Photo by Ron Sinfelt

Mention catfish, and for most anglers, one of two or three images comes to mind. Those who are traditionalists or of a nostalgic bent likely think of lazy summer days spent sitting on the shoreline of a pond or lake, or perhaps in a johnboat, waiting for a bobber to bounce. Others will have thoughts of drift-fishing in big lakes, or maybe anchoring over a spot where electronics show big cats are present. Almost no one will conjure up images of wading for catfish or floating down a stream casting to likely locations. If they think of moving water at all, it will likely be in the context of boyhood days spent on the bank of a slow-moving, muddy river.

Yet an experience a few years back reminded me of something that I should have readily recalled from the joyous days of boyhood, when I did plenty of fishing for cats in the current. I was turkey hunting at Roblyn's Neck Trophy Club, which sits on the banks of the Great Pee Dee River. During lunch, one of the guides casually mentioned catfishing and how he had taken a youngster to his hotspot a few weeks back and watched him land a number of whiskered giants that weighed about as much as the boy.

Intrigued, I questioned him further. He said, "I can guarantee you we can catch one weighing more than 25 pounds." Since it was hot as the hinges of Hades (even though it was April), and given the fact that the turkeys seemed to have a chronic case of lockjaw, I readily took him up on his guarantee. "Give me about 30 minutes," he said. "Have your camera ready, and I'll be back with the bait."

It turned out the bait was offal from a local fish market, and when he came back to camp with a huge garbage can holding it, someone got a whiff then said, "You could follow him by the smell or the cloud of flies after the truck."

We took the odiferous mess to a place where he regularly fished for (and fed) catfish. "Just ease down the bank," he said, "and watch what happens when I dump most of this into the water."

Sure enough, no sooner did the fish heads, bones and entrails hit the water than there was discernible movement, soon to be replaced by boiling water as what probably was three score catfish shouldered up to the malodorous buffet line. At this point, I was handed a rod, baited with a big chunk of fish. "Just flip it into the middle of 'em," I was instructed, "and leave the bale open. When one takes the bait, let him run out to the middle of the river before you set the hook." I followed these simple instructions -- not once but a half dozen times -- with the result being six catfish ranging from a couple of pounds to the 25-plus mark I had been promised.

Mind you, this was an unusual situation, but it also afforded a pointed reminder of the kind of action you can find in South Carolina streams. It also set me to thinking about an approach to catching catfish that I enjoyed a lot as a youngster, one that involved a mixture of drifting along in a johnboat, occasionally stopping to wade in shoals or other likely spots. This took place in streams that were smaller, shallower, and much faster moving than the Pee Dee, but the real point is that in many parts of the Palmetto State there are opportunities to catch catfish (especially channel cats) in the current. Let's look at the subject in more detail, starting with some effective techniques and gear and then turning to some specific destinations.