The sport's roots can be traced to American Indians, who would sometimes hold red cloths in their hands for fish to bite, Professor Morgan said. During the Depression, the technique was used as a way to put food on the table. It has passed down through the generations ever since.

Hand-fishermen typically go out in groups of three or four (usually all men, despite Misty McFarlin's example), according to Professor Morgan's research, for safety reasons as well as social ones. Catfish are hardly the only creatures that burrow or inhabit holes in rivers or lakes. Beavers are common residents, as are snapping turtles and deadly cottonmouth snakes.

Mr. McFarlin, 41, a plumber, likes to say that "the true deterrent to noodling is a vivid imagination" because he thinks no one in his right mind would stick his hand into a hole if he could picture what might live in it.

Experienced noodlers claim that they can read holes right away: clean, sandy sides mean catfish, because when a catfish is on its nest, it churns the water with its tail, keeping sand off the eggs and algae out of the hole. Holes with slimy sides and muck mean "steer clear," because the hole is likely to be inhabited by a creature even a noodler doesn't want to confront. Catfish themselves pose significant dangers as well, not so much for their teeth, which are small and feel like rough sandpaper, but for their ability to hold a noodler underwater.

TERRY IVEY, 39, a hunting preserve owner from Hinton, Okla., who attended the Okie Noodling Tournament last year, said he had the closest call of his 25 years of noodling two years ago, on the North Canadian River in Oklahoma. The hole was under a boulder, he said, six feet down from the surface of the water and six more back under the rock, so he checked it with the help of a friend, who dived down with him to hold his legs.

After being underwater for more than a minute, Mr. Ivey found the catfish and grabbed for it, but the fish, which he later estimated at 80 pounds, clamped down on his wrist and tried to drag him back into the hole. His goal switched almost immediately from trophy acquisition to survival, but as he tried to pull away, the jersey glove he was wearing got caught in the fish's teeth. He kicked frantically, the signal for his friend to pull him out.

"If my buddy didn't have my legs, I'd still be in that hole," Mr. Ivey said.

Despite the dangers -- or perhaps because of them -- noodling is a growing sport. Noodlers at the Oklahoma tournament last year said that they used to be able to visit holes at their leisure but now get up at dawn to get to the river first.