by Todd Parsons
Across the southern United States, nestled between pine-draped shorelines and wide, muddy waters, a quiet yet beloved tradition thrives—jug line fishing for catfish.
From Alabama’s Lake Guntersville to Texas’s Toledo Bend Reservoir, early morning mists part to reveal the bobbing of milk jugs or fluorescent floats scattered across the water’s surface. These humble markers are the tools of a fishing method steeped in Southern culture, one that requires patience, an understanding of the waters and their whiskered inhabitants, and just a little bit of luck.
Jug fishing, also known as jugging, is a passive fishing technique where baited lines are suspended from floating jugs or other buoyant objects. Unlike rod-and-reel fishing, jugging allows an angler to set multiple lines and cover large swaths of water, especially productive in targeting catfish—one of the most popular freshwater gamefish in the South. This approach is not only efficient but offers a distinctive pleasure that draws fishermen back to the lakes season after season.
“I’ve been jugging since I was a boy,” said Roy Henson, a retired schoolteacher from northern Texas. “My granddaddy used Clorox jugs tied with twine and hooks baited with chicken livers or cut bait. We’d toss ‘em out in the evening and come back at first light. There’s nothing like pulling up a jug and finding a twenty-pound blue cat on the line. That’ll make your whole month.”
Catfish have always held a special place in Southern culture. They’re hearty fighters, prolific breeders, and adaptable to a wide range of environments—from the muddy bottoms of oxbow lakes to deep river channels. But perhaps more than anything, catfish are valued for their culinary versatility. Fried, blackened, grilled, or smoked, catfish is a staple in Southern kitchens, fish fries, and family reunions. Their meat is mild, flaky, and forgiving—a blank canvas for everything from Cajun spices to beer batters.
“I fish for catfish ‘cause I like to eat ’em,” said Lou Jones, a longtime angler from Lake Livingston in Texas. “Ain’t nothing better than a hot plate of fried catfish with coleslaw, fried taters, and hush puppies. But I also like the chase. You never know what you’ll get. Could be a little 12 inch channel cat, could be a forty-pound flathead. The mystery and excitement keeps you going.”
Jug fishing is especially effective because of the nature of catfish. These bottom-dwelling fish use their sensitive barbels—or “whiskers”—to smell out food in murky waters, often at night or in low light. By placing multiple jug lines baited with strong-smelling offerings, anglers maximize their chances of attracting catfish that are spread out across a lake or river.
Each species of catfish responds best to different kinds of bait, and Southern anglers are particular about what they use. For channel catfish, arguably the most abundant of the catfish species in southern lakes, many swear by chicken liver, shrimp, soap, or stink bait. These cats are opportunistic feeders and will zero in on any strong scent that drifts their way. “You let that liver get just a little ripe in the sun, and they’ll find it,” laughed Roy Henson. “It’s nasty, but it works like a charm.”
Blue catfish, which grow to be the largest of the species, prefer more substantial prey. “Cut shad or skipjack is my go-to,” said Terrance Hall, who fishes the Trinity River regularly. “Blues are predators. They want meat. I’ll use a chunk of shad the size of your fist, and if a big blue’s around, he’ll hit it hard. That jug’ll shoot across the water like it’s got a motor on it.”
Flathead catfish, the most solitary and elusive of the trio, are a different story altogether. They prefer live bait—often sunfish, perch, or small bluegill. “Flatheads are smart,” said Hall. “They want something that moves. You drop a lively bait near a submerged log or under a bluff, and if he’s in there, he’ll come out slow and steady, just like a shadow. They fight hard, too—pound for pound, they’re the toughest.”
Setting jug lines involves more than simply tossing jugs into the water. The depth of the lines, the weight used to anchor the bait, and the location of the jugs are all critical decisions. Most anglers choose spots with some structure—submerged trees, drop-offs, or channels where catfish are likely to patrol. They may use sonar or simply rely on years of accumulated knowledge about a particular body of water.
“You gotta read the lake,” explained Lou. “Sometimes they’re deep, sometimes they’re hanging around the edges. After a storm, I look where the creeks flow in, ‘cause baitfish get washed down. And where there’s bait, there’s cats.”
There’s a certain rhythm to jugging that mirrors the Southern lifestyle—unhurried, deliberate, and rooted in tradition. It’s a technique that encourages camaraderie and storytelling. Anglers often fish in pairs or groups, passing the time with thermoses of coffee, tall tales, and the occasional startled shout when a jug suddenly darts across the lake, dragged by a determined fish below.
“Last summer, me and my cousin Calvin were out on Lake Fork,” said Henson. “We’d set twenty jugs out just before sunset. About midnight, we heard one slapping real loud against the water. Calvin grabbed a spotlight, and we saw the jug darting every which way. Took us fifteen minutes to chase it down, and when we pulled it up—lo and behold—a thirty-six-pound blue. Biggest one we’d ever caught. We still talk about it.”
Of course, like any form of fishing, jugging requires responsible practices. Many southern states have regulations concerning the number of jugs allowed per angler, identification tag requirements, and time limits on unattended gear. Conservationists and wildlife officials emphasize the importance of sustainable practices to preserve catfish populations for future generations.
“Catfish are resilient, but they’re not infinite,” said Darrell Monroe, a biologist with the Alabama Department of Conservation. “Overfishing, especially during the spawn, can damage local populations. We encourage anglers to know the rules and respect the resource.”
Catch-and-release is becoming more popular, particularly with trophy-sized fish. Some anglers, while appreciative of a good meal, prefer to let the giants go. “I’ll keep the smaller ones,” said Hall. “Three to five pounds is perfect for eating. But anything over twenty? I let ’em swim. That’s breeding stock, and it deserves to live another day.”
In recent years, jug fishing has also seen a resurgence among younger anglers, who are drawn to its simplicity and connection to nature. Unlike high-tech bass fishing or competitive tournaments, jugging offers a laid-back alternative that’s often as much about the experience as the result. For many, it’s a bridge between generations—a way to learn from parents and grandparents while forming their own bond with the water.
“My dad taught me how to rig jugs when I was ten,” said Jason Williams, a college student from Arkansas. “Now I take my little brother out. He gets a kick out of seeing the jugs move, chasing them down with the trolling motor. It’s not about fancy gear. It’s about making memories.” “I call them ‘jugs’ but they’re actually ¾ in PVC pipes inside a piece of pool noodle. The line is attached to a large washer that spins around the pipe, with 2 or 3 hooks on each line, and a small weight at the bottom. The noodle floats horizontally on the surface of the water until it has a fish on, then it stands vertical and bobs with each tug of the fish. A wrap of reflective tape atop the noodle will allow for easily locating them in the dark. Then the real fun begins when we chase down the floating ‘jugs’ and pull up our prize.”
Indeed, jug fishing for catfish in the South is more than a technique—it’s a tradition, a lifestyle, and a shared heritage. It blends ingenuity with patience, and patience with reward. Whether it’s the sizzle of fresh catfish in a cast-iron skillet or the quiet thrill of a jug bobbing in the moonlight, the experience is deeply satisfying.
“You sit out there,” mused Roy Henson, “staring out across the still waters of Richland Chambers Lake, and you feel connected. Connected to the lake, to the fish, to your people. That’s what keeps us coming back. Not just the catch—but everything that comes with it.”
From dawn-lit waters to dusky banks, jug line fishing remains one of the South’s most enduring outdoor pursuits. It captures the spirit of the region: resourceful, respectful, rooted in the land and the rhythms of nature. And as long as catfish swim in these lakes, there will be jugs floating on the surface, and grease heating in a nearby skillet. Try it.
