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By Will Brantley
When I was in the sixth grade, there was a know-it-all kid in my class who had a whipping coming all year, until one morning after a little jawing back and forth, I met him halfway across the room and busted his lip. I landed one or two more punches and he caught me in my right eye before the teacher pulled us apart. It was tough to say who the winner was, but nonetheless, I tasted sweet satisfaction. Grabblin' has a similar outcome. With your forearm laced in bruises and scrapes after you've muscled a big, slimy cat from its dark hole to the river's surface, it's only fair to call the fight a draw, and yet you walk away grinning like a wild man.
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To try your hand at grabblin', head for the river in late spring, when lengthening days and rising water temperatures trigger the catfish spawn. First, the females will move into the shallows to lay their eggs in protected locations, like under boat ramps, inside logs and holes in the bank. Then the males will guard the nests, aggressively attacking anything that comes too close. Like your unprotected hand.
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