Source: United Press International STUART, Fla. (UPI) -- A Florida fisherman says his biggest catch of the weekend was an unusual one -- an 11-foot Burmese python probably set loose because it had gotten too big. Jerry McBride, 51, of Jensen Beach, Fla., said he caught the 40-pound snake slithering in the grass while angling at the Indian River Lagoon at Stuart, Fla. "It's the biggest thing I caught Saturday," said McBride, an assistant editor at Florida Sportsman and Shallow Water Angler magazines. McBride told the South Florida Sun-Sentinel that he raised snakes as a child in Nebraska and took the Burmese python, named Cornelius, home. "My son, who's 10, thinks it's the best thing around," McBride said. But the snake that can grow to 26 feet long and is considered a menace to indigenous Florida wildlife will be with the McBrides only temporarily. Cornelius is headed for care by the Treasure Coast Herpetological Society, the newspaper reported.

In praise of catfish noodling
May 26th 2023
From The Economist print edition
Greek wrestlers or idiots?
IN THIRTEEN states, noodling for catfish is good dirty fun; in 37 others it may land you in trouble with the law. Hand-fishing for giant catfish is a primeval calling for some of the rougher outdoorsmen of the South and mid-westand as one puts it, a $500 fine takes the fun out of it.
Noodling for catfish is a little akin to tickling salmon in Scottish burns, but a lot messier. The catfish noodler, empty-handed and stripped to the waist, wades along riverbank hollows, rooting underwater with his hands. Finding a hole in the muck, he wiggles his fingers inside it, where they sometimes tempt the snapping jaws of a whiskered catfish, defending its brood. (Some suppose noodlers are named after this finger-waggling; others, many of them with scarred hands, admit it is slang for idiot.) Then the fight is on: a good catfish noodler forces both hands down the fish's maw, wraps his legs around its tail and heaves the beast, which can weigh 50lbs, to the surface. Bloody but proud he stands, more Greek wrestler than aloof fly-fisherman.
Conservationists are not so keen. They fear the catfish noodlers' taste for big, spawning specimens could harm catfish populations. Female catfish can take seven years to reach sexual maturity. When a fisherman catches a 40lb catfish, he may be killing a 30-year-old animal. Noodlers reply that big catfish eat little catfish. But their real defense is that, given that you have to be a bit of a fool to try it, catfish noodling is likely to remain a minority sport.
On June 1st, after fierce lobbying by a local group called Noodlers Anonymous, Missouri will open its first season of legal hand-fishing. But it will only be a six-week experiment. And of the three authorized rivers, only one is well suited to catfish noodling. Registered catfish noodlers are to file reports about their catch, which the state's Conservation Department will analyze, before loosening the rules further. One conservation official considers the season primarily as an opportunity to learn more about catfish, which are notoriously hard to count and study.
It should also reveal something about the catfish noodlers. Some 467,000 Missourians hold licences to catch catfish with hook and line. Of the 2,000 estimated to have noodled in Missouri's waters illegally, only 21 have applied for the new $7 hand-fishing permit. Whether they are untamed primitives, Greek wrestlers or just plain idiots, noodlers like to live dangerously.
The Gift
by Bill Cari
It was a rough year of fishing for Santa Claus. In fact, it was the worst year he had ever had. Not a single fish.
"Face it," the old elf thought to himself as he trudged downstream toward his sleigh, "you're no fisherman. Better just stick to delivering toys."
The morning had started like all the others this past season. And then it had ended like all the others. No fish - not even a bite. What was really depressing was that this was the last time he would be able to slip away and visit his secret spot on the stream until after the Christmas rush. Fall production was heating up, and the demands on his time were increasing daily.
As Santa approached his sleigh, he was surprised to see an old man, clad in chest waders and a fishing vest. The man was petting Dasher and Dancer as he fed them carrots from a paper sack.
"Hello there," said Santa, casting a suspicious eye on the stranger. "I'm -"
"I know who you are," said the old man. "I've been waiting for you." The old man glanced toward Santa's empty creel. "No luck, eh?"
"No," replied Santa testily. "I'm not sure this stream even has any trout in it." He began to pack his rod into the back of the sleigh.
"Oh, I don't know about that," drawled the old man. Reaching down, he hoisted up a stringer that held three of the biggest trout Santa had ever seen. Santa's eyes opened wide.
"That's quite a catch, sir!" he sputtered. "Mind if I ask what you were using?"
The old man pointed to an ancient fly rod leaning against a tree. "See for yourself."

Santa bent down to examine the fly on the tippet of the old man's rod. A Royal Coachman! Just like the one he'd been using all morning. Now he was really steamed.

"I've been casting that same fly all morning!" he complained. "How is it that you were able to make it work for you?"

The old man squinted at Santa's fly rod. "Maybe it's that new hi-tech rod of yours. Where'd you get it?"

Santa thought a minute, then remembered. It was right before Christmas, and he was making his usual appearances at the shopping malls around the world. While on a break, he had ducked into an upscale sporting goods store and grabbed the first rod off the rack. The clerk, a non-believer, hadn't even offered him a discount!

"Thought so!" the old man snorted. "Tell you what - try this rod, and see how you like it."

Santa hesitated. He had a 2:00 meeting with the elves to go over the list of new toys for this year. But, it was still earlyahh, what the heck!

He picked up the fly rod. It was indeed old, with many nicks on the stained cork grip. He practiced a few casts. The rod had a familiar feel to it. Comfortable.

"You know," Santa reflected, "there was a time when we made rods like this. I don't know why we stopped production on them."

"Is that so?" said the old man with a bemused expression. "Well, give this one a shot, and let me know what you think. I'll watch your reindeer for you."
Santa walked back down to the stream, and stepped quietly into the water. Near the opposite bank was a hole that he had fished several times that year with no success. With a flick of his wrist, Santa dropped the fly at the top of the hole, and let it drift over the dark water.
Wham! Suddenly, the old reel sang as a large trout gulped the fly and began peeling out line. But the old rod held, and after several minutes and a furious fight, Santa pulled his prize from the river - a rainbow that would probably top out at five pounds.
In the next hour, Santa had landed four more trout, including one monster that weighed almost seven pounds. Regretfully, he left the stream and returned to his sleigh, where the old man was sitting with his back against a cedar stump.
"That was the best fishing I've had in years," Santa exclaimed. "And this rod, it's perfect. Not too stiff, not too long. Where did you get it?"
The old man looked up and cocked his head. "From you," he said, his eyes misting.
Santa looked at the old man, and then he looked at the rod. And slowly, it dawned on him. He looked closely at the old man. The years melted away, and he saw the boy he had long since forgotten. "Jimmy?"
"You remember!" beamed the old man. "Yep, you gave me that rod almost sixty years ago. Probably saved my skin. I spent so much time fishing with that thing, I didn't have time to get into the kind of trouble my brothers got into. One of 'em even ended up in jail. Me, I started my own business.

"I sell fishing equipment. I can get any piece of tackle you'd ever dream of, but I only fish with this rod. Because it's special. Oh sure, I've gotten skunked once in awhile, but I usually do pretty good. That's because I believe - in myself. And I have you to thank for that."

Santa looked at the old man. He was speechless.

"You're probably wondering what I'm doing here," the old man continued. "Well, everyone needs a Santa Claus at some point in their lives. I'm just trying to give back to you what you gave to me, all those years ago. Take the rod. It's yours."

And Santa, the greatest gift-giver of all times, was humbled.

The old man looked intently into Santa's eyes. "You know, there's a kid in my neighborhood who's going to ask Santa for a fishing rod this year. His folks just got divorced, and he's having a pretty rough time of it."

A silent understanding passed between the two. And then, it was time for Santa to go. He had that meeting with the elves at 2:00, and now he would be adding a few items to the production list. Important items...

Santa laid the fly rod in his sleigh, climbed in, and turned to the old man. "Thank you, Jimmy," he said. "I won't forget this."

"My pleasure, Santa," the old man responded. "Ohone more thing -"

"Yes, Jimmy?"

The old man's eyes twinkled as he wrinkled his nose. "I noticed a funny smell coming from those boots of yours. You might want to watch where you step around those reindeer."

MOST MEMORABLE FISHING EXPERIENCES
MONTANA
The Missouri River between Helena and Great Falls Montana... there's a spot about half way between, where a cliff maybe 20 feet high sticks out into the river, so that over the years the river has hit it, and backtracked to form a sort of "bay"... in the early morning hours, you can sit on this cliff, look down below and watch dozens of 2-5 pound trout sitting right next to shore in this little bay slurping surface bugs... As many of you know, I'm not a fly guy, although I own the stuff, and sometimes actually use it. The challenge at this spot was to take the attention away from the bugs, and get these fatties to attack my offering... And by the way, let 'em see ya', you may as well go home! After many many attempts that failed, I finally learned the secret... I would use a bobber with whatever bait, and throw it out as far as I could so that it would become part of the natural flow of water that hit the cliff and came back around... directly at the feeding fish... They never heard the offering hit the water, and frankly, it probably took a couple of minutes to even get to them... Once it did... hold on to your hats! To date, this is where I caught my largest trout... No flies or lures... a worm/shmellow combo... Yep, that's right... that's where that deal had it's origin... maybe 25 years ago!
UTAH
Small farm town in southern Utah....every year we had to go back to vist the grandfolks. There was a medium size lake that held the irrigation water... It was about 3 miles from my grandads house and I would ride my bike up there to have some wheels when the fishing was slow. My dad usually had a boat around somewhere so could troll for the big rainbow trout in the lake. My dad's favorite lure set up was a ford fender attractor with a Z ray about 3 feet behind it... I was usually trying everything in the box to help my cause...while my father would just stick to his favorite... I decided to try his set up and SLAMO... the fight was on, it was the biggest fish I had ever seen or had on my line anywhere...of course it was the biggest fish in the world and I had to let everyone know.. I quickly got to shore and took off on my bike with the fish in my hand, and rode the 3 miles to my grandads house to show him and every person at the gas station across the street.. I had to have that fish mounted for ever and ever. I got alot of looks peddling down the state highway with my fish. It was about 6 pounds and my largest to date... 30 years later.
TEXAS
As some of you have probably figured out, I don't much believe in organized religion, but have an incredible faith in the Almighty... comes from my upbringing... Dad was a protestant minister, and was an incredible man that I wish you all could have known... he led me down the path to what I believe today... Anyway, part of being a preacher's kid was that you had to go to Vacation Bible School every summer... Parts of that were wonderful, but most of it just wasn't my cup of tea! Best part was, this one year we got to go to this lake near Palestine in east Texas... If you all haven't been there, it's gorgeous... yeah, parts of Texas are really beautiful! This lake is surrounded by a conifer forest, and holds very respectable fish... As younguns my brother and I were very aware of the reputation for big fish in this lake, so we convinced Mom and Dad to let us bring our fishin' gear... What they didn't realize was that we had no intention of going to classes, sermons, or anything related to religion... We were goin' fishin'!Well maybe there were a couple of other things on our agenda...like unscrewing every last salt shaker lid in the cafeteria... Oh my God did we get in hot water... amazing the trouble a 6 and 7 year old could get in.We didn't get the opportunity to escape until the second day at camp... Don't really remember how we did it, but we did... We grabbed our stuff and headed to the Lake... Problem was it was sooooo wide open! We were thinkin' there could be adults skippin' sermon, too, and they'd catch us, and squeal to Dad, so we had to improvise... We headed up into the woods, and started around the lake. We'd gone maybe a quarter mile, when we came to this crystal clear creek... Strange for Texas, trust me! I suspect it must have been a spring, but back then we hadn't the slightest idea what it was. All we knew was that it had to have fish in it!We're talkin' a creek maybe 6 feet across, OK. We trudged maybe another quarter mile along this cool little steam that ran over what appeared to be sandstone, and had maybe 10 foot cliffs on the other side. The deepest parts of this little guy were maybe two feet, until we rounded this bend, and saw a hole in the sandstone bottom. Let's just say... Who knows how deep it was, because it was pitch black, and you could not see the bottom. Weird! We decided this must be the place...Oh boy was it! We fished for several hours, just dropping our lines into this black hole that was maybe six feet square...and stopped counting at over 120 fish! Back then, we figured this was some kind of magical place... Today I'm thinkin' we were very close to the main lake, and somehow the stream and lake were interconnected, so that there was this huge shaded area under the sandstone cliffs...What a day... but it wasn't over... Now remember, we were 6 and 7 years old... On the way back, knowing full well we were in deep doodoo...and trying to figure a way out of it, we hear this crunching over to our left in the three foot grass next to the trail... We look over and there is a pretty large area of this grass moving in unison... Now it's panic time... "what the ---- could that be? a bear, a puma, geez! we better get out of here! Just as we're thinkin' run as fast as we can, the "bear" panics too, and starts jumping four feet in the air!... armadillos... four of 'em... literally leaping 4 to five feet in the air... Absolute fear changed to total hilarity in nothin' flat... Best part... nobody knew we were gone... Best day of our lives to that point, and didn't even get in trouble!
COLORADO
As far as memorable fish go, my first fish has to be number one. I think I was about 7 or 8 (about 35 years ago). We were on a family vacation in the Cameron Pass area. We were staying in a rental cabin in Gould. I think the cabins have been torn down years ago. Dad got us all in the family sedan and we drove to Ranger Lakes. I can still envision the path we walked down to the lake. It was one of those overcast, scattered rainshower days where the smell of pine with fresh rainwater was thick in the air. I can still see the puddles in the path that me and my brothers had to test the depth of. With my Dad, the rigs are usually pretty straightforward. We were fishing with a small split shot and a single salmon egg. To this day, when I see a jar of Pautske's red eggs, it brings back memories of those first years fishing with Dad. I caught one fish that day and I think was probably only about 11-12 inches, but that one fish created the basis of a lifelong passion. I will be forever grateful to my Dad for taking us fishing and teaching us a lot of important lessons along the way.
TEXAS
OK... it ain't all good! Maybe 25 years ago, I made the trek back to Texas to visit relatives, and show off the good parts of the state to the new wife... First few days were terrific... Austin, San Anton, Germantown, piney woods... Oh yeah! Then we made the life changing mistake... "let's head to Galveston and go deep sea fishing! "Never been, but had always wanted to! Knew zip about it, but willing to learn... Oh boy, did I learn! Didn't know the difference between a guided expedition and a party boat, but I sure do now! About an hour into using fish guts for bait, sticking your caught fish through the eyes with the point of your stringer, and five foot swells... I was pukin' my guts out... and it didn't stop... for the rest of the day... When there was nothing left... it was dry heaves... Oh my God! It took over a decade to get me back in a boat on the ocean... but that's another story... stay tuned... and join in people! I only have two more tales to tell...
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