BK – The Man, The Myth, The Legend

It’s not everyday you get to brush shoulders with a true celebrity. In preparation for this trip I told my better half, Sara, she needed to come along on my latest adventure to partake in the once in a lifetime experience that is catfishing in the dark with the man they call “BK.” When I spoke his name out loud for the first time I was expecting a full-on swoon. Much to my dismay her response and resulting facial expressions didn’t EXACTLY match with my expectations. No matter. We were going fishing. In the dark. For catfish. With some guy I had met on the internet. What could possibly go wrong?

As we passed through Prescott, I wondered, “what in God’s name was I thinking?” I emailed James looking for some encouraging or comforting words and his response was, “If Sara is talking to you at the end of the night…she’s the one.” To be honest I don’t remember taking much comfort from his response. Of course, if you know James, I’m positive he didn’t intend any, either.

As we neared the resort I directed my truck down a steep hill that lead down to the river. I remember thinking to myself, “this is the last turn, almost there.” It also dawned on me that we had passed the point of no return as we would be coming face-to-face with Brian “BK” Klawitter as soon as the truck hit the bottom of the grade.

Before I could contemplate the 3-point turn needed to beat a swift retreat Sara spotted an odd-looking fellow leaning on the gunnel of a green Lund in the parking lot and blurted, “Is that Brian Klawitter from In-Fisherman’s Catfish Strategies!?!”

At this point I think anyone reading should take a pause, lean back in their office chair or recliner at home and have a good look at the ceiling. Is the word “gullible” visible anywhere overhead?

OK, I’ll admit it, our night with BK didn’t play out exactly the way I have portrayed it here at the start of this story. Except for that part about Holst trying to spook me. That part is 100% true. But there’s a reason I took the time to “spin a yarn” versus simply getting on with the recount of the events of the evening. When you agree to share a boat with BK you need to know what you’re getting into so I was trying to set the stage a bit with some creative journalism. When BK’s in the boat there will be wise cracks, pranks, tall tales and outright weirdness at times. And that’s all just part of the experience. Is BK a serious catfisherman? That’s a tough one to answer. To be honest I think the best way to describe BK is that he’s very serious about his catfishing, he’s just rarely serious while doing it. If that makes sense?

At any rate, I need to get on with the story of our time on the water with BK. Before I do I promise no more creative license. Going forward it will be just the facts and nothing but the facts, exactly the way it happened. I do solemnly swear. [wink]

If you’ve spent any time on In-Depth Outdoors’ forums you’re likely to already know a little bit about the infamous BK, the resident catfish expert. BK is best known for his love of fish with whiskers and his willingness to help out anyone in need of some solid catfishing info. BK is also known for posting pictures of himself in a pink tutu, fishing in his bathroom, having an almost cult-like infatuation with SPAM (Yes, the canned meat ‘product’) and wearing a red foam clown nose in most of his recent fish pictures. If you can juxtapose those last two sentences you’ll have a good feel for why onlookers find BK such an interesting fellow.

After a quick round of introductions, life jackets were donned and the green Lund was launched. BK pointed his craft upstream with our course set to take us in the direction of a beautiful setting sun. As we motored into an open lock chamber that would raise us up to the next pool above, BK chatted with the lock operator over the VHF radio, before we were released to continue our journey on the other side.

 

I could tell from looking at BK’s GPS unit that we were going to a spot he had fished previously based on the plot trails that terminated at our first destination. After the anchor was deployed we settled in with 4 lines total, each soaking a stout bullhead, awaiting the witching hour which is, according to BK, “the time of night the big cats come out to play!”

Now as I mentioned earlier, the ability to catch over-sized catfish isn’t the only thing BK is known for. The truth is his boat talk is pretty legendary as well. An old leery looking tree, a skeleton of it’s former self and eroded into the mud of the river bank, was the next topic. Apparently this particular gnarly tree had a history worthy of being retold while we waited for one of our rods to signal our first bite of the evening. BK jumped right into his story by pointing out that the tree in question was central to the ghostly tale of Tuskahana, the Crow Maiden. Being a true believer, BK stood in the front of the boat, goose bumps covering his vigorously flapping arms as he narrated the old Indian story.

According to the legend, a young and beautiful Native American girl was born on the banks of the mighty Mississippi. Upon her birth, hundreds of crows flocked to her, and as she aged they followed Tuskahana everywhere she went, always collectively crowing a somber omen. Upon her fifteenth year she was forced to wed another tribe member. Miserable, Tuskahana took refuge from her loveless marriage by hiding out on the islands of the Mississippi River. As time passed loneliness overcame her and she hung herself in the very tree positioned not 30-yards off our stern. As her spirit lifted towards the heavens, thousands of crows erupted in an ominous frenzy to mark her passing.

It’s said by old river runners, on still summer nights you’ll hear the caw of the Kit-ka’ositiyi-qa-yi far in the distance. If you watch closely Tuskahana will be walking along the riverbank dragging a rope in her hand.

At this point Sara whispered to me that either BK needed to change the subject or she was going to need a change of shorts, and I must say, it was a unnerving story well-told in the failing light by the master catfisherman!

As if on cue, at the very moment when BK fell completely silent for dramatic effect at the end of his story… one of the clickers on one of the reels fired off, making my heart jump a little bit. It was game time!

 

Sara was ready as BK handed her the rod. She locked her arms tight, reeled down to the fish and drove the hooks into the escaping flathead like a well-seasoned veteran. The response from the cat was immediate and intense – this fish just wasn’t as enthused about the encounter as we were and responded to Sara’s solid hookset with a burst of power that didn’t stop until the fish found sanctuary in some nearby flooded timber. BK quickly instructed Sara not to give up as it wasn’t uncommon for a flathead to swim right back out of the timber the exact same way it went in. After a brief pause to the fight it became all too apparent that this fight was over just as quickly as it had started. As BK put it, “that’s what’s great about flatheads. You can do everything right and they’ll still muscle their way loose. And you did everything right.” I do recall that Sara’s response to that first hook up was that she was shocked at the brute strength of the fish. She went on to comment that “walleye seemed like weak, cowardly, spineless garbage fish compared to the robust, formidable, and lusty flathead.”

OK, I admit it. BK gave me a dollar to include that last part!

I will, however, agree that I’ve never seen a walleye do what that big flathead did with regards to straight-line pulling power!

Unfortunately, at this point our only option was to break the line and attempt to retrieve any part of the bullhead rig not claimed by the flooded timber. As Brian was retying, from across the river a barely audible tone began to emerge. It drew slightly closer and to my ears it seemed like whomever, or whatever, was making the sound was now growing in intensity and seemed to be moving in our direction! I remember Sara whispering softly… is that… crows? I’m not ashamed to admit that as soon as the word “crows” had escaped Sara’s lips my head instantly swiveled to get a glimpse of the shoreline, looking of course for Tuskahana!

At this point Sara’s heart was pounding away in her chest and I was growing more and more uncomfortable by the nanosecond. The sound drew closer and closer, louder and louder, and Sara continued to scour the banks of the river with her eyes.

Just as our ears were about pinpoint the source of the eerie racket the sound abruptly vanished, leaving a ghostlty feeling lingering in the air and our ears searching for any hint that the sound had only paused and might return should we only listen hard enough. Not much was said in the minutes following this rather unsettling episode although BK did break the silence by mumbling something under his breath that sounded to Sara and me like an old Native American spiritual protection prayer. Or that’s what we hope it was.

As I sat there in the boat post-freaky episode, I tried to pull all the pieces together and make sense of what had just happened. Was the sound we heard the crows of Tuskahana? Had the crusty catfisherman figured out how to call down a gaggle of crows in the middle of the night as a way to punctuate his story? I’m open to the idea of spirits walking the earth and I’ve run into a few things during my life that absolutely defy explanation. But there was just something about the sound that seemed vaguely… familiar.

At this point in the story I have to take a step back and declare that, with regards to the source of the noise in the night, I’ve been sworn to secrecy. BK must have been watching the expressions on my face change from a look of complete confusion to that of sudden comprehension because in the same instant that my brain made the connection, BK quickly stood up, threw his hands in the air and blurted out “a magician never reveals his secrets!” He also said both Sara and I had a choice to make. We could opt to swim back to Everts Resort or swear to take his secret of the legend of Tuskahana to our graves.

Neither Sara or I thought swimming through a lock and dam at night was a solid choice so if you want to know the secret behind the crows of Tuskahana you’ll need to spend a night on the river with BK. I can all but guarantee BK will tell the story and Tuskahana’s crows will make an appearance at some point in the evening.

So how does the night end? At this point in the story we’re on the dark side of midnight and fish of some unknown size and species are hitting our baits and running our clickers. In response to each run we carefully removed the rod from the rod holder, reeled down on the fish, felt weight and attempted to cross the fish’s eyes… but each time the hook failed to find flesh and we retrieved nothing but a no-roll sinker, swivel and hook back to the surface. BK passed the time between bites by telling us memorable stories from his many days on the water. A couple that really stuck with me include the one when MPLSPUG fell out of his boat and the time BK knocked a full-rigged video camera with microphone into the water never to be found again! I only wish I had been there to listen in when BK called James to inform him about the “missing” gear. I asked BK how that conversation went and all he had to offer was that it was a very one-sided affair.

So my night on the water ends the way any good night of catfishing should end and that’s with the consumption of canned meat! As many know, BK is a SPAM devote of the highest order and all that spend time in his boat are expected to sample his culinary creations before departing. On the night in question BK had prepared a special treat for Sara and I – Jalapeño Spam sandwiches! As I watched Sara plow through her own sandwich and set her sights on what was left of mine I recalled something James had emailed me earlier in the evening. He said if Sara was still talking to me in the morning, “she’s the one.” Well she was still talking to me. And laughing. And generally having a wonderful time. I think any girl that can polish off two Jalepeno SPAM sandwiches after a night of catfishing with BK should get a medal.

 

So what do I take away from this night on the river with BK? Both Sara and I agreed on the ride home that it was a great experience and we’d come back to do it again in a heart beat! BK is, without question, a very skilled guide and story teller with a passion for sharing his love of the big river with other anglers. And, yes, BK is without question one of the quirkiest people I’ve ever met. He’s also incredibly likeable.

As we gathered around his boat to say our goodbyes BK added that the night would have been a little bit better, a little bit sweeter, had Sara caught a cat.

I swear what happened next is absolutely 100% true. In fact, it might be the only truth in my entire story. As if on command, a big orange tabby cat bounds out of the darkness and jumps up into Sara’s arms as if to say the night was now complete.

Bk – The Man, The Myth, The Legend… able to call down a gaggle of crows on demand and make four-legged cats appear out of the darkness. BK says his ability to control the flatheads is still a work in progress.