Twenty-four hours ago, I was swarmed. Waves of little Batmen, Optimus Primes, and Frozen princesses rushed my doorstep, all clawing at my plastic pumpkin filled with sweet Halloween staples. Instructing them to take one or two was futile, so I just let them have at it. The dust would settle eventually, and I'd be able to assess what was left of the candy stores. Now, on the night of November 1, I'm in a similar situation. At my feet, a 30-plus-pound flathead catfish is flopping around with a hook still in its mouth. The monster I'm fighting is pulling drag out into the darkness. Susquehanna River guide Joe Gunter is frantically trying to clear the other lines. In the front of the boat, another rod is bent to the grip and bucking violently in its holder. My friend Jim Fee is torn between grabbing it and staying on the video camera. At some point, I figured, the dust would settle, and we could get our heads around the fact that if you nail the conditions, this Gremlins-style panic is not uncommon in fall flatheading.