Catfishing the hard way

Iguess as a kid I fished in just about every river and creek around Rome. I did a few times in other places that I wasn’t supposed to. Give most boys a fishing pole back when I was growing up, and they were in heaven. But I did a lot of fishing in other ways besides with a pole.

The year that I write about had been extra wet. The river stayed out of bank for quite a while. Dean’s Creek stayed full of water up into summer. As the weather got hot the water went down, leaving water in the holes that was in the creek bottom. It was time to go looking for catfish holes. I went into the woods and followed the creek from Division Street towards where it runs under the bridge on Martha Berry Highway.

I had a hole that was my favorite that was close to where the railroad track ran to Berry School, even though it was one of those places I wasn’t supposed to go. I was almost gave out when I reached the hole. It was full of water and I could see that a fish or something was swimming in it. I eased up and looked down at the water. The biggest catfish I have ever seen was swimming in the hole. When I approached he went back under the bank, out of sight. I could see his head sticking out from under the bank. My heart beat fast as I looked at him. This was a deep hole, and I knew that it would take some work to get him.

I looked at the hole and knew if I was to get that big catfish I would have to drain some water out of it. The hole was a round mound in the creek. I knew that I had to dig a hole in one side of the mound. I hurried home and got a small pick and a rope. I hurried back and began to dig a small trench in the side of it. It was hot but I began to dig as fast as I could. As I dug the water began to run out of it. As I got close to the bottom I knew that I would not be able to get all the water out. I had the water down to where it was about knee deep. I tried to lasso the fish, but the fish was having none of that and went under the bank.

I yelled something like, “Come here you dad burn fish!” I snatched my rope and my feet went out from under me and down the bank I tumbled. I came to a stop in mud up to my shoulders. I tried to stand up and the fish went between my legs. I sat down in the muddy water with the fish looking from out under the bank. I reached up on the bank and got the pick. I was going to get him one way or the other. The pick was no good for he was under the bank. I begin to mumble and swing the pick. The bank fell in the water forcing him out in the middle of the water. I threw the rope and tangled him in it. I climbed up on the bank dragging him out of the water.

I had him, he was mine. I tried to pick him up but he was too heavy. I strained every muscle in my body but could not lift him. I looked around and found a good stout limb from a tree. I tied the fish to the limb and began to drag it. I didn’t think I was ever going to get home. I untied it from the limb and began to wash it off. Realizing what I must look like I turned the hose on me.

I thought I was home free until I saw my mother watching me. I began to talk, but she didn’t say anything except, “Your father will talk to you when he gets home.”

Now let me tell you how big that old catfish was. See how wide my hands are being held apart? He was that long. He was almost as big as I was tall. Measuring him around the belly he was bigger than me. I bet he weighed a 100 pounds for I could not pick him up. Maybe he didn’t weigh a 100, but when I tried to pick a muddy slimy fish up, you can bet it was a job. Well, maybe I am stretching the size of the fish but honestly, he was this long (holding out my hands, stretching them as far as I can reach).

And (making a circle with my arms), that fish was this big around. You know that he was that big, for everyone knows that fishermen do not lie about their catch. LONIE ADCOCK