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Local
Angler Loves The Sound Of A Giant Blue Catfish On The Line
UNION-TRIBUNE
January 8, 2005
There was a day some time ago when Rick
Guseman pulled four blue catfish from the waters of San Vicente Reservoir
within minutes of each other. Noticing a surface boil near his boat,
Guseman thought bass might be responsible and cast into that area. Turned
out, it was a school of trout, which the blues were following. One
snatched the mackerel chunk on Guseman's hook, and the first of the four
battles was joined.
Later Guseman would lift the two largest of his fish onto the dock so they
could be weighed. Given the bulk of blues he frequently lands, Rick's size
(6-foot-2, 270 pounds, with ridged muscle included) becomes a convenience.
The two that day checked in at 60 and 64 pounds.
During the weigh-in, along came a woman who – obviously stunned by the
sight of the twin monsters – asked what would be done with them. Told
they'd be released, she yelled, "Don't put those darn things back in the
lake. We water-ski here." When Guseman replied that he always releases his
fish, the woman turned to her husband and said, "We might as well sell the
boat. I'm not water-skiing anymore."
That story is confirmed by Larry Bottroff, longtime fresh water biologist
(now retired) for the San Diego City Lakes system. As he did with many of
Guseman's trophy blues, Bottroff did the weighing that day on San
Vicente's certified scale. It was Bottroff, in fact, who finally persuaded
a reluctant Guseman to begin bringing his hogs to the dock so that size
could be authenticated.
"We like to get as much information about fish as possible," Bottroff
says. "There are some very large blues in that lake, and Rick has caught
more than his share. He kind of goes in streaks. He caught so many that
one year . . . "
Rick caught 21 over 50 pounds that one year. He was at 17 and holding when
I first went out with him. That was on a spring evening at San Vicente,
and he was still holding when we docked. I tend to have that effect on
people with whom I fish.
We had a similar experience this fall at Jennings, where Guseman recently
landed a blue that weighed a lake-record 61 pounds. This time we were out
after dark; Rick prefers to be as close to invisible as possible, so a
night without moonlight is to be treasured. He was convinced a fish I lost
that evening was a blue (he can tell by the way bait is mouthed), but the
only ones brought to the boat were channel cats.
Guseman can identify channels by the way they move after taking bait, at
which point he usually jerks it away. "I don't waste my time on them" he
says. "They're like mosquitoes. They won't stop pestering you."
There's nothing clandestine about Guseman's reason for focus on blue cats.
"I want the world record (recently elevated to 121-8 pounds by Cody
Mullennix at Lake Texoma on the Texas-Oklahoma border)," he says. "If I
fish for a year and catch only one, but it's a record, that would be
fine."
Rick is convinced he's surrounded by the right waters for this to happen.
A mammoth blue he got on the boat at San Vicente two years ago ripped the
hook from its mouth before he could get a net under it. "I'll never forget
that fish," Guseman says. "He looked like a tuna. He just exploded once I
got the net near him. I'm sure he was well over 100 pounds."
The day he brought the 61-pounder to Jennings' dock, he also lost one so
large and powerful it broke his net's rim. "Rick's told me it was 66
inches long," says Larry Bottroff. "I don't know how you measure something
that size while you're attempting to land it, but if it was anywhere near
that length there would be a huge amount of weight involved."
Guseman says that when the blue was alongside his 16-foot boat it
straightened out and he was able to eye-mark length.
"Rick probably is one of the most straightforward people I know," says
Hugh Marx, who manages the Jennings fishery and is a longtime friend of
Guseman's (the two shared a house in the mid-'70s when both were
bachelors). "I've never known him to embellish things."
Guseman estimates the Jennings whale at 140 pounds.
"We used to bass fish together," says Marx, "and when you'd get a hit Rick
could look at the line and tell you within a half-pound how large it was.
He's probably one of the most intelligent fishermen I've been around. I
think he could be world class on bass, but that's not his focus."
A native of Dayton, Ohio, Guseman discovered San Diego while serving with
the Navy's explosive ordinance disposal division. Following three tours of
duty in Vietnam and eventual discharge, he worked 13 years as a California
Highway Patrolman before forming his own construction company, one that
enjoys enough success for it not to interfere with fishing. He estimates
that for every 50-pound blue landed, an average of 21 hours on a lake has
been invested.
Rick first caught catfish fever in the autumn of 1997.
"I'd done a lot of saltwater, a lot of bass and trout fishing," he says,
"but when I got the first blue I knew I was on to something special."
Guseman has the channel cat records at Lake Murray (32.25) and Lake
Cuyamaca (32), "mosquitoes" that happened to grab a hook before he could
shake them.
"I don't count anything under 50 pounds," he says. "This year I've only
had seven, but I got my largest (86 pounds) at San Vicente.
"The reason I don't like taking them to the dock is that people see them,
then they follow you, and next thing you know they're sitting on your
spot. I have a buddy, Cody Newton, who worked one area at San Vicente so
consistently it came to be known as Cody's Cove. One day I showed him my
spot. The next time I came to the lake, Cody was parked there.
"I've had the best luck when I'm alone. Quiet helps. Drop something in the
boat, and to a fish it sounds like a train wreck. Every pore is an ear.
"It is tough for one person to land those big ones. I've got to get a
larger, stronger net. I know there's a record guy out there waiting, and
I'll get him. It's just a matter of time."
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