Five days had passed since my last fishing.
I couldn’t get that fish out of my head—the one that bit Nat’s Bait. That feeling of being just one step short. Before I knew it, I was replaying that moment every day.
Spring fish change day by day. Even in the same place, in the same water, they’re never the same fish. Wanting to see how things had progressed, I headed back to the lake—this time with a friend.
On the drive, like always, we talked about nothing but fishing. Where to start, what to throw, whether that fish was still there. We didn’t have answers, but the conversation never stopped.
When we arrived, I explained what had happened last time—
the bite, the fish positioning, the way the bait was moving. He nodded quietly and tied on a Huddleston without hesitation.
We got ready quickly and headed out.
The rain over the past five days had clearly raised the water level. The shoreline looked different, and the water had a slightly different color.
How would this change affect the spring fish?
Knowing it wouldn’t be easy, we carefully worked our swimbaits, slow and deliberate.
At times, we could see fish following behind. Each small reaction built into a quiet certainty—
the season had definitely moved forward.
At one point, my friend suddenly tied on a Texas rig. As if he had felt something shift, he began placing it carefully into the cover. A few casts later, his rod loaded up.
This was probably the answer for the lake right now.
If the season had progressed, fish should be moving up. With that in mind, we checked the uppermost backwater. But they weren’t there yet.
Time passed quietly.
Even if people say it’s difficult in Japan, I fish swimbaits all year long. There’s a certain weight to a fish caught on a swimbait. Those are the ones that stay with me.
Then the rain started to fall.
Almost like it was giving me another chance. Spring rain is unpredictable. Sometimes it turns the fish on, sometimes it shuts them down.
But this rain created current in the lake. And that was enough.
I felt it—this was going in the right direction. So we made one last move for the evening,
heading back to the area that had felt the best all day.
I chose EDEN8. A bait I trust without hesitation.
“If it’s going to happen, it’ll be on this.”
I kept casting. Then, after a few more casts—
a heavy, sharp impact hit the rod.
The fish committed.
It looked like it was barely pinned on the rear hook,
but I didn’t hesitate. I swung it into the boat.
The moment I held the fish, I thought—
“I’m glad I didn’t give up.”
The longer the struggle, the more that one fish means.
Just having one bait you can believe in, even when it’s toug—that alone raises your chances.
That’s what I believe.
Fishing in the rain wasn’t easy. But sharing that time with a friend beside me made it all worth it.
He lives far away. Which makes days like this even more special.
We’re already looking forward to the next time we can fish together. Thank you my friend!!
