Sunday, June 15, 2008
Hunting big 'cats' in the dead of night
Mark Taylor
Mark Taylor's Outdoors column and notebook appears regularly in The Roanoke Times.
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Retreat far enough back into a shallow cove and Smith Mountain Lake becomes eerily quiet even on a summer Saturday night.
You hear a buzzing bass boat in the distance from time to time, the occasional clap of far-off thunder, the chirping of crickets and the splash of spawning shad.
Otherwise, it's still as you wait for the sound you want to hear: the buzz of your fishing reel as a hungry catfish takes the bait and runs.
Early each summer my friend Erich Faber has his good buddy Rich Dorsett and me out to his dock on his not-yet-built-on lot for what we call the catfish campout.
Erich pitches a tent on the dock, providing cover from rain and a place to throw a few sleeping bags, which don't get much use.
I look forward to this night as much as I eagerly anticipate the first night in deer hunting camp.
Part of the appeal is the chance to catch up with Erich and Rich, whom I don't see enough the rest of the year.
The campout also evokes memories of sultry summer nights during my childhood when my brother and I would sit on the banks of the river near our home catching bullheads on worms.
This year's catfish campout came on that first Saturday in June, when temperatures were setting records and keeping most sane people indoors.
You know it's hot when carrying your gear down the hill works you into a sweaty mess.
By 7 p.m. we were set up and focusing on catching bait, throwing tiny, worm-baited hooks into the shallows and hooking small bluegills and green sunfish.
"That's a perfect one," Erich said as Rich pulled a 3-inch-long green sunfish.
It didn't take long to fill our two bait tanks with a couple dozen squirming sunfish. With a box of nightcrawlers and a package of frozen herring, we were in good shape for a night of fishing.
As the sun was setting it was time to get the baits into the water.
We each had four rods and reels, casting our baits carefully around the dock at various depths and distances.
Once the baits are out, it's time to wait.
Action varies from year to year.
One year before I was on board Erich and Rich filled a cooler with more than 100 pounds of eating-sized channels and flatheads, then nearly died hauling the thing up the hill.
My first year we had probably 10 fish, enough to keep us busy most of the night.
Last year was slow, with just a few cats.
We use reels with clickers, which allow you to disengage the reel but provide enough tension to avoid massive backlash tangles.
There is something alluring about being startled by the sudden whirring of a reel's clicker.
And it didn't take long for the action to start on this night.
But while fast-moving predators take the bait and run, the things messing with our sunfish weren't moving much, the reels sounding a slow and deliberate, "click, click, click."
"Turtles," Erich grumbled.
Which was right.
Every 15 minutes we'd be pulling in a hissing snapper, most of which were too big to pull up onto the dock. Using a telescoping tree trimmer, we'd cut the line above the hook and send them on their way.
Finally one of Erich's reels whirred like it should and he was soon pulling in a 4-pound flathead, a perfect eater. An hour later he had a 4-pound channel.
And then it was back to turtles.
Rich crashed around midnight and I wasn't far behind. Often, that seems to be a good way to get the action going.
And it worked.
"You've got something on your bait by the bank," Erich yelled as I heard the clicker go.
The fish felt strong, splashing violently as it wallowed in the shallows.
Erich netted it. It was a flathead, which pulled my digital scales down to 18.9 pounds, a personal best for this relative newbie to catfishing.
A fish like that can perk you up, but eventually my eyes just wouldn't stay open so I headed back into the tent, which is what it took.
"Mark, you got something on your white rod," Erich said at 3:30 a.m.
"You take it," I mumbled.
"Get out here," came the reply.
So I staggered out and started fighting another strong one.
"It looks like a decent channel cat," I said as the fish rolled off the end of the dock.
It wasn't.
It was another flathead, and a little better than decent. It registered 29.1 pounds.
As we were taking a few pictures of what would be the trip's final fish, Erich told me he had earlier pulled the sunfish away from a turtle and cast it back out. So there was no way I could take sole credit for the trophy.
This was a team-effort fish.
And really, part of what makes this one night so fun is that they all are.
