fishes. The bullhead is to the watery 
world no doubt what the porcupine is 
on land. It is possible that animals 
know enough instinctively to let the 
creature go his own sweet way or else 
they have tried once and will never 
try again, for experience is a grim 
teacher. But occasionally a voracious 
fish will manage to do away with a 
bullhead, and on land it is said on good 
authority that the bear can deftly in- 
sert a paw under the porky, throw him 
on his back and eat him on the half 
shell without any harm resulting. There 
are ways and means in everything. 
oo says of the spines of the 
catfishes: “The catfishes or horned 
pouts have a strong spine in the pec- 
toral fin, one or both edges of this 
being jagged or serrated. This spine 
fits into a peculiar joint and by means 
of a slight downward or forward twist 
can be set immovably. It can then be 
broken more easily than it can be de- 
pressed. -A slight turn in the opposite 
direction releases the joint, a fact 
known to the fish and readily learned 
by the boy. The sharp spine inflicts 
a jagged wound. Pelicans which have 
swallowed the catfish have been known 
to die of the wounds inflicted by the 
fish’s spine. When the catfish was first 
introduced into the Sacramento River 
of California it caused the death of 
many of the native Sacramento perch 
(or rather bass) which fed on the 
young catfish, and the latter, erecting 
their spines, caused the death of the 
fish by tearing the walls of the stom- 
ach.” It is said that these very small 
catfishes of the South and the Middle 
West, known as mad-toms, are provided 
with a poison gland at the base of the 
pectoral spine which conveys poison to 
the wound inflicted by the fish on its 
victim. However true this may be as 
applying to the so-called mad-tom, or 
stone cat, the same does not apply to 
the bullhead. He will puncture you 
without conscience if you meddle with 
him, but that is his inalienable right. 
But the wound resulting is not vicious; 
it is just a delicate reminder — ver’ 
delicate! 
Sour know the bullhead by the name 
of “horned pout,” a polite name for 
it in the East; some call it “the small 
brown catfish,” but mostly it is just 
plain, every-day bullhead. But al- 
though it belongs to the catfish family 
it is by no means a catfish, as catfishes 
go. For instance, the channel catfishes, 
Ictalurus, grow to mighty weights in- 
deed, some having been taken in the 
MississippiRiver that have weighed one 
hundred and fifty pounds or more. The 
blue cat, Ictalurus furcatus, is found 
in the southern part of this country 
Page 399 
and is highly esteemed as food and is 
a commercial fish of iniportance. A 
channel cat to compare with it is found 
in the Great Lakes region, tending 
here and there eastward and westward 
into Canada that is known scientific- 
ally as Ictalurus lacustris. There is 
also a catfish known as the willow cat, 
Ictalurus anguilla, that also grows to 
a large size. The bullhead is diminu- 
tive compared with these catfishes and 
rarely goes over eighteen inches in 
length, if that, although some writers 
have asserted that this length is some- 
times reached by the fish under favor- 
able conditions, with plenty of food at 
its disposal. In weight it will probably, 
at maximum, reach to three or four 
pounds. A two-pound bullhead may 
on the average be considered a large 
one. 
Time was, in our youth, when the 
bullhead was scarcely known in the 
windows of our public markets. Now 
they occupy a prominent place beside 
the halibut, the lake trout and the sal- 
mon. Only one of the common fish that 
are found in the markets exceed it in 
price and that is the crappie, or, as it 
is more commonly known, the croppie. 
Bullheads with the skin taken off com- 
mand some rather fancy prices; the 
flesh is sweet and some prefer it to 
trout or bass; they would “rather have 
bullheads any time.” 
qe average person is much set 
against this fish because its “looks” 
are all against it. But when the head 
is taken off and the skin is removed and 
the fish, as red as beefsteak at times, 
is passed on to a cook who knows the 
culinary art from A to Z, and when it 
finally comes to the table and is served 
up as nothing short of a delicacy, one 
is prone to utter: “Why, who’d ever 
believe it!” Just that same old boy’s 
fish, the fish of our youth and that we 
still spend many a moonlit night afish- 
in’ for with what joy one can only real- 
ize who has spent many of these hours 
at the brink of the mill pond, the creek, 
the river or the lake. In preparing the 
bullhead for the table the skin should 
always be removed, although it is sur- 
prising that most of the bullheads used 
as food which are caught by the fisher- 
man himself are fried with the skin 
on. It is very simple to skin out a 
bullhead. Drive a spike in a tree and 
hang the bullhead on it, back toward 
you. With a sharp knife cut a ring 
through the skin around the neck and 
then straight down the back to the tail, 
also cutting in around the back fin. 
Now ring around the tail and then cut 
straight down the belly. The skin is 
now started up at the neck with the 
thumb and the forefinger; it is seized 
with the pliers and by a swift move- 
ment is stripped off down to the tail. 
With a little practice one is able to skin 
the fish in a few minutes. 
qh bullhead never did lay claim to 
being a fish extraordinary. He is 
the every-day “person” of the stream. 
He is not touched up in an exquisite 
and becoming manner with lavish col- 
ors in orange, gold and Javender. As 
a gem of the stream he is a stick-in- 
the-mud. He thinks a long time before 
he moves once; and as he moves along, 
and one looks on, one is forced to stifle 
a yawn, so peaceful and sleep-provok- 
ing is he. Be a creek or brook ever so 
humble, be it muddy, there the bull- 
head will establish itself and flourish 
until it is lifted high and dry onto the 
bank by a youthful Walton armed with 
the remnants of a cane pole, a cotton 
line of dubious caliber and a pickerel 
hook thereto on which angleworms in 
liberal number are displayed. The bull- 
head never questions the size of the 
hook; and if ten angleworms are used 
instead of one he will die peacefully 
even if he lies there on the bank of the 
stream in the hot summer sun for an 
hour or more before he passes on into 
the land from whence no bullhead re- 
turneth. 
One of the most humorous bits of 
writing ever done by George W. Peck, 
one-time Governor of Wisconsin, con- 
cerned itself with the bullhead. It can 
hardly be equalled. Of the bullhead he 
wrote: 
“The bullhead never went back on a 
friend. To catch the bullhead it is not 
necessary to tempt his appetite with 
porterhouse steak and an expensive lot 
of fishing tackle. A pin hook, a piece 
of liver and a cistern pole is all the 
capital required to catch a bullhead. 
He lies upon the bottom of the stream 
or pond in mud, thinking. There is no 
fish that does more thinking, or has a 
better head for grasping great ques- 
tions, or chunks of liver, than the bull- 
head. His brain is large, his heart 
beats for humanity, and if he can’t get 
liver a piece of tomato can will make 
a meal for him. It is an interesting 
study to watch a boy catch a bullhead. 
The boy knows where the bullheads 
congregate, and when he throws in his 
hook it is dollars to buttons that in 
the near future he will get a bite. 
‘THE bullhead is democratic in his 
instincts. If the boy’s shirt is 
sleeveless, his hat crownless, and his 
pantaloons a bottomless pit, the bull- 
head will bite just as well as though 
the boy is dressed in purple and fine 
Jinen, with knee breeches and plaid 
stockings. The bullhead seems to be 
dozing on the muddy bottom and a 
(Continued on page 435) 
