My Frustrating Night Fishing Trip at Lihekou Wild River
Let me set the scene: it’s October 30, 2024, crisp clear night, and I’m gearing up with a group of my fishing buddies for a night of carp angling at Lihekou, a wild river spot we’ve been frequenting for months. This place is a hidden gem for anglers—two kilometers of deep water (usually 4-5 meters in the middle of the riverbed) with solid fish stocks, especially carp that just love to bite as the sun goes down. Or at least, that’s how it used to be before the netters and electric fishers moved in. If you’ve ever dealt with these guys ruining your fishing trip, you know exactly the rage I’m talking about. Let me walk you through the whole messy night.
The Gear I Brought for the Night
First, let’s get the basics out of the way—no night fishing for carp is complete without the right setup, right? Here’s what I had with me:
- Rod: Shenji, my go-to for long casts and fighting big carp
- Line Combo: 3.0 main line with 2.0 leader, strong enough to handle unexpected big hits but still sensitive enough to pick up subtle bites
- Hook: Jinhai No.9, sharp and sturdy enough to hold onto carp once they strike
- Bait & Chum: Old altar valley wheat + wine-soaked rice + tender corn for chumming, and I used single tender corn kernels as hook bait—carp go crazy for this stuff around here
- Weather: Clear sky, perfect for night fishing with no wind to mess up my casts
We arrived at the river around dusk, set up our gear, and started chumming our spots. Within 20 minutes, the whole area smelled like our bait mix, and we were all excited for the first bite. Little did we know, our peaceful night was about to get ruined.
The Netters Show Up—And Ruin the Vibe
We’d only been waiting about 45 minutes after casting our lines when we saw two bobbing lights off to our right. At first, I thought it was another group of anglers, but no—this was two guys setting up gill nets. If you’ve never had netters near your fishing spot, let me tell you: they stir up the water so bad it’s like throwing a rock into a pond and expecting the fish to calm down instantly. The waves from their boat started rolling toward our spots, making our bobbers jump up and down nonstop. How are you supposed to tell a real bite from a wave-induced bobber dance? It’s impossible.
One of my buddies, Old Chen, has a short fuse when it comes to this stuff. He yelled across the water, “Hey! Move your nets further out! You’re ruining our fishing!” I half-expected them to flip us off or ignore us, but to our surprise, they did move a bit farther away. Not far enough, but far enough that the waves calmed down a little. But the damage was already done—any fish that was thinking about biting our hooks had probably bolted at the sound of their boat and the commotion of setting up nets.
Here’s the thing: I know electric fishing is illegal, but I had no idea if gill netting in this area was against the rules. We’ve been dealing with these netters for over a month now, and they show up every single night. The electric fishers are even worse—they wait until 12 AM or later, when most anglers have left, and fish until 6 or 7 in the morning. By then, the whole river is dead. We’ve tried calling the police before, but this area is so remote that by the time officers get here, the electric fishers are long gone. It feels like we’re powerless to stop them.
The Fish Still Bite—Against All Odds
Now, here’s the crazy part: even with the netters messing up the water, we started getting bites about an hour after we cast. I guess the carp here are either really hungry or really stubborn. The guys across the river landed three carp, the biggest one weighing over 1.5 kg (that’s 3+ pounds for my American friends). I had seven bites total, and I landed six carp—none of them were huge, but they were still fun to fight. The one that got away was a big boy too—he pulled hard enough to bend my rod before snapping the leader. I’m still kicking myself over that one.
For a little while, I almost forgot about the netters. The thrill of reeling in a carp at night, the quiet of the river (when the netters weren’t making noise), the company of my buddies—this is why we love night fishing. But just when I was starting to relax, they came back.
The Netters Taunt Us on Their Way Out
We decided to pack up around 11 PM, since most of the bites had slowed down. That’s when the netters started moving their boat toward our spot. They didn’t just pass by, either—they started dragging their nets through the exact area we’d been fishing in, stirring up the water even more. Then, one of them yelled over, “We’ll be back tomorrow morning, start setting nets right here!” It was like they were deliberately rubbing it in—telling us not to bother coming back, because they’d be taking over the best spot.
I was fuming. Here we were, following all the rules, enjoying our hobby, and these guys are ruining it for everyone. And the worst part? We can’t do anything about it. The police can’t get here fast enough, we don’t know if their gill netting is illegal, and the electric fishers are out there every night killing fish left and right. It makes me want to stop coming here altogether, but where else can we go? All the good spots within driving distance are either private property or already overrun with netters and electric fishers.
A Plea to Fellow Anglers (and a Warning)
If you’re thinking about trying night fishing at a remote wild river, let this be a warning: always check if the area has issues with netters or electric fishers. Ask local anglers, do your research, and don’t waste your time (and money on bait) on a spot that’s going to be ruined the second you set up. And if you do run into electric fishers, call the police immediately—even if you think they won’t catch them, every report helps.
As for the netters? I still don’t know if what they’re doing is illegal, but it’s definitely unethical. They’re ruining the hobby for hundreds of anglers who just want to enjoy a quiet night by the river. I’m planning to reach out to local fishing associations to see if we can set up patrols or get better law enforcement presence in the area. It’s a long shot, but it’s better than doing nothing.
At the end of the day, even with all the frustration, I still had fun with my buddies. The six carp I landed were enough to make the night worth it, even if the big one got away. But I can’t help but think about what this river would be like without the netters and electric fishers. It would be a perfect spot—great fish, quiet nights, no stress. Maybe one day, that’s what it’ll be again. Until then, I’ll keep coming back, keep fighting the good fight, and keep hoping that one day, these guys will get what’s coming to them.
