Northeast China Wild Fishing: Guarding the Dam Alone, Catching Crucian Carp is Just Too Hard!

Hey folks, it’s Cao Ge here. Man, let me tell you, fishing is getting harder and harder. I thought yesterday was tough, but today? Today was a whole new level of “nope.”

The Solo Vigil at the Driving School Pond Dam

It was one of those days that makes you question all your life choices leading up to sitting alone in the cold by a pond. The weather app promised sleet and snow, starting around 5 AM, and for once, it was right. It drizzled that nasty, half-frozen stuff until almost 7 AM before finally letting up. The ground was just a wet, slushy mess. By 7:30, believe it or not, the sky was clearing, but the forecast still threatened more sleet around 8. You know what? I didn’t care. I threw my fishing umbrella in the car, thinking, “Let it rain, let it sleet. Just don’t start until I get there.” A fisherman’s hope is a stubborn thing. I had to try. Maybe, just maybe, the fish would be biting.

Spoiler alert: They were not.

I pulled up to the pond behind the old driving school around 7:30. The place was deserted. Not a soul in sight. Just me, the wind, and a whole lot of water not containing many fish. I had the entire pick of spots. I went back to the north side of the west bank. Why? Because yesterday, in that exact spot, I managed to land one single, solitary crucian carp. It felt like revisiting the scene of a minor, past victory. Also, more practically, it offered a tiny bit of shelter from the relentless northwest wind that was already starting to howl.

The Gear and The Grim Reality

My setup was simple, born out of sheer frustration from previous days. I went with three rods:

• Two 9-meter poles
• One 7.2-meter pole

And for bait? Forget fancy commercial lure mixes. I’d given up on them. For the last couple of days, those mixes hadn’t attracted a single decent bite, just a few of those pesky “old man fish” (a local nickname for a small, aggressive species). So today, it was all about the classic: live earthworms on every hook. I was going straight for the crucian carp, no messing around. I was in full-on “guard and wait” mode.

From 7:30 AM to about 8:30 AM, for a solid hour, I got exactly two bites. The first was an “old man fish.” The second… oh, the second gave me a flicker of hope. It was a crucian carp! And a decent one at that, maybe around 100 grams (over 3.5 ounces), significantly bigger than the two small ones I caught yesterday. I carefully brought it in. “Alright,” I thought, “maybe the day is turning around. This big guy is a good sign.”

Oh, how naive I was.

The Wind, The Wait, and The Weird Bites

That crucian carp was the high point of the day. After that, it was like someone flipped a switch to “OFF.” The northwest wind wasn’t just blowing; it was roaring, cutting right through my layers. I sat angled against it, trying to minimize the chill. It’s one thing to sit in the cold when you’re getting bites. The adrenaline keeps you warm. But to sit there, stiff and cold, watching motionless floats? That’s a special kind of misery.

Even the “old man fish,” usually a reliable nuisance, seemed to have gone on strike. I managed one more, and its bite was bizarrely delicate. The float just quivered and twitched, barely moving, the kind of tentative nibble you’d expect from a cautious crucian carp. My heart jumped a little. “Is this another one?” I waited, focused… then a slight dip. I set the hook! And up came… another darn “old man fish.” It had sucked both hooks into its tiny mouth so deeply I had to perform surgery to get them out. Unbelievable.

I noticed these “old man fish” seemed smaller than before. Maybe I’d already caught all the big, dumb ones, and only the cautious juveniles were left. Even the reliable backup bite was failing me.

Desperate Measures and Zero Returns

By 9:30 AM, the complete lack of action was driving me nuts. The pond was still mine alone. In a move of pure desperation, I picked up one rod and decided to “needle fish” along the north bank. You know, the “hit-and-run” tactic, moving spot to spot, hoping to stumble upon a single, hungry fish. Maybe the crucian carp were schooled up somewhere else.

I fished that way from 9:30 until almost 11:00 AM. Result? Not a single tap. Not a twitch. Back at my original spot, I’d caught two more “old man fish” in the meantime. That brought my grand total for nearly four hours of fishing to: One (1) Crucian Carp. Four (4) “Old Man Fish.” Pathetic.

The Phone Calls of False Hope

My fishing buddy (my “master,” as we joke) called around 8 AM, just after I’d caught the first “old man fish.” He asked the golden question: “Are they biting?”

My reply was immediate. “Don’t come. The wind is brutal, the waves are choppy, and there are no bites. Not even the ‘old man fish’ are interested. You’re better off staying home and taking a nap. It’s just suffering out here.”

He called again after 10 AM. This time, the pressure was on. His wife was getting the fishing itch and was pestering him for an update. “She really wants to know if they’re biting!” he said.

I looked at my nearly empty net, shivered in the wind, and gave him the honest report. “One crucian, four nuisance fish. Over three hours. It’s terrible.” I imagine that news successfully cured her itch, at least for today.

The Hard Truths of Northeast Wild Fishing

As I packed up just before 11, defeated by the elements and the lock-jawed fish, a few thoughts crystallized. This is the reality of wild fishing here, especially as the weather oscillates between late spring and a reluctant winter.

Why Was It So Tough Today?

Sitting there, I pieced together the perfect storm of bad conditions:

• The Barometric Pressure Rollercoaster: That sleet and snow wasn’t just uncomfortable for me. A rapid weather change like that, with precipitation and shifting air pressure, often puts fish off their feed. They become lethargic and unpredictable.
• The Brutal Northwest Wind: This isn’t just a breeze. A strong northwest wind here usually brings in colder air, dropping water temperatures, especially in the shallows where I was targeting crucian carp. The fish likely moved to deeper, more stable, and warmer water.
• Post-Frontal Conditions: The clear skies after the front passed? That’s often the worst time. High pressure settles in, making fish even more finicky.
• Overfished Spot? This is a small, known pond. While “old man fish” populations seem endless, the larger, smarter crucian carp might be getting wise to the pressure. The one I caught might have just been a random wanderer, “starved into biting” as I joked to myself.

The Mental Game of “Guarding the Dam”

They call it “guarding the dam” for a reason. It’s a test of patience and stubbornness. You commit to a spot, you set up your gear, and you wait. And wait. Some days, your vigilance pays off with a beautiful haul. Other days, like today, it feels like a pointless vigil. But here’s the thing: you learn something every time. You learn to read the water differently, to interpret the silence, to respect the fact that nature doesn’t owe you a catch.

My bait choice—ditching commercial lures for earthworms—was a direct result of recent failure. It was an adaptation. It didn’t work miracles today, but it felt like the right tactical move based on the evidence. In wild fishing, you have to be a detective, a strategist, and a Zen master all at once.

No Regrets, Just Another Day on the Water

So, was it worth it? Four hours for five tiny fish? On a pure cost-benefit analysis, absolutely not. My fingers are still thawing out.

But as the saying goes, “You can’t plant the same crops every year and expect the same yield.” Some fishing days are barren. That’s the deal. The forecast shows a few decent days ahead. Will I go back? You bet I will. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after. The pond is there, the fish are there (somewhere), and the itch is definitely still there.

Even if I get “skunked” (go home empty-handed), I’ll be out there. It’s not just about the catch. It’s about being out, trying, watching the water, and holding onto that sliver of hope that the next time the float dips, it’ll be the big one. Stubbornness? Maybe. Passion? Definitely.

To all my fellow anglers out there grinding through tough conditions: I feel you. Here’s hoping your next trip is the one where everything clicks, the sun is gentle, the breeze is soft, and your net is so full it’s hard to lift.

Tight lines, everyone. And wish me luck… I’m gonna need it!