My 3-Day Winter Fishing Prep: From Scraps to Strategic Nests
November 23, 2024, started like any other workday—my job meant heading out to source ingredients for the company restaurant. But let’s be real, the second I spotted the chicken vendor, my fishing brain kicked into overdrive. I sweet-talked him into giving me 2 pounds of chicken intestines and liver, and let me tell you, those scraps were about to become fish catnip.
As soon as I got home, I chopped that chicken goodness up fine, grabbed an old summer stocking (don’t judge—fisherfolk reuse everything!), stuffed the mix inside, tied it to a half brick, and poked a million tiny holes in the fabric. Then I hauled it down to my 10-year go-to spot on Nantang River and tossed it in to set up a monster pre-bait nest. That’s the secret, right? Winter fish need time to find the food, so patience in prep pays off big time.
Day 2: Double the Nests, Double the Potential
November 24 was all about reinforcing the plan. Before I even left for work, I mixed up a batch of rice soaked in wine plus chicken liver powder, and dumped another load into that Nantang River nest. Then, after a long day of dealing with restaurant orders, I raced back before sunset and added another round. I could almost picture the fish sniffing their way over, already plotting their feast.
Day 3: The West Wind Breaks—Finally!
November 25 dawned cloudy, and I stared at the sky like it owed me money. For days, the weather had been stubbornly uncooperative, with water hyacinths clogging every inch of my favorite fishing spot. But then? I felt it: that crisp, sharp west wind blowing in. When I ran down to the river, I screamed (quietly, so I didn’t scare the fish)—the wind had blown a perfect little gap in the hyacinths, right over my nest!
Morning Fishing Frenzy: Lane Mouth Spot Delivers
At 7 a.m. sharp, I set up at my secondary spot: the mouth of my neighbor’s alley. I went with my trusty 3.6m rod, 1.0 main line, and 0.6 leader—light enough for winter bite sensitivity, strong enough for decent-sized fish.
I cast my line, and within 10 seconds? Bites. Non-stop bites. I was reeling in big, plump crucian carp left and right. This wasn’t just catching fish—it was a feeding frenzy, the kind that makes you forget to even check your phone. These weren’t tiny winter nibblers either; every fish had some heft to it, like they’d been saving up energy just for this meal.
Lunch Break? Nah, More Fishing Time
By noon, my stomach was growling, but there was no way I was wasting time on a fancy meal. I grabbed a few sweet potatoes from the kitchen, scarfed them down standing up, and booked it back to my beloved Nantang River spot.
Again, I used the 3.6m rod, but my usual white bucket was too small to hold my bait mixing bowl, so I grabbed a black square bucket instead. First, I cast a bait mix about 20 times to get the fish’s attention, then switched to red worms—winter fish can’t resist that juicy, squirming bait.
It only took a few minutes before I felt that familiar tug. I lifted my rod, and there it was: my first crucian carp from the spot, a solid 1.5 ounces. I whooped so loud, a cat ran off from the nearby bushes.
The Great Tree Disaster (and Quick Fix)
Then, disaster struck. I hooked my second fish, and when I lifted the rod, my line snagged tight on a big mulberry tree branch hanging right over the spot. I stood there, staring at my tangled line, ready to throw a fit. But fisherfolk don’t quit— I ran home, grabbed a saw, and raced back. I hacked that branch off in 2 minutes flat, so focused on saving my line and getting back to fishing that I didn’t even take a photo of the chaos.
As soon as I fixed the line? The bites started again. One after another, big, fat crucian carp came pulling in. The winter water might have been cold, but my hands were warm from reeling, and my mood was through the roof.
Oddly enough, I didn’t catch a single bullhead catfish all afternoon—usually winter is prime time for them. But I wasn’t complaining. Those crucian carp were more than enough to make my day.
Night Fishing: The Surprise I’d Been Waiting For
At 3:30 p.m., I tossed one last small nest into the spot, then had to run to pick up my kid from the clinic (he’d had a fever, but was feeling better). I dumped all my day’s catch into a holding net in the river to keep them fresh, then rushed home to make dinner. I whipped up crucian carp and radish soup, plus braised crucian carp with radish—nothing like eating your hard-earned catch to fuel up for more fishing.
As soon as we finished eating, I grabbed my big container of earthworms (only 1.8 yuan—best deal of the month!) swapped my black bucket for a white one, and headed back to the river. The sun was down, the air was freezing, and I was ready to see if night fishing would finally bring those bullheads out.
Bullheads, Big Catfish, and a Near-Disaster
First cast? Bite. I reeled in, and there it was: a nice-sized bullhead catfish. I screamed (this time, not quietly). Second cast? Another bullhead, even bigger—this one was 3 ounces, a proper winter trophy.
Then I caught a few more crucian carp, followed by two more bullheads. I was grinning like an idiot, already planning how to cook those catfish. But then? The bite of a lifetime.
My rod bent so far I thought it would snap, and the line started zipping out. This wasn’t a bullhead or a carp. I fought it slow, careful not to snap my 0.6 leader, especially with all the weeds in the water. When it finally got close to the bank, I realized it was a catfish—and a decent one at that, maybe 3 ounces. But it was small enough that I decided to toss it back; I want to catch it again in a year or two when it’s a monster.
I cast again, and 10 minutes later, another monster bite. This one fought even harder, tangling my line in the weeds twice. I inched it toward the bank, but I’d forgotten my net—stupid, stupid me. I had to grab my bait mixing bowl and carefully scoop it out of the water, holding my breath the whole time. When I lifted it up, I almost fainted: a plump, 4-ounce catfish, perfect for frying up with some spices.
Why This Winter Fishing Trip Was Unforgettable
As I packed up my gear at 9 p.m., my hands were numb, my back was sore, and my pockets were full of fish slime. But I’ve never felt happier. Winter fishing gets a bad rap—people think it’s slow, cold, and not worth the effort. But this trip proved exactly the opposite.
What made it work? The 3-day pre-baiting with that chicken scrap stocking nest, choosing the right light tackle for winter sensitivity, switching to live bait (red worms and earthworms) when the water got cold, and waiting for that west wind to clear the hyacinths. Most of all, it was the patience: not rushing, not giving up when the hyacinths were clogging the spot, not getting mad when my line snagged a tree.
If you’re thinking about trying winter fishing, do it. Bundle up, bring warm drinks, and don’t skimp on the pre-baiting. You might just end up with a cooler full of fish and stories that’ll make your friends jealous. And if you catch a small catfish? Toss it back—future you will thank you.
