Catfish in the Chesapeake
Late last season I had a most unusual day on the water.
Moving again after releasing a number of undersized schooly rockfish, I cruised south down toward the Bay Bridge. It was nearing the end of a falling tide, and my fish box, bait box, chum bag and patience were all verging on empty.
Noting a fleet of boats anchored in the distance off a nearby channel, I edged near to see what they were doing. As I recognized a distinctive C-Craft with bent over rods in the mix, I picked up my cell and gave the captain a ring.
“They’re jumping in the boat,” he answered.
“It’s Dennis,” said I. “What’s jumping in the boat?”
“Yeah, I know it’s you. You’ll see what they are, they’re nice fish. Some real jumbos in the mix.”
Dropping my anchor well off to one side of my friend, I threw the chum bag over as soon as I felt the flukes bite, then picked up a rod that still had a bait and heaved the line down current. Settling the rod in a holder and looking to the other rigs racked along the console, I selected another. But I was stopped by the sight of my first rod, arced over hard with the drag hissing angrily.
“Dang, that was quick,” I thought.
I reached for the straining rig and engaged the fish. It fought stubbornly with a couple of determined runs. Then it bottomed and tried to stay there.
Finally lifting it near, I stuck my net deep into the water and led the six-pounder into it. The final tantrum on deck was impressive, and I did not hurry to extract the fish from the net folds. A thrashing channel cat can inflict some painful wounds if one is not careful.
The pectoral and dorsal spines, a prominent feature of the species, are long, pointy and serrated as well as possessing venom that can cause pain and swelling. Though the larger fish have spines that have become dulled and not as likely to pierce the skin, you can’t be careless.
The fish’s tentacle-like barbels, or whiskers, are harmless.
To this day I remember a rowdy, uncouth lad who attempted to kick a catfish he had hoisted onto a Florida fishing pier back over the railing. His leather workboots proved no barrier to the spines of the catfish, and he danced across the pier with the flopping fish solidly impaled on his big toe.
Easing my hand over the fish’s broad head and carefully avoiding its spines, I maneuvered my hook out of its rubbery jaws, then dropped it in my fish box. My imagination revised the menu for my evening dinner, switching from asparagus and succotash side dishes to rice, cole slaw and corn bread.
My fish box was soon populated with the fish’s plentiful brethren, I thanked my captain friend and headed home. I had only kept a few fish of about 24 inches, perfect fillet size and delicious eating.
Though often catching an occasional cat in pursuit of other Chesapeake gamefish, I had never encountered them before in such numbers as that day.
The past two years have seen record rainfall in Maryland, translating to a much less salty Bay. That has provided a more comfortable environment for Mr. Whiskers, whose numbers have exploded just as the population of our beloved rockfish has again plummeted due to over-harvest and federal and state mismanagement.
However, proliferation of channel cats in the Chesapeake will hopefully take a good deal of the harvest pressure off our striped bass and provide a healthy alternative for your menu.
Reaching 60 pounds (the Maryland state record is 27.92 pounds), the speckled cat is at its best in the 24-inch range, yielding a fillet the perfect size for an adult diner. Cut up into finger-sized pieces, coated with panko and fried crispy in peanut oil, it is also a contender to a white perch fry. Catfish have no minimum size or harvest limitation.