Whilst the commonly used phrase, "the more the merrier" rarely applies in the realm of fishing (a world of secret spots and lost friendships when you catch the buddy you brought to a said-secret spot in confidentiality back there the next week with more buddies), I don't catfish alone. Friends shouldn't let friends catfish alone. Catfishing should be done with the chorus of tree frogs and drumming of the slow whine produced by the swarms of nighttime insects that won't give you a moment's peace. So on a warm May evening, the same night as his senior prom, I picked up Slavik and called Max to meet us down at the Schuylkill for the first night-time flathead soak of the season.
We had with us a variety of offerings to the catfish, as I had caught a dozen assorted sunfish and rockbass while Max provided us with live shiners and a trio of freshly caught stocked trout. Therefore, we were able to set up a smorgasbord for the cats, a three man, seven rod spread with all three on the menu, targeting a channel where a local creek flows into the Skuke. As the sun set, the misty riverside air was almost giddily heavy with anticipation at the thought of one or more of these rods doubling over with the weight of a big flathead.
They say that one man's gamefish is another man's flathead bait. I fully believe in this saying, both philosophically as well as from a practical aspect, and therefore had no qualms about lopping off the head of a stocked brown trout, threading it onto an 8/0 circle hook, and casting it out into the middle of the river with a 4 oz weight for a flattie to latch onto.
I was soon proven right when the drag on my surf rod starts screaming as a fish picks up the trout head. However, as soon as I locked down the drag and begin to fight the fish, my rod pops up with a snap and the line goes weightless, drifting slacklined with the current. The flathead must have rubbed off the braid on a rock. Should have invested in shock leader.
We sat in the hot, muggy, thick Philadelphia darkness marred only occasionally by lights in the distance and the alien-rasps of a great blue heron looking for easier prey. Not fifteen minutes later, Max's drag also sings bass with a live shiner. As he picks up his rod, the clicker on my conventional reel, also baited with trout, sang tenor. Max missed the hookset, but my fish latched on, and in complete darkness I fought this flathead, my first of the year, to the muddy ledge where Max stuck his hand into its maw and landed it.
A ten pound flathead is about average for the Schuylkill, but a great way to kick off the season, a harbinger for many warm, dark, no-see-um filled nights to come.
We untangle and set up the spread and soon enough, Max gets another run on a whole dead shiner, which also gets off. However, within that same bite window, Slavik gets a bite on a flapper, a butterflied piece of dead sunfish designed to flap in the current. He manages to stick this fish, and fights it while I slide down the mud-ledge to land the fish in near-complete darkness. Turning my head-lamp on revealed a long gray shape instead of the browns and oranges of a flathead. I reach my hand down to grab the fish's bottom jaw and feel nothing. Panicking, I wrap my hands around the blunted snout and gill it before dragging it onshore, revealing a giant channel cat with one eye, a severe overbite, and many parasites. A fish with battle scars, survived and even thrived in the Schuylkill thus far, growing to be one of the biggest channels I've ever seen.
Soon afterwards, the entire hole goes silent as the window slowly closes. It's incredible how easily your mind wanders and wavers with the dying of anticipation, as the waning moon creeps on yet higher. I love night fishing, am sustained during the winter months by creeping around the dark for river walleyes. I was also blessed with my mother's lack of ability to sleep in, and when it's not walleye season, wake at sunrise each day to the requiem of mourning doves, requiring very little true rest. Therefore, I could fish all night. Drive back in the morning perfectly fine. However, one look at my companions revealed an energy imbalance. So we made the call to pack it in after midnight. Flatheads will be spawning soon, so I'm glad I got in at least one session before it gets slow for a few weeks in preparation for the chaos of July.
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