Field Notes: Crawdads
You git a line, I’ ll git a pole, honey, You git a line, I’ ll git a pole, babe, You git a line, I’ ll git a pole, We’ ll all go down to the crawdad hole, Honey, oh babe, be mine.
~ by Jim Eagleman
Years ago, while enrolled at Western Illinois University, I took summer school classes at Kibbe Life Science Station. Located on the Mississippi River between Hamilton and Warsaw, Illinois, Kibbe afforded us wildlife students plenty of outdoor places to study and learn. Classes were an exceptional opportunity for total immersion in the natural history of the river. I believe my professors also liked a change of teaching environments, from formal classroom to the outdoors.
An ichthyology class every morning met early on the river to shock for fish. We traveled in three boats equipped with electric generators and tubs to hold fish that were stunned with two electrodes dangling in front. Students took turns netting the big fish that wiggled out of the water. Back at Kibbe, we keyed out strange looking suckers, paddlefish, gars, and sturgeon. Hot July days with high humidity made us anxious to get off the river by mid-morning.
My little bluegrass band took a brief hiatus that summer. Everyone worked to make money for the following academic year. I made time to practice in the evenings and sought out quiet places so as not to disturb my classmates.
The many crayfish we accidentally netted in class brought to mind a traditional folk tune. I scribbled some verses to go with the familiar chorus. I wanted the tune to describe how crayfish, also called crawdads, crawfish, crawl-dads, mountain lobsters, or yabbies, could be boiled and eaten.
Some of the commercial fishermen we met in class
supplemented their catch with crayfish. One fellow invited the class over to his home one evening to show us how he boiled and“ shucked” them. It took a lot to make a meal I recall, and we laughed at the term,“ freshwater lobster.” Instead of butter, we dipped the little bodies in saucers of catsup.
Now when I was a boy we’ d go fishin’, But it wouldn’ t always be fish we’ d go fishin’ for; We’ d go down by the bridge where the river flowed. Our ol’ swimmin’ hole and nobody knowed we’ d be fishin’, for them crawdads.
The professor explained that crayfish are eaten all over the world, and like other edible crustaceans only a small portion of the body is edible.
We saw them typically swim backwards to avoid capture in creeks at Kibbe, and in small streams that flowed into the Mississippi.
Their mud tunnels, made from little rolled up clumps, could be seen everywhere on the Kibbe flood plains. The claws extend outward and can pinch, so
56 Our Brown County • July / August 2018