Catfish Boogie

My Momma loves to fish. LOVES to fish. No matter what is biting Momma is there with a rod, a seine or jugline. She’ll fish for anything – striped bass, catfish, crappy, perch, shark, trout, the list goes on and on. If it swims Momma has tried to catch it. She gets it from her Dad.

Because she was an avid angler Momma was always on the ready when the fish were a biting and the suburban always had her supplies in it – rods, reels, lures, worms or stinkbait.

Her stinkbait was the greatest threat to the catfish population of the County since the introduction of chemical pesticides. It was also a significant threat to human life or at least the ability to keep your lunch down. Momma likes to make her stinkbait from scratch from a recipe she had gotten from an “old timer.” It’s a mixture of calf brains, liver, tripe, corn, chicken feed, dog food and anything else “tasty” that she can stick in a five gallon bucket, put the lid on and let steep until ti is just the right stomach churning consistency.

The fish may have loved it but the only thing it did to the humans in Her life was make us gag. The secret stash was RANK. And it was even worse when Momma would put it into the jars that she used to transport her mad scientists blend to her favorite fishing holes. A LARGE smell in a concentrated space in the heat was like an olfactory grenade.

One spring day when she thought the fish would be biting Momma loaded up her rods and her special jars and headed to the river in the car. Now Momma was looking forward to the catch, being outside and not really paying attention as she approached the rail road tracks and had to slam on the breaks to avoid rear ending the car in front of her.

As she came to a stop Momma heard a sickening crack as her special jars flew to a stop against the back of the back seat. Yep, two jars of her secret fish bait had broken inside the car. As the jars leaked onto the carpet and the smell wafted Momma knew it was a smelly situation.

In typical Lil Bit fashion Momma proceeded onto the river, caught a 30 pound catfish and drove the stinky car around with all the windows down for the next nine months while carrying me in her belly to get the smell out. At least this way she had an excuse for the morning sickness.

Fast forward about eight or nine years and Momma and I are headed from Lake Burtchsi to Lake Chickasha pulling the two man bass boat behind the suburban as she tells me this heartwarming story of her pregnancy along with the time she fell through the roof of the house while four months pregnant. As the tale flows from her lips so many things start to make sense and I looked out the window to sit silently and think “Who is this woman?”

We rolled down the country road and came to the infamous rail road track again. A more cautious driver after the sickening stinkbait experience would have slowed down, but not Momma. She sped up to get to the lake sooner because the bass were biting and sailed over the tracks.

It would be at this point that I looked over and watched the boat pass us on the road. The ball had popped loose from the hitch and the boat was traveling down the road. Being an experienced Linda passenger I calmly turned to her and said in my 9 year old, but wise, voice “Momma, the boat just passed us.”