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The Fine Art of Grabbling and Frog Gigging
by Tom Givens
Tom Givens gives a blow by blow description of grabbling and frog gigging. Every southern Good Ol' Boy can do this grabbling and frog gigging, but not every southern Good Ol' Boy can tell it like Tom. Listen up, now . . .Clyde Boswell's article about growing up in the country brought back a lot of pleasant memories. Two of those memories, grabbling and frog gigging, are gleefully recorded herewith.
Grabbling is a lost art. When I was growing up in Sunflower County this fascinating sport was fairly common but not widely practiced. I had first cousins (who were countrier than I am) who engaged in this form of fishing on a fairly regular basis, weather permitting. I went with them whenever I got a chance because the practice fascinated me.
My cousins always tried to get me to give grabbling a try, but no way was I going to duck down into those murky, scummy streams, sticking my hand into some hollow log or wherever else catfish were supposed to be. There were other things in those Delta waters, including moccasins. If that were not enough to dissuade me, then the cousins' hands and forearms covered with scratches and blood from the fighting catfish cinched it. The reward, however, might have been worth it--they got some huge fish which tasted a lot better than the pond raised variety.
My family lived in rural Sunflower County, Mississippi, between two bayous off what is now Givens Road. My granddaddy lived on Jones Bayou, that lovely stream which flows through the heart of Cleveland. We lived about a quarter of a mile away on a dirt road facing the Leed Bayou, also known as the Darr. The banks of both were overgrown with bushes, and moccasins would get up in the brush, coiling themselves around branches, enjoying the hot sun. I'd take my single shot .22 and my short hollow points and walk the banks, shooting snakes. There were lots of em. Too many. And they are one deadly species.
I was a fairly good shot, and while it was more sporting to shoot the snakes while they were swimming in the water, I didn't care as long as they were dead. Once shot, they created quite a commotion in their death throes. Sounds gruesome, but I knew there were that many less moccasins around to bite innocent folks. I don't think those moccasins will ever be an endangered species.
Another youthful pursuit was frog gigging. Anywhere in the Delta where there was water, there were bullfrogs. My father and his friends enjoyed frog hunting. To spotlight the frogs they used carbide lamps attached to caps like coal miners.
Frog gigging is simple, equipment wise. You need a paddle boat, a gig, and a .22 rifle. The container for the frogs varies with the hunters. We used at least a five gallon bucket. Cutting up an old tractor inner tube, we'd stretch it over the top of the bucket and cut a slit in the middle. This held the frogs just fine.
Now, we get back to those bushes along the banks. If you spotted a frog on the bank where the shrubs overhung and tried to maneuver within gigging range, the noise made going through the bushes would spook the frogs and they'd be gone. Here is where the .22 came into play.
While you had an old frog spotted in the light, bang! you shot him, then went in and gigged him post mortem. The hairy part about this was going through those bushes to do the gigging. Remember those moccasins? A lot of them stayed in the bushes after dark, so you had to be really careful going in there to get your frog.
I had some snakes to fall in the water and slither off, but never had one to drop in the boat. Don't know what I would have done, other than go home and change my underwear.
Way later in life, when I lived in Clarksdale, Mississippi, I belonged to the Elks. On the fourth Thursday of every month we had a supper. We had different entrees--steak, catfish, even chitlins. I never did partake of the chitlins, but, surprisingly, that menu always drew the largest crowd.
One Thursday night they served frog legs. I wandered back into the kitchen to watch the cooks as they fried them. There on the floor were the boxes in which the frog legs had been packed, and printed on the boxes for all to see were these words: "Product of Pakistan."
I wanted to cry.
[For another frog gigging story at USADEEPSOUTH, read this one by Billy Tom Lusk.
Thomas Preston Givens was born in the very depths of the Mississippi Delta, Rural Route One, Boyle. He's a graduate of Delta State College (now University) and received the LL.B degree from Mississippi College School of Law. He's been a lawyer, a judge, and probably lots of other things he'd rather not divulge. His present intentions? Retirement soon as practicable.Write Tom at deltajudge.
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From: Mike Kingdom-Hockings of Gaborone, Botswana
Message: In the UK, grabbling is known as guddling, usually performed on trout when the water-bailiff wasn't around. My brother-in-law used cruder methods at times. He'd wade into the shallow river, herd the fish into shallow water, and drop a rock on them . . .
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