Misadventures in Catfishing: part one

 One time and you're hooked on rivers and catfish 

I'll never forget the first river camping trip we had. My father's Aunt, and cousins (true river rats, in the best sense) had a place they used to stay at on the river "roughing it." Decades ago, before there was talk of  "selective harvest", they would bait trotlines (throw lines) and bank poles for channel catfish on the Kaskaskia river between Shelbyville and Vandalia, Illinois. Okay, so we weren't roughing it too bad...there was a refrigerator and a stove (run from a tank of LP gas) and we stayed in a trailer. Town wasn't that far away if supplies were needed. Later a screened in porch was added on for additional sleeping room.

When they first described the river to me, they said "there's a nice beach and swimming hole...but don't go into the channel as it's deep and there's current there." Of course with my 11 year old imagination, I pictured a wide, clear, shallow pool with a rope swing, and maybe an inlet and outlet on the far edge where the stream came in and went out in an opening of a dark forest...

In reality, it was a typical midwestern stream winding it's way through the floodplain. Being there was like stepping into another world.
And getting there, well that was a trip!

Bang! We'd hit a pothole in the road while going up a hill, down a hill, back up again, around a curve, then finally, down into the river bottoms to the lane to the trailer. It was nothing like I imagined. It was on a rare straight section of the stream with a steady slow current and muddy water. I soon learned how much fun there was to be had. At first I didn't help bait lines or go in the boat much. But there was swimming, camp cooking, staying up late, spinning yarns. I brought home sand in my fishing reels, and left hooks and lines in the trees. There was so much to learn about fishing... I'm sure they wouldn't have needed to buy hooks for a while after I came!

I'll never forget some of the wild and strange stories we heard stories about some local "hoggers" (or noodlers as they're often called). There was a big hollow log anchored to the river bank on one end and open at the bottom of a deep hole in the river near where they stayed. They would put sandbags in front of the open end of the log and trap a fish using a long pole with a big hook on it. Then reach in there and grab the fish by the mouth and drag 'em out. Did I mention even in the lowest water the open end was about 6 feet below the surface. So they did this while holding their breath. It was
said one old hogger could hold his breath so long you were sure he wasn't coming back up. But of course, he would. I guess their sons and grandsons are still doing this. The last I heard, they were. Nowadays, many conservation minded catmen understand the potential impact of pulling large catfish (the hoggers also took carp as well) from spawning sites. Not to mention the inherent danger in sticking your arm into dark crevices in logs and river banks, where who knows what might be lurking! Not for me, no thanks!

Continuing Education
Subsequent trips yielded more information about how to catch fish. And how to catch and gather bait. At first I caught carp, drum, and redhorse suckers. There's that river mystique: you never know what you might catch. One relative would holler out "redtail!" when he got ANY fish on! My cousin was the best fisherman I knew of. He was proficient at catching walleye, smallmouth bass, catfish, whatever. Any fish caught were either released, or cleaned and saved for one of their big fish frys. He wasn't much for bragging: once a large bass was mounted and hung-at his brother in law's house!

In time I learned about baits, where to set lines, and how to fillet the mostly smaller catfish we would catch. We kept fish in a "live box" until time to clean them, maybe every other day. Then into the freezer. He showed me where it was deep, and where it was dangerous. I learned about cutbanks, holes, and snags, and much more. We baited throw lines and bank poles. We'd bait them at dark. Then, they were baited and checked for fish around midnight or a little later. We'd catch a few hours of shut-eye, falling asleep to the sound of crickets, tree frogs, and other wild critters. We got up at sunrise, or about 5:00 am, and "run" the lines again.

In the morning, a haze often blanketed the river bottom, being burned away as the sun rose in the sky. This was a great time for a walk around, or maybe a quick cast. Then time for breakfast. Even with just three of us, we would knock off about a pound of bacon, some eggs, toast, and coffee. Did I learn the value of coffee! We drank coffee to stay awake and alert to run the lines so late/early. After breakfast we ran them the last time, then that evening after supper, we'd start again. I remember when I finally caught my first catfish on rod and reel that we put in the live box. Okay, it was a tad small. (the joke was that they would save it just for me at the next fish fry).

 

Occasionally, our boat trips went way up the twisty river. We would be fishing here and there along the way back. Once, after a long boat ride back downstream my Uncle "Fat" exclaimed "Who in the hell's place is this ?" It was their place. Mostly we stayed within a few "bends" of the trailer. I still remember the smell of the
percolating coffee, and the sound of the boat coming down the river, through a dead spot where you would lose the sound, finally emerging from the last big bend upstream from camp.

It was farmland around there, but along the river it was forested. In the river too. There were numerous snags or brushpiles in the river. One we called simply "The Brushpile" was massive. And there were beavers around. You could see the marks on a tree, and rarely you might glimpse one. Even when it was hot, there always seemed to be a breeze. There was sure plenty of shade. Once in while, canoers would come down the river and stop by. Often they would ask how far along are we, or WHERE are we?


'
 It was one crooked stream, and it was many river miles between some of the bridges. There always was something interesting happening on the river. They had frequent guests, other friends who came to stay and fish, so you never knew who might be there when you arrived.
When the river was nearly bank full, I remember getting out of the way for parts of trees floating down the river (which had broken loose from snags.) Also, once when the river was UP the remains of a hog floated by. It was ok for swimming by the time I arrived that week, I remember the mixed blessing of a summer deluge. River will be rising, fish are going be hittin'! But we may have to move a few of the lines, and we may not be able to drive out tomorrow (you didn't need anything from town did you)?

 It was particularly quiet while the nearby bridge was dismantled (it took a few years to rebuild). Necessity being the mother of invention, one summer during low water, we discovered a submerged sandbar going completely across so neighbors could come across without even getting their seat wet! Then the new bridge was finished. Non-descript. The cost of progress I suppose, as the old bridge was a handsome rusty iron suspension bridge like you rarely see these days.





Once, when they were leaving for town, some distant relatives arrived. It was like "hell's angels" crashing a frat party. They were wild, rough and ready. I was actually instructed about where the shotgun and ammo was in case there was trouble! Of course, there was none. Actually, they were friendly folks. I do remember the largest of them jumping into the river from several feet up on a high cutbank at a nearby curve in the river. This big guy was casually diving into the deep, swift water of a sharp bend in the river!

Pee Wee's Hole
One of the neat places there was Pee Wee's hole. My Uncle "Fat" used to like to set up shop there. He'd carried his lawn chair and some bait up the river and would start fishin'. I remember him nearly losing a pole when a big carp tried to make off with it! And demonstrating what to do with gars...prop a stick in their open mouths, carefully! Then toss them back in- and watch 'em struggle! (since they breathed air, they would drown). I found it a good place to set up myself with some dip bait to catch a few catfish, or just have a nice quiet morning bank fishing. I'm sure there were some large fish milling around that spot, but fishing with "crappie" minnows, and dip bait I didn't realize why I caught only the small ones. Maybe "Jaws" lives there now!

 Jaws!
One summer, we had a lot of fun around the cabin discussing the legend of "Jaws." It seemed there was a fish that made off with a well anchored bankpole near "the brushpile". They had tried to catch this huge flathead, catfish with some large baits, a "hay hook", and rigs including a doorspring nailed to a tree, and a giant hook attached to some surgical tubing: creative techniques you didn't read about in the IDOC fishing regs! But then, flathead catfish are the stuff of myths and legends anywhere they inhabit. There's always stories about divers checking this dam, or those bridge pilings, seeing fish "AS BIG AS A MAN...and I AIN'T going back!!!"

For all their troubles, I think all they ended up with was a few straightened hooks, and a stretched doorspring. The fish may still be in there! They caught one 30lb flathead, and I remember it's head seemed as big as mine. Times are different now, and I can't imagine keeping more than a few smaller fish per day. These days, I release all flatheads that I catch. Selective harvest is a good thing, since those large fish have the most contaminants in their flesh anyway. Small channel catfish on a camping trip, that's another story.

I've fished for catfish off and on ever since. Sometimes more off than on and there's still so much to learn! I quickly learned to appreciate catching fish on rod and reel much more and how good catfish could fight. Nowadays, I like to get out a few times throughout each summer on some of the rivers close to home. One thing I have learned...how important it is to know your river. A meeting with a mid-stream rock just below the surface will remind you of that truth! Good thing my boat was heavy duty... I would never consider myself to be a river rat. But, I'm grateful to have had the privilege to known and learned from some!