Keith Sutton’s passion for catfishing has taken him to remote destinations throughout
the Western Hemisphere, including Brazil’s Rio Negro where he caught this piraiba.
Why We Catfish
by Keith “Catfish” Sutton
CatfishNOW editor Keith Sutton shares some of the reasons catfishing is near and dear to him.
My love of catfishing began at the impressionable age of 10 when my Uncle Pat invited all his nieces and nephews to fish a pond he had stocked with thousands of channel catfish. The pond had been off limits since its creation while Uncle Pat fattened the cats on a diet of commercial fish chow. His intent was to create a kids-only fishing paradise teeming with big, hungry, easy-to-catch catfish, and that he did.
I will never forget standing on the pond’s bank with my sister and cousins on opening day and catching one big catfish after another. As soon as we would drop in a baited hook, a whiskerfish would gobble it up, and our long cane pole would bend under the fish’s weight. Until that day, none of us had caught a fish bigger than a bluegill, so we were joyful and excited as we struggled to beach cats as big as 10 pounds. All of us went home very happy, including Uncle Pat, whose joy that day knew no bounds.
For most of my cousins, that day was a one-shot deal. Few of them ever visited the pond again. For me, it was just the beginning. I fished the pond almost daily, and the more catfish I caught, the more I wanted to catch.
Not surprisingly, big cats soon drew most of my attention. Uncle Pat had stocked several brood fish in the pond, and one of these—a 20-pounder—broke my line several times. I fished for her after school, and she taught me a lot about the habits of catfish.
She usually hung out by a big stump, and I learned she was keenly attuned to the world around her. If I walked the shore toward the stump at a normal gait, she would shoot away before I got close enough to cast a bait. If I approached quietly, I still had to be sure not to cast a shadow on the water, or once again she would spook. She taught me that big cats are wary cats. Only the stealthiest approach would allow me to dangle a bait within her reach. When finally I caught her, I quickly released her so I might enjoy the experience once again. And the tenth time I landed her was as exciting as the first.
Every time I learned something about catfish behavior, my fascination grew. Soon, I started fishing other lakes and rivers—those near home at first, but soon traveling throughout the United States and the Western Hemisphere in pursuit of whiskerfish. I ventured to the Red River in Canada for giant channel cats, caught 100-pound piraibas in Brazil’s Rio Negro and used piranhas to entice monsters of the deep in Venezuela’s Lake Guri. I have fished many other waters, too, since I was a kid sitting on the bank of my uncle’s farm pond: rivers like the Mississippi, Atchafalaya, Missouri, Escambia, Suwannee, White, St. Francis, Buffalo, Amazon, Xingu, Paragua and dozens more; lakes like Wilson, Wheeler, Marion, Moultrie, des Allemandes, Millwood, Truman, Tawakoni and many, many more.
Space does not permit me to detail many other unforgettable experiences I’ve had while catfishing, but several are worthy of note.
For example, I went noodling for catfish once, just to see what it was like. This is cave-man catfishing—reaching into an underwater hole and trying to catch a cat with nothing but your bare hands. When I reached into the first hole, a catfish chomped down on my fingers then shot out of the crevice like a torpedo from a submarine tube and smashed squarely into my chest. Those standing on the bank above me saw lots of bubbles rising to the surface as the air left my lungs. Then they watched, amazed, as a 250-pound man leapt from the water and onto shore, much like a migrating salmon ascending a waterfall.
When I had caught my breath, I counted my fingers. Ten. I still had all ten.
My noodling adventure ended then and there.
Another memorable trip occurred on the Missouri River in Missouri. I didn’t catch a single catfish on this outing, and it rained continuously. The trip was memorable, however, because two of my sons, Josh and Matt, caught their biggest cats ever. Each landed their own 32-pound blue cat, and as I watched the smiles on their faces as they battled those and other big fish, the experience was burned forever upon my mind.
I remember, too, one special night on a river. Fishing was good. We caught several flatheads, and a blue cat over 30 pounds. But it’s not the fishing that sticks with me. As we sat beneath the willows cuffing the shore, the trees began to sparkle. It started slowly, with short bursts of phosphorescent light punctuating the darkness. But the longer we sat, the more intense the light show became. The lightning bugs seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. And before long, the riverbank was glowing like a courthouse square on Christmas Eve, the tiny tail lights of millions of fireflies flashing in the trees. It was one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen.
To be honest, I don’t think there’s a catfishing trip I’ve ever made that I’ve forgotten. Every outing has special moments that make it memorable in some way. And that, my friends, is why I love catfishing.
