By Ben Smith:
There’s a rhythm to the seasons if you fish long enough. Spring brings the fever, summer tests your patience, and winter usually sends you indoors. But fall? Fall is when catfishing hits its stride. The days cool off, the humidity backs down, and those whiskered fish we’ve been chasing all year start feeding like they’ve got somewhere to be. If you’ve ever wanted to catch catfish in numbers—or maybe hook into one that makes you check your drag twice—this is the time to do it.
I’ve been on enough banks and in enough boats to know that there’s more than one way to catch a cat. Ask ten fishermen and you’ll hear ten different methods, all sworn by as gospel truth. But in the fall, when fish are on the move, you’ve got options. Let’s walk through a few.
There’s no shame in the simplest method—throwing out a hunk of bait, setting your rod in a holder, and waiting. It’s the bread-and-butter way to catch catfish, and in the fall, it works better than most seasons. My go-to is a Carolina rig or, if I’m feeling fancy, a Santee Cooper rig with a float that lifts the bait off the bottom. A chunk of cut shad or skipjack is hard to beat, though chicken liver still holds nostalgic value. Flatheads mostly demand live bait—think bluegill or perch.
In October, I focus on ledges and drop-offs. Fish the edges of creek channels or put a bait near a downed tree where current sweeps by. The cooler water seems to wake catfish up, and you’ll often know within minutes if they’re home.
Some of the best fall days I’ve had didn’t come from staying put, at least when I still had my boat. Drift fishing turns the search into the strategy. You set up a few rods along the boat, bait them with cut shad, and let the boat creep along with the wind or trolling motor. The key is speed. Too fast and you’re dragging bait past fish before they can sniff it. Too slow and you’re just sitting still. Somewhere between 0.3 and 0.6 mph is about right. I’ve had days where every pass across a flat or channel edge produced bites like clockwork. There’s a thrill to drifting—it feels like hunting. You’re covering ground, searching, moving until you connect.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t smile at the sight of a jug dancing across the water. Jugging is equal parts fishing and chase. You bait your hooks, drop your jugs in a bend or cove, and wait for the telltale bob and dash of a hooked cat. The same goes for trotlines and limb lines. These methods feel old-fashioned, almost like stepping back a few generations. They’re not for everybody, but in the fall, when catfish are feeding aggressively, a well-placed line can fill a cooler overnight. These aren’t rod-and-reel purist methods, but they carry their own tradition. If you grew up in the South, chances are you’ve seen a grandfather or uncle run lines on a crisp October morning.
Not everyone has a boat, and that’s fine—fall is one of the best times to fish from the bank. Catfish cruise shallower water in the evenings, and a good stretch of shoreline can be just as productive as the fanciest rig on the water. I’ve spent plenty of nights with PVC rod holders jammed in the mud, a bunch of snacks at my side, and a small fire flickering behind me. There’s a rhythm to watching rod tips in the dark, waiting for one to bow heavy. It’s as much about fellowship as fishing—stories shared, jokes told, and then the rush of a strike breaking the calm. I’d also suggest attaching a small bell at the tip of your rod. You can get these at just about any sporting goods store. Just make sure to remove it before casting or you’ll be chunking a few dollars worth of brass into the river.
Not all fall catfish hug the bottom. When baitfish school up shallow, catfish often suspend to ambush them. That’s when float fishing comes into play. A slip bobber rigged with cut bait, or a live shiner can be deadly in coves where shad are thick. Flatheads especially like this game, cruising the edges of cover in low light. It’s not always the first method folks think of, but it can pay off big.
No matter how you fish, fall catfishing comes down to finding the right places. Catfish are structure-oriented creatures. They love channel edges, logjams, riprap, and any spot that breaks current. In lakes and reservoirs, submerged creek arms act like highways, funneling both baitfish and predators. One of my favorite fall signs are birds diving on shad. If you see birds working a cove or creek mouth, you can bet catfish aren’t far behind. Follow the bait, and you’ll usually find the whiskers.
I’ve caught catfish in every season but fall stands apart. The fish fight harder, the air feels better, and the scenery has a way of making you pause. There’s nothing like a heavy rod bending against a backdrop of red and gold leaves, mist rising off the water in the morning. Maybe that’s why I look forward to this time of year as much as I do. Catfishing isn’t glamorous compared to other pursuits. It doesn’t get the glossy magazine covers that bass fishing does. But it has a simple, enduring charm—an honesty, if you will. In the fall, catfishing is at its best. Whether you’re drifting wide water, chasing runaway jugs, or sitting on the bank swapping stories, you’re part of something bigger than the fish you’re after. You’re carrying on a tradition, connecting with a season, and—if you’re lucky—hauling home supper. So, grab your rods, cut some bait, and head to the water. The whiskers are waiting, and fall is their season.
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