Hannah Barron<\/a>, an Alabama-based noodler who poses in bikinis with massive catfish for 1.8 million Instagram followers. With all the social media hype, however, it remains unclear how much of the tradition of noodling as a way of forging rural community ties\u2014versus a side quest for influencers\u2014has been preserved.<\/p>\n\u201cWhere it\u2019s legal, it\u2019s going to be diffused,\u201d said Mary Grigsby, an anthropologist at the University of Missouri. \u201cIt may be the same practice, you may catch a fish, but it\u2019s not the same experience going with a tour guide.\u201d<\/p>\n
Bivins, as well as Wozniak and Bearden\u2014both creatures of the swamp\u2014don\u2019t seem to mind.<\/p>\n
\u201cI just get the satisfaction of seeing someone else get out of their comfort zone to do something like this,\u201d Wozniak said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI want other people to be as excited as what I\u2019m excited about,\u201d Bearden added.<\/p>\n
Might this potential algorithm-fueled noodling renaissance be harmful to the actual fish? Obviously, ripping a full-sized male catfish from the thousands of eggs it\u2019s tasked with protecting doesn\u2019t seem to improve chances of passing on its genetic line, even if the fish is released after the encounter. But Kendall Robbins, a fisheries biologist for the Oklahoma Department of Wildlife Conservation, said there is little evidence noodling has an effect on populations, at least not yet.<\/p>\n
Since 2024, Robbins has tagged more than 300 flathead catfish in Grand Lake, Oklahoma, a popular spot for both noodlers and rod-and-reel anglers, and plans to tag another 700 to study their population dynamics. So far, only three flatheads, which have similar breeding tendencies to blues and channels, have been recovered by noodlers, and the only assumption he\u2019s been able to make is that flatheads seem to return to the same spawning hole each year and may even raise multiple nests with separate females.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe don\u2019t know exactly what noodling pressure does to flathead populations, but we also don\u2019t know what rod and reel pressure does,\u201d Robbins said. \u201cWe really don\u2019t know a lot about flathead catfish in general.\u201d<\/p>\n
Another study found similarly low noodling pressure on catfish in the years after Texas legalized the practice. Simply put, there probably aren\u2019t enough handfishers out there to make a real dent in the catfish population.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not something we worry about too much,\u201d said Austin Griffin, another fisheries biologist for the Oklahoma Department of Wildlife. \u201cThere are places these fish can spawn where people just can\u2019t get to them.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\nWozniak (right) and Bearden reach deep into a catfish hole<\/span> (Photo: Ronald Makaramba)<\/span><\/figcaption><\/figure>\nIt\u2019s overcast. The water is smooth as glass<\/strong>, and the air is thick after an early morning downpour. During the spring and early summer, when the temperature is just right to support catfish hatchlings, Wozniak rarely sleeps, working the night shift at a Goodyear tire manufacturing plant before spending the day in Louisiana lakes. Riding in his mudboat are Ronald Makaramba and his 5-year-old son. Makaramba, a former college soccer player from Tanzania, is documenting the day with a camera and drone, determined to capture the inherent virality noodling lends itself to in exchange for a free introduction to the high-adrenaline culture.<\/p>\nBearden, a logger in nearby Texarkana, pulls into the dock with another mudboat and invites me aboard. A former high school football standout with a habit of stroking his thick mustache with his thumb and forefinger, Bearden began learning from Wozniak after marrying his wife\u2019s sister. He describes the outdoors as his \u201chappy place\u201d and hunts just about anything.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf you can hunt it, fish it around here, I do it,\u201d he said. \u201cIf there was a grasshopper season, I\u2019d go around stomping those things.\u201d<\/p>\n
Also on the boat is Dakota Hearod, a newer, quieter member of the team, who served in the same Marine Corps reserve unit as Wozniak. Unlike Bearden and Wozniak, Hearod doesn\u2019t have a catfish tattooed on his buttocks quite yet. But all three proudly brandish knuckles scarred from catfish teeth.<\/p>\n
Bearden shoves off the dock and zips past clusters of rusted pump jacks. Rising from the water like ghostly obelisks, they\u2019re relics of the world\u2019s first offshore oil development, after a Gulf Oil foreman spotted bubbles rising from Caddo Lake more than a century ago. The lake takes its name from the Indigenous Caddoan people, and while some locals say the lake was formed by earthquakes in the 1810s, most geologists believe it was created earlier, when the Great Raft\u2014a vast logjam on the nearby Red River\u2014backed up the water and flooded the surrounding lowlands. Today, Caddo Lake comprises one of the largest shallow cypress swamps in the world.<\/p>\n
A few minutes pass, and we make the first stop near a patch of cypress. Like duck hunters, noodlers tend to be a bit secretive, and Wozniak asked me to spare specifics about the locations of his \u201choney holes\u201d\u2014angler parlance for prime fishing spots.<\/p>\n
The three men jump in and begin a slow, ritual-like backward walk, feeling for nests with their heels among the knobby cypress knees.<\/p>\n
\u201cI get that fish to bite my foot, turn my foot just right, pull it to the entrance, then try to get my hand on it,\u201d said Bearden.<\/p>\n
In Louisiana, noodlers are allowed to construct their own catfish nests to lure the fish, and my guides strategically position cut-out tractor tires covered with rubber platforms around the lake, as well as old cast-iron bathtubs. Of course, there are also \u201cnatural holes\u201d where channel, blue, and flathead catfish spawn, like hollow tree trunks and slabs of concrete. Throughout the day, we take turns splaying out on our bellies, prying under boat ramps along the shore. It\u2019s these dark, protected crevices that males search out, then lure a female catfish into with their pheromones. She\u2019ll then lay up to thousands of eggs into the mud before a male inseminates them.<\/p>\n
Seasoned noodlers can tell if a hole is occupied simply by its texture. A smooth surface is a good sign a male has cleared out detritus to make way for its offspring, and is likely guarding the hole. The male will also constantly fan the water to keep its eggs oxygenated.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf you come into a hole and it\u2019s really mushy, a catfish probably hasn\u2019t been in there,\u201d said Wozniak.<\/p>\n
After no sign of fish, we try another cypress grove. Makaramba is brave enough to be the first to jump in, and soon he\u2019s plunging in and out of the murk, which looks like olive juice. His son and I watch hopefully from the safety of the boat over a chorus of screaming cicadas and bullfrogs.<\/p>\n
For the next ten minutes or so, the lanky Tanzanian bobs up and down in the water, struggling to get a grip on the fish. It turns out to be a flathead catfish, known in Louisiana as an \u201cOp\u201d or \u201cOpeleusus\u201d, which are much less aggressive than a blue catfish and therefore much harder to catch for the rookie. At one point, Makaramba attempts to wedge it against the side of the hole, but the fish proves too slippery.<\/p>\n
\u201cGrab the fish, man! Grab the fish!\u201d yells Wozniak.<\/p>\n
Finally, Makaramba shoves his hand in the Op\u2019s mouth, then thrusts the other through its gills. Noodling, especially for first-timers, is a team sport, and Wozniak dips under to assist. Within seconds, the two finally wrestle the fish to the surface.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet\u2019s go! Fuck ya! African cowboy!\u201d Makaramba yells towards the camera I\u2019m recording him with.<\/p>\n
His son shrieks with a mixture of delight and amazement. He asks to hold the 20-pounder, but instead settles for gingerly touching its tail. Makaramba poses for a quick picture with the flathead before it flops out of his hands and disappears back into the murk.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\nBearden (right) shows off the bite marks on his hand after a successful catch <\/span> (Photo: Ronald Makaramba)<\/span><\/figcaption><\/figure>\nIt\u2019s hard to pin down who was crazy<\/strong> enough to first try noodling, though near identical practices have been documented as early as 1775, when historian-trader James Adair described Native Americans in the southeastern United States wrapping cloth around their hands and sticking them under the edges of rocks. He wrote:<\/p>\n\u201cThey dive under the rock where the large cat-fish lie to shelter themselves from the scorching beams of the sun, and to watch for prey: as soon as those fierce aquatic animals see that tempting bait, they immediately seize it with the greatest violence, in order to swallow it. This is the time for the diver to improve the favourable opportunity: he accordingly opens his hand, seizes the voracious fish by his tender parts, hath a sharp struggle with it against the crevices of the rock, and at last brings it safe ashore.\u201d<\/p>\n
Whether or not the technique was common among Native Americans, or how it spread to rural white populations remains a mystery. In a 2004 Journal of Popular Culture<\/em> article, Deborah Salazar wrote that by the 1920s, the term \u201cnoodling\u201d as a fishing technique had been documented in Missouri, and became a part of the Southern dialect by the 1930s.<\/p>\nBut there\u2019s evidence that years before, the practice was common enough to be banned. In 1919, the state of Missouri outlawed \u201clogging\u201d and \u201crock fishing\u201d\u2014terms that referred to handfishing in areas where catfish like to nest. That didn\u2019t stop a rich, outlaw subculture of noodlers from developing in the state, according to Grigsby. In her book \u201cNoodlers in Missouri: Fishing for Identity in a Rural Subculture,\u201d she documents the practice in rural, working-class Missouri communities in the mid- 2000s, including a group known as \u201cNoodlers Anonymous,\u201d which was actively lobbying to get it legalized at the time.<\/p>\n
A few of the 30 or so Missouri noodlers Grigsby interviewed, however, were also against legalization, fearing doing so would harm the tight-knit bonds formed from generations of evading conservation agents. The culture within this community can best be described as macho. Grigsby had heard of one secretive all-men\u2019s group who noodled exclusively at night, \u201coften not clothed.\u201d Still, she spoke with plenty of women noodlers, including a few who grew up handfishing during the Great Depression.<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause they were good noodlers, they were very much included,\u201d Grigsby said. \u201cPeople needed fish, people needed to eat.\u201d<\/p>\n
Grigsby said the culture surrounding noodling at the time was looked down upon by both the media and the Missouri Department of Conservation, which cut short a trial run for its legalization in 2007. The practice is still illegal in Missouri today. And while noodling isn\u2019t exactly as elegant as casting a homemade fly for speckled trout, Grigsby told me she came away from her research with a fond appreciation for the method.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey view this as a more worthy relationship to taking life than throwing a hook in the water,\u201d she said. \u201cI think people have something to learn from that.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\nWozniak walks through a cypress grove looking for fish holes <\/span> (Photo: Ronald Makaramba)<\/span><\/figcaption><\/figure>\nBy late morning, we reach the shore of an RV park<\/strong>. Wozniak\u2019s flatboat is blaring a mix of Baton Rouge rapper Boosie Badazz and Cajun zydeco remixes. Bearden opts for country on his. I\u2019m soon shirtless, with my sweaty stomach pressed against a hot slab of concrete, trying to thrust my arm into a fish\u2019s mouth.<\/p>\nFortunately for the bottomfeeder, it doesn\u2019t bite my hand, and I\u2019m too jittery to grab it with any real confidence. To everyone\u2019s disappointment, it writhes out of the hole and disappears into the lake. Having grown up in a Midwest suburb, with most of my outdoors experience consisting of granola-fueled family hikes, I felt as though I was living an alternative childhood I often wish I\u2019d had. One filled with hunting and fishing, target practice and dirt bikes, or just fixing anything without having to pay someone for it. In other words, the childhood of the great American redneck, a term that doesn\u2019t seem to offend those who live it.<\/p>\n
\u201cA redneck is just a guy that can get the job done with the least amount of tools,\u201d said Bivins, who coached frazzled city slickers in the art of noodling on his TV show, which ran from 2011 to 2013.<\/p>\n
At age four, Bivins began handfishing rivers near Cotton County, Oklahoma, a state many deem noodling\u2019s epicenter. A child of the sixties, Bivins recalls handfishing\u2014sometimes for gar or carp, though mostly for catfish\u2014as a rite of passage for a handful of families in each town.<\/p>\n
\u201cI learned from my dad just like he learned from his,\u201d he said. \u201cIf you like a rush, there\u2019s nothing else like it; it\u2019s doing it with the bare necessities.\u201d<\/p>\n
As he grew older, Bivins began wading into faster-flowing creeks, in water as deep as 16 feet. His method is to submerge his feet first, let the fish bite his foot, then grab it and thread a rope through its lip, all before coming up for air. Now in his sixties, Bivins can hold his breath for more than two minutes. His record North American haul is a 111-pound flathead, though he once traveled to Spain and successfully noodled an 11-foot-long, 250-pound Wels catfish.<\/p>\n
Like any high-adrenaline activity, noodling carries obvious danger. Bivins cautioned against going alone or wearing loose-fitting clothing, which can get people hung up on jagged edges. He estimates that, each year, one or two people drown while noodling.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere needs to be someone there to live to tell the story,\u201d Bivins said. \u201cIf you fight a fish for a minute, and you\u2019re at the point where you have to have air and you\u2019re starting out of the hole and get hung up, you\u2019re in bad trouble.\u201d<\/p>\n
Other hazards include wildlife. It wasn\u2019t until I was dry and nursing a Budweiser at Herby K\u2019s that a local\u2014visibly stunned as I recounted the day\u2014told me Caddo Lake is full of cottonmouths. Wozniak says he\u2019s never had trouble with snakes, alligators, or anything else lurking in the swamp. Still, the presence of alligators and venomous snakes may explain why noodling hasn\u2019t taken off in Louisiana to the degree it has in Missouri, Oklahoma, and Texas. As Bivins put it, \u201cIn the southeastern states, people just don\u2019t get in the water because there are a lot more alligators, a lot more cottonmouths.\u201d<\/p>\n
By the late 2000s, Bivins was competing in the Okie Noodling Tournament, a competition held every year in Paul\u2019s Valley, Oklahoma. By then, it had become the largest noodling competition in the world, and the subject of the 2001 documentary \u201cOkie Noodling,\u201d a cult classic and one of the first portrayals to give mainstream audiences a window into the practice. After winning the tournament several times, Bivins and his guide partner Trent Jackson were approached by Animal Planet. The two agreed to star in the TV show.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe weren\u2019t looking for anything. They just called us up one day,\u201d Bivins said. \u201cWe might have been in on the groundbreaking of making noodling more than just local people.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\nThe day’s successful haul: a monster catfish <\/span> (Photo: Ronald Makaramba)<\/span><\/figcaption><\/figure>\nFor a few minutes, I fight to keep my hand in a blue\u2019s mouth long enough to pull it out of its nest. Before my first attempt, Wozniak told me a Wisconsin woman had hauled up a similar catfish on her first try. He also mentioned a group of women on a bachelorette trip who\u2019d also had success.<\/p>\n
Eventually I\u2019m able to get a good enough grip with my right hand to yank the blue out of its hole. This is in direct contradiction to Wozniak and Bearden\u2019s constant instructions to resist pulling it out before getting a sturdy two-handed grip. Before I have the chance to lose it, though, my two guides plunge under to help secure the fish. All three of us surface with the 35-pound monster.<\/p>\n
By the time Wozniak helps me haul it to the boat, the fish\u2019s jaw is still locked on my hand, and my arm swings uncontrollably while it thrashes on the deck. When it lets go, my first feeling is relief more than triumph. Makaramba pans the video camera toward me, and I try to think of something cool to say, but only manage a meek \u201cCome on, let\u2019s go!\u201d Later, I pose for the all-important fish picture, leaning back and pulling it up to my chin.<\/p>\n
Sure, it took the help of two blue-collar dudes with more ingenuity in their fingertips than I\u2019ll ever have, and I\u2019m still not sure whether I caught the fish or it caught me. But I got the damn fish in the boat, and I\u2019m now prepared to scour bayous all over the state to chase that high.<\/p>\n
A few days later, Makaramba\u2019s professionally produced video, featuring drone footage and close-ups of Wozniak and Bearden coaching me in the water, pops up on my Instagram feed. I repost the reel, then return to my air-conditioned office, proudly brandishing the scabs covering my knuckles.<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/cdn.outsideonline.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/Noodling3.jpg?auto=webp&width=3840&quality=75&fit=cover\"\/)
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/cdn.outsideonline.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/Noodling6.jpg?auto=webp&width=3840&quality=75&fit=cover\"\/)
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/cdn.outsideonline.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/Noodling5.jpg?auto=webp&width=3840&quality=75&fit=cover\"\/)
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/cdn.outsideonline.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/Noodling8.jpg?auto=webp&width=3840&quality=75&fit=cover\"\/)
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/cdn.outsideonline.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/Noodling4.jpg?auto=webp&width=3840&quality=75&fit=cover\"\/)