Keoghan's Heroes

When He's Not Following 'The Amazing Race,' Phil Keoghan Does Some Exploring Of His Own

(CBS) 
Here is Phil's report about the "Girls Gone Grabblin'" and what it's like to get up close and personal with a 35-pound catfish.


Fishing and hunting. These are the things that you would expect to be going on in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains of eastern Tennessee. But I stumbled upon a muddier, more adventurous activity here being done by some pretty wild girls.

In Oklahoma it's calling noodling. But my friends in Tennessee call it grabbling. Grabbling is a very hands-on way to go catfishing. What you do is you coax an enormous catfish out of its nesting hole and catch it with your bare hands.

No rod. No reel. No fear.

On my trip I got to meet some young women who star in their own video — "Girls Gone Grabblin'!" The producers of this strangely successful video, Marty and Fostana Jenkins, are long-time grabblers themselves.

While it might not be skydiving, Fostana told me that grabbling gets her adrenaline pumping. "The first time you put your hand in there and you pull out a 35-pound fish with your bare hands, it's excitement." The girls agreed.

I joined the girls near an old concrete boat ramp in preparation to grabble. It felt odd knowing I was about to stick my hand into the water underneath a rock and a gigantic fish would be there.

"It's a rush," the girls assured me.

The aggressive nature of the catfish wasn't exactly good news as I readied myself to go grabbling for the first time. Fostana said, "You want to always keep the hole blocked because they'll kind of run out." She added that catfish aren't averse to biting a hand or toe or leg or any other precious extremity.

As we all submerged our bodies into the murky waters and got into "the position," we heard a loud thudding below. Something was lurking. Christy took the first hit from the catfish, and we slowly worked the beast to the surface.

Thirty feet away, Callie had cornered a much bigger fish. I was hoping it was the legendary "Cat-zilla," a catfish rumored to inhabit the side of the lake we were on.

As I watched the girls try to catch these beasts, I couldn't help but wonder about grabbling. These girls go underwater and can't see anything and have a very large fish trying to bite them. Is it really a good idea?

Fostana certainly thought so. "You need to eat fish tonight. We're having a catfish fry. You're catching dinner," she said.

Later on, a catfish holed up by me and I thought I could make my first catch as it was just inches from my reach. But it started biting, and I wasn't prepared. At least Callie had a good laugh.

All joking aside, it was time to tame this potential Cat-zilla. We needed to bring in the Tiger Woods of grabbling, Marty. But even he struggled as he forgot the first rule of grabbling: never relax your "grabble."

But he redeemed himself shortly as, eventually, the catfish were practically jumping into our arms. And, when all was said and done, our hard work paid off as we feasted on catfish.

A great day was over, but I will always remember that there is more than one way to catch a cat.

(For more on the "Grabblin'" Girls, go to catfishgrabblers.com and stacyandteresawilson.com)

---

Roz may be small in stature, but she is huge in heart. And not just because of her physical exploits. Seven years ago, Roz Savage was the very picture of suburban contentment, a husband, good job, and a perfectly lovely home.

"I had the house and the little red sports car and the income. But it just didn't really make me feel fulfilled I suppose, so I started thinking about what I really wanted to do with my life and decided that I wanted to have a bit more excitement, a bit more adventure," she told me.

So, at 37, with zero sailing experience, Roz bought a boat. Volunteers outfitted it with radar and satellite phones, her Mother packed the lunches, literally – lots and lots of pre-packaged shelf-stable meals.

It's funny, in hindsight how ill-prepared Roz was as she set out from the Canary Islands. But there would be little laughter on the Atlantic. One hundred and three days of relentless rowing, 12 hours a day, over 3,000 miles of mostly unfriendly waters.

"It was really hard and I think psychologically it was the toughest aspect — very tough physically, but mentally, there were so many times when I really doubted whether I could do it," she recalled. "But, as Winston Churchill said, when you're going through hell — keep going."

Everything that could go wrong did — all her oars snapped and had to be taped, salt water scarred her hands, and her satellite phone got swamped, leaving her with no link to the outside world.

"I'm really quite ready for this adventure to be over," she said while on the boat.

Then there were the moments of real danger. Like when the sea anchor snagged and couldn't be reeled in. With rough seas tossing the boat, Roz climbed out, knife in her teeth, to cut it loose. She was very nearly tossed herself.

But the toughest times, she learned, provide the greatest rewards ... rewards that showered down when Roz finally made it, 30 pounds lighter, to Antigua in the Caribbean. Hundreds cheered her, including the woman who packed all those lunches.

"I think when I arrived in Antigua, I didn't stop grinning for a week," she remembered.

Call her crazy, but she's doing it again, this time across the Pacific, something no woman has ever done.

And now, she has a cause: she'll be blogging to school kids, educating them about ocean pollution, and, hopefully, inspiring others to follow their dreams.

How do they take this first step to make change in their life? I asked her.

"Well, your future is made up of all your today's, so when are you going to start making that change? If you're gonna dream, go for it — but I am not sure I'd recommend rowing oceans, that's only for the lunatic fringe."

It will be 2009 when she finally completes her three-stage crossing in 2009. After that, her biggest challenge may be finding her next challenge.

---

This might be confusing, but Panama hats don't come from Panama. They come from the destination of my latest trip: Montechristi, Ecuador. I met up with Brent Black, an American whose goal is to keep the Panama hat industry alive for generations to come.

In my quest for the perfect hat, I got to see the differences in quality. Brent's hats are elegant and impossibly light, with a weave so fine, they're like linen to touch.

His hats are plenty expensive, but I found out why. Brent took me to the dusty mountain town of Piles, home of one of the finest weavers in the world, Simon Espinal, a weaver who spends hours a day stooped over a bench, nimbly turning straw into gold.

Simon showed me a partially completed hat, and I asked him how long it took to get to that point.

"Dos meses," he responded, or, in English, two months. Unfortunately, Simon is a dying breed, as there are only a handful of weavers like him left.

I was brought five miles into the jungle to explore the creation of a Panama hat. Weavers search for "Cogollos," young shoots of a specific variety of palm.

"How many of these do you need to actually make a hat?" I asked.

Simon responded, "Three hundred." Three hundred Cogollos shoots to make one hat.

To make the hat, Cogollos are cut gently with machetes and hand-carried back to town. There, the reeds are split by hand and foot. Only the choice center straws are harvested. They then get quickly blanched in boiling water for softening, and hung out to dry. Finally, sulfur smoke bleaches the straw overnight, and that is all before the first weave is even spun.

Months later, after the hat is formed, a "rematadora" executes a careful back weave to prevent unraveling. Once the straw is trimmed, an apaledor pounds the hat with hardwood mallets to keep the hat supple. They are ironed, trimmed, and blocked into their final shape.

Brent learned the art of Panama hat weaving himself.

"I understood why people love Panama hats. I understood why these hats were legendary," Brent said.

Brent took me to the headquarters of the Montecristi Foundation, an organization he started that helps support weavers. It promotes them as artists and brings medical attention to the whole town.

We could barely conduct an interview because everyone around was thanking him.

Brent is a businessman, though, making a healthy living selling Panama hats. But he is intentionally increasing the base pay of weavers in an effort to improve their lives and attract new, young weavers.

"That's the idea," Brent said. "To keep going back and forth and keep raising (wages) as the market will bear until we get to the point where (weavers) make a really good wage."

By the end of my trip, I got my Panama hat ... and a newfound appreciation for the difference one man can make.

For Internet extras, reports on Phil's visit with Laird Hamilton and his hula lessons in Hawaii, go to page 2