Catfish Binge

    Hooray for college! That's where I'm writing this from. I've recently moved into Penn State Main Campus, so expect more trout fly fishing content published. However, right before I left, Slavik and I decided to have one last hurrah, ending the summer with a bang. Considering our shared love of catfishing, we decided to do an all night-catfish session on the Delaware and Schuylkill Rivers. 

    This expedition started exactly how any good catfish session should start. Throwing trout magnets around the creek behind my neighborhood for bait. After about 20 minutes, I had enough sunnies for a proper soak. After driving over to Slavik's house to pick him up, we made our way down to the Delaware right as the sun was going down. 

    I'm a huge believer in window-theory for catfish. However, sometimes I believe a spot change can also make a huge difference. After Slavik and I fished for about an hour with only one half-hearted run, we made the decision to move further up to a dock, giving us access to deeper water. Within a few minutes, I get a run, landing the first channel cat of the night. 

    A few minutes after that one, my baitrunner goes off again. I let the circle hook set itself, then begin fighting this fish, which is giving much more headshakes and runs than the last. The fish then runs straight at me, and as I struggle to pick up line quick enough, it wraps itself around the prop of a boat docked at the location, breaking straight through 20lb mono. 

    At this point, we were getting sleep deprived and more and more incoherent. Slavik and I decided to make a move and go to Wawa to fuel up the car and get some energy drinks. After enough Monster Energy to make any drywall within 20 ft of me feel unsafe, we took a look at the map. A section of the Schuylkill river was only about a half hour's drive from where we were, and considering it was 1:00 in the morning, I could get there even faster. 

    The Schuylkill is a much better known flathead river than the Delaware. While flatheads are native to the Western portion of the state in the Ohio River drainage and down into the Mother of All Waters, the Mississippi, they are invasive in the Susquehanna, Schuylkill, and Delaware. The Skuke was one of the first places that they were accidently introduced, and over time, their populations have exploded. 

    Arriving at the Schuylkill around 1:30, we quickly got lines set in. At this spot, a creek flowing into the main river and a bridge provided ample structure for fish to hide under. I set out my larger rod out in the middle of the river and casted my lighter set-up with a chunk of sunfish into the creek mouth. My baitrunner starts screaming a few minutes later. 

    I reeled down and let the circle hook set, and instantly, the $15 fiberglass rod I was using doubles over. Drag is singing off the reel and seeing as my line was set right next to a log jam, I put more pressure on the fish until I was sure it was clear. A tug-of-war ensued as I put as much pressure as I dared with 20lb monofilament to keep it out of the structure. Eventually, I managed to get this fish around a big rock and drag it right up the bank, landing my biggest flathead ever. 

    After sending that fish on it's way, we got bait back out. That same rod went off again several minutes later, and Slavik jumped on it. The rod doubled over and drag started singing, indicating that this fish was even bigger than the last. However, the same log jam proved to be an obstacle, and that fish managed to run into the structure and snap him off clean. 

    That window came and went, with no other pick-ups or bites. However, being down at the Schuylkill at night gave us a whole new perspective on the life that was in the river. Normally, the river, which runs straight through center-city Philadelphia, is thought of as polluted and lifeless. During big rain storms, thousands of rats that live in Philly get washed into the river from the sewage systems, and channels cats and bass in the Schuylkill will sip them down like wild trout sipping mayflies during a big hatch. However, life still persists in the river. There were crayfish under practically every rock, and a resident snapping turtle decided to hang out right next to where our rods were. 

    Throughout the night and into the early morning, Slavik managed to hook two more confirmed flatheads. However, all of our bites came around large pieces of structure, and we were unable to land them. We'll be back. The sun slowly started creeping up over the horizon, and we were exhausted and delirious. I made the long drive back home early about an hour after first light, and as soon as I dropped Slavik back off and made it home, I crashed. 

    Night fishing is tough. Relying on feel and auditory cues only adds a whole new challenge to the game. However, it can give you a whole new perspective on bodies of water that you thought you knew well. 

Cheers, fishy people. 

Lessons from Catfishing

 

    Most anglers start out simple, knowing fishing as putting a piece of bait on a hook and casting it out, hoping a hungry fish will pick it up. However, so many of us deviate away from that. So many of us act like we're too good to fish worms under a bobber for trout or sunnies, live-line shiners to bass, or chunk for catfish. Even today, I do way more fishing with flies and lures than I do with bait, partially for convenience reasons, but mostly because I enjoy the challenge of force-feeding fish, attempting to pattern these creatures we don't fully understand, and finding the key that'll flip the switch in their brain to make them want to kill shit. However, the more I did this, the more I realized how much I loved being a little kid soaking pieces of sweetcorn for the carp in his local pond. In January of this year, I decided that for 2023, I'd make an effort to soak enough to make even BYU students jealous. 

    So there I was, on a cool August morning, eating my cheerios at the breakfast table, when I get a call from my buddy Kyle, asking me if I wanted to fish today at a spot on the river near his house. The fact that this was a private stretch of river with a dock, and Kyle was friends with the landowner, didn't hurt either. 

    Hell yeah, I responded, jumping into my minivan and racing down to the creek down the street from my house. A few minutes with a gold trout magnet later, and I had enough sunnies for a proper river catfishing session. 

    When I got there, the river was full on chocolate milk. Heavy rains upstate had brought the river up almost two feet overnight, and that Nesquik was chock full of floating logs and other assorted debris items. However, if cocoa water is good for anything, it's good for catfish. I sent out two rods with chunks into this quiet little cove. 

    After about half an hour of sitting there, twiddling our thumbs, a flurry hit. Kyle and I got several runs in a 15 minute window, managing to land a pair of decent channel cats. 

    With catfish, I believe in window theory. From my experience, bites will almost always come in waves or flurries, and if you're posted up in a spot where you know the fish will be, your best bet is to wait until they start putting the feed bag on. Several years back, when I caught my personal best channel cat at 12 lbs, my grandpa and I had fished cutbait for about three hours with no bites before my fish hit. As I was fighting him, the other rod went off, and my grandpa landed an 11 lber almost simultaneously.  

    Kyle and I fished for a few more hours, with no more real catfish bites. However, we did see a entire tree drifting down through the rapids. 

    After that, we decided to pack it up. We kept one of the channel cats, and afterwards skinned and fileted it at Kyle's house for the frying pan. Go out and soak some bait, you'll be surprised on what you'll learn. 

Cheers, fishy people.