No, not the supermegastar pop band fronted up by Jools Holland, but the fish, catfish. At least that was the hope as I drove to a top secret Texan location.
At first it was pretty slow sledding, with a couple of halfhearted nibbles on my go to worm and not much else at all. Then a boat pulled up, "We've been at it for hours, nothing!"
I shrugged and cast off again, wondering if the expedition would be a bust. So why not change up the bait? Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Several pieces of shrimp added to the worm and a slow retrieve later, something got fierce on the hook and a fight was on. Then up came a catfish.
And another, and another, and another in a kind of we-love-the-shrimp-worm-combo feeding frenzy. Great result and a fast 45 minutes or so of good action; out went the line, in came the fish, 6 in the end.
After that things started to quiet down but I wasn't complaining, the sport had been good and it was time to head for home.
Next time I'll bring a cooler and keep a few. Fry those cats up.
Tight lines,
LSP
