I awoke to the incessant chatter of the squirrel. After letting our golden, Riley, off her leash, I notice my fishing rods leaning against the picnic table. The word at Westwood Resevoir is that the fishing has been slow, but what the hell. As dawn breaks I pick my way through the exposed tree roots and make my way downhill to the lake. I sling a nightcrawler out with my baitcaster. I set it down, and begin rigging up my spincaster for bluegills. As soon as I start putting a redworm on my hook, the baitcaster starts jerking towards the lake. I lift it and set the hook. A fiesty little bass comes to hand a few moments later. I release the bass, readjust the nightcrawler which is a little damaged but still intact, and cast it back out. I then cast out my redworm on a slip bobber and proceed to catch a small bluegill. Well this does not seem like slow fishing. The front that came through last night must have stimulated the fish. As I am pondering this, the baitcasting line starts peeling off into the deep. I lift the rod and strike, and feel a heavy fish. The fish starts pulling out line and the drag whines. I pump the fish back and reel in some line. The drag whines again. I have the dreaded feeling that the fish wrapped the line around a branch of a downed tree to the left of me. Meanwhile I also notice that the slipbobber is going crazy on my spincasting outfit. I keep pressure on the baitcaster, while I somehow manage to reel in the bluegill on the spincaster. I end up tangling the bluegill line in a tree branch and set it down out of the way where the bluegill can still swim around. Meanwhile the catfish is still pulling out drag. I know it's a catfish, because all there is in this lake is panfish, bass and catfish. At this point I have decided to slip out of my flip flops and pajama bottoms and head out into the lake. The braided 20 pound test line is holding up fine, but I cannot pull the catfish from out of the log or branches. I walk in the water up and down the shore to no avail. I really don't want to, but it must be done. I hold the rod above my head and start swimming to the middle of the lake. There is a steep drop off. The water is soon above my head. I swim about 20 to 30 yards and have the wonderful feeling that the catfish is free of obstructions. He starts pulling out more drag, and I try to keep the line taught while dog paddling with one hand. For a minute I'm fighting that fish in the middle of the lake, buck naked. A rather exhilerating morning for sure. I make my way back to the bank and proceed to land the 5-6 pound channel cat. I then release the little bluegill and whoop for joy. Hell, I havn't even had my coffee yet.