Why I Even Went Fishing That Late Autumn Day
Let’s be real—late autumn fishing can feel like a total drag sometimes. The days get shorter, the wind picks up, and those big trophy fish we all dream of? They vanish like they’ve got a secret meeting to attend. I’d tried three weekends in a row before this—woke up at 5 a.m., froze my toes off by the lake, and only caught tiny minnows that weren’t even worth keeping. I was this close to hanging up my rod until spring… until my roommate, who’s also a fishing fanatic, texted me: “Dude, the crucian are biting like crazy at West Lake Reservoir. I caught two big ones yesterday after my nucleic acid test.” Wait, nucleic acid test? Yeah, we’d all been doing those regularly back then—annoying, but necessary. But combining it with fishing? That sounded like a weirdly perfect plan to turn a chore into something fun.
So, I dragged myself out of bed at 6 a.m. (yes, again), grabbed my gear, and headed to the test site first. The line was shorter than usual—thank goodness—and I was in and out in 15 minutes. Then I bolted to the reservoir. The drive was quick, but my mind was racing: Would the crucian still be there? Was my roommate just lucky? By the time I parked my bike and walked to the spot he recommended, my hands were already shaking—half from the cold, half from excitement.
Setting Up: The Gear That Saved My Day
Before I even cast my line, I knew I had to get my setup right. Late autumn crucian are picky—they don’t chase fast lures, and they need something that smells good enough to make them leave their cozy hiding spots. Here’s what I brought (and what actually worked):
- Rod: A 3.6m light carbon fiber rod. It’s flexible enough to feel even the tiniest bites, which is key for crucian—they nibble like they’re testing if the bait is a trap.
- Line: 0.8# main line and 0.4# sub line. Thin, but strong enough to handle big crucian. I’ve broken lines before with heavier ones—don’t make that mistake.
- Hooks: Size 3 Iseni hooks. Small, sharp, and perfect for threading earthworms (my go-to late autumn bait).
- Bait: Fresh earthworms I dug up in my backyard the night before. Crucian love these in cold weather—they’re natural, smelly, and slow-moving, which matches the fish’s lazy late autumn vibe.
- Float: A small, sensitive float with a thin tail. I adjusted it so only the top two eyes were above water—any movement and I’d know a fish was there.
I set up my rod while watching the water. The reservoir was quiet—only a few other anglers, all huddled in their jackets. One guy next to me sighed and said, “Haven’t caught anything in an hour. These big fish are ghosts.” I smiled, but inside I was thinking: Please don’t jinx me.
The Moment the Float Finally Moved
I cast my line into a shallow area near some reeds—crucian love hiding there to stay warm. For the first 20 minutes? Nothing. I stared at the float like it was a TV screen with a bad signal. I even checked my bait twice—still there. I was about to switch spots when… wait! The float dipped down for half a second, then popped back up. Was that a bite? I held my breath. Then it dipped again, this time staying under for a full second. I yanked the rod up—thud! I felt a solid pull, and the rod bent like it was going to break.
“Yes!” I yelled (sorry, fellow anglers). I reeled in slowly—you can’t rush crucian, or they’ll spit the hook. After 30 seconds of back-and-forth, I saw it: a silver crucian, glinting in the sun, maybe 20cm long. That’s a “big crucian” in late autumn terms! I grabbed my net, scooped it up, and plopped it into my bucket. The water sloshed, and the fish wiggled—perfectly healthy. I sat back, took a sip of hot tea from my thermos, and grinned. My roommate wasn’t lying.
Crazy Big Crucian Catch: The Photo That Told the Story
After that first catch, it was like someone flipped a switch. Every 10 to 15 minutes, my float would dance, and I’d reel in another crucian. Some were small—maybe 10cm—but a lot of them were “big boards” (that’s what we call crucian over 15cm around here). By 10 a.m., my bucket had five big ones and a handful of small fries. I had to take a photo—this was too good not to share. I laid the biggest crucian (it was almost 25cm!) on the grass next to my rod, propped my bucket open, and snapped a picture with my phone. The sun was shining, the lake was calm, and that fish looked like a trophy. That’s the photo I later posted with the caption “Crazy big crucian catch after nucleic acid test”—and my fishing group chat blew up with jealous messages.
Small Fish Go Free, Big Crucian Become Soup
By noon, my hands were numb, my stomach was growling, and I knew I had enough fish. Now, here’s a rule I never break: If the fish is too small to eat, let it go. Those tiny crucian? They need to grow up so we can catch them later. So I carefully picked out the small ones, cupped them in my hands, and released them back into the lake. They swam away quickly—like they were thanking me for not turning them into a snack.
The big ones, though? They were coming home with me. I packed up my gear, loaded my bike, and rode back to my apartment. The first thing I did was clean the fish—scaled them, gutted them, and rinsed them off. Then I grabbed some ginger, scallions, and tofu from the fridge. Crucian soup is my favorite late autumn meal—it’s warm, creamy, and tastes like victory.
I heated up some oil in a pot, fried the fish until the skin was crispy, added ginger and scallions to make it smell good, poured in boiling water (pro tip: boiling water makes the soup milky white!), and let it simmer for 20 minutes. Then I tossed in the tofu and a pinch of salt. When I ladled the soup into a bowl, the steam curled up and made my kitchen smell amazing. I sat down, took a sip, and felt all the cold from the morning melt away. That soup wasn’t just food—it was proof that even the most annoying days can turn into something awesome.
Why This Catch Was More Than Just Fish
Looking back, that day wasn’t just about catching big crucian. It was about turning a boring, mandatory task (the nucleic acid test) into an adventure. It was about remembering that even when things feel tough (like late autumn fishing slumps), there’s always a chance for a surprise. And it was about sharing the joy—later that week, I brought a bowl of soup to my roommate, and we laughed about how we turned a chore into a memory.
If you’re a fishing fan stuck in a slump, here’s my advice: Don’t give up. Try a new spot, switch up your bait, and maybe even combine a chore with your hobby. You never know—you might end up with a crazy big catch and a story to tell. And if you do catch some big crucian? Make soup. Trust me, it’s worth it.
