Light rain starts to dimple the surface of the lake as the last remnants of sunlight fade through a veil of clouds on the western horizon. It’s April in the Midwest. A warm southern breeze has brought with it both favorable fishing conditions, and the hope that spring is finally here to stay. A building chorus of spring peeper frogs begins to sound off from the wooded hillside behind your chosen catfish camp. First one lone “peep”, then another, then soon an avalanche of sound is pouring down from the darkened hill.

This is a moment you’ve been waiting for since the frosty temperatures of mid November closed out the season prior. During the winter that followed, gear was broken down and cleaned, tackle was inventoried and replaced, and a battle plan for the coming season slowly took shape. Earlier this same week a healthy livewell full of large suckers was acquired from a milk run of local spots. A known early season favorite of giant flathead catfish, and a delicacy that can only be used during cooler water periods due to the sucker’s intolerance to heat. About an hour before dusk the most choice of these specimens was carefully baited on each rod and kayaked one by one out to pre-planned drop locations surrounding your camp. After the last bait is put into place, a realization sets in. All of the winter planning is over, the preparation is done, and the first chilly kayak ride of the year is complete. The first “wait” of the new season is underway. 

Early season flathead fishing can be either boom or bust, able to make one feel like both a hero and a hapless idiot all within the same week. An hour has passed now in the dark without a bump since the armada of squirming suckers was deployed, and you begin to question both your battle plan for this evening and your timing. Years of carefully taken notes and observations have led you to start your season here, or so you thought. But have you chosen your location correctly? Did you pick the right night? Indecision wages war with confidence while waiting on that first bite of the year. 

The mental clammer and din of the peeping frogs suddenly falls away, and another sound takes the foreground. The slow, steady clicking of a reel starts the season anew.