First Thing After a Week Lockdown? Grab My Fishing Rod & Head to the Reservoir

Let’s be real—2020s (wait, no, still 2024, but feels like the same cycle) have been wild with back-and-forth lockdowns. My city got hit hard again, and I spent 7 whole days stuck at home. No work, no fishing, just scrolling fishing videos until my eyes burned. I was itching to cast a line. So when the lockdown lifted on Mid-Autumn Festival (wait, no, let’s keep it casual—when the freedom bell rang on that festival afternoon), guess what I did first? Grabbed my 6.3m rod and bolted for the reservoir. Duh.

Pre-Fishing Prep: Packing Like a Man on a Mission

Before the lockdown even ended, I’d laid out my gear the night before. Let’s list what I stuffed in my bag (because every angler knows the panic of forgetting one tiny thing):

• My trusty 6.3m rod—usually for big fish, but desperate times call for desperate measures
• Bait: Earthworms (classic), ready-made dough bait (lazy), and a bag of millet (for chumming)
• Line: Oops, I only had 2.5lb test left—way too heavy for tiny “milk carp,” but I wasn’t waiting to buy new stuff
• Mid-Autumn treats: A few mooncakes (rituals, am I right?)

By 4:00 PM (wait, no, 4:00 is impossible—16:00, duh), the “unlocked” notification hit my phone. I yelled to my buddies, “LET’S GO!” and we piled into the car faster than a bass hitting a topwater lure.

The Reservoir Battle: Getting Past the Gatekeeper

Our target was a small wild reservoir in a village—every year it dries up, so we figured only tiny milk carp would be there. But first, we hit a snag: the village guard wouldn’t let city folks in. “Safety risks!” he said. C’mon, we’re just three guys with rods, not a crowd of party animals. We begged, we called a local friend who knew the guard, and finally—bless his soft heart—he let us in. “Just an hour, okay?” he warned. We nodded like kids promising to clean their rooms. Sold.

We trekked to the shore, which was overgrown with weeds. No fancy fishing spots here—just a tiny clear patch. I plopped down with my 6.3m rod, set up at 3+ meters deep. Let’s do this.

First Cast: Earthworms = No Bites (Shocker)

I started with earthworms—classic, right? But 20 minutes went by. Nada. Zilch. Not even a minnow nibble. I was about to throw my rod into the water (kidding… mostly) when I remembered the dough bait. Let’s switch.

The Surprise: Catfish? On Dough Bait?

I mixed up the dough bait, cast it out, and waited. Two casts later—WHAM! A black float dive under. I set the hook, and… wait, this wasn’t a tiny milk carp. It fought like a bigger fish. I reeled it in, and—catfish! What the hell? This reservoir dries up every year! Where did these guys come from?

We all stared. “No way,” my buddy Van said. Then—another bite. Another catfish. Then a third, fourth, fifth. Five catfish in a row, all chowing on dough bait meant for carp. They were starving (or just not picky). Van and our other buddy still hadn’t caught anything. Van moved to the shallow area (less than 2m deep) where our other buddy was. I told them to throw some millet in the water to attract fish. Finally—our buddy got a bite! A tiny milk carp. Van cheered like he’d won the lottery.

Mid-Autumn Ritual: Mooncakes by the Water

By then, it was getting dark. We pulled out the mooncakes—because even if we’re chasing catfish instead of carp, Mid-Autumn needs mooncakes. We sat on the shore, munching, watching the floats. The water glinted in the dusk, and for a second, all the lockdown stress melted away. Van took a photo of us with the mooncakes—“Rituals, man,” he said. I rolled my eyes, but I secretly loved it.

The Mystery Solved: Where Did the Catfish Come From?

As we ate, a local kid walked up to check out our rods. “Hey, why are there catfish here?” I asked. “This place dries up every year!” He laughed. “Oh, the upstream reservoir flooded last month—these guys swam down!” Mystery solved. We all nodded, like we’d just cracked a cold case.

Night Fishing: Carp Finally Show Up

After the kid left, the bites got crazy. Not catfish—carp. And they were bigger than we thought! Van finally caught one, then another. Our buddy started reeling in one after another. I was still getting catfish, but I didn’t care—just being on the water, hearing the reels sing, was enough. “It’s a bite frenzy!” Van yelled. I grinned. This was the release I needed.

Wrap-Up: Full Bucket & a First-Time Soup

By 10:30 PM, we were exhausted. Tomorrow was work, so we packed up. And wow—our bucket was full. Catfish, carp, all squirming around. We decided to take one big carp home for soup. Van, who can barely boil water, volunteered to make it. “I’ll Google it,” he said. I was skeptical, but sure.

Back home, Van got to work. He chopped ginger, boiled the fish, and even added some veggies. When he served it, I was shocked—it actually looked good. I took a sip. “Wow,” I said. “You graduated from ‘can’t cook’ to ‘can make soup’.” Van beamed. “Told you I could do it.”

That night, I went to bed full of fish, mooncakes, and good vibes. Lockdowns suck, but moments like this—chasing unexpected catfish, eating mooncakes by the water, watching a friend make his first soup—make it worth it. If you’re stuck at home, count the days until you can cast a line. Trust me, it’s the best release.