The Sacramento River in California, affectionately known as the “Mantou River” by local Chinese communities, ignited the California Gold Rush when carpenter Marshall discovered a pea-sized gold nugget on a sawmill's water valve filter in the mid-19th century. Thousands of hopeful prospectors poured into California from the American East Coast and around the world. This population influx spurred rapid industrial and commercial development along the West Coast, accelerating America's modernization. After the gold rush, those who remained settled along the river, establishing communities and cities. Relying on the basin's abundant natural resources for irrigation, hydroelectric power, and navigation, this mighty river became the backbone of California's agriculture, industry, and trade, earning its title as the Mother River of California.

Beyond this, the river boasts exceptionally abundant fish stocks. Its vast and intricate water system, along with the California Delta near its mouth, serves as a vital spawning and habitat for numerous anadromous fish species. Black bass, striped bass, Steelhead Trout, and King Salmon make it one of the premier fishing destinations in the West. Numerous tournaments, both large and small, are held throughout the year, attracting anglers from across the state and even the entire nation.

The migratory fish group, which holds unparalleled influence within the Bay Area's Chinese outdoor community, also hosts a sizable annual competition. Anglers gather to hone their skills, bond over fishing, exchange gear insights, and share culinary delights from their catches—making it a true annual highlight for the Bay Area's Chinese fishing community.

The target species is the American shad. Each year, starting in March and April, these fish begin their journey from the ocean back to freshwater to spawn. They travel in large schools, swimming upstream. Unlike the salmon's epic life cycle of swimming upstream to spawn and die, shad return to the ocean after spawning in the upper reaches of rivers. However, after months of exhausting upstream migration and minimal feeding, returning shad become noticeably thinner—earning them the playful nickname “big-headed slicer fish” among anglers.

Several reasons make shad prime targets for fishing competitions. First, their abundance means catching dozens in a single day is common, especially when large schools appear. Second, shad fishing demands skill—it encompasses nearly every technique required for freshwater lure fishing. Understanding gear, rigging, fish behavior, fishing conditions, and controlling the depth of your rig are all essential. After all, this is a fishing competition. If it were like rockfish, where the bait sinks and gets bitten immediately, the contest would be rather dull. Moreover, fishing for shad is thrilling. Like all migratory fish, shad charge with tremendous force, and the exhilaration of fighting a hooked fish is rarely matched by other freshwater species. Ultimately, to align with this group's theme of migratory fish, only the shad can fulfill all these criteria.

The competition rules are straightforward: the fish must be hooked cleanly in the mouth and show no fresh hook wounds. The reasoning is simple: while gear and techniques vary wildly across species, waters, and seasons, the essence of fishing remains the same—employing every strategy to entice a bite. If you merely snag a passing fish, it's closer to spearfishing—a physical attack—and doesn't count as angling. Though the rules are straightforward, with volunteers serving as judges, the competition ultimately relies on participants' integrity.

The competition venue was set at a riverside park along the Sacramento River. After checking in at 10 a.m. and collecting their team uniforms, participants kicked off the day with a barbecue gathering. Volunteers responsible for procuring ingredients and handling the grill demonstrated meticulous care. Classic barbecue staples like lamb skewers, steaks, and chicken wings were all present, complemented by thoughtfully prepared cold dishes, salads, fresh fruits and vegetables, watermelon, and an array of desserts and beverages—ensuring every attendee's preferences were catered to. Though participants often chatted casually in the group chat—many being longtime friends—their busy work schedules rarely allowed for in-person gatherings. This event provided the perfect opportunity to reconnect.

Hailing from all corners of the globe, the group included recent international students and seasoned immigrants who had settled years ago. Despite their diverse backgrounds, they gathered around beer, grilled skewers, and lively banter, united by a shared passion. Spring breezes carried poetic whispers as dripping fat sizzled on glowing coals, transforming into wisps of smoke that danced in the gentle air. Amidst the music, the joyful aroma of cumin drifted along the banks of California's mother river.

At 1 PM, after a hearty meal, the anglers grabbed their gear, burping as they staked out their spots in preparation for the competition.

The first half-hour of the competition saw promising bites. Within minutes, shouts of fish being hooked echoed around the area. Joe Liang landed two, Raymond one, Da Run one, Joe hooked another, Raymond followed suit, then Jack and Xiong Da each hooked one... The competition atmosphere was electric, with celebratory shouts of fish being caught rising from one end of the pond just as they subsided at the other. It seemed a promising catch was in store today.

But the good times didn't last. After that initial half-hour frenzy, the entire venue gradually quieted down. It seemed the school wasn't large, and no follow-up fish were arriving.

Taking advantage of the lull, some competitors began re-examining their tackle. They re-tied hooks, changed lines, or adjusted sinker weights and rods based on the day's current.

After years of experimentation and refinement by anglers, the Man Tou River shad rig has largely stabilized with no major secrets. The three-way swivel rig connects the main line, leader, and lead line. The leader typically measures 3 to 6 feet, while the lead line ranges from 2 inches to 1 foot. Hooks predominantly use Shad Dart horseshoe hooks. These hooks rely on their elliptical, angled cutting edge to impact the water current, creating wide, erratic movements that attract fish without needing artificial bait. Some anglers also prefer 1/32oz to 1/8oz jig heads paired with 1-inch curly tail grubs.

While the rig itself is unremarkable, the true art of catching shad lies far beyond its simplicity. The essence and soul of this technique reside in the perfect balance between the weight of the sinker and the speed at which the rig is retrieved after casting. The sinker weight must be adjusted daily according to the current's speed, ensuring it sinks to the desired depth while maximizing casting distance to cover a wider search area. Retrieval speed relies entirely on sensing the rod's feedback through your hands. Too slow, and the hook won't present properly to attract fish, while the lead weight dragging along the bottom risks snagging. Too fast, and the rig rises too quickly, missing the fish's target depth. Variables like lead weight and current speed further affect the rig's ascent and descent rates.

Experienced anglers can adjust their retrieve speed in real-time based on the rod's feedback, finding that “bite rhythm” that keeps the fish coming. Novices, however, often use the same gear and tackle, casting relentlessly without a single bite, while watching others land fish after fish—enough to make them question their existence.

About half an hour later, someone finally hooked another fish. Hearing the news sent excitement rippling through the crowd, instantly energizing the previously tense and quiet competition atmosphere. Shad travel in large schools, so catching the first fish often signals the arrival of the main group.

The angler's worst torment isn't returning home empty-handed, but watching others land fish while their own rod remains silent. Now, every competitor sharpened their focus, casting and retrieving with heightened sensitivity to their rod's movements. Those who'd yet to catch anything were especially alert, bracing for the telltale tug as if the next fish would be theirs.

Unfortunately, the fish didn't arrive as expected. After a few scattered bites, the entire field fell quiet once more.

For fishing shad, school density is crucial. After all, even the finest gear and technique require fish in the water to cooperate. The Mantuo River's current covers a vast area, and since this fishing spot is close to the estuary, tides significantly affect the flow speed. This flow speed directly impacts the fish schools' activity levels. Though migratory fish must swim upstream throughout their journey, they don't charge recklessly. Millennia of evolution have ingrained an efficient strategy: go with the flow. During rising tides, when currents slow, they accelerate their progress. During falling tides, when currents quicken, they seek deep pools or obstacles to shelter, patiently awaiting the next shift in currents.

This instinct to harness natural forces isn't unique to fish; all long-distance migratory animals instinctively do so. Birds in the sky and deer on the ground alike understand how to achieve the grandest goals with the least effort. The same principle applies to human life, as an elder once taught: “A person's destiny, of course, depends on their own efforts, but one must also consider the course of history...”

Around two o'clock, anglers began catching fish in small groups again, and I landed my first fish of the day at this time. This cast was actually a mistake—since everyone was positioned quite close together, we all tried to cast our rigs straight ahead at the 12 o'clock position to avoid tangling lines. After the rig hit the water, it swept through a fan-shaped area as I reeled it in. My cast landed at the 2 o'clock position, threatening to tangle with the angler to my right. I quickly accelerated the retrieve, and just seconds after speeding up, I felt the rod tip dip. Drawing on years of muscle memory, I swiftly lifted the rod to set the hook. After a brief struggle to control the line, I landed a fish weighing about two pounds.

This actually presented a valuable opportunity to correct my mistake. The fact that I hooked the fish while rapidly retrieving the line indicated it was feeding near the surface. Unfortunately, I hadn't realized this at the time and stubbornly assumed fish always hugged the bottom. That I managed to hook one despite my casting error must have been pure luck.

Apart from a few skilled anglers, most others weren't faring well. The fish weren't biting consistently today—after the initial flurry of catches in the first ten minutes, the action remained sporadic. At one point, everyone fell into another prolonged lull.

Some anglers began to grow restless. Veins bulged on foreheads, eyes narrowed in frustration, and muttered curses filled the air. Blame shifted from the jet skiers nearby scaring away the fish to fellow anglers reeling in too late and disrupting their casts. Others clenched their lips until they turned white, brows furrowed in silence. A faint glint of intensity flickered in their eyes as they watched the water's surface intently, reacting to every ripple. Their rods began responding with exaggerated sensitivity—the slightest tremor prompted a strike, willing to snag a hundred weeds rather than miss a single potential bite.

Several theories exist about why shad strike lures. One is aggression: shad attack fish threatening themselves or their offspring, or perhaps the lure's action simply triggers their predatory instincts. Another is feeding—though shad barely eat during their migration, they won't pass up meat delivered right to their mouths. The key, however, is getting the bait there. As migratory fish, shad gorge themselves to store fat before entering freshwater. Once upstream, they battle the current in disciplined, tightly-knit formations, exhibiting remarkable resistance to disruption. Their migration route appears meticulously planned—no fish strays from the line. This explains why water layer positioning is crucial when targeting shad. If your rig fails to pinpoint the fish's exact depth and migration path, your chances of hooking one are virtually zero.

Yet even finding the right depth doesn't guarantee success. After all, fish are living creatures with their own moods, preferences, and rhythms. When the bite is off, no matter how top-notch your gear or how skilled your technique, you can slap your rig right in front of their faces—they simply won't bite.

With an hour left in the competition, another wave of fish arrived. The top anglers began to step up their game. John to my left and Raymond to his left landed fish one after another. On the leaderboard, Raymond held the lead with four fish, closely followed by John with three. Other competitors also started catching fish. As if feeling his two-fish lead wasn't secure enough, last year's champion Raymond stepped up his game, landing two more fish in quick succession. With a total of six fish, he emerged as the clear frontrunner for the championship.

The final standings were determined by the total number of fish caught. The top three finishers would receive trophies and certificates, along with prizes sponsored by Kylebooker. The champion's prize is a five-layer wader and water boots. The runner-up receives a three-layer wader and fly-fishing water shoes. Third place gets a fishing vest and landing net. Additionally, a special award for the heaviest single fish is offered: a fly-fishing rod set (size 5), including rod, reel, line, and rod case.

Fishing has evolved into a distinctive outdoor culture in North America, where strict aquatic ecosystem conservation and the principle of sustainable fish resource management are deeply ingrained. For many, fishing isn't about the catch but savoring the tranquil connection with water. To fully enjoy nature, proper gear is essential. Quality gear must balance waterproofing, lightweight design, warmth, and breathability. After all, if you're soaked to the bone, shivering uncontrollably, or burdened by cumbersome, hot, and sticky clothing, even the most picturesque setting won't leave a positive impression. This year's event sponsor, Kylebooker, offers excellent products—anglers are encouraged to give them a try.

At 3:30 PM, with just thirty minutes left in the competition, everyone thought the outcome was sealed and Raymond was poised to defend his title. But then Xiong Da, the group leader and tournament organizer, suddenly started landing fish one after another—two, three, another one! Yet another one!! Within mere minutes, he hooked four fish, bringing his total to five and rapidly closing the gap on the leader. The suspense was back!

Our defending champion proved his title was no fluke. Facing Xiong Da's relentless pressure, Raymond remained composed, casting steadily at his own rhythm. His rig seemed guided by precision, landing flawlessly in the same spot each time. His reel-turning motions were smooth and steady, like Zhou Yu at the Battle of Red Cliffs, landing two more fish with effortless grace—truly the bearing of a great commander.

As the competition drew to a close, Raymond grew more formidable, reeling in fish after fish as if guided by divine intervention. His robust upper body muscles flexed rhythmically with each cast. Sweat drenched his hair, droplets glistening in the sunlight. The commanding presence radiating from his brow during the fight drew shrieks from the female spectators lining the shore. The referee quickly intervened to restore order, and after a brief commotion, the competition resumed.

At 4 o'clock sharp, the referee's whistle signaled the end of the competition. After meticulous weighing, counting, and verification, Raymond's final tally was confirmed at 11 fish, securing his successful defense of the championship. Xiong Da claimed second place with 5 fish, while John Kuo took third with 4. The Big Fish Award went to Master Zeng. Congratulations to all the winners! In his acceptance speech, the virtuous and skilled Master Raymond humbly attributed his win to good luck and patiently shared all his techniques. The audience applauded once more to congratulate him.

After several consecutive years of hosting the event, the influence and cohesion of the migratory fish community have reached new heights. From financial management, team uniform customization, sponsor coordination, ingredient procurement and preparation, to tool setup and transportation on race day, barbecue cooking, and post-event cleanup—the successful execution of each competition relies on countless behind-the-scenes tasks, all made possible by the dedicated, unpaid assistance of numerous volunteers. Special thanks to Harry and his wife, Wenshan, Jack, Fengxi, Brother Feng, Chief Referee Michael, and the many group members who quietly contributed their invaluable support. Of course, the greatest gratitude goes to Xiong Da for organizing it all. With this year's experience, next year's event is sure to be even more spectacular!

Why do so many people love fishing? It's a difficult question to answer. For some, it stems from our innate hunter-gatherer instincts—the satisfaction of a successful catch and the joy of a bountiful haul. Others derive fulfillment from mastering hydrology, studying target fish behavior, perfecting tackle combinations, and honing techniques to finally land a new species. Some crave the silky smooth feel of top-tier gear, while others are captivated by fishing's unpredictability—you never know what the next cast will bring.

Fishing also strikes a perfect balance between socializing and solitude. You can gather with family and friends, bring a case of beer, share experiences, strengthen bonds, and enjoy an unforgettable weekend fishing trip. Or you can cast alone on a cold river, become one with the water, and savor moments of serene tranquility.

For me, the greatest benefit of outdoor activities like fishing is that they help me find a sense of belonging and grow to love a place.

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