big catch.” Or in my case, no pre-bait, one tiny catch. I took a quick photo of the little carp, then gently released it back into the water. It’s the least I could do—if I’m only going to catch one fish, it deserves to live to fight another day.
Winter Fishing Lessons (That I’m Definitely Going to Ignore Next Time)
On the drive home, I thought a lot about the day. Yeah, I only caught one tiny fish, but honestly? It was better than being skunked. Winter fishing isn’t about the size of the catch—it’s about getting outside, forgetting the stress of the day, and chasing that tiny spark of excitement when the float moves.
But I did learn one thing: I need to suck it up and learn traditional seven-star float fishing for winter. I started with float fishing, and it’s what I’m comfortable with, but all the guys at the spot who were catching more (still tiny) fish were using traditional gear for the reed holes. Reed holes are winter fish hiding spots, and traditional fishing is way better for getting into those tight spaces. Maybe I’ll finally take the time to practice it next weekend. Maybe. No promises.
And hey, if you’re a winter fisherman dealing with dead spots and tiny catches, you know the struggle. Don’t let the skunks get you down—there’s always a tiny tributary somewhere with a few lazy crucian carp waiting to bite. Just remember to bring rubber bands for your red worms. Trust me on that one.
