Breaking News from the LBYC...

Late word has come in that a frantic 3-man crew has set out on the Ohio in search of the Gigantic Catfish. What their intentions with the fish may be, we cannot accurately determine at this point. What we do know, though, is that three men are out there hunting the thing, and they are steadfast. Their identities, as closely as we can tell: Marc Branson, 42, an ex-Navy jet pilot and chief of the Pensacola Fire Department; Stanley Hopter, 29, a marine biologist with the Oceanographic Institute; and a Mr. Flint, 50-something, large-game hunter and mercenary fisherman. The following exchange was recorded by surveillance equipment positioned at the Ludlow Bromley Yacht Club moments before the men departed…

Flint: Ten thousand dollars. Two hundred dollars a day, either I catch him or not.
Branson: You got it.
Flint: Get the Covington city commission off my back! So I don't have any more of this bribery crap!
Branson: You got that.
Flint: One case of apricot brandy. You buy the lunch.
Branson: Two cases. You get dinner when you get back.
Flint: Champagne, Ukrainian caviar, and don't forget the colour TV. Hey chief! You try this? Made it myself! Pretty good stuff!
Branson: Thanks.
Flint: Here's to swimmin' with bow legged women. Excuse me chief. Can't get a good man these days for under 60! They're all goin' at least 35 years! 45 year olds with women!
Branson: Don't drink that. Mr. Flint!
Hopter: Mr. Flint! You're gonna need an extra hand.
Branson: This is Matt Hopter.
Flint: I know who he is.
Hopter: I've crewed three transpacs.
Flint: Transplants?
Branson: No, no no he's from the Oceanographic Institute.
Hopter: And an American's Cup trial.
Flint: Mr. Hopter, I'm not talkin' about pleasure boatin' or daily sailin'. I'm talkin' about workin' for a livin'. I'm talkin' about catfishin'!
Hopter: Well I'm not talkin' about hooking some poor bluegill or alligator gar. I'm talking about finding a 30 foot catfish!
Flint: Porkers! Talkin' about porkers! Mr. Hopter. Just tie me a sheep shank.
Hopter: I haven't had to pass basic seamanship in a long time. You didn't say how short you wanted it. How's that?!
Flint: Give me your hands. Alligator gar? When you got a 5,000 dollar net, you got 2,000 dollars worth of fishermen, and along comes Mr. Cat, by the time he's finished with that net, it looks like a kiddy's scissor class has cut it up for a paper doll! You got city hands, Mr. Hopter. You've been counting money all your life.
Hopter: All right! All right! Hey! I, I don't need this! I don't need this working class hero crap!
Branson: You, you, you're not gonna do this aboard the ship are you, Mr. Flint?
Flint: Maybe I should go alone.
Branson: Well it's my party, it's my charter.
Flint: Yeah, it's your charter, it's your party, it's my vessel! You're on board my vessel, mate, master, pilot and I'm captain. Take him for ballast chief.
Branson: You got him.
Flint: (some dialogue muffled by bartender throwing beer cans into a bucket…) straight-jet, killin' lance. pair of robi splice with M1 with three-d clip, handy billy, pliers, lance...
Bartender: Haven't even assembled all these die markers, flares, safety flutes, temperature gauge, spear guns, SMG --
Flint: What are ya, some kind of half-ass astronaut? Heh, heh, heh. Take that you latch it secure? Jesus-H Christ. When I was a boy, every little squirt wanted to be a harpooner or a sword fisherman. Whatta ya got here? Portable shower or a monkey cage?
Hopter: Anti-catfish cage.
Flint: Anti-catfish cage? You go inside the cage... Cage goes in the water... You go in the water... Catfish's in the water, our catfish…. Farewell and adieu to you fair Spanish ladies. Farewell and adieu to you ladies of Spain. For we've received orders for to sail back to Boston. And so nevermore shall we be seeing you again.
Branson’s wife: Did you take your Dramamine?
Branson: Yes.
[Flint talking in background, words undiscernable on tape]
Branson’s wife: I put an extra pair of glasses in your-- black socks and, and there's the stuff, your nose, the zinc oxide, the blistex is in the kit.
Flint: -- Son of a bitch! Goddamn women today, they can't handle nothin'. Young girls just quite as smart, like their grandmothers...
Branson’s wife: That's got to be Flint.
Branson: Colourful ain't he?
Branson’s wife: He scares me.
Branson: Don't use the fireplace in the den because I haven't fixed the flu yet.
Branson’s wife: What am I going to tell the kids?
Branson: Tell them I'm going fishing.
Flint: Break it up will ya chief?! Daylight's wastin'! Front, bow, back, stern. You don't get it right, squirt, I throw your ass out the little round window on the side! Come on chief, this isn't no boy scout picnic! I see you got your rubbers! Ha ha ha! Here lies the fire Mary Lee, died at the age of a hundred and three, for fifteen years she kept her virginity. Not a bad record for this vicinity! All right commissioner, fasten your safety belts, ha ha ha! If you see a catfish, Hopter, swalla! Ha ha ha!

Updated Food Chain

The good folks down at the EPA have come together to release a new 2009 edition of the Food Chain. This is how Nature's order is shaping up currently:

No need to get excited...

If you were one of the 742 Twitter followers of @ohioriverseabeast30ft, please know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was not the real gigantic catfish. It appears the whole thing was a hoax. The 30-foot catfish we search for has not been tweeting, at least thus far. The updates you thought you were receiving from the monster were trick twits, not sweet tweets.

No one is sure who perpetrated the shell account, but due to Twitter’s terms of service (and as proven by the unfortunate legal shenanigans of Tony LaRussa and others) no action can be taken against the online networking site.

The @ohioriverseabeast30ft account was established about two months ago, registered to username “Gigantic Catfish,” and set up as a follower of @CincinnatiReds, @OGOchoCinco, @algore, and @mileycyrus, among others. A recent screenshot of the fake page, taken just before the account was shut down, indicated the following updates:

Gonna eat me some dinner, hopin for homeless folk, settle for they trash, mmm alligator gar haha :)- 7:17 PM June 30th from web

Tryin to swim, muds lookin goooooood, might grab a catnap (lol), catch ya 2morro 8:04 PM June 25th from text

All them hatas shut it, this ain’t the Missoura this the Ohio I’ll eat yo ass whole child please 11:43 AM June 19th from web

Beautiful day at the bottom of the river. Plenty of food. 187th birthday coming up, don’t look a day over 150. Life = good. 2:21 PM June 16th from text


Since these tweets were all fictitious, the object of our quest remains at this time elusive beyond the grasp even of our Information Age. At this time it remains uncertain whether the mythical gigantic catfish would ever consider using Twitter, or if it even has internet access or texting capabilities.

http://news.cincinnati.com/article/20090612/NEWS01/306120020/Fishermen+catch+96-pound+catfish

A 96 pound catfish was caught Wednesday night. It is likely just one of many top-feeding babies of the Ohio River Cat species that can reach up to 30 feet long and reside below the garbage stratum of the river at the murky and almost uninhabitable bottom.

New Contributor

Friends, today we will add a new contributor to our catfishy little community. I honestly have no idea what to expect, so let's cross our fingers & hope for the best. Keep watching the river!

Fest with the Best

MAIFEST is upon us again in Covington's MainStrasse Village: http://nky.cincinnati.com/article/AB/20090514/NEWS0103/905150358/Maifest+kicks+off+Friday.

This is always one of the most fun-filled weekends of the Spring, and also a big weekend on the catfish calendar. Marking the unofficial beginning of the summer Frisky season for the gigantic catfish, the festival provides the first real opportunity for the beast to get its fill of bumwurst and degeneroetta. But it's also a great time for the rest of us to tip back some frosty lagers and savor some of the finest pork products modern culture has to offer. So come on down & join the ORCR crew at Maifest tonight, tomorrow and maybe Sunday for a little bit.



NOTE: This year's Maifest celebration will be 100% Hillary Clinton-free.

A Time to Take Arms

There are certain situations in which it is OK for honest citizens to take the law into their own hands. This is such an occasion: http://news.cincinnati.com/article/20090513/NEWS0107/305130010/1055/NEWS/Three+armed+men+rob+Skyline+Chili
Sacred ground has been trampled upon. Let us seek our vengeance.

A message to these men: "...what I do have are a very particular set of skills; skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you... I will look for you, I will find you, and I will kill you." - Liam Neeson

Brilliant New Film Premiering at Cannes

This wrenchingly sad but extraordinarily moving drama provides an authentic, superbly acted portrait of two people whose lives intersect just as they've reached their lowest depths of despair. Billy Clyde Gillispie is a former college basketball coach who's lost his job and team in a sea of alcoholic self-destruction. Rather than start over elsewhere he’s stayed in Lex Vegas literally to drink himself to death, and that's when he meets Karen Sypher, a recently indicted prostitute who falls in love with him--and he with her--despite their mutual dead-end existence. They accept each other as they are, with no attempts by one to change the other, and this unconditional love turns Leaving Lex Vegas into a somber yet quietly beautiful love story. The film may strike some as relentlessly bleak and glacially paced, but attentive viewers will readily discover the richness of these tragic characters and the exceptional performances that bring them to life.

The Swine Flu thing is still going on, right?

Portrait of the bloggist as a young man

“Summer 2009”

The dawn of Summer is upon us once again, and with it comes months of river escapades, water fun and the continued quest for the elusive gigantic catfish. Thank you for joining us once again!

This Summer’s going to be a little bit different though. There is no real place on this website or in our journey for some of the darkness that has been lurking in the troubled hearts of a haunted few. As a result, a few select names have been removed from the list of permitted users. Their presence will not be missed, nor will their sour demeanor. Things are going to be much lighter around here now! Hey, I don’t know about you kids but I think this is fun!

So it is with a renewed exuberance and hopeful kickstart that we look forward to the months ahead as a time of excitement and wonder. If you truly believe in the mystical essence of the gigantic catfish you will know deep down that there is plenty of room in this great big world for the seabeast and all of us to coexist. But until the day when we can welcome our friend with open arms, let’s simply enjoy the ride!

The Ohio River Catfish Reader is hearby turning over a new leaf, one that will be filled with jokes, games and general revelry. We want to hear from all of you, too, so please please please send along any ideas you have for making this site more enjoyable for everyone. Use the Comment link at the bottom of any post any time you want an easy way to contribute. The more we all pitch in and create a true community of shared thoughts and vision, the more we’re all sure to take away from the mission itself and the vast amounts of good times that are sure to accompany it, regardless of daily outcomes.

It’s going to be an amazing Summer! See you on the River!

THURSDAY, APRIL 16, 2009, 1:12 PM

55 KM NE OF BEIRUT

The equatorial sun beats down mercilessly on the deserted Lebanese landscape. A black Hummer navigates the barren terrain and slowly climbs the base of a rocky hillside. It approaches a parked Jeep and two dirt bikes, slowing to a stop opposite the other vehicles. Three men in designer suits stand there awaiting the new arrival, one obviously the leader, the other two holding machine guns and staring coldly through the cloudless sky.

Two men climb out of the parked Hummer, from the passenger side an Arab, and from the driver’s side a Turk. The leader of the waiting party greets them in Russian.
“Gentlemen. So glad you could find us. Welcome.”
“Hello Yuri,” the Turk replies, also in Russian. “Let’s make this quick, shall we?”
“Ha ha ha. I’ve always enjoyed your demeanor. Straight to the point. No bullshit. All right then my friend. Care to translate?”
“Of course.”
“Tell your comrade that we know all about the American secret and it’s going to be our show from here on out. But we need his help.”
The Turk repeats the message in Arabic, to which the other man grimaces. After pausing for a moment to glare at his counterparts, the Arab speaks in a slow pained stream that is meaningless to all but the Turk. The Turk then projects toward the other men in Russian.
“He says that you advance from this point at the peril of your own demise. He does not wish to go with you. He calls it suicide. He says you are fools and you walk blindly through a valley of fear and ignorance. But he has nothing left, no reason for anything. He asks how much you offer for his help, and for his empty sacrifice.”
Yuri grins and turns to one of his armed henchmen. The henchman picks up a briefcase that had rested against his dirt bike, and hands it to his leader. Yuri then steps forward, facing the Arab, and opens the briefcase. It is full of monetary notes.
The Arab speaks, and eventually the Turk translates, “He says, ‘This is how much my life is worth to you? I will not trade my beating heart for rubles.’”
“Does he have a better suggestion?” Yuri asks in Russian, visibly annoyed.
After an extended exchange between the Turk and the Arab, the Turk responds, “He wants one million euros. That is the price of his soul.”
Yuri smiles. “Consider it done. We depart for the United States tomorrow.”

Yuri and the Arab shake hands. As they do so, Yuri notices a glint of light on the top of the hill before them. Startled, he begins yelling at his henchmen in a feverish outburst of Russian. The men quickly jump on their dirt bikes, machine guns slung around their backs by the straps, and begin to scale the hill as quickly as possible. They get to the crest of the hill, look around, see nothing. A single remaining cedar is the only sign of life in the depleted area. There are footprints all around them. Fresh footprints. They call down to Yuri, who is climbing into his Jeep.

The henchmen ride around in circles, inspecting the terrain. One rides up to the cedar. As he nears the tree, suddenly a pair of legs flash down out of the branches, kicking him square in the face and knocking him off the bike. An agile figure dressed all in black swoops down out of the cedar, disarms the henchman and uses the butt of his own gun to knock him unconscious as he lay in the sand. The other henchman begins to circle back on his bike, reaching to draw his gun. A fluid burst of fire by the man in black disposes of him. The mysterious assassin jumps on the abandoned bike closest to him and rides off, just as the Jeep and the Hummer both cross the top of the hill. As he rides he turns and fires toward his chasers. With two loud, seeminly concurrent bursts, a front tire is blown out on each vehicle. The man in black rides off alone, pursued at first by a hailstorm of gunfire.

And then all is quite as he speeds off, a lone figure racing toward tomorrow, off into the distance, away from Beirut, silhouetted by the deafeningly bright horizon.

The Arab stoicly climbs out of the Hummer’s passenger side door. His sandles splash into the dirt. As his solemn eyes follow the fleeing shape across the vast unknown he pauses to mumble to himself. “Bastardo.”

--------------------------------------

MONDAY, APRIL 20, 2009, 3:44 PM

17 MI. NW OF BAYFIELD, WI

An old man sits alone in a tiny fishing boat, his line cast once again into the choppy waters. It is an overcast day with the last remaining chills of a long winter easing the waves across the surface of Lake Superior. The man nods contemplatively at the remnants of sunlight before returning his attention to the task at hand. There is not another human being within eyeshot.

His hair has gone fully gray now and four days growth has left him with a thin beard channeling a salt shaker uncapped. His blank glare pierces the distance for miles, past the far shore. A flock of Canadian geese can almost be heard squawking from the foreign reaches of their homeland.

An abrupt tug indicates that the man has hit paydirt. With a vague trace of feeling he immediately knows that he has hooked a seven pound lake trout. The ensuing fight is well-fought but short-lived. The fish had no chance. After, the man decides to call it a day.

Driving his old pickup back toward the homestead, the fisherman stops at a wooden outpost that has been temporarily serving as a bait and tackle shop for the past sixty years or so.

Inside the shop are two men, one of which has spent his whole life in the shop, the other only having been there the past three weeks. The fisherman enters and the older of the two inhabitants nods to him with familiarity.

“Hello, Jerry,” the entering visitor says without a smile as he grabs a small bag of hooks.
“How is it out there today?” Jerry asks.
“Bit chilly. Pretty nice overall though.” He drops some cash on the counter to pay for the hooks.
“Catch anything?”
“Yep.”
“How many?”
“Decent ones? Oh, I don’t know, eleven, twelve maybe.”
The other two men chuckle.
“Well, I’d best be gettin on then,” the old man says as he moves toward the door. “Don’t want to keep the old lady waiting.”
“Have a good one, friend.”

After the old man leaves the younger of the store’s inhabitants turns to Jerry and says, “Eleven or twelve, huh? Quite the sport, that one?”
“I reckon. He’s been comin in a while all right. Can’t remember seein anyone hook em as quick as he does. Like he knows what them fish is thinkin.”
“He’ll be eatin good tonight.”
“Nope. Never takes home a single one of em. Catch and release, catch and release, catch and release… all day long.”
“Really?”
“Hand to God.”

The old man pulls his truck up to the woodland log cabin he calls home. No one else lives for almost a mile in any direction. At least he’s pretty sure of that.

He saunters through the front door, hangs up his coat and hat and makes his way into the kitchen. He can smell the potatoes baking. He loves that smell. A fresh cobbler cools on the windowsill.

His old lady walks in hurriedly, smiles, gives him a peck on the cheek. “How was your day?”
“Just fine, thanks. I’m hungry.”
“Dinner’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
“Mmm. All right then.”

She hustles off and begins to busy herself at the counter. He picks up an apple and takes a loud bite. Over her shoulder she calls to him, “Oh, almost forgot, you had a phone call, left a message.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that?”
“Fella says his name was Billiam. Said to tell you that the package had arrived and you gotta pick it up.”

A loud thud echoes through the kitchen, then the house, then the forest outside, as the apple falls from the old man’s hand and erupts upon hitting the tile floor. He stares directly out the back window, questioning his fate and accepting it at once in the same breathlessness.

“Is everything all right?”

“Honey, what’s the matter?”

“You’re starting to scare me.”

“Please say something.”

“Where are you going?”

“Don’t you want any dinner?”

“What’s goin on?”

He zips the knapsack without expression, picks it up off the bed, slings it over his shoulder and moves toward the door. “I’m sorry baby, I gotta go.” His expressionless face deadens the approaching dusk. He pauses for a moment in the doorway, facing her for what may well be the last time.

A tear begins to form in her wrinkled eye. “Where?”

“Kentucky.”

The door slams.

Summer Travel Ideas

Looking for a fun summer getaway for 2009? Craving an escape from the balmy pollution of southern Ohio? Love the water but need a break from infested rivers?

Give Put-in-Bay a go!

http://www.putinbayresort.com
http://www.ohio-put-in-bay.com
http://www.putinbayonline.com


They've got catfish-free swimming pools filled with people and alcohol (and water). Plus bars, restaurants, dancing and a big-ass lake. So head north for a weekend and take a load off at Put-in-Bay. Then come back to Cincinnati refreshed to resume our quest.

Ha! Please...

http://news.cincinnati.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/AB/20090107/NEWS01/901070389/

Once again the elitist local media is trying to brainwash the idle masses into believing that the natural world is less extreme than our reality. I know what they think they're reporting. To me it's just a distraction. A frightened desk jockey's game, so young city fellas can wear a suit and a tie, and have a job. What do they really want to know? Are we still out there, searching the river for the truth? There's not a day goes by I don't think about the seabeast. Not because I'm in Cincinnati, or because people think I should. I think about the giant catfish and its mystical although as-to-yet unseen presence. I want to talk to it. I want to try and welcome it to our society, convince it to stop eating humans, tell it the way things are. But so far I can't. The monster stays hidden in the murky depths of the river and I'm just a man breathing air and walking on the ground. I got to live with that. 35 pounds? That's just a bullshit piece of bait. So you go on and write your stories, you two-bit rag, and stop wasting my time. Because to tell you the truth, I don't give a shit.