First Rabbit Year Fishing Trip: A Small but Sweet Catch

Okay, let’s cut to the chase—fishing on the fifth day of the Chinese New Year (that’s the Rabbit Year, by the way) was not exactly a “haul of a lifetime.” But hey, when you’re chasing fish in winter, even a few nibbles feel like a victory. Let me walk you through how this all went down, because trust me, there were some ups (and a lot of cold downs).

The Great Winter Fishing Spot Scavenger Hunt

First off, finding a decent spot in early January? Total mission. I’d been scouting for days—checking local forums, bugging every guy I saw holding a rod at the park, even driving down random country roads just to peek at waterways. Most spots were either frozen over, overcrowded, or had water so murky I swear I saw a plastic bag floating like a sad fish. But then—boom—some old guy at the grocery store dropped a tip: a hidden wild river ditch near the old vegetable fields. “Water’s clear, has crucian carp, common carp, and those tiny silver fish,” he said, nodding like he knew everything. I had to check it out.

So on day five of the new year, I packed my gear at 10 a.m. sharp, layered up like I was heading to the Arctic (spoiler: it was only 7-8°C, but wind chill is a liar), and drove out. When I got there? Wow. The spot was way better than I imagined. Let me paint the picture:

• Clear, calm water—you could see pebbles at the bottom in shallow spots
• Surrounded by lush vegetable plots (turnips, greens, you name it)
• An old stone bridge right next to the bank—total postcard vibes
• Families walking by, kids chasing dogs, couples taking selfies—super chill

I mean, even if I didn’t catch a single fish, just being there was worth it. But let’s be real—I was there to fish.

Setting Up Shop (and Dealing with the Slow Start)

Got to the bank around 11:30 a.m. First thing I noticed? A few other anglers already there, looking bored. One guy, a gray-haired grandpa with a beat-up rod, was staring at his float like it owed him money. I walked over and asked, “How’s the action?” He sighed so loud I thought his lungs might pop. “Nothin’. Fish are dead today. Too cold.”

Great. Just what I wanted to hear. But hey, I didn’t drive 45 minutes to quit. I set up two rods: my trusty 5.4m (for longer casts into deeper water) and a 4.5m (for closer, shallower spots where the sun hit the bank). Bait? Red worms—winter’s MVP, right? I tossed some wine-flavored rice as chum to draw the fish in, then sat back and waited.

First 30 minutes? Zilch. Nada. The grandpa next to me was still staring at his float, muttering to himself. I started second-guessing everything: Did I use the wrong chum? Too much? Too little? Should I switch to a smaller hook? Maybe the fish were hiding under the bridge?

Small Wins (and Tiny Fish)

Then—finally—my 4.5m rod’s float dipped. Just a tiny twitch, but I was on it. I jerked the rod up, and… something was on the line! It was small, but it fought—little tail flips, darting left and right. When I reeled it in? A tiny crucian carp, maybe 4 inches long. “C’mon, little guy,” I laughed, unhooking it. “You’re the first catch of the Rabbit Year. I’ll take it.”

After that, things picked up… slowly. Every 20-30 minutes, I’d get a nibble. Most were small crucian carp, but a couple were slightly bigger—maybe 6 inches. The grandpa? Still nothing. He switched to some “special” store-bought bait, but his float stayed as still as a statue. I felt bad for him, but hey, red worms win in winter, I guess.

The Spot’s Secret Charm (Beyond Fishing)

While waiting for bites, I took a minute to look around. That old stone bridge? It was actually pretty cool—weathered stones, carvings that looked like they were from the 1900s. A family walked across it, kids laughing as they threw pebbles into the water. A couple sat on the bank, sharing a picnic. It wasn’t just a fishing spot—it was a little slice of peace.

I even walked over to the vegetable fields for a minute. An old farmer was tending to his greens, and he waved. “You catching anything?” he asked. “A few small ones,” I said. He nodded. “Good. Fish here are skittish in winter. You’re lucky.”

Dealing with the “Tiny Terror” Nuisance

But let’s not sugarcoat it—there was one problem: tiny silver fish (I think they’re called silver carp or minnow? Not sure, but they’re tiny and annoying). They’d swarm the bait as soon as it hit the water, nibbling so fast the float would dance like crazy. I’d jerk the rod up, and nothing—just an empty hook. It got so bad at one point I switched to a smaller hook, but that just meant I caught more of them. Ugh. Total mood killer.

By 3 p.m., the sun started to dip, and the wind picked up. My hands were freezing (even with gloves), and my toes felt like ice blocks. The grandpa packed up and left, muttering about “wasting a good day.” I almost did too, but then—boom—another bite. This time, it was a bigger crucian carp, maybe 7 inches. I held it up, grinning. “Okay, that’s a keeper,” I thought.

Wrap-Up: The Final Catch (and the Drive Home)

By 4:30 p.m., I couldn’t take the cold anymore. My fingers were so numb I could barely unhook the last fish. I packed up my rods, threw the leftover red worms in a container, and counted my catch: 7 small crucian carp, 2 tiny silver fish (I threw those back), and 1 slightly bigger one. Not a ton, but for a winter day? I was happy.

The drive home was quiet. I turned up the heater, sipped a hot coffee I’d brought, and replayed the day in my head. Yeah, the fish were small, the bites were slow, and I was freezing. But there’s something about that first trip of the year—finding a hidden spot, catching even a tiny fish, being outside when everyone else is inside eating dumplings. It felt like a win.

Next time? I’ll bring a better pair of gloves, maybe a portable heater for my feet, and definitely more red worms. Oh, and I’ll check the weather first—wind chill is no joke. But hey, that’s part of the fun, right? Fishing’s never perfect, but that’s why we love it.

Anyway, if you’re ever in the area and looking for a quiet spot to fish (even in winter), hit me up. I’ll tell you where that river ditch is. Just don’t tell too many people—we don’t want it to get crowded! Catch you on the water next time.