Night of the Catfish

The Mekong catfish inadvertently came to South Florida in the 1960s. No source can fully explain the introduction of the giant catfish to the tropics of the United States, but after several decades of living in a steamy environment very much like the jungles of Vietnam and Southeast Asia, the Mekong variety of the giant catfish has been busy.

Catfish of all types tend to flourish in the heat of the Deep South. More than once, earthen damns of freshwater have been the subject of scrutiny. Whenever unexpected and heavy rainfall swells lakes or rivers to the brim of unreinforced earthen damns, local authorities send divers down to the deepest part of the water bodies to inspect the integrity of the muddy walls for signals of failure and disaster.

On several occasions, the underwater inspectors have suddenly returned to the surface after coming face to face with almost otherworldly creatures. The new age denizens of the deep lurking in the near darkness are none other than giant catfish. Apparently, the goliaths the divers are reporting are large enough to swallow any underwater inspector.

The numbers of these catfish that thrive in the deepest part of the lakes and waterways is a mystery, because not many divers have the courage to remain long enough to estimate an accurate count. Over the decades since the giant catfish have been flourishing in the depths, other and even stranger phenomena of the same subspecies have been moving around during flash floods and heavy weather.

Everyone who comes to Florida cannot help but be shocked and even intimidated by the first summer thunderstorm they encounter. The Florida peninsula is unique in the world and harbors extremely fast-moving weather. A Florida thunderstorm can reach heights of 50,000 feet with cloud top temperatures that are below freezing. The unleashed violence of the sudden storms can produce hailstones, damaging squalls of white windblown water, and individual raindrops big enough to fill a teacup.

Treading under this extremely unstable summer environment are the newcomers who have found Florida and the full force of Mother Nature for the first time. Because the Florida environment in summer is so dynamic and so rapidly changing, almost anything can happen when weather and invasive species interact.

Meanwhile, the Mekong giant catfish and the many other subspecies that may or may not have been procreating and blending DNA tend to become more active in summer when the water is warmer. When water temperatures are lower, many types of fish become docile, sluggish, and slow to eat. Whenever the summer water warms, however, the same creatures must venture out to eat and survive.

What many tropical weather forecasters fear is when a low-pressure system forms directly over a specific local area. This was the case several seasons in the past when the now infamous No Name Storm began to spin counterclockwise over Southwest Florida and the Ten Thousand Islands.

Three beach boys were renting a home near the Marco Island Yacht Club when the storm began. Because the dynamic Florida weather began before a name could be given to the rapidly deteriorating climate, no one could have been ready for the consequences of 12 inches of rain in 12 hours.

When the storm came, even the beginning was unusual. Most summer storms form early or late afternoon, but the No Name came just after sunset. The rain began with the classic heavy raindrops that could cover a windshield in three drops to the wind-driven rain that comes in with such force it hurts.

The three beach boys, however, were oblivious to the tropical weather because it was always pouring buckets several times a week in summer. But when the roof sounded like it was tearing apart around 3:00 AM, everyone gathered in the kitchen to examine the ceiling when the lights went out. After donning rain slickers and grabbing flashlights, the beach boys went out to check on the ageing wooden sailboat that was riding out the storm in the backyard canal.

The wind in the rigging and on the two masts was heeling the boat over as if she were under sail, and the wind driving rain was coming in so hard it was pelting. Above the sound of the wind, the slashing sheets of driving rain, and the almost constant thunder, was the sound of rushing water. During a lightning strike and a brief flash of illumination, it became clear that the sound like a waterfall was pouring water falling off a nearby seawall. It also became clear that the massive amount of rainwater was running into the canal from the street, that was almost knee deep.

The No Name Storm, which came in June, continued to rage for several more hours, and the rainfall totals continued to rise. At the peak of the early summer storm, the whole of South Florida was overflowing with fresh rainwater.

During the 1960s, Alfred Hitchcock was the director of a movie called The Birds. It was a story about birds suddenly flocking together and attacking humans. In the 1970s, Sam Elliott was the star in a movie entitled Frogs. This was a story about an unusual heavy weather rainstorm that began producing hordes of attacking frogs.

After the No Name Storm became a weather system to remember, large walking catfish were numerous and plodding their way overland and along the rain-soaked streets of South Florida. During the upcoming summer thunderstorm season, could the rainfall again become terrific and coax the giant catfish out of their depths and the walking catfish out and onto the roads again? Could heavy weather form once again over the islands - after dark - and this time produce: Night of the Catfish?