The Beat October 2002

A Dramamine-free downtown angling expedition
Story and photos by:John Bocskay Translation assistance: Min-Young Choi

You‘ve been to the singing room, the PC room, the tea room, the steam room, or maybe you‘re just sitting around the house in a plain old room room. Just when you thought there wasn‘t room for any more rooms, along comes the Fishing Room.

Actually, they‘re called “Indoor Fishing Places” (shilne naksi t‘eo). It‘s kind of like shooting fish in a barrel, except the “barrel” is an aboveground pool and the “shooters” are equipped with mini fishing rods. The fish are lurking just under your nose, and there is no such thing as a “bad spot”. I don‘t know what kind of luck you‘d need to not catch a fish here, but if you have that kind of luck, stay the hell away from me.

I grew up fishing with my Dad, and have fished from the cold North Atlantic to the Florida Keys. In Korea I‘ve managed a couple of trips a year out to some of the islands along the southern coast. I‘ve fished all kinds of places for many species of fish, but I had never fished the Great Indoors.
It sounded like a must, so I visited Fishing Korea in Keojeri, Busan. It is the biggest of three Fishing Korea branches in Busan, and one of about 7 or 8 indoor fishing centers in the city.

The front of the shop looks like a mixture of a fishing shop and a Korean tearoom — fishing tackle hanging from the walls on one side, and a few table booths on the other for sipping coffee and swapping stories of the one that got away.

But step behind the curtain and you are in a large, pitch-dark room. The centerpiece is an above ground pool (14m x 6.5m x 90cm deep), which is rimmed by a muted light strip to help the fishermen sort their gear without scaring the fish. There are stools to sit comfortably and ashtrays built into the side of the pool. It is very quiet; the only sounds: the plop of the bait going in, the splash and thrash of the fish coming out, and the gentle sprinkle of the small fountains that keep the pool oxygenated.

Green neon floats whisk through the darkness and settle on the black water. Now and then a float goes jiggy as a large fish strikes. In the pool there are two thousand carp of three different species (Ingeo, Ingbungeo, and Hyangeo). Three times a month, the pool is restocked with 500 fish, imported from China.

Fishing Korea opened in July and has become very popular, reports the owner, Yoon Jae-heon. “We get 40 or 50 visitors a day”, he says, adding that he can accommodate about 25 people at one time. Ajossis and ajummas, families and couples all come, from serious anglers to rank beginners. Students seem to love it. “About 50% of my customers are high school and university students,” says Yoon.

In a country with water on three sides and many dozens of small islands, I wondered, “Who wants to fish in a dark room?”

“Students come for fun, because it‘s cheaper than going out on a fishing trip. Or many people come here to learn or practice,” Said Mr. Yoon.

Shim Hu-seok, aged 40, is a regular customer; he comes twice a week. I asked him, “Why do you fish here and not in the sea?”

“Of course I prefer fishing in the sea,” he said, “but it‘s hard to find the time; you need more time.” He releases all of the fish he catches here; he just likes to get a regular fix of what Korean sport fishermen call sonmat (literally: “hand taste”)—the jiggle of a live fighting fish on the line on your fingertips.

Mr. Yoon says that over 90% of the fish caught there are released back into the pool. Most people come for the fun of it, but you can take home one or two of your whoppers if you like. Or you can do it Korean style: cut them up right there with a little pepper sauce and Soju and do sashimi-on-the-spot.

Mr. Yoon says he started the place because he loves fishing. He also organizes trips with his customers and teaches beginners if they need help.

As luck would have it, I was there with a beginner, my girlfriend Min-Young. She said she had been fishing once in her life, but she got sick on the boat and spent the day lying down and fighting the urge to chum. She didn‘t catch anything. I asked Mr. Yoon if he could teach even a beginner like her to catch a fish. “No problem,” he said.

He got her set up with apron and rod. Very quickly, Min Young hooked into a 30-centimeter Prussian carp — a valiant struggle (on both ends), but she got the better of the beast and landed it. The whole thing took less than five minutes, and it might not have taken even that long had I not lit a cigarette over the edge of the pool. “Light scares the fish,” said Mr. Yoon, “Please don‘t do that.”

Fishing Korea costs 8,000 won an hour and you don‘t need to bring anything except your love of fishing. I‘m still a fan of fishing outdoors, but Fishing Korea seemed like a nice alternative if you‘d like to do something other than plop down on a barstool every Friday, especially if your bowling game sucks as badly as mine does. If you‘re a beginner with an urge, a junkie with a need, or just curious, it‘s well worth a look.

Or think of it as a messier but cheaper and more fun alternative to a Raw Fish Restaurant (Hoechip). For a fraction of the price, you get plenty of fish, and the joy of catching them yourself; the taste in your mouth, and the taste on your hands.

Fishing Korea is located in Keojeri and is open every day from noon to 2 or 3 a.m. It is a five-minute walk from the City Hall subway stop (Line 1), or take bus number 31 or 77 from the Lotte Hotel in Seomyeon. Call 866-1490 for directions or information.