Two days of water play

     On the first day, the focus was on the fishing itself, rather than catching fish.

    My friend made a fishing rod and invited me to go fishing. I don't know how to fish, and neither does he. But we both enjoy the feeling of fishing, a pleasure that surpasses the fish itself. There are no rivers north of the Wei River, and even the largest rivers are few and far between. Perhaps the gully-ridden landscape of the Loess Plateau extends northward from here. My hometown, situated on a plain, lies here.

    The formation of these gullies is unknown; you might not even know if they were formed by floods or earthquakes, because even now, you can hardly see any floods or earthquakes that could have created them, and the older generation never mentions them. Most of these gullies had springs, almost their source, but with the drying up, childhood memories, without the flowing water, are impossible to verify. The gullies I visited today were ones I'd never been to before; I hoped to rediscover the joys of my childhood. The path was narrow and winding, and the fields of wild jujube trees were laden with unripe fruit. On the steep downhill slope, countless sheep droppings were left behind, and the earthen steps followed the path. No one went uphill, and no one went downhill; only a few of us measured the distance step by step under the sweltering afternoon sun.

    Before long, we reached the bottom of the ravine. Broken stones, seemingly fallen naturally, were scattered everywhere, some abruptly ending halfway down the slope, some stopping at the stream's bank, and some submerged in the deep pool. Even the stones in the shallower areas, over time, shrank in size. Willows, poplars, and locust trees, like guardians, protected the true essence of nature in this secluded place. Dense reeds seemed to seal off the riverbed, yet the stream flowed silently past its roots. We used needles as fishing hooks, tied lines to a found stick, and went to the depths of the grass to find a few grasshoppers. Once everything was ready, we cast our lines and sat by the pool, a gentle breeze carried by the water. A grasshopper bait was eaten by a fish, then another grasshopper, and the rod was pulled up empty.

    Just like that, all the grasshopper baits ended up in the fish's bellies, while the fish continued to watch us with teasing eyes, still swimming freely and leisurely in the water. My friend repeatedly checked the empty rod, finally discovering that the hook was a bit too big. It seemed we wouldn't catch any fish, but even an empty rod wasn't any less fun than catching one. "Come on, let's go catch crabs!" my friend said. We rolled up our trousers, went barefoot, and waded into the water. We waded through the dense reeds, turned over rocks, and explored the deep, muddy burrows. One by one, the plump, large crabs were easily caught, while the smaller, immature crabs were released back into the water.

    Suddenly, a gust of wind arose out of nowhere, and the dark clouds in the sky swept away the little coolness in the ravine, leaving behind an even more oppressive atmosphere. "It's going to rain, we have to get out of here." The words had barely left his lips when raindrops the size of coins began to fall. Luckily, we had come by motorcycle, and the group fled in a panic...

    The next day, we had to settle for something else

    . Perhaps it was due to insufficient preparation the previous day, or perhaps it was because of the hasty escape. Early the next morning, another friend and I borrowed a car, and my wife, his wife, and our three children accompanied us.

    This time, we weren't going to revisit the same place as yesterday, but rather to a place called Shibaochuan Reservoir. That reservoir is located at the junction of three counties and is the only water source for irrigating our land. I had been there once before, and because it was on the first day of the Lunar New Year, I had a fairly good experience, hence the choice.

    The car bumped along for about two hours, and the terraced fields deep in the summer ravine were covered with corn. A river flowed back to where we had come from. Beneath the verdant green mountains, several striking large trees stand out from time to time. Cicadas chirp there, birds sing there, butterflies and dragonflies flit about on the water's surface or among the flowers, crickets and grasshoppers hop about in and out of sight in the fields... Suddenly, a large dam standing between two mountains blocks my view. A rugged dirt road climbs up to the right of the spillway.

    Reaching the dam, the view opens up wide. In the depths of the deep canyon, water and sky converge. The parking lot is packed with cars and motorcycles. Looking down at the reservoir, you can see men and women fishing, taking photos, and even swimmers who are confident in their skills. At the end of the two elevated covered bridges are two symmetrical yurt-like houses, inside which are sluice gates.

    On both banks of the water, if you look down at the lush willows, you'll find rows of withered, mature willows on each bank. Asking around, we learned that the symmetrical rows of willow trees were submerged in deep water when the reservoir level rose.

    Following the stone steps to the water's edge, we saw finger-length fish everywhere in the shallows, but we, being a group of landlubbers, could only admire them from afar. Two boys who had come with us, shirtless and wearing only trousers, waded into the shallows, where the water was almost knee-deep. It was less like swimming and more like playing or bathing, as they dared not cross the next concrete marker, for that was a danger zone.

    After a while, they pulled down their trousers, tied the legs in a tight knot, and zipped them up. Then, holding up their waistbands, they slowly moved forward, waiting for the fish to swim into their nets. This was perhaps an unprecedented fishing method, perhaps the most primitive and unique. After about an hour of this, they had caught eighteen fish the size of loaches, enough to fill two mineral water bottles. During this process, I didn't go into the water, but my friend couldn't resist joining in the fishing.

    Those anglers further away, under the shade of the trees, continued fishing undisturbed and leisurely. Another group of people arrived at the dam and began walking towards us along the stone steps. A gentle breeze blew; the strong sunlight might tan your skin, but you wouldn't feel the stuffiness, perhaps due to the water itself!

    My friend said, "You'll probably be disappointed again today! But you'll definitely see a big fish today." I asked, "How so?" He said, "Go to town and buy a live fish; we'll make pickled fish with sauerkraut tonight." Hehe, okay!

    The car slowly moved forward in the evening glow, winding through the deep, secluded woods; the scenery on both banks was truly breathtaking. But the live fish I was longing for and that bowl of fragrant pickled fish with sauerkraut stirred my malice, and my mouth watered!