By Dennis Stillings

Occasionally as Del and I trudged the banks of the Bald Hill on a fishing expedition, we would come upon Mr. Cotton sitting on the grassy bank with a line in the water.  Invariably he was fishing for and catching bullheads, which really didn't qualify him as a fisherman in our eyes.  We were dumfounded when we saw him catch and release a pike.  He told us that while the bullheads couldn't compare to good old Mississippi River catfish, they were still mighty good eating.
—from Harvey M. Sletten, Growing Up on Bald Hill Creek (Ames, Ia.: Iowa State University Press, 1977), p. 122f.

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The Barnes County Wildlife Federation’s 17th Bullhead Derby is over, and the results are in.
One hundred thirty-nine entrants made up 47 teams.  A total of 1,774 pounds of bullheads were caught, an average of 14 pounds per person.  There was a 100 percent payout on an entry fee of $5.
First Place money ($200) went to the team of Dan Ryba and Dawn Bear (total: 208 pounds).
Second Place money ($150) went to the team of Travis Gray and Brianna Schlosser (total: 166 pounds).
Third Place money ($75) went to the team of the Johns Motter and Jean Neset (total: 132 pounds).
The oldest fisherwoman present was Rita Burgard (55).
The oldest fisherman present was the perennial John Burgard (76).
The results of the minnow races are not yet available, pending making contact with the bookies.
The crack bullhead-skinner team consisted of Jim Larson, Jill Christensen and Danny Stugelmeyer.  The product of their efforts was transformed into truly beer-worthy morsels of delicately deep-fried bullhead by the Iron Chef duo of Mike Feuerherm and Goose Kapaun.

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Yes, I know what has been going through your mind: “What? A three-part column on bullheads?”
Yes, my friends, and about time! Tanker-loads of ink have been spilled on the walleye—that over-rated fish for people who don’t like fish, a fish with both the flavor and fight of a fish stick—and the Northern Pike, a fish that readily eats its own, along with the occasional tiny, cute, utterly helpless and innocent duckling swimming behind its mother and siblings. The bass and its overwrought gymnastics may be great for TV sports shows and the covers of fishing magazines, but as a fish for the palate it requires heavy smoking—so that you at least have the flavor of smoke!
Had there been a Bullhead Derby in the Holy Land at the time of Our Lord’s ministry on earth, a few teams of dedicated bullheaders could have fed the five thousand; it might have taken them a couple more days, and they couldn’t have come up with the loaves, but if they would have had to rely on a catch of walleyes, bass, and northerns, someone would have had to come up with a miracle or there would have been some mighty hungry people.  And what fish is the more likely to have filled the nets of the disciples-to-be than the bullhead? (Luke 5:1-11)  As it is with Our Lord, the bullhead stands ready to feed us all, and yet remains the “despised and rejected” of fish (Isaiah 53:3). The oldest symbol of Christianity is the fish. A particular species of fish is not specified.  I nominate the bullhead, Everyman’s fish.
It is near the region of the Holy Land that we, in fact, find the miracle bullhead: Malapterurus electricus—the electric catfish.
The electric catfish lurks in the waters of the Nile and incapacitates its prey with a charge of some 350 volts. It can weigh in excess of 40 pounds.
These fish can be obtained, with some trouble, by way of a decent pet shop. I used to have a couple of them myself.  Perhaps someday a “milk-can biologist” will introduce this prodigy into Lake Ashtabula. What a time for Bullhead Derbies that will be! Imagine contending with nearly a ton of huge, irritated, 350-volt slimy bullheads—a North Dakota high-stakes jerking and twisting fish rodeo!
Perhaps a Hollywood movie will be made of a Malapterurus electricus mutated by chemicals or a nuclear explosion, resulting in a monstrous beast, a true magical Leviathan (Job 41:1), that will put to shame the likes of Rodan or Godzilla. Better hope that it never becomes more than a movie.

Dennis Stillings’ column appears on occasional Fridays.