Kenny, Darin & Mullet

Wally met us at the Ft. Smith airport and the first thing on the list was – barbeque!  We threw our gear in the back of his truck and a half hour later, we were enjoying pulled pork sandwiches, cole slaw and sweet tea.  Nothing like getting a trip off on the right foot…

Dog Creek, Oklahoma is a small unincorporated community in east central Oklahoma.  It is here that Brazil Creek Ranch (est. 2003) is found, home to a group of sportsmen who have been hunting together for decades.  It is where one finds the foundation that provides the Raging Mullet Hunt & Fish Club with its core beliefs and values.  Fred and Jim, the ranch’s senior members, have been hunting together for over seventy (you read it right — seventy) years.  The only deer seasons they have not shared during that span occurred during times  that our country was at war, with these two patriots serving their homeland in the Army and Navy respectively.  But that’s another story entirely…

Typically, in addition to “visiting,” we head to Oklahoma to hunt whitetails, hogs or turkeys.  Or to play cards and sleep late.  This trip was a shift in gears; we were huntin’ catfish…

We met Clint and Brian (who we met previously at the Miserable Missouri Muzzleloader Hunt last year), as well as Scooter and Kevin at Lake Eufaula early Saturday morning, with two boatloads of families and friends.  Our overall timing of the trip was probably a week, maybe two, too late as the breeding season for cats was ending, which meant that the males were less likely to be found guarding the nests.  But our enthusiasm was undampened as we raced across the water toward the first hole.

Empty.  As were the next few holes.  Then we had a fish in a hole, but the hole was too big and the fish refused to defend the nest, burrowing himself deep in the back of the hole.

Up until this point, compressed air lines were necessary to get to where the fish were.  But the next hole was in four or five feet of water and it had a fish in it.  Time for the yankees to get their feet wet, and in we went.  We took turns reaching in and we all could feel the fish, but again, the fish was not aggressive enough to do what it should.

The boys explained it simply enough to us rookies.  The female lays the eggs in the nest, but she leaves the protective responsibilities to the males.  They hover over the eggs in the hole and fend off any predators.  As you reach in the hole, your fingers are almost straight and together, with your thumb hanging loose.  The catfish bites your fingers, and when he closes his mouth, you close your thumb.  You should now have him by his lower jaw and now you pull him out of the hole.

Yeah, right.

Finally, after the yankees failed to lasso the little fish, Clint reached in and pulled out a six or seven pound Blue Catfish, which we released shortly thereafter.  Blues are gamefish in Oklahoma, so they must be caught with a rod and reel.

The next few spots were empty, with the exception of one twenty or twenty five pounder that came flying out of the hole, bounced off Clint and took off.

A couple more empty holes left us with the last spot of the day.  You can watch what happened…

We’re guessing that fish goes at least fifty pounds, probably more.  That would have been a great way to end a great day, except the Oklahoma hospitality continued.  We cut across Lake Eufala yet again, this time anchoring on a sand beach, where Wally and friends had organized a down-home fish fry.

The food just kept coming.  Deepfried catfish, hush puppies, french fries, salads, corn on the cob (with butter and mayonnaise – don’t knock it until you’ve tried it), some kind of wicked Jack Daniels potion and finished with some homemade ice cream.

Hopefully, some of you folks are fortunate enough to know people like this.  And you may be even luckier to call them your friends.  Or, you may be as blessed as we are – we call them family.