Hello, friends, it’s been a while. I was going to come back to the blog with some magnificent, poetic blog revival type post, but then I got tired.
Anyway.
I enjoy fishing. I have ever since I was a little kid. My Grandpa
would come on a Sunday morning and rescue me from church and we’d go have
breakfast at Lucy’s Restaurant and then out to a creek somewhere, or the old
strip mine ponds and fish. Good stuff.
These days it’s mostly it is an excuse to go out in the calm of the morning
and watch the sun rise with a thermos of coffee and a pipe and hear the birds
and feel the water move under the hull of my old canoe.
It was on one such morning that I slipped the bonds of society and
hit the waters of Fish Creek in the cool pre-dawn darkness, in search of smallmouth bass. For miles I paddled
in the thin space between the water’s surface and the slowly lifting fog. It
was a world of water birds (some I’d never even laid eyed on before) and unseen
cows lowing from pastures up the banks. Even the coal mine operations I knew
were there near the mouth of the creek were invisible, and seemed relatively mute
as I passed.
I paddled for a couple of hours, taking in the sunrise scenes,
passing farms and camps, sending muskrats hurrying to the safety of the reeds
and listening to the slaps of big fish rising to the warmer surface water to
feed. Totally exciting.
As the sun grew higher and warmed the river, the fog lifted and I
began to notice the water around the boat boiling with zillions of tiny fish.
They churned in great schools and rippled the water’s surface like raindrops.
This was not a good sign. I watched as huge bass rose and gobbled their fill of
the tiny fry, strike after strike. The bass were enjoying an endless buffet.
Fat chance of enticing even a small bronzeback to hit my half-dead gas-station night-crawlers.
I tried for a very long time to tempt the bass, changing bait,
changing gear, trying different spots, different depths… nary a nibble. I went
ashore where a gently sloping pasture met the water to stretch my legs and try
a hole under a downed tree that would be tricky to hit in the current while
trying to maneuver the boat. Climbing a little higher up the bank, I got the
perfect drop on the downstream side of the big tree. The bait drifted slowly
down with the current, just to where I began pulling it back in, shy of the
next branch, when BAM! The line went taught with a heavy, living feeling. After
a brief but intense fight, I landed a small yellowish catfish. Catfish! I was
so wrapped up in my quest for bass that I’d forgotten all about
channel cats! I released the youngster and gave up on the bass altogether. Huzzah! Now I
was catfishing.
Just saying the word catfish conjures southern-fried fantasies of
po-boys, hush puppies and collard greens. Yes, if I were going to get a mess of
channel cats, this would work out just fine. Snooty fat upscale bass be danged.
As I stood on the bank in my revelry I noticed a few cows had
wandered close by, and eyed me curiously. I said something to them, probably
along the lines of “Oh, hello cows.” And went right on fishing. Then I heard
something crashing through the brush behind me. A young bull had put himself
between the cows and me, and was making it clear that I was not welcome. He
tossed his head and snorted. He advanced a step. I gently reeled in and
backpedaled, inching down the bank and toward the canoe. Just as I got near
enough to the boat to toss my gear in, he gave a little faux charge, and I
hopped in the canoe and shoved out into the stream. Satisfied, he turned and
ambled off. I was alive, and back on my mission.
The moo-cow what chased me.
I drifted downstream, dragging the bottom of the deepest looking
spots on the creek. Over the next hour, I pulled 3 more small cats into the
boat, all about a foot long. They were greenish gold, slick and muscular,
barbed fins and whiskers bristling. They fought wonderfully. I was having a
great time.
I rounded a sharp curve in the stream, where the water moved swiftly.
At the end of the curve, the current had cut a deep channel out of the steep
bank. The water was very dark green and long weeds hung down and trailed their
seed heads in the water. Struggling to keep the boat straight, I half-assed a
wrong-handed cast into the channel as I sailed by. And of course I got snagged
on something. I swung the canoe about, and paddled up as close as I could to
try to free the hook. I had broken my only other swivel and leader holder
thingy earlier, and I really didn’t want to cut this one and let it go. Finally
I jerked it free and began reeling it in. As I started to drift backward back
into the current I felt a long hard tug. This strike made the others feel like
bluegill at the kiddie pond. So now I’m hooked up to some monster fish on my
lightweight creek-fishing rig in a skinny little boat, floating backward into
the fastest water I’d seen all day. Awesome. I was certain this would end in
extreme wetness.
For all his heft the fish didn’t really fight that hard. He
hit the bait light a freight train, but after the initial strike, there was
only a steady heaviness. He shifted direction violently once or twice as I
reeled him in, but just kept on coming. It wasn’t until I got him up along side
the boat that I understood why he didn’t put up much fight. When he first
struck the bait, he must have rolled around like crazy, for the line was wrapped around
him very tightly, constricting him and cutting into his white belly. He had
also taken the hook very deeply. It would be very difficult to get out. Though
he thrashed the sole of the canoe like… well, a big-ass catfish, I had
definitely killed him. I reckoned I was gonna have to keep him, and that
meant I was gonna have to eat him.
The Big Cat
Since normally I just catch and release, I hadn’t really planned on
bringing home any fish, but now my game had changed again. If I was going to
make a meal, it might as well be a good one. He was plenty big (a bit over 2ft
long and probably 7 pounds). A couple more and I would have enough to cook
myself a catfish fillet feast, and probably still and give some away or freeze
it for later for later.
I hooked him on to my stringer, and let it trail out behind the boat
as I headed back toward the dock. I hit a few more holes and pulled 2 more cats
—smaller than this one, but still keepers—from the depths, then decided to call
it a day.
I was beat by the time I got back to the dock. A stiff wind was
blowing upstream, and the temperature was dropping. My back ached and I
suddenly felt all those miles all at once. As I approached the dock rain began
to spit. A man and a couple of sullen teenagers were fishing from the pier, and
appeared to be packing it up for the day as well. The younger boy was all about
helping me get my canoe ashore, and in the process nearly fell in when he was
startled by my stringer of big cats splashing around in the shallows behind the
boat.
These kids hadn’t caught a thing all day. I really didn’t need all of
this fish, so I offered them the two smaller cats. They gladly accepted. I tied
the boat back atop the Volvo, hastily ended the big cat’s ordeal with my
hunting knife, slipped him into an empty ice bag and headed home.
After a clumsy and arduous cleaning process with completely
inadequate tools, I ended up with one very decent fillet, and a pile of smaller
pieced from the other fillet, which I largely mangled trying to trim it from
the fish.
I fried the big fillet in a quickie beer batter, using Bisquick, an egg and
half a Dogfishhead Raison D’etre which I was taking medicinally. It was good,
but I had forgotten just how strong and gamey fresh catfish could be. I plopped
the remaining fish in a container and tried to think of something else to do with
it.
A little internetting landed me a few recipes for leftover fish, including fish cakes. You know, like crab cakes, but with fish. Hot damn,
that might be just the thing. My kids might even eat something like that. As is
my habit, I mashed up a few recipes and came up with a game plan. Mostly based
on what I already had in the house.
After relaying the fish tale to my dad, he told me that soaking
catfish in saltwater overnight would leech out some of the gamey rivery taste and
make it much better "eatin’." This would increase the child consumability level even
more.
I ended up soaking it for a couple of days, and it really did help. Ultimately the kids devoured the cakes, which I simply called “home made nuggets,” for
fear the word FISH might ruin everything.
The cakes turned out splendidly, and might now be my preferred way of
eating channel cats. We ate them with ketchup, with some leftover dirty rice
and steamed broccoli. As the kids happily munched their dinner, I was compelled
to tell them about the fish, and how his life ended so that they could eat and
grow and live, but then I got tired. I decided to leave that for a more poetic kind of day.
Papa's Deep River Catfish Cakes
Should you suddenly find yourself in possession of a big ol’
pile of catfish, DON’T PANIC. Here’s what to do.
Get this:
About a pound catfish fillets, mangled or otherwise
1 medium onion, chopped
1 teaspoon yellow mustard
A tablespoon or 2 of mayo
(I didn’t have any mayo in the house, but I DID have
some green goddess salad dressing, which is basically green mayo, and that
worked fine)
As much Old Bay Seasoning as you can stand. Er, I mean,
to taste.
2 cups crushed buttery round crackers, of the Ritz ilk.
1 egg
about a cup of good vegetable oil (for frying)
Do this:
Place catfish in a saucepan with enough water to cover.
Bring to a boil, and cook until fish flakes easily with a fork. This doesn’t
take long when the fish is already in little pieces.
Drain off water, and mash up the fish.
Stir in the onion, mustard, mayo, Old Bay, cracker
crumbs and egg.
Heat oil in skillet or pot over medium-high heat. I like
to use a pot for this kind of stuff to minimize splashing stinky hot fish
grease everywhere. Trust me, your house it going to smell quite enough without
this mess.
Don’t be like me, turn the heat down if the oil begins
to smoke. Unless you need to test your detectors anyway.
Pat the fish mixture into patties roughly the size of a
large meatball, kinda flattened, and fry in the hot oil.
Drain on a towel, and serve hot. Makes 8-10 patties.
These also reheat well, and make tasty sandwiches.
No comments:
Post a Comment