History: Catfish Slim, Caddo, LA submitted by Frank Smart Date: July 2003 ********************************************** Copyright. All rights reserved. http://usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm http://usgwarchives.net/la/lafiles.htm ********************************************** CATFISH SLIM, CADDO LAKE, TELLIN' THE TRUTH AND EATING SLUMGULLUN BY FRANK M. SMART My Daddy, Frank M. Smart, Sr., was a great sportsman. A great hunter and fisherman who believed the game laws must be followed. In other words, when you went fishing, you had your fishing license and you obeyed the limit laws. The same went with hunting. We hunted in the winter and fished in the summer. A large part of our family diet was built around the fish we caught and froze, and the wild game, rabbits, ducks, quail and squirrels and the occasional venison which we caught or killed in the lakes, rivers and forests which were, for the most part, in Caddo Parish. For many years I have related to countless people several stories about my Daddy concerning his sportsmanship. One is about fishing and the other is about hunting. Before they dammed up a stream and created Caddo Lake, my Daddy hunted there as a young man. When he learned they were going to create the city water reservoir he mapped the land pretty thoroughly, so when it was a large lake, he knew the contour of the land beneath the water. Daddy was known by many as "Catfish Slim". He was about 6' 1" and of slender build with dark, slicked-back hair which accented his slender face. That was the 'slim' portion of his Caddo Lake nickname and he could simply catch more 'catfish' than anyone around. Daddy never owned a rod and reel until my mother, Mary Erma, nee White, Smart, gave him one for Father's Day. I never saw him catch a fish with that rig but he always took it with us when we went fishing. Daddy used cane poles exclusively. To qualify for a pole he would use it had to be limber enough to bend almost double. He paid for many poles that broke when he tested them against the wall at the fishing goods shop. His poles were more like whips. That made playing and landing a 1 to 3 pound catfish more fun and sporting. It was not enough just to convince the fish to bite your bait, you also had to bring the fish on board the boat, no nets allowed. His poles were equipped with a light line, a number six hook, two small lead sinkers and a real cork, not these new fangled, plastic, spring-loaded, adjustable gizmos they have nowadays. We fished mostly out of Wallace's Fishing Camp on the west side of the lake. The railroad track ran along that side of the lake and we fished along that railroad bank where the large rocks came down into the water to shore up the embankment. We didn't own a boat but would rent a 12-foot wooden boat and put our 5 horsepower Johnson on it. Daddy and I would get up early, get some breakfast at some all-night eatery and be on the water before sunup. You could not fish until sunup. We would buy a 1/2 pound box of frozen, unshelled shrimp. On the boat trip up to the spillway at the dam we would thaw the shrimp out and shell them, chumming the water. You could not fish within 300 feet of the spillway, but there we sat waiting until sunup ready to fish. In the middle of the boat was a Number 2 washtub with beer, soda and ice. As the beer and soda left the tub, the fish went in. More often than not we were back at Wallace's Fishing Camp at 9 am with that tub full of catfish and bream. In those days the limit was 125 catfish per person, per day and I cannot remember the limit on bream, but it was big. Daddy would sit in the pointed prow of the boat and scull us along the embankment, slowly. We were about 8 feet away from the rocks fishing as we went, in water that was about 18 inches deep. If the fish didn't bite, we swung our poles to the left and set the bait in the water again. When we reach the fishing camp, we started the motor up and went back and started all over again. We might do this 3 or 4 times that morning. We cut the shrimp very small, just enough to cover the small Number six hook, so that if the fish got the bait, he got the hook also. We kept a taut line and when the cork bobbed ever so slightly, we jerked. Then the battle was on and the fish usually lost. It was fun and exciting fishing and took some skill to land a hard fighting catfish or bream who was determined to throw the hook and escape. One such day as were returned to Wallace's Fishing Camp, I was sitting in the boat putting the fish on a stringer. At that time several guys drove up in a car with Texas license plates on it and got out. One guy approached the bank and saw me stringing up the multitude of fish from the wash tub and he asked Daddy how we caught all those fish. He was obviously impressed. Daddy proceeded to tell the Texas gentleman how we caught the fish-light cane pole, light line, Number six hook, two small lead sinkers, a cork, shrimp for bait, fish in 18 inches of water along the railroad embankment, keep moving, etc. He detailed exactly how we had caught every fish that I was stringing up. That done, the gentleman thanked Daddy and walked back over to his car. His buddy asked him what Daddy had said. We overheard the guy say to his buddy, "You don't think I believe the lying S.O.B., do you?" Catfish Slim loved to fish but he also loved teaching others how to fish, me included. Daddy also loved hunting. Being raised on a farm in the Kurthwood community near Leesville in Vernon Parish, he hunted as a boy. My Grandmother, Miriam, nee Hennigan, Smart, would give him three, .22 shells and he was expected to bring home three squirrels, or rabbits. He was an excellent shot. For about 45 years his main hunting weapon was a Winchester, Model 97 Pump, with a hammer and a full-choke, 36-inch barrel. It finally wore out. But he could shoot that thing, even with it's long pump stroke, like an automatic. Daddy was what they called a 'wink shooter'. In other words, when the butt of the shotgun hit his shoulder, he fired. Fast shooting was required when hunting squirrels, fast-moving rabbits or ducks on the wing. Even though he could afford more than 3 shells, he was still a very efficient and economical shooter. In addition to being a great sportsman, Daddy was also a great cook, although a little bit sensitive. Deer season opened in Louisiana on Thanksgiving Day. Each year Daddy and his cousins would go to their deer lease in west central Louisiana and set up camp. Everyone brought their tents and sleeping bags, Coleman lanterns and stoves and cases of canned goods in addition to other foodstuffs. It didn't really matter what was in those cans or if there was even a label on the can, because they were going to be used in Frank Smart's best known culinary concoction-SLUMGULLUN. To my knowledge no known recipe exists for this gustatory conglomeration and in truth, no recipe was necessary. Daddy would set up a stove and put his pressure cooker on it. Into the pot would go anything in a can. Meanwhile all the younger men were dispatched to the woods to kill and bring back anything they could find-rabbits, squirrels, ducks, quail, dove, etc., and that would be cleaned and added to the pot. After cooking for several hours with plenty of spices added and much stirring, the Slumgullun was ready to eat. On a cold winter day, served on a tin plate with liberal slices of French Bread, it really hit the spot. After sitting all day on a deer run in the cold rain and wind, returning to the camp to find the pot of Slumgullun always ready, was a delight and worth the wait. There was just one problem with Frank Smart's Slumgullun. Remember I said he was a bit sensitive about his cooking. First he required much effusive praise, but-he also thought you should eat it three meals a day the entire four days you were at the hunting camp. Too much of a good thing... So, another of my many fond memories of my Daddy, Frank Madison Smart, Sr., comes out of my mind and on to paper for others to read and maybe, just maybe, it will rekindle some memories of your father and your times together in the forests, rivers and streams of America.