Noodlers use hands to catch catfish the old way

Growing up in Lincolnton, Ga., Woody Parks heard the stories. A brave few fishermen wrestled in mud holes sacrificing fingers to catfish that can weigh more than 50 pounds each.

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Woody Parks' largest flathead weighed 73 pounds, and would have set a new record had it been taken by rod and reel.

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Woody Parks (left) and Tommy Russell team up to pull a flathead ashore after it struck a hook thrust into its hidden lair.

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Jim Blaylock/Staff

Woody Parks wades ashore with a 20-pound flathead pulled from beneath a boat ramp. Noodling is the cheapest way to a big catch, he said. "We get mad if we don't catch one over 50 every trip."

"I didn't believe it. I didn't believe it could be done," said Mr. Parks, 36.

So he tried it.

Mr. Parks, a competitive bass fisherman, left his rod and reel at home for early morning noodling.

"Sure enough, it worked," said Mr. Parks, who wrestled a 35-pound flathead catfish to the surface that day 10 years ago.

The sport is known as hogging, tickling or graveling in other states, but noodling is most popular in the South. Some say the name comes from the way catfish squirm when they've been caught. Others suggest it's got to do with the way fishermen wiggle their fingers to lure catfish to their fist.

Whatever it is, it's an innocuous, even silly, name for a serious sport.

"It makes you a little bit nervous. It'll scare you, no doubt, if you've never done it," Mr. Parks said, whose bloodied up more than a few fingers on ragged catfish teeth, fins and rock. "I've been scarred up pretty good. When the fish actually strike you it's quick. It's like a snake bite."

Noodlers are also wary of beavers, snapping turtles and snakes in the mud.

Mr. Parks sometimes wades in shallow water, but will often take a boat along shorelines and river banks searching for the underwater nests of catfish.

"You look for the spawning areas where fish go back into their holes," he said. "We've found the places to go. At one time we were doing two or three times a week. If somebody beats you to that hole the fish are gone."

When noodlers find nests close to shore, they keep their heads above water and thrust their fists into the mud holes.

Often, though, a nest is deeper, in as much as 20 feet of water, and so they hold their breath.

Mr. Parks has become less of a purist. "We'll use air tanks to stay down longer," he said.

Mr. Parks has also taken to modifying his set up with a handmade rod of PVC pipe. He runs cord through the half-inch tube, attaching a hook on the opposite end. A piece of foam serves as bait, and tricks the catfish into thinking a bluefish is invading.

It saves him from diving around under boat ramps, where rebar and concrete can trap noodlers.

"There are safety issues with that," said Ken Boyd, Army Corps of Engineers' chief ranger of recreation. "The catfish like to burrow up under the concrete but it's not a safe place for people."

The lake doesn't have regulations specific to hand fishing, but the Corps prohibits it on commercial ramps it manages.

Noodling, Mr. Parks said, is still the cheapest way to catch the largest fish.

"With $5 you can catch the biggest fish of your life. You could fish your entire life with a rod and reel and never catch a 35-pounder," he said. "We get mad if we don't catch one over 50 every trip."

Mr. Parks warns that it's not a sport for amateurs. The catfish are so big their mouths could open to swallow bowling balls. Noodlers have drowned. It's illegal in many states.

The sport gained national attention when a noodler appeared on The Late Show with David Letterman in 1989, and a documentary was produced about noodlers in Oklahoma in 2001. It was featured, too, in an episode of the Discovery Channel's Dirty Jobs.

"It's got a long history in the South," Mr. Parks said, and continues to thrive in Oklahoma, Tennessee, Mississippi, and Louisiana.

Writer Burkhard Bilger unearthed an account of hand fishing among Native Americans in the South. He printed the description in his 2000 book, Noodling for Flatheads.

The excerpt, written in 1775 by historian James Adair, tells of fishermen who wrapped cloth around their arms before diving under rock where catfish lie.

The sport, Mr. Parks said, hasn't changed much since.

"I bring ear plugs, and a decent set of goggles. I wear scuba gloves sometimes, but that's not really the point," he said. "It's man versus fish."

Reach Kelly Jasper at (706) 823-3552 or kelly.jasper@augustachronicle.com.