Three generations of Dalke fishing for catfish on a small river

Sweat beaded on my forehead, and breathing was difficult. On that muggy Friday in July, my father and I loaded the car. Fishing gear, sleeping bags, cots, and everything else you need for a multi-day fishing trip. My son Vlad helped wherever he could, but we kept sending him back into the shade...

Later, the same procedure followed: some of the stuff was crammed into the boat. Finally, we set off. Luckily, the car had air conditioning.

After about three hours, we finally spotted the river. Our destination, however, was not this one, but a small river that flowed into it a few kilometers upstream. Our task now was to find a place to launch the boat and park the car. To our great relief, the search didn't take long. We quickly launched the boat and loaded it with the remaining gear. In the meantime, Vlad was already rummaging through the sandbanks for frogs and other critters.

And then it finally happened - the long-awaited launch on the water! Our small expedition to the little river had begun! After a few kilometers, our boat reached the mouth of the small river, which was about 10 to 30 meters wide. After just a good 500 meters, we felt like we were in the wild Amazon! The banks were overgrown with impenetrable thickets, covered with various lianas and climbing plants. Deadwood and tree stumps protruded from the water. It was hard to believe that such unspoiled nature could still be found on the mainland. Falcons and hawks swooped down from the treetops. Kingfishers lurked for prey on the branches of the trees hanging over the water. The river snaked like an anaconda, changing its character after every bend. Deep pools alternated with shallow areas where there was an extremely strong current. Maneuvering became increasingly difficult, and the risk of hitting an obstacle grew. After traveling a few kilometers upstream, we decided to turn back – closer to the mouth. A small island with a sandy beach seemed made for our adventure...

Dusk was already falling when the first two feeder rods were cast for catching baitfish. While Vlad kept an eye on the feeder rods, I set up the catfish tackle. My father sorted and stowed the equipment. The first bite on the feeder rod didn't take long. The bream was so strong and combative that at first, we thought it was a carp! We were yet to discover the character and strength of the local fish! The strong current had obviously bred true athletes in them. While Vlad and his grandpa diligently caught bream, I set up two short rods for catfish fishing with a break-off line ("Abspannen"). Why short rods? A seven-year-old boy will hardly be able to hold a rod about three meters long with a raging catfish pulling at the other end. That's pure physics – a question of the law of leverage. In addition, the width of the river allowed the use of rods with lengths of 1.80 m, 2.10 m, and 2.40 m. I gathered exactly these from my assortment. )))

...The humidity dissipated, and the sun began to disappear behind the horizon. The two catfish rods were already armed. A bream of about 700 grams hung on one break-off line, and a hand-sized roach on the other.
Evening quickly turned into night, but there was no sign of catfish activity. My father went to sleep in the boat, while my son and I made ourselves comfortable on the cots right next to the rods... Gradually, our conversations died down, and we fell into a deep sleep. The ringing of a bell startled me awake! I quickly realized which rod had gotten the bite! The line was slack. After I re-established contact with the fish, I set the hook – but unfortunately, it went into thin air. In the beam of the flashlight, I looked at the white bream that the catfish had snatched and completely descaled. I put the rod back in the rod holder and crawled back into my "nest."
...I slept soundly and was only woken up late in the morning by the loud discussions between grandson and grandpa.

The day started wonderfully! The sun was shining, and the river, in its pristine state, was a true sight to behold. We caught perch on baitfish, as well as small roach and bleak on a float. The feeder rods, unfortunately, remained silent.

After lunch, it became really muggy, and the sun beat down mercilessly. Everything pointed to rain coming in the evening.
Curiously, the roach on the break-off line, which had remained untouched all this time, was attacked in the middle of lunchtime.
However, the bite didn't look like a catfish. Most likely, it was a large perch, but perhaps also a zander or a pike.

Unfortunately, the perch we caught had swallowed the bait so deeply that they died quickly. I decided to re-arm the catfish rods towards evening. We fled into the water to escape the heat. The water level was high, and the water had cooled down considerably after the rain a few days earlier.

After we had a good swim, I set about exploring the surrounding sections of the water – with the help of my son, of course.
We tied a few more break-off lines and prepared a rig with a buoy, after thoroughly sounding the depths and finding edges with holes.

After a hearty lunch, we retreated to the shade of the tent to rest and gather our strength.
After all, we still had to catch baitfish and lay out 4 catfish rods for catfish before evening.

Towards evening, after another dip in the water, the work started again. Baiting the spots for feeder fishing, catching small baitfish with the float rod – all guns were blazing.
Fortunately, as dusk set in, the bream and silver bream started biting.
We rigged a light rod with a small baitfish, hoping to catch a zander. And the zander, though small, didn't keep us waiting long!
Vlad beamed with joy in the light of the flashlight, holding his very first zander up to the camera lens.

While I was deploying the freshly caught baitfish with the boat, Vlad at the bank gave his all, landing one bream after another into the keepnet.
How great was his joy when, instead of the next bream, a small mini-catfish was pulled ashore!
All in all, I myself hadn't experienced such varied fishing in a long time. But I didn't yet suspect what would happen next...

To avoid further distractions, the feeder rods and the other rods were reeled in. I only converted one rod into a bottom rig with a fairly large roach, hoping to catch a larger zander. We made a small campfire, quietly fed dry branches into the greedy flames, and listened into the darkness. The small zander had swallowed the hook so deeply that, unfortunately, it didn't survive. This, however, presented an opportunity to show my son how to prepare fish in field conditions. We fried it "on a skewer" and devoured it in no time!

In the darkness, we could hear owls and various other birds. The day had been so eventful that my little fishing partner quickly began to fall asleep sitting up. My father promptly picked Vlad up and went to sleep with him in the boat. I stayed alone with the rods, enjoying the night and the stars...

After waiting for an uncertain number of minutes or hours (for happy people don't count hours), I also decided to lie down on the cot. It was the last night of our trip. Tomorrow meant packing and heading home. "Too bad I couldn't give my son the chance to fight a big catfish," I thought to myself, pulling the blanket over my head to protect myself from the damp chill... ...A piercing ringing of the bell suddenly jolted me awake from my deep sleep! I sprang from the cot, reeled in the slack line tight, and set the hook! Immediately, there was massive resistance at the other end, and shortly after, brutal thuds! The boat where my two partners were sleeping was only about ten meters from my "fight," but neither my shouting nor my whistling woke anyone up. Holding the catfish rod in one hand, I started throwing stones at the boat with the other. On the third try, I hit it. In response to the "artillery barrage," my father stirred, but he couldn't wake Vlad. In the meantime, the catfish made a single run, pulling several meters of line from the reel! I had to hold on with all my might to prevent it from getting stuck in the deadwood! An exceptionally strong fighter. The catfish was no giant, but it had enough power to take on its bigger brothers from the main river! The landing was finally successful, except that the catfish tried to escape again during landing and completely scraped my hands. Everything ended as quickly as it had begun. My father disappeared back into the tiny cabin of the boat, and I lay down on the cot with a satisfied smile on my face and fell asleep immediately.

...In my sleep, I heard a strange rattling... After a few seconds, it repeated, and it went through me like an electric shock: That's the reel's drag! I jumped up and stood at the rod with the bottom rig. Set the hook – and a pretty strong resistance for a zander. "Definitely a catfish," I thought to myself. How great was my astonishment when I saw two glowing eyes in the beam of the flashlight. Yes, it was a zander, and what a zander! And then my fishing partners also crawled out of the "dinghy." My son could hardly believe his eyes when he saw the big catfish on the stringer in the crystal-clear shallow water. Then Vlad was allowed to fight the zander for the last few meters. When I landed it, I myself was amazed. In the darkness, it looked smaller. We decided to measure it. 85 centimeters! My personal record was broken!

After we had taken photos with the zander, we, of course, released it. It slowly flicked its tail and majestically disappeared into the depths. Fortunately, the hook was perfectly removed. And after the zander, it was the catfish's turn for a photoshoot. On the cool morning, my son and I got into the river to pose with the local ruler. Despite the cold and the size of the trophy fish, Vlad handled it masterfully: sometimes he helped me by holding the catfish by its tail, sometimes he proudly posed alone with it!

After these emotional bathing sessions, which I loved so much, the only thing left to do was to release the contents of the keepnet. However, my son's disappointment was great when the small catfish he had caught was no longer in it. He had been looking forward to holding it in his hands again since early morning and then letting it swim away. How and when it escaped will probably remain a mystery. Two rather exhausting days must have taken their toll on the little one. His mood was in the basement, and to top it all off, it also started to rain.

After waiting for the rain to stop, I started the task of packing everything up, which I dislike so much. But quickly and without any fuss, we left the island, leaving no trace behind. To lift our youngest catfish angler's spirits, we decided to try some clonk fishing on the way back to the mooring. That turned out to be not so easy. We quickly passed the deep sections of 4 meters, after which there were only 2 to 2.5 meters. Then the car came into sight, and we were practically directly opposite the boat ramp... An inner voice suddenly whispered to me: Stay closer to the left bank, where the trees have fallen into the water. And indeed! Here was a small channel of 3 to 3.5 meters. One clonk, another – and there it was! Vlad desperately braced himself against the gunwale of the boat and pumped the stubborn catfish up! After a few minutes, both were visibly exhausted, and I grabbed the catfish! Vlad was overjoyed and full of positive emotions!

We quickly docked, took one last souvenir photo, and the junior angler released his opponent back into freedom – thereby completely soaking his very last dry change of clothes! ))))

So that was the expedition with a young angler to a small river. Few would suspect that such a small "stream" could hold such weighty surprises! As I finish writing these lines, I look at the clock. It's time to pack. Tomorrow we're setting off again, this time with a larger group, in search of the next exciting spots and whiskered predators! My daughter has already expressed a wish to bathe with a monster in the river. I hope there will be much more to tell soon!

Vitali Dalke
July 2011