On July 28, the legendary Catzilla, a 50-pound catfish said to be lurking somewhere below the surface of Hesperia Lake for some time now, was caught, or so the story goes.
An angler, who has been described only by his first name, Justin, was credited snagging the behemoth, which is believed to be the second-largest catfish that has ever haunted California’s 470 wet lakes and reservoirs.
Nearly a dozen nearby fisherman temporarily lost their focus on their own poles and lines as they watched in awe and virtual disbelief as Justin battle with the Leviathan in the late morning heat. It pulled away and he let the reel out. Then, as quickly, when the fish’s resistance temporarily ebbed, he wound in more line than he had just let out. The contest between the fish thrashing as best as it could backward and Justin’s now aching forearms intensified. Beneath the water, the cat’s powerful body momentarily glistened as the sunlight penetrated the lake, but then seemed to disappear as the sun glinting off the water shone with a brightness that obscure the darker blue hue beneath it.
Justin, wet with sweat and the spray of drops of water from the line he wound in ever closer, when momentarily diminishing tension allowed him to do so. For a moment, when he stepped back and encountered a sharp and sudden tug, he almost lost his balance, but then recovered. The angler’s muscled taughtened, and, as if determined to overpower his prey, he pulled and was rewarded with a peculiar sound not unlike suction as the fish for the first time emerged from the water, followed immediately by cacophonous thwack as the fish’s tail slapped the water, the sound echoing away and across the lake, followed by slower ripples of the water in the same direction.
The faintest of smiles grace Justin’s face, signifying that he knew he was drawing very closer to victory. The glimmer of outward happiness lasted on a second or so, as he knew the battle was not yet over, and he could not afford to let anything distract him, particularly at this critical juncture of the contest between man and beast.
At last, the fish as fully out of the water, no mean feat, considering its weight and that equipment between them was a flexible pole and 15-pount-to-20-pound monofilament line. For a brief second, Justin’s eyes and that of the catfish met, and the adversaries held each other’s gaze. Even at that point they were sizing each other up. What did Justin see? The biggest freshwater fish he had ever caught or hoped to catch. What did the fish see? What was the fish looking to see? Some sign of weakness? Some indication that there would be a split-second of opportunity for self-survival?
With sweat streaking his brow, his nearly fatigued hands experiencing a hint of a tremble, Justin landed the prize.
He posed for a photo with the still-living fish, a memento for posterity. Justin then sought to heft the slippery creature into a basket.
That’s when Catzilla moved to make his timed break for it, thrashing and twisting powerfully, unexpectedly and violently, propelling himself out of Justin’s grasp and into the shallow water of the lake and then away to depths, disappearing in a flash into the safety of the lake.
Thus, this week, has the legend of Catzilla enlarged.
There was no opportunity to put Catzilla on a scale.
According to the record books, the largest catfish ever landed in California was a 53.8-pounder that was reeled in from the San Joaquin River by Randall Gilgert Jr. in 2008.
According to the International Game Fish Association, the world record for an all-tackle landing of a channel catfish, weighing 58 pounds, was caught at South Carolina’s Santee-Cooper Reservoir in 1964 by W.H. Whaley.