That Insane Morning Rush Before Casting a Line
Let me tell you-being a dad with two kids, a spouse, and a fishing obsession? It’s like herding cats while juggling flaming torches. My day started at 7 AM sharp: first, I had to drop my oldest off at middle school (side note: why do schools start so early?!). Then, I swung by the street stall for a quick steamed bun breakfast-thank goodness for those cheap, fluffy life-savers. Next stop: wake up my youngest, wrestle them into clothes, and drop them at the nursery (yes, the “terrible twos” are real, and they hate getting dressed). Finally, I dropped my wife at her office-she gave me that “don’t forget to pick up milk” look before slamming the car door.
By the time I hit Yongjiang River, it was already 9:15 AM. I’d been hyped for this trip because the local fishing spot had stocked new fish the day before-middle schoolers were hyped, and so was I. I’d even prepped my go-to snack: pickled cowpea and soybeans (trust me, it’s the ultimate fishing fuel). The sun was blazing, the little wild rice flowers were blooming by the bank, and I thought, “Today’s gonna be a banger.”
First Cast Chaos: Tiny Fish vs. My Big Dreams
Setting Up Shop (and Failing Miserably at First)
I grabbed my Shenji Quanneng 3.6m rod first-light, easy to cast. The water depth was 2.5m, so I went with a soft, sticky dough bait (Western Wind Maltose Fermentation Bait + Liha Li No.3, for the curious). First cast: plop into the water. Wait, 10 seconds later-tiny dips, then a full blackout on the float! I yank the rod up, and boom-my target fish! I was grinning like an idiot, dropping it into the net. “Today’s gonna be a monster catch day,” I thought.
Then… the nightmare began. Second cast: as soon as the bait hit the water, I saw tiny silver fish (blue dace, I later realized) swarming it. The float started doing the cha-cha-jumping, darting, every trick in the book. I cast, I yank, I cast, I yank… 30 minutes later? I’d only caught 4 tiny blue dace (smaller than my thumb) and snapped two leader lines. My bait wasn’t even reaching the bottom anymore. I was this close to throwing my rod into the river.
Switching Rods (and Praying for a Miracle)
Desperation mode activated. I swapped to my Guangwei Zhushan Black Pit 4.5m rod-heavier, stiffer. I grabbed a bigger float (the Hanguang Nano A903 No.2, from my Google Play rewards, weird flex) and mixed my bait harder, making it super sticky (so it wouldn’t dissolve mid-air). First cast with the new setup: splash-and the bait actually hit the bottom! Yes! I had a few nibbles, and even pulled up a 3-finger tilapia (cute, but not what I wanted).
But then… boats started zooming by. Yongjiang River is like a highway for ferries and speedboats during lunchtime. The water got choppy, the current picked up-every time I cast, I had to re-adjust my float 10 times. I spent more time watching other anglers than fishing. One guy was catching a big carp, and I was over here jealous AF.
The Big One: When I Realized I’d Hooked a Protected Fish
12:50 PM: The Float Died (and My Heart Stopped)
By 12:30 PM, I was ready to pack up. I’d eaten a dry bun for lunch (fancy, I know) and had zero good bites. I grabbed my rod to reel in… and then-BOOM-the float went straight down. Like, full-on disappeared. I didn’t even think-I just yanked the rod up. And holy crap-this fish had power. It bolted to the left, my rod bending into a perfect C shape. “Carp!” I yelled to myself. “Big carp!”
Then I remembered: my leader was only 1.0. Oh no. That’s thin. I panicked. I did what every fishing noob does-watched 100 TikTok videos and copied the “run with the fish” trick. I stood up, walked backwards when the fish pulled, stepped forward when it dove, squatted when it took more line. We danced for 10 minutes-me sweating, the fish fighting, my arms burning. Then it broke the surface.
“Wait… that’s not a carp.” It was a big, dark fish with white whiskers and spots. My neighbor angler yelled, “Wow! Big catfish! Let’s cook it with ginger and scallions!” But then I saw the spots. And the whiskers. And my brain went, “OH NO. That’s a protected species.”
Panic, Photos, and Letting It Go (No Ginger, Sorry)
I yelled back, “NO! It’s a national second-class protected animal! We can’t keep it!” The neighbors looked confused, but I didn’t care. I quickly unhooked it (careful not to hurt its mouth), took a quick photo with my 44-size shoe for scale (it was about 60cm long-huge), and gently lowered it back into the water. It swam away slowly, like it was saying “thanks, dummy.”
The neighbors were like, “Why’d you let it go? We could’ve had a feast!” But I was firm. “Guys, protected animals are off-limits. No exceptions. Even if it’s the biggest catch of your life.” I felt proud, honestly-even if I didn’t get to eat it. But man… the urge to say “but ginger would’ve made it so good” was real. Hence the title: I let it go, but forgot the ginger (jk, I didn’t forget- I just couldn’t use it).
Aftermath: No Fish to Eat, But a Story to Tell
After letting the fish go, I didn’t fish anymore. I sat with the neighbors, chatting about fishing fails, the weirdest catches we’ve had, and how crazy it is that protected fish are in Yongjiang. They all agreed: next time, they’ll double-check before keeping a catch. I picked up all my trash (no littering-fishing spots need love too) and packed up my rods.
On the way home, I thought: today wasn’t the “monster catch” day I wanted. But it was way better. I got to feel the rush of a big fish fight, learn a lesson about protected species (even if I panicked a little), and hang out with fellow anglers. And hey-my wife didn’t yell at me for forgetting the milk (I picked it up on the way back, don’t worry).
Will I go back to Yongjiang? Hell yes. Next time, I’m bringing more sticky bait, a bigger leader, and maybe some extra pickled cowpeas. And if I catch another protected fish? I’ll let it go again-no ginger needed. But man… that fish would’ve tasted good with ginger. Just saying.
