Tight Lines

Inspired by tales of trout in the mountain streams of the White Wolf Mine, I drove to the lake in search of fish. Would there be any and if there were, would they bite? Two weighty mysteries to conjure with on the way to a date with piscine destiny.

And at first it seemed as though the answer was negative on both counts. No fish. No bites. Yes, it was all very beautiful, blue sky, autumnal Texan sun reflecting off the water, and all of that, so good for the soul, but where were the fish?

Then, just as I was about to head somewhere else there was a vicious tug on the line, hookset, and whatever was on took off like Trump Train 2020. Rod double, line out, reeling action, especially when the cunning leviathan made a mad bid to dive under the pier. It failed, but only just, and there he was, at last, a mighty catfish.

I hauled the monster up on the dock for a photo op before putting him back in to fight again another day. What a good fish. And there you have it, a short story of aquatic adventure in the Texan countryside and yet another testimony to the power of worms, small hooks and a light rod. Amazed the thing didn't break, to be honest.

Great fun, and a welcome break from staring in slack-jawed consternation at the corruption and malfeasance of our nation's political elite and their lying shills in the media. But that's a different sermon.

Fish on,

LSP

Fish in the Heat of the Day

Fishing at 2 pm at the end of July in Texas doesn't make a whole lot of sense. I admit it, the fish are pretty much stunned by the heat and not biting. But I was in it for the challenge.

Sure enough, it was pretty slow going. Still, after a few minutes there was a tug on the line and out came a medium Perch, too big to use as Striper bait but a catch nonetheless. After that?

Not much until a Black Drum decided to attack the line, a fierce little beast and followed up by another, larger cousin. 

Good action, all things considered, and then the water grew quiet in the heat haze, with the exception of  a mighty Perch which I used as bait for the ferocious Striper. 

They weren't having it, so I packed up and headed for home before the air caught fire, noting a curious message on the way.

Fish on,

LSP

Fishing Isn't God But I Still Love It

"Man," reminds Archbishop Fulton Sheen, "is engaged in a threefold quest for life, truth and love." Would I find that after Evening Prayer, fishing? Only imperfectly. Fishing, you see, isn't God.

Still, I won't deny that the sport's up there, especially when the watery beasts are switched on, for real and love what you're throwing in the water, which is pretty much the way it was yesterday evening.

The pier was empty, no pressure, and the spillway pool beckoned with submarine life. You could see it gliding about the water in search of prey. Big Gar, Catfish, a few Bass and a lot of Drum, some large; time to cast off.

Out went line #1 into the middle of the pool and stayed there, a stationary rod, then out went line #2 for casting. And sure enough, the fish wern't only live but loving the bait, with both rods popping. And that meant a bit of running around. 

There you are, reeling in a fish when the other rod starts jumping, bends double and off you go. Quick, sort that fish out and get on the other rod!

Big fun, I tell you, and while it's not God it does  make for a better evening than staring in slack-jawed consternation at some computer screen.

So get out and fish. Shoot and ride too, but those would be different stories.

God bless,

LSP 

The Awesome Power of Topwater Fishing

I know what you're thinking, all 5 of you that read this shallow excuse for a mind blog. You're thinking for someone who's always banging on about the awesomness of topwater lures, you sure don't seem to use them much. In fact, you spent the best part of Trinity Sunday afternoon fishing with a spoon, so-called LSP, if that's your real name, which we doubt.

OK, I stand rebuked, but it's a mark of character to be able to take constructive criticism and improve performance. And with that in mind, I set off for an evening of Tiny Torpedo topwater engagement with the aquatic opposition at Lake Whitney.

Lake Whitney at Dusk, Choppy

I won't bore you by saying how still, tranquil and glassy smooth the lake was, and I won't take up your time with the conversation I had with a fellow Angler, a youngish black fellow who proudly announced that he was "a Harris" and that he'd bought his rod at a pawnshop. I liked him; good for you, taking pride in the family name. Anyway, he left for Lake Aquilla and I got on with business.

In a short while Perch were swirling around the Torpedo. That got my hopes and adrenalin up, hey the Torpedo works. But no bites. Bass, on the other hand, were breaking the water off to my right towards the dam. Go where the fish are, says Fishing Wisdom, and that's what I did.

Catch That Bass! On a Torpedo

The Torpedo whipped those Bass into a frenzy and before long one was on the line, leaping and fighting. I brought him in, a decent fish, and for about 20 minutes it was fish on and big action. Exciting, one of the best things out there, as the ferocious predators explode around your lure.

Then it was dark and time to go, the awesomness of topwater fishing vindicated.

Fish On,

LSP