Handfishing Catfish

Handfishing Catfish

by Cleve Taylor

We called it handfishing when I was a kid in Louisiana. Friends far braver than I actually enjoyed handfishing in the bayou. They regularly would dive down into dark waters along the wooded bayou bank, stick their arms into holes dug or used by catfish to lay and watch over their eggs, and have the catfish latch onto their hands in defense. The handfisher would then pull the catfish out of their birthing holes.

Most of the fish I saw them catch that way were in the two to three pound range, perfect for catfish filets cooked in a cast iron frying pan. However, handfishers, or noodlers as they are called in some areas of the South, are known to have landed catfish weighing over forty pounds.

The downside of handfishing was the danger of being bitten, of losing an occasional finger from infection, of encountering a snapping turtle or cotton mouth instead of a catfish, and the very real potential of drowning if the hand fisherman couldn't handle his catch and couldn't get back to the surface. They weren't scuba divers, they were good old boys wearing their regular blue jeans who could hold their breath for perhaps a minute.

Did I mention that they did this at night? Certainly this wasn't a sport for the faint hearted. South Louisiana was even more dangerous because in addition to the other dangers, theirs was heightened by the addition of alligators.

My friend Gaston invited me to go handfishing with him and a couple of buddies he had grown up with. He had a favorite place he liked to go near Henderson Swamp off the I-10 going west toward Eunice.

After some discussion, that is after I told him there was no way in hell that I was going to get in the water and stick my arm into a hole as bait for a big fish, he laughed and said, "Naw Man, you can stay with my van to keep watch on it and drink beer while we go get the fish." With that understanding, I agreed to go with them. After all, a party is a party, and these were fun guys. I told him that I would bring the pork rinds and potato chips since we would be drinking his beer.

We parked at the parking area just off the highway. Gaston said they would handfish along the canal dug to transport equipment and materials when they were building the Interstate highway through the swamp. "Have fun." I said, they probably heard a cluck since I was undeniably a chicken. I used a church key to uncap a bottle of Budweiser.

Gaston, Reggie, and Carlos were looking forward to catching some good eating. The musky swamp smell of rotting vegetation was stimulating to them as they fearlessly stuck their arms into holes they could feel but could not see. Back at the van I was imagining Gaston with a hook for a hand, and an image of Captain Hook came to mind.

Reggie was underwater for a minute and emerged with a three pound catfish in his hands. "I've got mine guys," he said to Gaston and Carlos. "See if you can beat this," he said, holding his fish aloft.

"That doesn't look like much of a challenge," Carlos parried as he searched for his own catch.

Gaston heard a splash. "What was that?" he asked. "Probably a turtle," he heard in reply.

It wasn't a turtle. What he had heard was a seven foot alligator that slid off the bank into the water. The gator was hunting in the same place as Gaston and considered the catfish holes as his own private larder. Although he wasn't particularly hungry, he was defensive of the leftover catfish he had stored in a hole under a tree root for later eating.

And here were these poachers meddling with his food supply. With just his eyes above water he identified an intruder and swam silently toward him.

Gaston, unaware of the gator, extended his right arm into a catfish hole and a large catfish grabbed his hand. At the same time the gator snapped onto Gaston 's left arm, crushing a bone in the process and initiating intense pain. He was underwater and his scream was muffled. Gaston twisted in the water trying to get loose but the catfish had one arm and the alligator had the other. The gator rolled with his prey nearly wrenching Gaston's arm off, and shortly Gaston stopped writhing.

Carlos and Reggie tried to help by hitting at the alligator with a stick and a three cell flashlight, but they had no impact. After his prey was dead, the alligator stored Gaston in the same hole where he had earlier stored his catfish.

We immediately reported the gator attack, and early the next day Reggie and Carlos helped retrieve Gaston's body from the alligator's food storage hole. Except for the mangled left arm, the gator had done little to disfigure Gaston. Cause of death was drowning.

They searched the area and found one alligator which they killed.

I don't go fishing anymore. And I shy away from catfish on principle. Salmon is now my fish of choice.

Anyone want to go handfishing?