Fish

 

The sun began to rise over a somnolent rural enclave in North Central Texas, half-light giving way to autumnal sun, the glare's off summer but it's comfortably warm, in the 80s, beautiful. So what to do? Drink that strong covfefe and reflect on the situation while next door's rooster kicks up a racket and birds hit the feeders. "I know," you announce to the team, "Let's go fishing." Which is exactly what happened.

After the morning evolution we arrived at Lake Whitney with a couple of light rods and a box of worms. Would there be fish, would they bite? Kind of, a few half-hearted bites from baby perch and then boom, something bit hard and fast and out came a... baby perch. Fierce little fella.

To be honest, slow going, the fish were taking a sabbatical but, on the last throwaway cast something took the line and surged. What was this leviathan of the deep, a large bluegill or something else? It was something else, a catfish and a fighter. 

Out he came and would've stayed ashore if I'd brought a cooler, but no, he went back to fight again another day. And that was that, what a lot of fun. It's good to get out by the water and try your luck against the piscine adversary. Let's see more of this.

Fish On,

LSP