November, 1918 
FOREST AND STREAM 
645 
The small boy cuts a “wilier” pole and hies him to the pool where bullheads hide 
I N the bridal month of June the cat is in 
his glory; and July and harvest time is 
even better. With the coming of “dog 
days” he may cease biting for a time, but 
let the slightest rain start a muddy cur¬ 
rent in the river and he is on the job again 
with a ravenous appetite and a new spark 
in his coil. 
But if you would know to the full the 
pleasure of catfishing, and experience the 
sheer delight of living; take a good row¬ 
boat (with or without an outboard motor) 
and drift down any one of the famous cat¬ 
fish rivers in the cornbelt when the woods 
are turning crimson and gold. 
First, take a good companion; also a 
tent (rather for shade by day than for 
protection by night) ; a small minnow 
seine for bait; a man’s size ax, and your 
favorite tackle, whatever that is; and, of 
course, your camera. You will find much 
to tempt your kodak by the way. 
You will drift thro.ugh beautiful curved 
channels between wooded shores where 
burr-oaks laden with acorn burrs lean over 
your boat and tempt your hand; through 
deep, black, still water, where tall hicko¬ 
ries stand sentinel-like at the bends; and 
through long straight stretches where 
giant, white sycamores mirror themselves 
in the water along with the cumulus 
clouds by day and the stars by night; close 
by willow banks where the willow-cat 
loves to hide and big green frogs of the 
delicious steaks sit in the shade. You will 
thread your boat through loggy narrows 
where the spring freshet has provided 
shadowy holes for leviathan catfish and 
run over gravel ripples and mussel bars in 
the moonlight, and camp on shimmering 
sandbars perfectly dry and delightful—just 
made to lie on and enjoy a pipe under the 
stars. And then there will be cornfields 
at every hand, with long yellow roasting 
ears very cheap; watermelons and apples, 
likewise cheap; and good things galore. 
It will be well to take your .22 also, for 
it is only a step from the river bank into 
the midst of a hickory grove where rugged 
primeval trees drop their nuts on the 
ground and gray and fox-squirrels gather 
to -the feast in the tree tops. 
Stepping along catlike, in your mocca¬ 
sins, watching the variegated lights and 
shadows, and reveling in the luxurious col¬ 
oring of the autumn woods; listening to 
the bark of squirrel# and the “rat-a-tat-tat- 
tat” of the woodpeckers on the dead snags; 
doing these things you will gain a new 
lease on life and again turn up the wick 
that feeds the blaze of your power. 
But ever you will return to your cat 
river, whether with split bamboo or hick¬ 
ory pole. Nature will, herself, impress in¬ 
delibly upon your mind the rare charm of 
a stream, a boat and a perfect day. You 
will float and dream; the clouds will float 
with you above, and the trees, reversed, 
tower to other clouds below you. Roast- 
ing-ears and catfish rolled in corn-meal 
with hot coffee will nestle under your belt; 
and a fragrant pipe will soothe you, and 
T HROUGH the interminable afternoon 
you can float—taking time to land 
and visit some of the places made 
famous by the early French explorers; or 
at some of the old river towns full of ro¬ 
mantic history and quaint decaying houses. 
Everywhere you will meet interesting 
people and find human nature as rich and 
varied as in any other part of the country. 
When the red fires of sunset are blazing 
through the autumn woods you will seek 
a cat hole near the sandbar where your 
evening camp is already made, and while 
you watch the smoke curling skyward, cast 
a shiner in the wine-colored channel where 
the bright yellow leaves are floating down. 
If you are patient, and will fish on after 
the stars are out and the silver moon rid¬ 
ing in the sky you will probably be re¬ 
warded by catching a big yellow, blue, or 
brown cat from seven or eight up to forty 
pounds or more. You will have as thrill¬ 
ing a fight as you can possibly desire— 
especially if you hook one of the big 
“channels”—but in any case you will dis¬ 
cover for yourself that “it is not all of 
fishing to fish.” 
Then, by the light of the fire on the 
sandbar, under the stars, you will try a 
catfish steak, and roast some ears of green 
corn over the coals, boil coffee and smoke 
your pipe. You will loll there, long after 
supper; perhaps talk a little, but mostly 
just absorb—and know that you have 
“come to the end of a perfect day.” 
During the heat of the day you seek the friendly shade of some huge oak 
the smoke will mingle with the clouds of 
your iridescent dreams. 
During the heat of the day you will pull 
your boat up under an oak or maple that 
leans half way across the river and shades 
and cools the water underneath it. In 
your patch of shady water, flowing evenly 
over sandy bottom, even at midday, you 
can catch small channel cats and little 
brown and mottled cats. When hunger 
comes you can turn to the handy bottle 
for hot coffee, and to the basket at your 
elbow for fish, corn-bread, apples and cold 
roasting-ears boiled on the cob. 
