The usual suspects

In the last week, I've become tired of chasing smallmouth. It's not that I don't appreciate smallies. They are game. But I need variety.

So I'm sitting around the pad this morning, wrestling with a nasty summer cold, and Peterson calls. He says he's over on Pacific Avenue, hanging on the river's edge just south of the Lowry Bridge. I tell him I'll boat over.

I find him skipping rocks, with his heavyweight Joey A. and another dude whose name I never learned. All three piled into the Jennifer V--600 plus pounds, at least--and I gave them a slow tour of the upper harbor.

Below the Camden Bridge I noticed a plastic Aquafina bottle drifting at a weird speed. Then the bottle jerked and disappeared below the surface. I boated over. When the bottle popped back up, I grabbed it. There was about a 14 inch channel cat on the end of it.

As I removed the hook, I examined the fish. It was sleek and muscular. I tossed the back in the water and thought: J's out of town, I should go catting tonight.

After sunset, I fished from River John's dock for about an hour and a half. I caught six kitties on chicken livers. Only five agreed to pose for this photo.