Blue Catfish Adventure
“As the tide ebbed last night I made my way back home with four nice fat catfish in the kayak. Then things got interesting. No water! I grounded the kayak no less than a dozen times and ended up taking a 3/4 mile detour around a mud flat and up a creek channel finally making it back to the truck. I was covered in mud, had two fishing rods in one hand and a Wal-Mart bag of four 5 pound catfish walked into my apartment building and rode the elevator up to my apartment. I guess you can take the redneck out of the country but he’ll still find a way to get muddy and catch catfish….”
That was my Facebook post the following morning of my first catfishing adventure of the season. What was planned to be a simple fishing trip after work became just a little more. Before I go into detail of the afternoon, I feel I need to apologize for the lack of photographs capturing the event. I was just going out to catch dinner and did not see the need to take the big camera, I carried my cell phone and figured if I caught anything large enough worthy of a photo, I could use the phone.
The water’s of Maryland are being overtaken by a new invasive monster and in doing my civic duty; I was going to do my best to slay the monster. Blue Catfish were introduced into the River’s of Virginia and Maryland during the late 1970s. By the mid 1990s, the population began to explode. The Virginia record is a 102-pound fish caught in the James River in 2009. The Maryland record is an 84-pounder caught in the Potomac near Fort Washington in 2012. This means massive 80 pound blue catfish swim the Potomac River just outside my apartment window. I had to give chase.
Two heavy fishing rods, once used to troll the Chesapeake Bay for Stripers, were rigged with #2 circle hooks and 1 ounce sinkers. I needed the big guns for fish of this size. My standard catfishing bait during those years I spent along the banks of the Susquehanna River was chicken livers. So, I stopped by Safeway on the ride home from work and purchased a container of livers.
The parking lot of my apartment building borders the Potomac River, a few kayak paddle strokes from the Woodrow Wilson Bridge; a known hangout for big blues. I parked the truck in the back row of spaces closest to the river. I raced up to the apartment and changed from daily desk jockey into adventure seeking fisherman.
I slid the kayak off the roof of the truck and into the water, loaded the fishing gear and on adventure I paddled. At the base of one of the bridge supports, I dropped my first bait. Before I could bait the second rod, fish on! I posted on Facebook a cell pic of the 4 pound blue catfish now laying in the bow of the kayak. Soon a second fish joined the first.
I enjoyed the next hour or so, paddling the kayak around the bridge testing the likely holding spots of monsters. I found no monsters, but as the sun began to hide behind the apartment buildings, I had four perfect eating sized blue catfish stowed in the bow of the kayak.
This is when the fun really begins. The out going tide that had the fish on a feeding frenzy, also took the water from between me and my home. As I paddled pass the Jones Point Lighthouse where the first survey marker of the country was placed and remains, I was faced with mud and not water.
I knew there was a small cut in the flat that should hold enough water for the kayak and so I went in search. The kayak quickly began to drag along the soft mud. I pushed on. Soon the kayak sat aground unable to move forward. My destination sat a mere 100 yards distant. I laughed. The sea gulls laughed. Maybe I could walk and drag the kayak to shore? I slowly stepped out of the dry boat and sunk my legs knee deep never finding solid ground. I was now wet and muddy from the waist down. I laughed again. The sea gulls continued to laugh.
Backing out, I dug deep into the mud and reverse paddled until the kayak floated again. The mud falling off the paddled dropped on my legs and dripped on to my arms. I knew a cut ran along the cove shoreline and attempted to follow it. Soon I was once again grounded. I reversed direction and tried a second time to find the cut. Grounded again. I backed out into the open water and pondered the options. I could paddle back to the bridge and the kayak launch, walk back to the apartment and return with the truck. Or I could paddle farther down river to a creek channel I knew would hold water and paddle up the channel to the cut that ran along the old boat dock and reach my launch site.
I choose the creek. Several attempts to shorten the distance from my current position to the creek channel only ended with another grounding. Now the Ospreys laughed in my direction. Eventually I found the narrow cut and followed it. Missing a turn in the cut, I ran aground twice before reaching the intersection of the creek channel and the cut to my launch. Silt filled the connection. With only a few inches of water to float the kayak, I pushed, digging the paddle deep in the muck. I made it. Ten minutes later I floated to my launch site. Stepping out of the kayak, the muck sucked my feet deep. Darkness had fallen.
And so that is the rest of the story. As I had posted on Facebook, I entered my apartment building and rode the elevator wet, covered in mud, carrying two fishing rods and a plastic bag full of wiggling catfish. Happy and with a smile, I filleted the blue cats and ate very well for the next few days.
