Nebraskaland

38 Nebraskaland • July 2023 aul Allen's rugged, weather-worn appearance has been earned from decades of running cattle on the Niobrara River breaks of Boyd County. In line with his cowboy persona, his manner is down-home and friendly, his laugh is hearty, and he slides easily into storytelling. Yet, there are contradictions to the cowboy stereotype: His past includes stints as an elementary school teacher and Peace Corps volunteer; in a land of beer and whiskey drinkers, he prefers Cabernet Sauvignon; and his passion is catfi shing the Niobrara. Raised on his family ranch that stretches for more than 4 miles along the Niobrara's north bank, Allen began fi shing as a toddler, willow pole in hand, eyes glued to a bobber. He soon advanced to running setlines with his older brother, Max, and, as a high- schooler, fi shing with rod and reel. Their ranch was located a few miles downstream from Spencer Dam, and unbeknownst to the boys, they were casting their bait into exceptional catfi shing waters. After high school, Allen left the Niobrara for other adventures, but returned a few years later to run the ranch. He then began to refi ne his catfi shing skills and now, as he approaches his 80th birthday, he is still wrangling cats from the braided prairie stream. Childhood Fishing Allen was "a spring calf," born in 1944. As a child living 7 miles of dirt road from the nearest town, the Niobrara River and its surroundings were his main entertainment. He and Max explored on foot and horseback, trapped beaver and muskrats, hunted ducks in spring-fed backwaters and, of course, fi shed for channel catfi sh in the river. Max taught his little brother the ways of the river, how to rig his pole and bait his hook with nightcrawlers and grasshoppers. "We tried to catch the great big lubbers," Allen said, referring to the Plains lubber, also known as the homesteader, Nebraska's largest grasshopper and quite a mouthful for a catfi sh. "As fi shermen, we didn't know what we were doing, but we weren't fi shing for sport, we were fi shing for something to eat," Allen said. "I guess there was some sport to it. I remember Max crying once when he let a big cat slip out of his hands." In their household, catfi sh was standard table fare. "Pancakes and a little fried catfi sh were a treat for breakfast. Max's birthday was April 15, and mom always hoped for an early spring catfi sh bite and for snow to linger in the deep ravines so she could make fi sh and ice cream for his party." She fl oured and fried the skinned fi sh in oil, which is how Allen prefers them to this day. The brothers also ran setlines. In summer, they prayed for rain so their dad would free them from working in the hay fi elds. "We would run down to the river to catch grass [northern leopard] frogs and toads for setline bait, or we would use chicken guts if we had recently butchered," Allen said. They scrounged most of their setline tackle from around the home place, cutting fl exible willow stems from riverside thickets for poles, scrounging broken iron from the farmyard for weights and pilfering old chalk line from the shop. They bought hooks in town. Catfi shing the Niobrara One Man's Lifetime of Fishing P By Gerry Steinauer, Botanist Paul Allen, at age 7 in 1951, shows off one of his fi rst catfi sh while standing in the family farmyard with the Niobrara River in the background. PHOTO COURTESY OF PAUL ALLEN

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