After a nearly two hours stuggling in rush hour traffic, we made to Hastings, the bottleneck of Rice Lake. Around 8:00pm, we moved from the lake centre (where the lock extends to) to the dam where fish flow down with lake water from west. It was quite disappointing when compared with three years ago, a night we three gangs pulled out over 80 craps in about one hour. We only got a few of them after sitting over the dam for about one hour, not to mention the biggies. Then, there came the huge carpes, same size, much less in quantity, but still stimulated quite some of hormone out of my bored nerves. I put on tri-hooks immediately trying to snatch the cozily swimming monsters, the fish known as the "fox in the water". Cunning and swift, they are uneasy to catch. One of my fishing buddies once observed that a 30lb carpe spent about 30 minutes to study and test the lure, a piece of corn, before biting on it. I honestly don't have that kinda patience. So I chose the violent way, tri-hooks, to get them. In day time, it's easy (well, not that easy, although I managed to get 6 suckers in half an hour in Rouge Park). But in the darkness, it's hard to tell where they are heading to, and therefore, fishing carpes becomes a labor work and a number game. The more you cast, the better chance you get them. After 20 minutes or so casting and swinging, when I became doubtful and frustrated, I vaguely saw a 30 pounder, underneath the dam where I stood, slowly swimming ahead into the rocky water where I could see nothing due to the reflection. Heart beating up, I quietly yoyoed the tri-hook ahead of the monster's path, waited a few seconds until the hook almost hits the creek bed, and swung the rod backwards with a superfast wrist movement. Yes! A sudden powerful struggle transferred all the way from under-the-water through the fishing line and the rod and my hand to my excited nerves. "Got it!" burst out of my mouth, loud in the quiet lake area. Obviously, I said it too early. The monster wouldn't give up, fighting hard to get off the hook. It showed its power by pulling a few meters of my fishing line down to the water. I enjoyed the fight, like all the anglers, and waited for the moment the carpe does its above-water jump which is typically its finale after losing half of its energy. But it didn't happen. The experienced monster found an angel at which a burst of tail-swing freed itself up, and left my hook swinging empty in the air. For a second, I felt I lost something belonging to me, as empty as it could be, when I stared at the lonely hook yoyoed back to me with the metal reflection of street lamps. Well, the fish is gone, for good. The lost is the most precious? I took my thoughts back, and made a face to my companies with clinching teeth, "God damn it, I missed!".