The fisherman's larder:
The one you put back
Josh Crumpton returns to his home water, where he tells the story of its Guadalupe bass and eats one of its less-popular residents
IT’S BEEN a couple of years since I’ve been down to the caboose in late August. I traveled a lot this spring, and the overgrown path to the river confirmed it.
The caboose at Spoke Hollow is perched on a flat above the river. It’s a real caboose, Missouri Pacific to be exact. It was converted into a cabin back in the ’80s, and now it’s the guest house for the ranch. There is a long table outside that seats 20. I built it with a friend 12 years ago. We have eaten a few Thanksgivings and had many a fall dinner at that table — the kind of meals where three conversations are going at once and the light changes from orange to blue without anyone missing a beat.
The table looks a little worn. Nothing has really happened to it, and that’s the problem: nothing has really happened out here for a while.
Joshua and Francisco’s Missouri Pacific caboose on their Texas ranch.
We have had a few bad years during the drought. The water got low first, and then it got real warm. It’s the warmth that keeps you away; it's not great for swimming, and it's not great for fishing either. And we were gone, mostly in Idaho, seeking cooler weather and water. You don’t wake up one morning and decide to stop visiting your home water; you get busy, other places pull at you, then you look up and it's been two years.
Fourteen years ago, Francisco and I put limestone stairs in so you could get to the water without sliding down the bank. The eastern grama grass has consumed them, and I had to push through it to find the first step. After landing on the smooth limestone, my feet knew the way. And there she was, the Blanco.
You don’t wake up one morning and decide to stop visiting your home water; you get busy, other places pull at you, then you look up and it's been two years
It runs low in late August, and the clarity is high. This makes it hard to judge depth. It looks ankle deep, then you step off to find yourself up to your knees. The rock bottom is solid white; the kind of white that reflects the sun at you through the gin-clear water. It's easy to understand how the Spanish gave it the name back in the expedition of 1721.
I stood there longer than I needed to. The sun was rising over the hilltops and hitting the surface of a riffle upstream that was splashing and rolling into the deeper tail out as it always has done.
I thought about the bass.
Guadalupe bass don’t hold in still water, waiting for something to swim in. They sit in the current or just to its side, tucked behind a rock or a ledge, letting the river run the groceries right past. Biologists studying them have found that adults hold in depths of three feet just below riffles as the water slows, while the younger fish like to be right in that faster current. Everyone has a spot.
A Guadalupe bass from the Blanco, saved from the frying pan.
These fish eat what a Hill Country river gives. Mayflies, midges, and invertebrates when they are smaller, then they move to crays and hellgrammites. Once they move past eight inches, they become piscivores, eating other fish.
The growth slows down, making them the smallest of the black bass species. A 10-inch Guad is a good fish, and a 14, well, I’m telling my friends about that one. The state record is 3lb 11oz and was caught by some lucky dog south of Austin. Those numbers would be unimpressive for a bucket mouth out of a ranch stock tank.
They’re small? So what. They are not easy. Every one of these fish spent its early years holding a lane in moving water, building muscle, and when you hook one, you can feel it. They run straight for the current and make you fight the river. I’m sure there is a physics lesson in here somewhere, but I know it as a good fight.
But here is what makes them special and why I always let them go.
In 1989, the Guadalupe bass became the state fish of Texas — they are endemic to the area. They only live here. Not mostly here. Only here. In the streams running off the Edwards Plateau, in the Colorado, Guadalupe, San Antonio, and Brazos basins, spring-fed, limestone-bottomed, and clear. This is their only neighborhood.
Which is a tough spot to be in, and that’s before someone comes along and “helps” the fishery.
They run straight for the current and make you fight the river. I’m sure there is a physics lesson in here somewhere, but I know it as a good fight
Two years after that, the Texas Parks and Wildlife Department (TPWD) finally wrote a plan to save it, and in 1992 the first repair stockings went into the Guadalupe River itself, the namesake, which by then was the worst of them. Further stockings followed into the Llano, San Antonio, and Blanco watersheds.
Despite potential stockings on my river, the Blanco, all hope was almost lost. Efforts seemed futile and surveys conducted to look for pure Guadalupe bass in this water found none. Hybrids and smallmouth, that was all.
The native fish had been bred out of its own river. TPWD had pretty much given up until an opportunity showed itself in 2011. Drought conditions had fragmented the Blanco in a way that made it possible to remove many of the smallmouth and hybrids and restock with pure strain Guadalupe bass.
Another resident, a catfish rather less safe from Josh’s chopping board.
I let the fish that live nowhere else go, while the fish that is doing fine rides back to the ranch house on ice
So every Guadalupe swimming past those limestone steps is there because somebody put it there. Stockings ran here through 2018, and in 2020, TPWD came back to see whether it took. Statewide, the program has released about 2.4 million fish. And on the South Llano, where the whole thing started with those 6,500 fingerlings, hybrids are down under two per cent.
No law prohibits me from keeping these bass. The state allows five a day in any combination, and there is no minimum length on the Guads. I could keep them. I don’t; neither does anyone else I know. The reason is not sentiment. It’s that it's hard to tell if they are pure or hybrid by looking at them. So either you put them all back, or you accept that some percentage of what you keep is from a line fighting to be here.
The catfish are a different conversation.
I will keep a channel cat out of the Blanco no problem. People say catfish tastes like mud. It’s not silt; it’s not the bottom. The “muddy” flavor in catfish comes from two compounds: geosmin and 2-methylisoborneol (MIB), and neither of these comes from the fish. Blue-green algae and bacteria produce them and bloom in warm, still water. Catfish swim through it, and it taints the flesh through absorption. Move the fish into clean, cooler water, and it purges within days.
A spring-fed river, like the Blanco, is the total opposite of a pond. Cold water seeping from rock is thin on the nutrients a bloom needs, and the fish from the Blanco are firm and taste clean. So this morning, I let the fish that live nowhere else go, while the fish that is doing fine rides back to the ranch house on ice.
I love dressing up a fish that others call trash. Give it the delicate treatment and blow minds. I poach it. Heat it slow in Earl Grey, and the payoff is flesh that breaks into big, clean flakes under a fork. The tea brings notes of bergamot that perfume the fish, bringing citrus without cooking it. The fish comes out tender, floral, and unique.
Two years is a long time to not walk down steps you built. The caboose will need attention; the path to the river needs cutting. I end the day with a list I didn’t have yesterday morning.
The table on the deck seats 20, and I plan to fill it this fall.
Earl Grey milk-poached catfish with citrus rice
Catfish cleansed in cool water, then poached in Earl Grey tea.
Ingredients:
For the catfish
- 4 catfish fillets (about 6oz each)
- 2 cups whole milk
- 2 tablespoons loose Earl Grey tea (or 4 tea bags)
- 1 tablespoon honey
- Zest of one lemon
- 2 tablespoons butter
- 6 cups fresh spinach, washed
- 1/4 cup slivered almonds, toasted
- Salt and freshly ground black pepper
- Fresh thyme leaves for garnish
For the citrus rice
- 1 cup long-grain white rice
- 2 cups chicken or vegetable broth
- 1 tablespoon butter
- Zest of 1 orange and 1 lemon
- 2 tablespoons fresh orange juice
- 2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped
- Salt to taste
Method:
1. Begin with the rice — it will hold while you prepare the fish. Rinse until water runs clear, then combine with broth and butter in a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer 15-18 minutes until tender. Let stand covered for 5 minutes before folding in citrus and parsley.
2. For the catfish, heat the milk until steaming but not boiling — you're looking for small bubbles around the edges and wisps of steam.
3. Add Earl Grey, remove from heat, cover, and steep for 7 minutes. This is when patience pays off; rushing the infusion means missing those subtle bergamot notes that make this dish sing.
4. Strain the infused milk into a wide skillet, add lemon zest, and bring to a gentle simmer. Season your fillets generously with salt and pepper, then slide them into the barely simmering milk. The liquid should be active but never boiling — think gentle waves, not stormy seas.
5. Poach for 5-7 minutes until the fish is opaque and flakes easily. Remove catfish and keep warm while you finish the sauce. Whisk honey and butter into the poaching liquid, reducing slightly until silky. Add spinach and toss just until wilted, about 1-2 minutes.
6. To Serve: Spoon the citrus rice onto plates. Arrange the wilted spinach from the sauce onto the rice, then place the poached catfish fillets on top. Spoon additional Earl Grey milk sauce over everything. Sprinkle with toasted slivered almonds and fresh thyme leaves.
PHOTOGRAPHY: JOSH CRUMPTON
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Josh Crumpton
Josh Crumpton brings 30 years of fine dining and wine industry experience to the outdoor world. Having worked alongside world-class chefs and served as a sommelier, he now applies that culinary expertise to hunting, fishing, and camp cooking across the American West. Based in Texas, he bridges the gap between haute cuisine and authentic outdoor pursuits.
