CATCHING A CATFISH. 



F. D. GREENE. 



One September day, a few years ago, El- 

 mer, Joe and I went to the Ore Beds, a fine 

 bit of fishing water in the Des Moines river, 

 1 4 miles from town . We had procured bait 

 the previous day, and at 3:45 we were off. 

 Bristol steel rods, wading pants, dry cloth- 

 ing in case of accidents, minnow seine, 

 horse feed, lunch, etc., filled the wagon 

 box. A few minutes' drive took us to the 

 creek where our bait had been planted. I 

 hastened to where we had sunk the pail, at 

 the roots of an overhanging tree, where 

 the water was about 4 feet deep. A strong 

 twine tied the pail to the roots of the tree. 

 Grasping the tree with my left hand I 

 reached down to untie the cord. I weighed 

 200 pounds. The earth crumbled, and 

 with a tremendous splash I went to the 

 creek bottom. I scrambled out and 

 carrying the pail with me returned to the 

 wagon, the water running off my clothing 

 in streams and sloshing in my boots. Of 

 course my appearance was the signal for 

 hilarity, but I climbed in and we drove on. 

 The other boys were more experienced 

 anglers than I, and always delighted in 

 advising me how to hook my bait, how to 

 cast, when to strike, etc. On this occasion 

 my tumble into the creek gave them an 

 opening of which they were not slow to 

 take advantage. I was at odds against 2, 

 but I finally made this proposition: We 

 were to bait up and start even; the last to 

 land his first fish was to be thrown into the 

 river, fully dressed, by the remaining 2 ; to 

 be debarred from fishing any more that 

 day; to prepare lunch, carry minnows to 

 the others, and, in fact, be at the beck 

 of the others for the remainder of the day. 



This proposition was a stunner, but 

 they dared not squeal, so it was agreed to. 

 Arrived at the river, we went down to a 

 sand bar, just touched by the rising sun. 

 This bar was about 3 feet high. Where 

 the river washed its edge it was hard and 

 wet, but the top was dry and warm, and 

 made a comfortable seat. 



Rods were put together, hooks baited, 

 and at the word, 3 minnows sailed out and 

 dropped softly in the river. The contest 

 was on. We cast and reeled in, east again 

 and allowed the bait to drift with the cur- 

 rent. Two hours went by and not one of 

 the 3 got a bite. 



Elmer had been out late the evening be- 

 fore, and, as' the sun grew warm, he be- 

 came sleepy and finally called out, 



"You fellows can't catch fish anyhow. 

 I can go to sleep and catch more fish than 

 you can awake." 



He put on a lively chub and sticking 



the butt of his rod into the sand bank, 

 with the click on his reel set, he dropped 

 down on the warm sand and was soon 

 snoring comfortably. 



Joe and I continued to work every point 

 we knew, but to no avail. Elmer had been 

 sleeping about 15 minutes, when we heard 

 his reel. Instantly he awoke, grasped his 

 rod and struck. 



"I told you I could go to sleep and 

 catch 'em," he shouted, as he reeled in a 

 3 pound catfish. This he slipped on the 

 string which was tied to the handle of the 

 minnow bucket, and which always held 

 Joe's hook extractor. 



Joe and I, of course, were quite sore, but 

 took it good naturedly. Elmer baited 

 anew, cast out into the current, stuck his 

 rod in the sand and with a final chuckle and 

 a repetition of his former boast was soon 

 asleep again. 



Waiting till I knew he was asleep, I 

 strolled down to where I could cast over 

 his line, and after 2 or 3 attempts, hooked 

 it and carefully drew it in. Joe was ready 

 with the catfish, taken from the string, and 

 setting the hook on Elmer's line into its 

 back, just forward of the tail, we turned 

 it loose, hurried back to our posts and 

 were industriously fishing when, in about 

 3 minutes there was a terrific buzz of El- 

 mer's reel. With a wild yell he grasped 

 the rod and shouted. 



"Listen at that! He's a whale, sure!" 



He struck, and holding the butt of the 

 rod against his waist, shouted, 



"I'm afraid I can't land him!" 



Meanwhile the catfish was making des- 

 perate efforts to get away and not being 

 handicapped by having the hook in his 

 mouth, was making Elmer's rod bend and 

 taking out line in his rushes, till he had 

 nearly all of it. Then it became a case of 

 reel in or lose the fish. 



Joe and I had rushed to Elmer and were 

 giving him all kinds of advice about hand- 

 ling the "whale"; commenting on its 

 strength shown ^by the way the rod bent, 

 adding all we could to the excitement, and 

 urging him to land his fish. He was 

 white with excitement, and his face and 

 actions were a study as he carefully reeled 

 in. The catfish was evidently getting tired, 

 and was coming easier every moment. I 

 made a rush for my rod which was stuck in 

 the bank, farther up stream, and Joe fol- 

 lowed. It was impossible to say what 

 Elmer would do when he discovered the 

 situation. 



In a few moments he brought to view his 

 whale. He stood petrified for a few 



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