Fly Fishing For Catfish: Tying And Fishing The Purina Fish Chow Fly
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My brother has a small pond behind his house, and several years ago he stocked some blue cats. Every evening around 6:30, he throws out several handfuls of fish food, which of course triggers a pretty predictable frenzy among the cats. Some of the fish will rise quickly to the surface, inhale a few pellets, then slap their tails and swim back down to the depths. Others will slowly cruise the surface in a straight line, greedily gulping every pellet in their path, just like the “gulpers” of Ennis Lake (okay, maybe not exactly like at Ennis Lake). So of course I decided to “match the hatch” and tie up a few “PFC” (“Purina Fish Chow”) Flies.
I had a sheet of tan foam, so I cut off a small strip and lashed it to the hook. I also tied a PFC Cluster fly to imitate a clump of pellets by lashing two strips of foam to the hook. Both patterns are quite intricate and involve advanced tying techniques, I would not recommend these unless you already have some tying experience.
I went to my brother’s house at supper time the other night (fish supper time, that is) armed with a couple of PFC’s. Britt chummed up the fish with several handfuls of fish chow, and just like clockwork, the catfish worked themselves into a frenzy. At first, I simply cast the fly into the middle of the vortex and waited for one of the cats to pounce. After about ten minutes, however, it became clear this tactic was not working, and so I began singling out specific feeding fish and casting the fly into their path. Much to my surprise, however, this technique didn’t work any better; time after time, I made perfect casts to feeding fish, who would swim up to the PFC, eye it for a brief moment, then disdainfully swim right past it and continue their feeding.
Finally, I got one of the cats to take. I suppose this fish was the equivalent of the village idiot; after all, countless of his brethren had already refused the PFC Fly. But I’m not complaining. I cast the fly into his feeding lane, and without missing a beat, he opened his maw, inhaled the PFC, and the fight was on. He may have been dumb, but he was a brute, boy, and on the little 3 wt. rod I was using, he felt like Moby Dick. It took me about ten minutes, but I finally got him up to the bank, and to preserve the moment, I set him down and took a picture before releasing him back into the pond. I thought about eating him for supper, but you’ve got to keep those stupid fish in the pond, it’s important that they spawn as often as possible and make as many more stupid fish as the pond will support.
Ah yes, the PFC Fly.
Sir Izaak Walton just rolled over in his grave.
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Video of the Day : Redfishing
This video – “Bulls on Top” – is just about the coolest fishing video I’ve ever seen.
My Grandfather’s Shotgun
Both of my grandfathers died when I was a child. My grandmothers lived for many more years, and I was blessed with long and wonderful relationships with the two of them. They were amazing, loving and wise and strong and resilient and funny, and I was able to appreciate them from the perspective of a grown man. When I met my future wife, I couldn’t wait to take her to Mississippi to meet my grandmothers.
My grandfathers, however, remain much more abstract in my memory. I was ten when Papa died, and Granddaddy died just one year later. I remember what they looked like, of course, and I can still hear their voices, and I remember that Granddaddy’s favorite food was fried chicken and that he listened to the St. Louis Cardinals every night during the summers with his transistor radio perched on his shoulder next to his ear because he was almost completely deaf, and I remember the smell of Papa’s pipe and I remember that he he loved to work in his wood shop, but those memories are snapshots, frozen in time. Regrettably, I never knew my grandfathers the way I knew my grandmothers.
So it was all the more special when I was rooting through closets at my parents’ house the other night and discovered Papa’s shotgun. It was – it still is – a Remington 11-48, a .16 gauge semi-automatic. The gun was stored inside an old tan canvas soft case that was beat up pretty bad, but it had done its job, because inside, the gun itself was still in good condition. Oh sure, the stock and forearm had a few scratches and dings, and the receiver and barrel were desperately in need of some oil, but as I cycled the action it seemed to work just fine. And suddenly, with the discovery of the shotgun in the hall closet, my grandfather seemed a little less distant, and I could imagine him carrying this very gun with him quail hunting with his dogs on the farm he owned outside town (“town” being Lexington, in Holmes County, Mississippi). Papa had quit hunting by the time I was old enough to remember, but Mom had told me the stories of how he loved to hunt with his dogs. How many birds did he shoot with this old Remington? How many did his miss? Did he hunt with his friends, or did he prefer the companionship of his dogs and the solitude of hunting alone?
Paul and I went to Hunter’s Run today to shoot skeet with my friend David Shelby and his son Jack, and we brought Papa’s shotgun. David, who knows a thing or two about guns, broke down the gun, inspected the action, and decided everything looked in working order, so we sprayed a little oil on the recoil spring and reassembled the parts. .16 gauge shells aren’t always easy to find these days, but David had a box that he brought with him, and so after shooting a few clays with our regular guns, he suggested we shoot Papa’s old shotgun. I was a little nervous the first time I shot; after all, the gun probably hadn’t been shot in at least 40-50 years, and it would not exactly be a story-book ending if the gun blew up in my face. But it worked just fine, and it was a thrill to shoulder it and look down the barrel and feel the recoil against my shoulder and break a few clays with it. Paul wanted to shoot the old shotgun too, and the biggest thrill of all was watching him breaking clays, one after another, with the same shotgun his great grandfather, who he never knew, used to hunt quail. Spanning the generations, the old shotgun brought my grandfather back for just a moment, where my son was able to get a glimpse.
That’s pretty cool.
Secretariat : The Belmont Stakes 1973
Watching television while I was getting dressed the other day, Mike & Mike were debating the greatest individual accomplishment in sports history. Was it Wilt Chamberlain scoring 100 points in a single game in 1962? Don Larson’s perfect game in the World Series in 1956? What about Michael Phelps grabbing eight gold medals in Bejing in 2008? Tiger Woods’ coming out party in 2000, when he won the U.S. Open by 15 strokes at Pebble Beach?
No doubt those were all great accomplishments, but rather than try to coldly analyze them and articulate some rational basis for picking the best of the bunch, I rely on something much more basic: the shiver test. Watching replays of those historic performances doesn’t do much for me on an emotional level. I remember watching the 2000 U.S. Open and the 2008 Olympics live, and at the time I was completely blown away by the accomplishments of Woods and Phelps, but watching replays of the events years after the fact doesn’t do much for me. The same is true for Wilt and Larson; certainly, I marvel at the achievement and recognize the brilliance of both the athlete and the performance, but nevertheless, watching replays doesn’t do much for me. Perhaps it’s because of the length of time involved; Chamberlain’s and Larson’s brilliance spanned several hours, and Tiger’s and Phelps’ spanned days.
On the other hand, no matter how many times I watch this – Secretariat pulverizing the competition at the 1973 Belmont by 31 lengths – I get shivers down my back. Hell, I don’t even like horses that much, every time I’m around them they seem to be staring at me like they’re silently plotting me some harm. But this is two minutes of pure shock and awe, an animal running like hell – running, not throwing a ball through a hoop or hitting a ball around a golf course – just running, running for the sheer exuberance of running, running like nothing has ever run before or since, running because it can. This, for me, is the greatest thing I’ve ever seen in sports.
It’s not possible to watch this and not sit back in your chair, stunned.
The Honey Badger
The Honey Badger don’t care, it just takes what it wants.
This is the play from yesterday’s game against Kentucky where Mathieu got credit for a sack, a fumble caused, a fumble recovered, and a touchdown. I had the camera in burst mode, and unfortunately the buffer filled up and I was not able to get any pics of Mathieu taking the ball in for the score. As always, you can click on any of the pics for a larger version.
The Honey Badger is pretty bad-ass.
High School Football : U-High v. Loyola
U-High, currently the third-ranked 2A team in Louisiana, manhandled Loyola-Shreveport at Jeff Boss Field on Friday night. The final score was 41-14, but it was never really that close. Kyle Crifasi, the Cubs’ quarterback, was 10-11 for 150 yards and threw a couple of absolutely perfect touchdown strikes, and the Cubs’ defense spent much of the evening in Loyola’s backfield. Here some pics I took at the game. You can click on the pictures for a full-size image.
Plus, here’s a bonus pic of my son James Henry at the game. I mean, he’s just so darn cute!
College Football : LSU v. Mississippi State
The Tigers went on the road for their first SEC match-up and prevailed over State, 19-6. Jarrett Lee (21-27 for 213 yards with 1 TD and 1 interception) had what was probably his best game ever as a Tiger, and the running game eventually wore State down, with the 1-2 tandem of Spencer Ware (107 yards) and Michael Ford (50 yards) accounting for 157 yards on the ground. Nevertheless, the offense still has work to do, as it plays well in spurts but has yet to put together a sustained four-quarter effort. On the other hand, it is hard to imagine this defense playing much better; indeed, it is hard to imagine any college defense playing better than the LSU defense is right now. The Tigers amassed a staggering 15 stops behind the line of scrimmage and sacked State quarterbacks 4 times. Vick Ballard, who averaged 150+ yards in his first two games, was held to 38 yards on 10 attempts. Tyrann Mathieu led the team with 10 tackles (9 solo), and Mo Claiborne had 2 interceptions. It’s still a long way away, but the November 5 game against Alabama is shaping up as the game of the season.
Next up : West Virginia on September 24.
Gator Hunt !!!
I went gator hunting with my brother and one of my sons at Grosse Savanne Lodge this weekend. A cool snap had lowered temperatures overnight and the guides were concerned that the change in the weather might shut the gators down. And sure enough, the first 5-6 lines we checked were empty. But then we picked up a monster ten-footer, and the pace picked up considerably after that. We ended up taking 24 gators, including one that we jumped crossing the road between two ponds with an armadillo in his mouth. In the picture above, and in the picture below right, you can see how big the ten-footer is. I’m 6’1″, and the gator dwarfs me. The guides had to use a telescoping fork lift to get the beast out of the boat. And yes, the gator is scratching my head in the picture.
Most of the gators were in the 5-7 foot range, but we also picked up a nice 9 footer in addition to the big 10 footer. The guides had gone out the night before and baited the lines with chicken parts; as we ran the lines this morning, we would pull up to a line, figure out whether there was a gator on, then one of us would pull the line in and get the gator’s head above water where we could shoot him. My son Paul shot most of the gators (I’m such a good parent), but I shot a few.
Below is a picture of “George,” who was skinning a gator from yesterday’s hunt when we got back to the landing. Watching him take the hide off was like watching an artist with a brush. As you can see from the picture, he’s taking the skin off clean as a whistle, with almost all of the meat being left on the animal. The lodge sells its gators to commercial brokers, but if you want to keep one and have it skinned out for boots, belts, etc., then George is your man. We did not keep any of our gators, but next time (and there will definitely be a next time), I may have to keep one.
College Football : LSU – Northwestern
I took these pictures last night at the LSU – Northwestern game in Tiger Stadium. The Tigers did what they were supposed to do – they put the game away early against a weak opponent and gave the back-ups a chance to play. Jarrett Lee looked good throwing the ball and was 9-10 for 133 yards with one TD. Zack Mettenberger was 8-11 for 92 yards with on TD and seems to throw the ball with a confidence that Lee and Jordan Jefferson both seem to lack. The running game was strong once again. Michael Ford got the start and had 72 yards on 13 attempts, Alfred Blue ran the ball 15 times and had 53 yards, and Spencer Ware ran 6 times for 20 yards. Odell Beckham, a true freshman, looks like a star in the making. The defense was its usual nasty self. Next up – Thursday night at Mississippi State.
College Football : BYU v. Ole Miss
Sigh.
Please tell me that really didn’t happen.
Please tell me that on a day when our punter was averaging – AVERAGING – almost 57 yards per punt, and our defense had played great, and we were backed up deep in our own territory, clinging to a six-point lead with five minutes left in the game, we didn’t call a pass play on 3d and 27.
Please tell me that what appeared to be a BYU defender stripping the ball from Zack Stoudt and returning it for the winning touchdown was just a trick being played by my eyes, bad reception on my TV, a bad dream that I’m going to awaken from any moment now.
No? It really happened? My eyes weren’t deceiving me? Deja JSU all over again?
Crap.
As if the loss wasn’t bad enough, Brandon Bolden is lost for the foreseeable future and the season perhaps, taking with him one of the very few offensive weapons available to us?
In the words of Scooby Doo – “ruh roh.”
Next up: Southern Illinois on September 10 in Oxford.
