Rumble rumble rumble…
The sea churned ominously, swirling with an unsettling roar.
It looked not just misty from the spray—but like it was giving off steam.
"Impressive, or maybe… terrifying…"
Considering the chaos, it made total sense that they handed me a life jacket without question. Even though we weren't on a boat—just standing on a breakwater—it felt like we could get swallowed up at any moment.
"I mean, since we're by the ocean, I kinda wanna try fishing."
That's what I said while gazing out at the sea.
"The water's still cold here, so you won't catch much. Let's head somewhere you'll definitely get a bite."
Misago seemed surprisingly into the idea, and before I knew it, we were off.
We hopped in the car, said "Let's go!"—and ended up at a place like this:
Thermal Power Discharge Fishing Park
The sign had quite the peculiar name.
"So, um… what exactly is this place?"
I asked, unable to hold back.
"You know how thermal power plants work, right?"
"Burning oil or some other fuel to spin turbines… right?"
"Exactly."
Misago clapped like she appreciated not having to explain from scratch.
"To cool the turbines, they use seawater as secondary and tertiary coolant around the heated freshwater. Some of that water gets reused for spas and heated pools. But the rest? They just dump it straight into the ocean."
Sure enough, we passed signs earlier for a pool and a weird-looking hot spring.
"Isn't that… kinda bad for the environment?"
"Since it gets cooled a bit and mixes with cold seawater, it's more or less a wash."
"And that's okay?"
"It's not hot enough to outright kill things, so people don't make a huge fuss."
"Huh… I see."
"But because the water here's noticeably warmer, some migratory tropical species tend to stick around by accident."
She pointed at the wall near the entrance.
"Like those guys over there… it's kinda funny."
There was a display with all kinds of tropical-sounding fish names—complete with trophies, fish prints, and photos.
At the very least, GTs and Giant Trevallies definitely don't belong around here, right? Aren't they from somewhere like the Ogasawara Islands? Even my vague memory told me something about this was weird.
"Big or unusual catches get displayed like that."
"Yeah, looks like it could be fun."
After signing in, we moved to our assigned fishing spot. The area had white lines and numbers neatly marking each section.
"So over there, you've got warm water flowing out right at your feet, and around here, the current swirls like this. You're aiming just beyond the edge of the vortex—not directly below like at a normal breakwater."
"Yeah, that makes sense."
The seawater at our feet was swirling powerfully. Trying to catch something close to the edge would likely just get your line snagged.
"Since a lot of the fish here are flashy swimmers, we're using this as bait."
Misago pulled out something shiny and metallic—not a spoon lure, not a vibe lure, something more suited for sea fishing.
"A metal jig?"
"Bingo. There are lots of big ones here, so it's way easier than messing with live bait like worms."
"Yeah, if it works, that'd be way simpler."
If it works, that is. With artificial lures, success really depends on the angler's skill, so it's not exactly effortless.
"Think you can rig this up?"
"Yeah, no problem."
With that, Misago handed over the pre-setup gear.
"The main line is PE #2, already spooled on the reel. Then we've got about a meter of fluorocarbon #2 as a shock leader, plus a round snap. Got it?"
If you didn't know fishing, it might sound like he was chanting a spell. Misago lived up to his bird-themed name with his expertise.
"Yeah, I'm good."
Total beginners can't bait hooks, tie knots, or even touch the fish they catch—which usually means they're never invited again. But I'm that kind of boy—this kind of play is exactly my thing.
So I extended the rod, clicked off the bait reel's lock, threaded the line through each guide from the base to the tip, tied on a wire knot to switch from the thick, visible PE line to the semi-transparent pink fluorocarbon, stretched about a meter of it, clinched on the round snap, and clipped the metal jig into place.
"You're quicker than I expected," Misago remarked with a note of admiration.
"Just muscle memory from back in the day."
We were part of that generation when exotic fish fishing was all the rage.
"Then I've got no worries."
Misago nodded, reassured.
"Now for the drag, right?"
You test it by pulling on the line and seeing how much the rod bends, yeah?
"Go ahead."
Misago casually grabbed the dangling jig. The drag had been left super loose for storage, so the line spooled out easily even when locked.
I tightened the adjustment knob next to the handle, testing until it only released line when the rod was nearly maxed out in tension.
"Looks good?"
It was a bit of a rough adjustment at the end. I was half-worried Misago would slip and hurt herself.
"How deep is the water here?"
"About 10 meters. That jig will hit bottom in 10 seconds. Wanna aim for the bottom, or play it safe?"
"Let's go for 5 seconds."
Losing a lure would suck, so I opted for the safe route. Even with a balanced jig like this, the hook isn't the only thing that can get caught down there. I had painful memories of losing brand-new lures right after buying them with my precious student pocket money. These were borrowed, sure—but I still didn't want to waste them.
I'm cheap like that.
"So, I'll go first."
Whish.
Zzzzz…
Mizago cast out first. The rod sliced the wind as the reel sang.
Plop.
With practiced fingers, she controlled the line's release and the splash as the jig hit the water.
"One… two… three… four… five… six—hit!"
Halfway through the countdown, she snapped the reel lock shut and gave a firm hookset.
"Six meters—hit on the fall. Looks like they're biting."
With a smug tone, Misago reported the strike zone—classic waterbird instinct.
It was a high-level technique—detecting a bite mid-sink from the way the line moved.
With perfect timing, Hackhikuma-san extended the landing net and scooped up the catch—about 40 cm, a decent-sized mackerel.
"Take this!"
The moment the thrashing mackerel came up, a blade—like an ice pick—stabbed it right in the head. The fish went still in an instant.
"Damn, nice!"
Misago sounded impressed. No blood—looked like a clean nerve kill.
"Snapping the neck works too, but this keeps the flavor better."
She wiped the blade clean, clearly pleased with her handiwork.
"So yeah, keep reeling them in!"
She spoke like catching more was a given. These guys were really good.
The Result
Misago pulled in an insane haul. The rhythm of the team was so smooth, he never even got a break.
And me?
Well… I wasn't totally skunked, at least.
Somehow, a crowd had gathered, making a bit of a scene. Tsuburi-san randomly showed up out of nowhere and tossed some fancy fish—sea bass, red-spotted groupers—into the cooler like offerings.
Thanks to that, our haul turned into a mountain, regardless of personal success. As expected from the Waterbird Crew.
And somehow, someone took pictures—and I got labeled as a "Fishing Ambassador."
But that's a story for another time.