Weekend Grind: Making Up for Fishing Time After Work (And Catching Some Surprise Dusk Bass)

Let’s be real—office life is a grind. The kind where you sneak a quick fishing trip during lunch break and think, “This is fine, right? No one’s gonna notice I’m gone for 45 minutes.” But today? Today was different. Saturday rolled around, and instead of lacing up my waders at dawn, I was stuck at my desk, staring at spreadsheets and pretending to care about Q3 projections. Ugh. By 5 PM, I was bouncing off the walls—my fishing itch was so bad, I could practically smell the lake water through my laptop screen.

Why Daytime Fishing Stings When You’re Stuck at Work

Here’s the thing about weekday fishing: it’s a guilty pleasure. You’re not fully present—half your brain’s on unread emails, the other half’s on whether that bobber’s gonna dip. But weekend fishing? That’s supposed to be the good stuff. No deadlines, no Slack pings, just you, your rod, and the water. So when I realized I’d wasted the entire Saturday morning and afternoon on “adulting” (read: moving boxes and answering work texts), I was fuming. Like, “Why am I doing this? I could be catching bass right now” fuming.

The Plan: Night Fishing to Save the Weekend

By 6 PM, I’d had enough. I texted my buddy (who’s equally obsessed): “Night fishing. Now. Meet me at the creek by my place.” He texted back 3 seconds later: “On my way. Bring beer.” Perfect. The creek’s not fancy—just a narrow, murky spot behind my apartment complex that’s usually full of minnows and the occasional rogue catfish. But tonight? Tonight was gonna be different. I grabbed my go-to rod, a jar of nightcrawlers, and my headlamp (critical for not tripping over roots in the dark) and bolted out the door.

Setting Up at the “Fancy” Rail (Spoiler: It’s Just a Metal Bar)

We got to the creek at 6:28 PM—just as the sun was dipping below the trees. The water looked even more murky than usual, and the current was slower than a sloth on a Sunday. But hey, beggars can’t be choosers. I set up at my usual spot: a rickety metal rail that juts out over the deepest part of the creek (deepest being, like, 3 feet). My buddy set up 10 feet away, muttering about how “this creek’s never gonna give us anything good.” I ignored him. I was too busy mixing up my secret bait (a little corn, a little nightcrawler, a dash of my mom’s secret “fish magnet” powder—don’t judge).

First Cast: A Surprise Smallmouth Bass!

Ten minutes in, I was starting to think my buddy was right. The bobber just sat there, bobbing lazily in the current. I was about to switch baits when—splash. The bobber disappeared under the water, and my rod bent like a noodle. “WHOA!” I yelled, grabbing the rod and reeling as fast as I could. My buddy jumped up, shining his flashlight on the water. “Is that a bass?!” he screamed. Sure enough, when I pulled it out, it was a tiny smallmouth bass—maybe 6 inches long, but still a bass. I whooped. “TAKE THAT, MURKY CREEK!”

Let me tell you, that first catch made the entire day worth it. I’d been fishing this creek for months, and the only thing I’d ever caught before was minnows and a single sunfish that looked like it was on its last legs. This bass? That was a win. I snapped a pic (blurry, because my hands were shaking) and carefully released it back into the water. “Next time, you’re bigger,” I told it. It just swam away. Rude.

The Uninvited Guests: Netters (Ugh)

We’d been fishing for about 45 minutes when two guys showed up with flashlights and a big net. Great. Netters are the worst. They’re the ones who scoop up every fish in a 10-mile radius, leaving nothing for the rest of us. I tried to ignore them, but they kept getting closer—eventually, they were right under my rail, shining their flashlights into the water and muttering to each other. I could hear them talking about “finding the best spots” and “making money off the fish.” Gross.

Just as they were about to leave, I got another bite. I flipped on my headlamp (bright as a spotlight) and reeled in a nice little bluegill. The netter under my rail jumped like he’d seen a ghost. “AH!” he yelled. I laughed. “Sorry, dude—didn’t see you there. You should’ve watched for my bobber.” He just grumbled and walked away. Serves him right. Netters ruin everything.

Why Netters Are the Bane of Every Angler’s Existence

Let’s rant for a second. Netters don’t care about the sport. They don’t care about catch-and-release, or letting fish grow up. They just care about making a quick buck by selling every fish they catch to some restaurant. It’s selfish, and it’s illegal in most places (though I doubt these guys cared). I’ve had netters ruin so many fishing trips—once, they cleared out an entire pond I’d been fishing for years in 20 minutes. It’s infuriating.

The Final Hour: Catching (and Releasing) 10 More Fish

After the netters left, the fishing got even better. For the next hour, it was nonstop bites. I caught 10 more fish—mostly bluegill and a couple more small bass. My buddy caught 3, but he’s still mad about it. “You cheated with that powder,” he said. I just laughed. “Jealousy looks bad on you, bro.”

By 8:00 PM, it was freezing. My hands were numb, and my buddy was complaining about “needing a hot chocolate.” I couldn’t argue—even my waders weren’t keeping me warm. So we packed up our gear, counted our fish (11 total for me, 3 for him), and released all of them back into the creek. Catch-and-release is non-negotiable for me. Those fish are gonna be bigger next time, and I wanna be the one to catch ’em.

The Drive Home: Cold, Tired, and Happy

The drive home was quiet. My buddy was passed out in the passenger seat, and I was just thinking about the day. Yeah, I’d wasted the morning at work. Yeah, the creek was murky and full of netters. But I’d caught 11 fish. I’d laughed with my buddy. I’d forgotten about spreadsheets and deadlines for a few hours. That’s what fishing’s all about, right? Not the big catches, not the fancy spots—just being outside, doing something you love, with someone you love.

Wrapping Up the Night (With Beer, Obviously)

When we got back to my place, I threw a frozen pizza in the oven and grabbed two cold beers from the fridge. We sat on my porch, talking about the trip—how the bass had surprised me, how the netter had jumped, how my buddy’s rod had gotten stuck in a tree (classic). By 9:30, he was gone, and I was sitting on the couch, still cold, but happy. I pulled out my phone and texted my mom: “Caught 11 fish. Your powder works. Thanks.” She texted back: “Told you. Next time, bring me a bass.” I laughed. Typical mom.

So that’s my weekend. Not fancy, not expensive, just… good. Sometimes, the best fishing trips are the ones where you don’t catch a trophy fish. Sometimes, they’re the ones where you’re cold, tired, and surrounded by netters, but you’re with your best friend, and you’re doing what you love. That’s the stuff that sticks with you. Not the spreadsheets, not the deadlines—just the fish, the laughs, and the beer.

Next weekend? I’m skipping the “adulting” entirely. I’m waking up at dawn, grabbing my rod, and heading to the lake. No work, no netters, just me and the water. And maybe my mom. She’s been bugging me about that bass.