Rainy Sunday Fishing: A Rough Start with Water Levels Dropping Fast
After a one-day break, the rain came back full force on Sunday—soft, drizzly, and seemingly never-ending. I peered out my window at the soaked pavement, evidence of the wild, sudden downpours from the night before. But here’s the thing: it’s dry season, so even when it rains, it never sticks around for too long or gets dangerously heavy. Fish should still be biting, right? I grabbed the leftover bait I mixed up the night before, threw together my gear, and hit the road.
By the time I reached the river at 8 a.m., the streets were nearly empty, which made the drive a breeze. But when I stepped out of the car, my jaw dropped. The river, which had been almost full when I left the night before, was now half-empty, with muddy, churning water and patches of riverbed exposed! I could see fish leaping out of the water every now and then, but the whole scene felt so chaotic. 
I stood there for a minute, thinking: Is even fishing possible right now? The inlet area I usually fish was completely out of the question—too shallow, too exposed. I decided to head back to the spot I fished that morning, where the near-shore water was a bit deeper. I grabbed just the essentials and trekked over, crossing my fingers for some luck.
Setting Up Shop (Again) at My Go-To Spot
When I got to the spot, I noticed a line of anglers with surf rods to my left. One older guy had his rod propped up with a ground stake outside the sidewalk, and his line stretched across the path like a weird, wobbly guardrail. Luckily, it was high enough that it wouldn’t get in the way if he hooked a fish—fingers crossed for him.
I didn’t waste any time getting set up at my morning spot. Here’s the gear I went with:
- 4.5m Wushuang Li rod
- 2.5# main line
- Homemade 0.6# braided leader with 5# barbless Wolf Fang double hooks
- Yiwei L002 1# float
I found the bottom, adjusted my float to roughly 8 eyes showing when unweighted, and set it to fish at 6 eyes with bait. I tied on my hooks, baited up, and cast out. 
But immediately, I noticed a problem: the current was strong. My bait hadn’t even hit the bottom before my float was drifting downstream. I kept casting anyway, and surprisingly, I got a bite fast! I saw the float dip, jerked the rod, and reeled in a pretty decent bream. Score!
Tweaking My Setup to Beat the Current
Even with that first catch, the current was making it impossible to keep my bait in one spot long enough to attract a cluster of fish. I needed to weigh down my line to hold it in place. Lucky for me, I had some extra lead sinkers in my bag. I added them to my rig, re-baited, and got back to casting.
The rain kept coming and going, and I noticed a few other anglers setting up on the nearby platform. I couldn’t tell if they were having any luck with the current, but I did see a guy with a rock fishing rod using live bait land a solid dark sleeper goby. Nice catch!
But hand fishing was where the action was at for me. After adjusting my weight, I started catching a steady stream of small mud carp and tilapia. 
I was in the zone, casting and reeling in small fish left and right, when suddenly—nothing. My float twitched a little when the bait hit the water, then went completely still. I reeled in to change my bait, and as soon as I lifted the rod, I felt a heavy, stubborn weight on the line. Oh no, this wasn’t a small fish!
Small Hooks, Big Surprise: A 2-Pound Plecostomus
I knew my hooks were on the small side, so I didn’t dare yank the rod too hard. I leaned back, using the rod’s flexibility to tire out whatever was on the line. After a few minutes of back-and-forth, I finally lifted it out of the water. It was a huge, slime-covered plecostomus—one of those ugly, invasive bottom feeders from South America!
I hadn’t brought a net (stupid mistake, I know), so I had to yell over to the nearby anglers to borrow one. A guy with a fishing net offered to help, but he had to assemble it first. While we waited, a guy with a lure tried to hook the plecostomus with his treble hook to pull it in. But that thing’s scales are like armor—we tried a few times, but we just tangled our lines instead. Finally, the net guy showed up, and we managed to get the monster on land. And get this: it was hooked right in the mouth, fair and square!
I laid it on the ground to get a good look—this thing was easily 2 pounds! 
I set it aside (planning to release it later, obviously—those things are terrible for local ecosystems) and got back to fishing. Almost immediately, I landed my first double catch of the day! But then I realized: if a tiny hook could hold a 2-pound plecostomus, I should check if it was damaged. Sure enough, one of the hooks was bent out of shape.
Switching Hooks to Keep Up with the Bites
I swapped out the damaged hooks for my homemade 0.6# braided leader with 3# barbless Wolf Fang hooks. They were even smaller, perfect for the tiny black tilapia that kept nipping at my bait. But here’s the catch: those little tilapia would swallow the hook so deep that I spent 5 minutes trying to get it out every time I caught one. After a few frustrating minutes, I switched to 3# Iseama hooks instead. 
That switch almost backfired immediately— I hooked a tiny pufferfish! 
Anyone who’s fished for puffers knows they have sharp teeth that can bite through line in seconds. Sure enough, right after I reeled it in, I felt a snap—my line was cut. I had to switch back to the 3# Wolf Fang hooks. Dealing with deep-hooked tilapia was annoying, but it was better than losing my rig to a tiny, toothy terror.
Thankfully, the fish kept biting even through all my hook swaps. I landed another double catch 
and a steady stream of black tilapia. 
Round Two: Small Hooks Land a 1-Pound Mud Carp
I was getting into a rhythm when I felt another heavy tug on my line. This time, the fish was really fighting—pulling hard, darting back and forth. Again, I took it slow, using the rod’s give to tire it out. A nearby angler held up his net, ready to help. After a few minutes, I lifted the fish out of the water: a solid 1-pound mud carp!
I couldn’t believe it—this tiny 3# Wolf Fang hook had held onto a fighting mud carp without bending or breaking. I held the hook next to the fish to show how small it was, and even the guy next to me was impressed. 
That’s when it hit me: I came out here to catch small tilapia, and instead, I’d landed two “monsters” with tiny hooks— a black plecostomus and a silvery mud carp. My own personal “black and white twins” of fishing chaos!
I decided to call it a day after landing one last tiny, pale black tilapia as my final catch. 
Packing Up and Sharing the Love (And Leftover Bait)
Since I’d only brought the essentials, packing up was a breeze. I looked over my catch: most of the fish were species that don’t survive long in buckets, so I’d already released them. All that was left was a bucket full of tilapia. I dumped them back into the river too—fishing’s about the fun, not keeping every fish, right?
I left my leftover bait with the guy next to me (he looked like he could use it) and picked up all the trash around my spot before loading my gear into the car. 
On the drive home, I couldn’t stop thinking about the day. I’d gone in expecting a quiet morning catching small tilapia, and instead, I’d fought a giant plecostomus, outsmarted a tiny pufferfish, and landed a solid mud carp with hooks that should’ve been too small. It just goes to show: you never know what’s waiting under the surface, even when the river looks like a muddy, chaotic mess. If you’re thinking about skipping a fishing trip because the conditions aren’t perfect, don’t—you might just catch your own black and white twins!
