Sic Transit Gloria Marinae

 

After a hearty late breakfast of Texas toast, eggs over easy, hash browns and sausage, it seemed right to scout out the waters of the Brazos and Lake Whitney. The water was up, no doubt about it, but no one was catching, so I drove over to Uncle Gus' Marina Abramovic.

Desolate

The marina went bankrupt last month, apparently no amount of spirit cooking could save it, so I was curious, what would I find and could you still fish there? 

No, you can't fish there because the docks and their cleaning station, a favorite place to fish, were closed off and the place stood desolate and abandoned. Who knows, perhaps it'll be turned into a migrant holding center or a lakeside reeducation camp for people insane enough to distrust our beloved rulers.

Shut Down

Then again, it might become a marina again, and a holiday spot for people fleeing the DFW metrosprawl in search of Striper and lakeish fun. Who knows, maybe one of our oligarch overlords will buy the COVID ravaged resort for pennies on the dollar and open it up.

Art Philosophy

Maybe so. In the meanwhile, I'm waiting for the water to settle, the climate to change and the fish to bite. 

Cheers,

LSP

Birds And Fish

It was like a scene from a Hitchcock movie, walk outside into the overcast light of a Texan spring morning and what happens, a bird screeches defiance. 

No matter, just a bird, then it swoops down on your head like a feathered Stuka in the skies of Crete. I somehow made it to the rig and back again, dive bombed by the avian terrorist.

And good thing too, because I had to load up for a trip to the dam and  fish, winged predators notwithstanding.

Now, some of you fish for relaxation and quiet reflection on the water. I do too but more so for action, which means catching, otherwise I grow bored. That in mind, I tend to put out a static line, perhaps on a bobber, and keep myself occupied with a casting rod, armed, usually, with worms.

The combo can produce great results.There's that Gar bait doing its thing on the one line and there you are, casting for opportunity. Than BAM, rod #1 goes double and so does rod #2.  Makes you leap about. Big fun and there was a bit of that at the dam spillway, fast action.

Several drum, bass, junior striper and perch later, I was back at the Compound, and so was the bird. It screeched, enraged, as I got back home, mission accomplished. Moral? Fishing's better than staring in boneheaded, slack-jawed, blank-faced consternation at your screen.

Tight lines,

LSP

Super Tuesday

Go to the dam and fish, what a great plan, elegant in its simplicity. But how did it work out? Slowly, to be honest, with the slipway waters churning and surging and the fish not biting. Who can blame them, they were surely shell-shocked by the current.

Pedro wasn't having any luck either at the other end of the pier, so I watched the mighty Brazos for a meditative moment or two then headed over to Soldiers' Bluff. Maybe the bite'd be on at the Bluff, which isn't a bluff anymore since it was flooded by the dammed up river.

Reflections on Brazos and Bosque County history aside, the waters of the lake were still and tranquil under the big sky and the bank was empty, peaceful. It had that topwater feel, but I went with worms instead.

Nothing, then a chime on the phone, a text, "I'm hoping for Sanders with plurality, a contested convention at which they hand it to Biden, and then RIOTS." This obviously worked as some kind of trigger because there was vicious tug on the line and out it played.

Up came a predatory socialist bass who was clearly in the business of snatching up free stuff. I put him back to find some other means of production to appropriate, before going berserk when Comrade Bernie's cheated of the nomination yet again. 

One more bass later, a baby, it was time to head for home, mission accomplished. And that, fellow adventurers on the roiling seas of life, is the story of that.

Fish on,

LSP

The Crossing

One of the baker's half-dozen who reads this eccentric internet backwater sent this in, by Cormac McCarthy:

"Every man's death is a standing in for every other. And since death comes to all there is no way to abate the fear of it except to love the man who stands for us. We are not waiting for his history to be written. He passed here long ago. That man who is all men and who stands in the dock for us until our own time comes and we must stand for him. Do you love him, that man? Will you honor the path he has taken? Will you listen to his tale?"

I reflected on that as I fished below the dam after a round of bereavement visits. We must stand for him; I like that, in fact I like all of it.

God bless,

LSP