Sure, you can sit in front of a screen in slack-jawed consternation as churches burn, statues of Christ and saints are vandalized, and a corporate-sponsored Marxist putsch plays out in Democrat run cities, or you can go fishing. Such is free will, it entails choice. I chose to go fishing.
For Every Lure You Buy You Have to Get Rid of Three
Nothing fancy, just a marina on Lake Whitney, and it's not even hard. All you need's a rig, Texas, a couple of rods, some bait and a day pack full of lures, hooks, weights, knives, descalers, water, bobbers and all of that. I tell you, if you're not careful that "day pack" will turn into a full-scale bergen (ruck) as if it were some kind of bloated government agency. Choose to avoid that fate.
A Bird
That in mind, I strolled down the pier to the cleaning station, admiring the big hot sky, the surround-sound of cicadas, and the exciting prospect of fish. Would they choose to bite, would the small cooler full of frozen shad, perch and fresh worms entice them onto the hook? Only time would tell.
Beat The Black Drum
And it did, in the triple digit noonday sun. Long story short, the fish had heatstroke and were cooling off in deeper waters, so the going was slow. Still, I reeled in a couple of 'gills and a decent little drum, enough catching, just, to vindicate the expedition and then something tugged on the line; a soupy, lazy, sluggish tug, as if the fish was half-asleep.
What's This? A Snag, Annoyingly
Huh. Quick experimental hookset and... KABOOM. Rod double, line out, diving, pulling, running action. What is this? A monster bass, a mega cat, a shark? No, none of those things. Some five minutes later it was a huge Buffalo (carp but not a carp), a huge fish on a light rod, big fun.
When the enormous beast finally tired of fighting the ancient mariner and came to the surface, I marveled at the prehistoric set of the thing. Large, jurassic, glistening scales and the sheer immensity of the watery beast, perhaps the largest fish I've ever caught. Then, just as I was hauling it onto the dock for a photo op, the line broke above the hook and Leviathan returned to the depths.
Well done fish, well done fisherman. And with that it was time to head back to the Compound.
Choose wisely, my friends.
Fish on,
LSP
8 comments:
There is always that one who got away.
Some say that it applies to fish AND women. I'm not enough of a philosopher to tackle that one.
Tomorrow is another day and the fish is still there.
It's raining here so I can't fish. As LL said, tomorrow's another day.
I had to look up what a Buffalo fish looked like. Ugly! Sorry you didn't get a pic. Now we have to take your word for the size and we all know about fish stories.
So - today I choose to go to PT - which is not near as exciting as fishing, but a rest from trying to work outside when the temp is over 90°. I know for you 90° plus is no big deal, but for us it is.
I need to rest up for Thursday's meeting at Panhandle Health when the goons will take another run at mandating masks. This little old lady will be there in support of freedom along with probably 500-1000 of her best friends. Geaux Patriots!!!
Yes, the bigger the fish, the more adrenaline flowing. It certainly doesn't matter whether it's edible or not, as long as it tugs on that line, that's all I need.
Biggest fish I ever caught was when I went charter fishing off the coast of Oregon near Newport. Hooked a 20-pound silver salmon (also called coho). Great fun. Had all of it professionally smoked. 30 years ago.
LL, my philosophy doesn't reach that far either. Is there some kind of Hegelian "dialectic" in play? Thesis/Antithesis?
Maybe a .50 would sort out the antithesis.
Jim, please send RAIN.
I SCORN the stupid masks, Adrrienne.
Went to Waco yesterday. They're all masked up as in some kind of stupid Netflix movie.
Ye Gods.
I'm with you on this, Fredd. As long as it pulls it's alright.
Jealous of that salmon!
Never been sea fishing and feel I ought to go. Maybe in New Zealand, where there's friends.
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