That's what happened last week while fishing off 'Ol Tom's boathouse in the backwaters of the 'Ol Mississipp.
I tossed out my two catfish poles with homemade stink bait about noon. WHEW! Is that bait ever getting ripe as the temperatures rise.
I watched the poles for 10-15 minutes, then decided to tend to a few clean-up chores in the back of the boathouse.
Several minutes later I noticed my favorite pole leaning to the right in my rod holder. The rod was bent severely and the line was streaking through the water for a place a I didn't want it to go. - a huge, partially submerged tree in the water.
Thank you beavers!!!!!!
I ran through the boathouse... as best as a 70-year-old can, grabbed my pole, and tugged. Oh yeah. This fish was hooked good. It was a biggie.
Before I could say "Catfish Cookies," the catfish took me into the submerged branches of the tree the beavers felled earlier this spring.
I knew I was in trouble, big trouble.
The catfish tugged. So did I.
It freed itself, then it dove to the bottom of the river.
I tried to bring it up to the top of the surface, but no way.
I knew what it would do next and it did.
The mammoth cat took me back into the submerged limbs.
It tugged. I tugged, realizing I had to be patient to not break my 17-pound test line.
We fought tooth and nail for the next 15 minutes before it must have wrapped around another limb.
So long, Bob. Nice try.
I reeled in my line, swivel and slip sinker. My No. 12 treble hook and catfish were history.
Gosh, I love fishing!
Until we meet, have a great day outdoors.