A recent article in the Herald reported the catch of a state record Spotted Sunfish. I was slightly confused by terminological differences until it was noted that a friend of the fisherman called the fish a stumpknocker. With that in mind, I concluded that a 12-ounce stumpknocker is indeed a big one.

In my neck of the woods, that fish was also called a black perch, although larger ones showed a red tint in dorsal fins. We were familiar with speckled perch, but that name was a local designation for crappie, a fish not found in the smaller streams that are home to the stumpknocker.

That nickname came from the fact that this species lurked around stumps, tree tops in the water and cypress knees, waiting for nature to deliver worms, insects, etc. It is an unexciting name, but this often small fish struck swiftly, often snagging the hooks and lines of anglers on roots or other underwater snags.

Forget the impression that they prefer still waters. They like current that sweeps food into their lairs. My late lady Annette had a favorite spot in Pendleton Creek for catching them, one where the current runs fast among cypress knees. She had to wade out knee-deep to fish it, but always caught stumpknockers.

There are important reasons why they thrive in creeks and smaller rivers. One, the water, stained dark by tannin from trees that bathe their roots in the streams, offers concealment for the dark fish. Second, there are fewer predators than in large streams. Jack fish (chain pickerel) eat all species -- including black perch -- and are apex predators in that environment, but stumps and shallows provide shelter.

I have caught a few stumpknockers in the Ohoopee River, but it is a much more dangerous place for them. It is home to many predators, including large-mouth bass, channel catfish, spawning-run striped bass and buck shad, and more human incursion. I have never caught even one in the Altamaha River.

Pendleton Creek was my family’s favorite place to fish. My father knew much of it like the back of his hand and my brother and I learned. Most people think of fishing as recreation or sport, but for us, it was also a quest for food. Daddy would say something like, “Let’s get up some bait and tomorrow we will go to Pendleton to catch us a mess of fish.”

A mess is the amount needed for all members of the family to be fully fed at a meal.

We were not picky about what we caught and ate. Eels, mud turtles and mud fish (bowfin) were discarded for racoon feasts. We treasured redbreasts (aka, red-breasted sun fish), stumpknockers, war-mouth perch and catfish, all caught by the traditional “pole and line” until brother Jim switched to rod and reel with a lure irresistible to jack fish. It was fun -- in spite of mosquitoes -- and it was good sport, but when Daddy deemed that our stringers were full enough, he would declare, “Do up your lines; we have got a mess.”

He was a true conservationist and detested “game hogs.”

Some productive places for catching fish required quiet waiting and somehow I remember being there and doing that clearly. It was different. The quietness was broken slightly by the rustling of small birds in the bushes. There were bird songs that I never heard around our house on the top of the hill. I now know that these were the sounds of thrushes and warblers in their deep-woods habitat. At that moment, I was soothed with pleasant wonder and peace, call it “recreation.”

Roger G. Branch Sr. is professor emeritus of sociology at Georgia Southern University and is a retired pastor.