It was this big

It's not quite shooting fish in a barrel, but it's close.

Taipei's shrimp farms are something of a local institution -- super-sized kiddy pools stocked with shrimp to which many Taipei urbanites come day and night to experience the thrill of fishing without the hassle of having to wait for something to catch. They are places where the shrimp are always biting, nobody goes home empty handed and you can land the big one without having to put down your bottle of Taiwan Beer.

Even though shrimping may sound like a close cousin of fishing, the similarities end with the line and hook. While fishermen spend their morning driving to a secluded beach or river, finding the ideal spot and baiting their hook with the lure perfectly suited to the type of fish they are trying to catch, shrimpers are posed with more basic questions: Should I sit on the right side or left side of the pool? Should I cast by the bubbling water filter or in the calm area? Karaoke before or after? Tsingtao or Gold Medal?

Naturally, it attracts a different sort of crowd. Most men might balk at the idea of taking their girlfriend on the fishing trip with the boys, but shrimping is a popular activity for couples. Men don't have to risk the embarrassment of taking their significant other on a date and not catching anything, and the rod rental covers the cost of dinner as well as the night's entertainment. The old timers chew betel nut and jabber in Taiwanese with the laoban, parents come with children for some wholesome fun, and yuppies try to keep their miniature schnauzer from eating the shrimp they've caught.

One of the most popular shrimping spots in Taipei is on Zhishan road (至善路) about 1.5km past the National Palace Museum. Driving by at night, it rises up out of the dark like a miniature Las Vegas -- a strip of four practically identical adjoining farms, complete with brightly lit arcade games, restaurants and the mandatory karaoke room. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, they provide impatient Taipei anglers with instant gratification. There is, ironically, a creek running by right outside.

Kuo Kun-wen (郭坤文) works in the morning renting rods at the Shuangcheng Shrimp Farm (雙城釣蝦場), one of the cluster. Summer is the busiest season, evidenced by the fact that there are people shrimping even at 10:30am on a weekday. Kuo estimates that more than 100 people come to shrimp every day during the summer, a sizeable number considering that there are three identical establishments right next door and the public transportation isn't terribly convenient. Unlike some other farms, the Shuangcheng farm is only open 20 hours a day instead of 24, closing between 5am and 9am. But do people really come to fish at 4am?

"Yes, of course," says Kuo. "They are probably professional types who don't have time to shrimp during the day and can only come at night." Kuo, however, doesn't share the same passion that would drive someone to sacrifice sleep for shrimp. "I just work here. Personally, I find shrimping boring," he says.

The Tianyue Shrimp Farm (天悅釣蝦場) is more conveniently located a few minutes walk from the Shilin MRT station. While the surroundings are not quite as rustic (it shares a parking lot with a bowling alley and shopping center), customers have the choice of paying extra to shrimp in a pool stocked with jumbo-size shrimp, or even a pool that has fish. Mr. Lu, one of the regulars, takes the time to give some encouragement to a beginner.