A Relaxing (But Frustrating) Saturday Fishing Trip in Sanlong River
Let me set the scene: It’s Saturday, November 5th, 2024. The weather is perfect for fishing—15 to 22 degrees Celsius, overcast, with a light breeze that keeps the sun off your neck. My fishing buddy and I had been debating all Friday night if we should head out; the rain had us worried, but when I woke up at 8 a.m. to a dry, cloudy sky, I knew it was go time. I shot my friend a text, we scarfed down breakfast, and hit the road to our go-to spot: the riverbank at Sanlong Section.
The Pre-Fishing Reality Check
We dragged our feet a little (let’s be real, fishing prep takes forever when you’re half-asleep), so we didn’t roll up to the river until 10 a.m. Normally, this place is packed—you’d be lucky to squeeze into a tiny spot between two coolers and a dozen fishing rods. But today? Barely anyone was there. We wandered around, chatting with the few anglers who showed up, and every single one had the same grim update: no bites, or just tiny tilapia (the dreaded “nail-sized tilapia,” as the locals call them).
One guy nearby had a fish finder, and he pulled up his screen to show us: the river bottom was absolutely swarming with those tiny tilapia. Great. Just what we needed. But here’s the thing: we didn’t come here to win a fishing tournament. We set a super low bar for ourselves: catch 10 whitebait, and we’d call it a success. No pressure, no stress—just some time outside with a rod in hand.
We found a quiet spot where we could both cast without tangling lines, dragged out our gear, and got to work. By the time we had our rods set up, bait mixed, and chairs unfolded, it was nearly 11 a.m. Time to drop our first lines.
Our Gear Setup for Whitebait
Before we get into the fishing chaos, let’s break down what we brought—because when you’re targeting small, finicky fish like whitebait, the right gear makes all the difference:
- Rod: 4.8-meter 37-action crucian carp rod (light enough to feel tiny bites, but sturdy enough to not snap when a tilapia steals your bait)
- Line Setup: 1.2 main line, 0.6 leader line, size 3 sleeve hook (small hooks are a must for whitebait’s tiny mouths)
- Bait: A mix of universal fishy scent bait and universal sweet scent bait (we call it “all-kill fishy” and “all-kill sweet” back home—total crowd-pleaser for surface feeders)
The Slow, Slow Start to Our Whitebait Goal
We started with a float setup, targeting about 80 centimeters of water depth—shallow enough to reach whitebait that hang near the surface. I cast my first line, waited… and nothing. Cast again, waited… nothing. I lost count after 8 casts without a single twitch on the float. So I did what any angler does when there’s no action: I kept casting, treating every empty cast like a way to chum the water. Cast, wait 10 seconds, reel in, repeat. Over and over.
After about 20 casts, I finally saw a tiny movement: the float dipped one notch. I yelped and yanked the rod up—nothing. Empty hook. Ugh. But then I spotted it: a whitebait jumping out of the water nearby, as if taunting me. I kept casting, and 5 casts later, the float dipped again. This time, I didn’t hesitate— I set the hook hard, and felt that tiny, satisfying tug. Yes! My first whitebait of the day was on the line.
The Tilapia Takeover
I was feeling pretty good about myself—until my float started bobbing up and down like a crazy toy. I knew what that meant before I even set the hook: those tiny tilapia had found my bait. Sure enough, after 5 or 6 frustrating casts where the float danced nonstop, I felt a tiny tug and reeled in a tilapia so small it could fit on my thumbnail. Nail-sized tilapia, just like everyone warned us about.
These little guys are relentless. They swarmed my bait every time I cast, stealing bites before any whitebait could get close. I tried switching to a deeper spot—2 meters of water, figuring the tilapia would stay near the bottom—but that backfired hard. For a full 30 minutes, I didn’t get a single bite. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.
My friend wasn’t having any better luck. He’d caught 3 whitebait, but the rest of his catches were those tiny tilapia. We sat there, swapping stories about our worst fishing trips, laughing at how we’d been outsmarted by fish smaller than our thumbs. Eventually, we looked at the time, looked at our tiny catch count, and decided: enough is enough.
Did We Hit Our 10 Whitebait Goal? Sort Of.
Let’s tally it up: I caught 4 whitebait, my friend caught 3. That’s 7 total. We didn’t hit our 10-fish target, but honestly? I don’t care. We spent 3 hours outside, breathing fresh air, complaining about tilapia, and enjoying each other’s company. We didn’t go home with a cooler full of fish, but we went home with stories—and isn’t that the point of fishing anyway?
On the drive back, we already started planning our next trip. Next time, we’re bringing different bait, we’re targeting shallower water earlier in the day, and we’re setting an even lower goal (maybe 5 whitebait, just to be safe). And if we end up reeling in nothing but tiny tilapia? Well, at least we’ll have something to laugh about over dinner.
If you’re ever in southern China and want to try fishing, just know: the tilapia are everywhere, the whitebait are tricky, and the best trips aren’t about how many fish you catch. They’re about the chaos, the bad luck, and the friends you bring along to share it with.
