When the Weather Forecast Says Rain But Your Fishing Luck Says “GO”
Let’s be real—nothing stops a dedicated angler from chasing that perfect catch, not even a cloudy forecast promising showers an hour later. April 15th was just another Saturday, but for me, it turned into one of those days you’ll brag about to your fishing buddies for months. I rolled out of bed way earlier than I would on a lazy weekend, checked the weather, and thought, “Rain? Pfft, that’s just nature’s way of making the fish hungry.” So I grabbed my gear, hopped in the car, and headed to my go-to spot: the Baisha Bridge Head.
Before I dive into the chaos of reeling in monster fish, let’s set the scene properly:
- Climate: Cloudy with temps ranging from 20°C to 28°C, and a gentle 3-level northeast wind
- Tackle I Brought: 3.9m rock fishing rod, 1.2mm main line, 0.8mm leader line, self-standing float, size 6 Hai Xi hook
- Bait & Chum: Shrimp for bait, plus corn and peanuts to chum the area
The Scenic Detour I Barely Noticed
When I pulled up to Baisha Bridge Head in April, the whole area was absolutely glowing. The banks were lined with lush green grass, leafy trees that provided perfect shade, and bright pink bougainvillea bushes that were drawing in crowds of people taking selfies and group photos. Don’t get me wrong, I love a nice view, but my brain was already fixated on the water.
I walked past all the folks posing for pictures, barely glancing at the colorful blooms or the way the sunlight filtered through the trees. If you’re a true angler, you know the feeling—your feet are moving on autopilot, and all you can think about is getting to your favorite spot, setting up, and casting that line.
The Slow Start (And Then the Rain Hit)
I got to my spot, went through the same routine I’ve done a hundred times: set up the rod, tie on the bait, chum the water with corn and peanuts, and cast. Within minutes, I had my first catch—a half-pound red-eye trout (or as we call it locally, Squaliobarbus curriculus). That quick bite got me pumped, but then the small fry showed up: blue knife fish, sunfish, and all those tiny, annoying little guys that steal your bait before the big ones even notice.
Just when I was starting to think I’d spend the whole day fighting tiny fish, the sky opened up. A light rain started falling, and I remember thinking, “Great, now I have to fumble with my umbrella.” But here’s the thing about fishing in the rain—every angler knows it, but it still feels like a secret: rain adds oxygen to the water, and suddenly the fish go nuts for food.
I quickly popped open my umbrella, adjusted my hat, and cast again. It didn’t take long—my float twitched a few times, then slowly started drifting away from me. I set the hook, and immediately felt that satisfying tug. After a quick back-and-forth, I pulled in a 1.5-pound red-eye trout. That’s when I knew: this rainy morning wasn’t a hassle—it was my lucky break.
Rain, Sweat, and a 3-Pound Monster
The rain picked up, and even with my umbrella, I was getting soaked. My shirt was sticking to my back, my shoes were squelching, and every time I reeled in a fish, I had to step out from under the umbrella to net it. But did I care? Not one bit. The bites were coming fast and furious.
Right after that 1.5-pound trout, I landed a pound-sized topmouth culter—another solid catch that had me grinning like an idiot. Then, just when I thought things couldn’t get better, my float did that slow, steady dive that every angler dreams of. I set the hook, and this fish took off like a rocket, sprinting 10 meters away from me in seconds.
I jumped out from under the umbrella, rain pouring down on my face, and started the fight. This fish was strong—we went back and forth for what felt like forever, me reeling in a few feet, it yanking the line back out. I was soaked to the bone, my arms were starting to burn, but I wasn’t letting this one get away. Finally, I managed to guide it to the surface, and I could see it: a massive red-eye trout, easily 3 pounds. I slipped the net under it, lifted it up, and just stood there in the rain, staring at it in disbelief.
The Grand Finale: A 5-Pound Beast
After that monster catch, things slowed down a bit. I thought maybe I’d stirred up the nest, or the fish had moved on. I cast to a few different spots, but nothing was biting. So I leaned back, lit a cigarette, and decided to take a minute to breathe. That’s when it happened—my float twitched once, then started drifting slowly downstream, so gently I almost missed it.
I tossed my cigarette aside, grabbed the rod, and set the hook. This fish took off even faster than the last one, and I could tell right away it was big. I spent the next 10 minutes fighting it, stepping through puddles, slipping a little on the wet ground, and constantly checking my line to make sure it didn’t snap. When I finally got it to the surface, my jaw dropped: this red-eye trout was wider than my palm, and it had to be close to 5 pounds.
I carefully lifted it into the net, and just sat there for a minute, dripping wet, staring at this fish. All the early morning effort, the rain, the sore arms—none of it mattered. This was why I fish. This was the moment you chase every time you head to the water.
When the Bites Stop, It’s Time to Head Home
Not long after that 5-pound beast, the rain started to let up, and the sun came out. The temperature rose, and suddenly, the fish went quiet. I cast for another hour, moving to different spots, switching up my bait, but nothing. When you’ve had a day like that, though, you don’t get frustrated. You just pack up your gear with a smile, already replaying the best catches in your head.
When I got home, I laid out all my fish to clean them—from the tiny blue knife fish to that 5-pound monster. I took a million photos to send to my fishing buddies, who already started begging for all the details. As I was cleaning the fish, I thought back to the morning: the cloudy forecast, the rain that soaked me to the bone, the way the fish went crazy when the water got oxygenated.
Here’s My Hot Take on Rainy Day Fishing
If you’ve ever skipped a fishing trip because the forecast says rain, you’re missing out big time. That light rain isn’t a nuisance—it’s a signal that the fish are going to be hungry and active. Sure, you’ll get wet, you might have to deal with a little mud, but when you reel in a 5-pound fish that fights like a champion, every second of discomfort is worth it.
And to my fellow anglers: don’t sleep on Baisha Bridge Head in April. The water’s warm, the fish are biting, and even if the weather doesn’t cooperate, you might just end up with a catch that’ll make your year. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m already planning my next trip—rain or shine.
