I know there are mixed feelings about sports writers in the gun world, but I don't care, I'm proud of my son
. He graduated from University of Santa Barbara last year, and soon picked up a job with the local paper here as a sports writer (what he wanted to be).
Just recently they gave him a column in an addition section, besides the team sports. It's called the AV (Antelope Valley) outdoors. His first column is on making catfish bait. I copied it and will post it below to share with you guys. I'm kinda biased but I think it's funny. By the way, it's ALL true
. Hope you enjoy it too.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
YOU MAY NOT WANT TO TRY THIS AT HOME
Sean Lewis
On the Outdoors
Staff Writer
Antelope Valley Press
I will never forget that smell.
The pungent stench of raw pork mixed with melted cheese and enough garlic to frighten Dracula assaulted my nasal cavity with every breath.
My roommate Craig, suffering from a stuffy nose and a cold, was compelled to state the obvious: Yo, that stinks,he told me when he caught a whiff of my concoction 20 feet from his seat in the living room.
In the quest to create a homemade bait that would attract catfish to the hook like gold-diggers to ailing billionaires, I had created a monster.
Almost every time I told someone of my plans to try and catch catfish with homemade bait, they offered me advice on bait that was sure to work. While shopping for supplies at Wal-Mart, the helpful employee, a Kentucky native, informed me that fresh shrimp from the grocery store worked better than anything else.
Not gross enough.
A friend said that everytime he placed a chicken liver on a hook and threw it into a lake, it came back with a channel kitty attached.
Too simple.
I wanted to be involved in the creation of the bait. When I reeled in a big whiskered fish it was going to be because of my work, not just somebodys suggestion.
Google yielded thousands of results, many of them absolutely disgusting. Some required blood, most required something to rot or sit in the sun for a couple of weeks. Not having the patience or stomach to wait for something that I would be working closely with to putrefy, I found a homemade stinkbait recipe that wouldnt make me wretch.
Little did I know how putrid the mixture of cheese, raw pork, dog food, minnows and flour would be.
Things were bad when they were in the blender, they got worse when the blenders motor burned up. This is when I learned the difference between a blender and a food processor. For a few minutes, something actually overpowered the stench from my bait the smoke from the blender.
Pouring the rancid concoction from the blender and into a Tupperware bin, I resolved to mix my bait by hand. I grabbed a whisk that will never again have a home in my kitchen and went to work on the blend.
Minnows stared at me as I plunged them under the melted cheddar and shredded pork. As I added flour to turn the melty mix into a dough, the smell began to blitzkreig my olfactory ducts.
The garlic alone would be enough to make the strongest individualseyes begin to water. But in conjunction with the dog food and the normally appetizing aroma of cheddar cheese, my nose began to run, my eyes watered worse than when I saw The Pursuit of Happynessand my stomach tried its hardest to return my dinner back to the mouth that sent it there.
By the time that enough flour was added to turn the goo into a doughy mess, I would have been happy to never see my homemade bait again. But like Dr. Frankenstein, I would be forced to confront the wretch I created in the morning. I put a lid on the bait, threw away the destroyed blender, dumped the whisk with a piece of a minnows tail sticking out of a lump of dough clinging to its wires, and cleaned my kitchen.
I went to bed and dreamt of catfish flocking to my hook with the fervor of teenage girls at a Justin Timberlake concert.
The next morning, before the sun made its way into the sky, I met my father at Fin N Feather Lake to test my creation. I brought the bait, he brought our rods (I store mine in his garage) a tackle box and a box of rubber gloves. Neither of us were about to touch the stinking dough with our bare hands.
We picked our spot on the shore and set up.
The lid came off the Tupperware, and a night in my kitchen didnt make the bait smell any better, but fortunately it wasnt much worse. The dough went onto the hook nicely, and we cast for the first time as the sun began to peek over the lake.
By the time the sun was near its apex we were on our way home.
The amount of catfish caught: zero.
The total number of bites: zero.
That isnt to say that there were no fish to be caught at Fin N Feather, our neighbors had stringers full of them.
Maybe it was the lack of a food processor, poor fishing technique on our part or simple bad luck that kept our hooks void of catfish.
Personally, I think the problem was that the bait was so revolting that no living creature, not even a catfish, would willingly put it in its mouth.
Next time Ill just use the shrimp. At least if I dont catch anything I can eat the leftovers.
