Texas Crazy Rain

One of the things the team looks forward to after Sunday Mass is fishing, and not just any old fishing. No, we like to go to a secret location somewhere in Texas and catch enormous, absurdly large, leviathan size Bass on light rods. Just a whole lot of fun.

That plan didn't work out because of the threat of rain and because one of the team decided to go fishing in Venice instead, which is ironic, given that the place is flooded. So I went down another route, and drove to Lake Aquilla.

Not a bad option. As the storm was coming in, thunderclouds looming, boats were pulling into the ramp and the scene was soon deserted. Just me, the still-before-the-storm water, distant lighting flickering across the sky and the pleasure of trying to lure a Bass onto an enticing topwater spook.

Thrash! One of the fierce predators was lurking right near the bank and attacked the lure at the end of my retrieve. A good fight with a decent Widemouth, who lived to fight again another day. There were a few more close calls, with a small school of fish surging up and out of the water around the spook, but no strike. Still, even that was action, and action against the dramatic backdrop of the lake.

It's a new lake, like most in Texas, and before its creeks were dammed, an archeological survey was done on the soon to be flooded area and what became the lake shore. There were any number of Indian campsites and small settlements, some of them dating from the not so distant past. They'd be hard to recognize if you're not an expert; mostly charred stones from campfires and the occasional worked piece of stone. Some of the sites remain, if you have eyes to see.

I imagined those Indians as I fished, under the big, threatening sky. There they had been, hunting and fishing on Aquilla and Hackleberry creeks, in the vastness of the land. Well, the land's still vast and the sky's still the same, and before long it began to crash down with a vengeance.

Time to get back to the Compound, a glass of wine and the latest awful news from the Jihad. But before that, the sky turned ominously green and it started to rain in earnest, Texas-style. No fooling, and a good thing I had a truck because the streets were flooding as I drove into town.

If the rain continues, it will all be underwater. Is there a moral in this story?

If you care to draw it.

Your Buddy,

LSP

Tight Lines

Sure, you can sit around in slack-jawed amazement at the state of the Worldwide Anglican Non Communion (WANC), or you can get out and fish. I chose the latter option and RV'd with GWB, somewhere in Texas.

The Bass were biting in a small way and before too long I had a couple on the hook and reeled in; so did GWB. Then the the action was on. A monster of the deep took GWB's lure; tap, hookset, and out played the drag. 

Nice Fish, GWB

Big fun and a big fish. Good result. That Bass tournament was won by GWB. But then the sun was setting, the wind died down and the water smoothed out into a golden glassy stillness. Time for topwater.

Twitch that Torpedo and in fairness, a Bass exploded on my lure like a senior womyn clergyperson angling for a pointed hat. It was a close run thing, but the fish got away. Then it was time to get on the road and head back to the Compound.

And that was that, a good time was had by all.

Your Friend,

LSP

Torpedo Los!

Here's the thing about the Torpedo. It works. I don't know why, I'm not an expert, but perhaps it's the spitting noise of the propeller, combined with a slow twitch retrieve. 

Tiny Torpedo Topwater Lure

Maybe it's the color of the lure and the way it rolls in the water that triggers the aquatic predator to strike and strike hard. I don't know, perhaps it's all these things and more. But one thing is certain.

The Torpedo Works

The Torpedo works and works well. My Baby Bass variant has caught more fish in a month than I'd usually catch in a year. Granted, because of our enemy, the Weather, I've been fishing more and riding and shooting less.

Random Photo of  Jeffrey John

Still, the Torpedo is a lure to be reckoned with, and they're cheap. Get yours at the local Walmart and catch some fish. I doubt you'll be disappointed.

Tight lines,

LSP

It's Hard, Country Hard

Life may be easy if you're a hedge fund manager, lobbyist, or one of our privileged, deracinated, bi-coastal ruling elite. Everything's laid on; there it is, just watch the cash roll in off the gravy train. But that's not the way it is in the country, you have to get out there and make it happen. My philisophical pal, GWB, reminded me of this, sometime after Morning Prayer.

"Look, LSP, you can sit around all day in slack-jawed dismay at the Deep State of this country, or you can do something about it. Like fish." I took that to heart.

Reeled In.

Thirty minutes later I was on the water somewhere in Texas, making it happen, with worms, plastic and real, and a variety of spinners. The fish scorned that like the American public in the face of yet another Hillary lie. Contemptuous indifference was their hallmark and like I said, it's not easy in the country. Do you give up? No, you don't, you keep going at it.

Bass

With strawberry dough bait. And guess what? The fish thought it was the best thing. A Catfish went for the delicious red strawberry morsels like a commie on a five year plan. Then a Bass tore into it, fighting and leaping all the way to the bank. 

Catfish

Not the privately owned, create your money at interest for profit Federal Reserve Bank, no the bank of the lake. And it wasn't over, another cat hit the delicious strawberry bait and ended up at the shore. It was a mutated kind of yellow, which was interesting, if off-putting. 

Strawberry Dough Bait. Who Knew?

New rods vindicated, I drove through the waterlogged fields, praying that my 2x2 rig didn't get stuck in the mud. It's hard enough in the country without having to tow a fisherman out of the clay... But no worries, the truck made it to higher ground and out the gate, which I closed.

Fish On,

LSP

Get Back in The Fight

When the action goes against you, you can give up, defeated. Or you can reengage, get back in the fight and win. I chose the latter path, it wasn't easy.

After vicious setbacks, culminating in thieves stealing my rods right out of the bed of the rig this morning, I was tempted to pack the whole fishing thing in, at least for the week. But no, that would've been useless and defeated, so I rearmed.

Several Ugly Sticks and an Abu Gracia and a Mitchell reel later, there was Lake Aquilla, fish beckoning. I tried my luck by the ramp with worms, and sure enough they were biting, but no strikes. So change it up, put a red treble hook on the line and try some strawberry catfish bait. Yum, fish love that, although, to be honest, I've never caught anything with it.

First cast and... bam! Something hit the hook and ran with it. A Bass and a decent little fish at that, putting up plenty of fight and leaping out of the water like Bass are supposed to do. Great result. Reel it in.

Next up, a catfish took the line. It wasn't big but not shy of a fight either, and there it was, another fish. Then low ominous clouds scudded in from the Northeast, the wind picked up and the lake got choppy, so I called it a day.

Moral of the story? Don't give up, like a sad loser, get back in the fight and fish.

Fish On,

LSP

Hijacked!

The great thing about the day after Pentecost is that you get to go fishing, at least that was the plan. Walk the dog, get a coffee at the pick 'n steal, then head off to the fish zone. A simple, elegant, straightforward Monday solution and it was going so well. Then the key snapped in the lock of the front door.

The View

I stared hard at that lock. Maybe telekenesis would move the key. No, it didn't, fail. Then I tried to pry the key out of its lair with needle nose pliers, a knife, and nail cutters. That didn't work either. Useless. So what do you do?

The Cry Babies

Sit around whining, like a cry baby, spoiled brat social justice warrior, and accuse the keyed up lock of oppressive gender stereotyping? Or maybe you stand there, open-mouthed like a Bass, hoping that the State will step in and fix the lock, with its big government magic? 

The Cylinder

You can try all that; sure, go ahead, just don't be surprised when your lock stays permanently broken. I chose a different path, I took the thing apart.

The Cam

Getting the key out of the cylinder wasn't too hard and I took it to the hardware store, where a helpful keysmith cut me a new one, using the broken offender as a model. He assured me "it wouldn't work." Thanks, key bloke. But it did, and everything turned out fine, except for the fishing, which didn't happen.

The Fix

So there it is, a fishing experdition stopped dead in its tracks by locksmithery. I'll have to make up for that tomorrow.

Cheers,

LSP

Go Fishing, After Mass

God never did make a more calm, quiet, innocent recreation 

than angling.  

Izaak Walton

With Walton's Compleat Angler in mind I went fishing, after Mass. It was good to stand on the bluffs overlooking Lake Whitney and cast off in the hope of big fish, though I was more in it for relaxation and quiet concentration than anything else.

Not knowing the water, I tried the shotgun approach, which means throwing in a variety of lures to see if anything works, in this case plastics, spinners, a silver spoon and a crankbait shad. No result with the plastic worms and the spoon got hung up as I bounced it off the bottom. Contrary to the spirit of Mr. Walton, I made a bit of a ruckus trying to unsnag the thing but no joy, the lure was stuck, so I cut the line. Just then, a large gray Catfish rose up from the depths and circled around and above the watery tomb of the spoon. It was like a baby shark, no fooling.

Compleat

This taught me that big Catfish live under the bluffs on that part of the lake and that they can and will be caught if I fish accordingly. Think positive, fisherman. After the spoon, I had a bit of action on the crankbait, which was partially hit by a Bass as it lured its way near the surface, but no strike and I called it a day.

Look. It's a Fish.

Just for kicks, I cast off in a shallow part of the water on the way to the truck, using a small green spinner. Why not? Maybe the fish will find it irresistible, I thought to myself, and sure enough, after a couple of casts a ferocious little Bass attacked the lure like a social justice warrior at a Trump rally. And that was that.

Fish on,

LSP

Go Fishing After Mass

There's all kinds of ways you can relax on Sunday afternoon after Mass and I'll share one option with you. Go to a lake somewhere in central Texas and catch some fish, or at least try. With that in mind, I put a rod in the bed of the rig, Blue Crankbait in the cab and drove off to RV with GWB at a lake.

Hope Springs Eternal

Would I catch any fish, I asked myself hopefully, as Blue Eschaton frisked and gamboled in the lakeside pasture. Remembering past success, I put a sparkly green worm on a Bass hook and cast off. Bass love sparkly green worms, I thought, full of pescatorial wisdom. 

A Bass

Strike! Fish on, the rod bent double and out played the line. Big excitement in LSPland, I can tell you, and after a decent fight I reeled in a Bass. Good result. A little later, GWB tipped up and cast off with a spinner but soon retired to watch a Sand Hill Crane through a spotting scope. There it was, a Sandhill Crane. 

Recon

I kept fishing, however, which is a sport that's all about perseverance, and was rewarded with a fair sized Catfish that struck my plastic worm near the surface. Again, big excitement, top water hi-jinx, but he slipped the hook after thrashing about in the water like an enraged Great White. Readers, all three of you, don't underestimate the fury of the fish. Then, as the sun was beginning to set, another Bass decided to strike, this time hitting a blue worm. Bass love blue plastic worms. Well, at least this one did, and that was that.

A Typical Texas Sunset

Fishing adventure over, we scouted out the land near the lake for potential predator calling and hunting. It's beautiful country and remarkably green and lush, which will change all too soon under the fierce Texan sun; the country even has hills and views, or vistas. Rremarkable, it's like Gloucestershire, except for the bobcats, snakes, coyotes and wild pigs.

Speaking of which, the man who farms there says that pigs are always a problem and I guess they are, except when they're on the grill.

God bless Texas,

LSP

Lemmy, Rest in Peace

You once told me to ***k Off.

That is my claim to fame.

Rest in Peace.

LSP

Fishing

Don't get me wrong, shooting is great, but fishing is neat too. So I loaded up the truck with some rods and headed off to Lake Whitney.

The Lake's still high and right  out of the gate one of the team caught a Bass with a long tail worm on a Texas rig. Big excitement, which was tempered, a bit, by the young 'un dropping the fish before we could get a picture. It swam away to fight again another day. 

Then one of the boys fell in the lake and had to dry out in the sun while the other caught a fish with his cowboy hat. The hat was strangely waterproof; you can get them from Cavender's for $24. Keeps the sun off and doubles as a net, quite a deal.

Later on a  friendly fisherman gave us a couple of Perch to use as bait and that was fun but didn't result in any strikes. He'd been there since 5.30 am and had only caught Perch, 6 of them.

As midday came and went, and the sun beat down, we headed for the Compound.

Well done, Team, and you never know, maybe next time I'll catch something...

LSP

Catch Fish, Welby Goes Gay!

1st Second of Forever

I was going to head off to "Slap Out" to ride but the plan changed. Instead of driving to Hubbard, where they're "slap out" of stuff, I drove towards Itasca and visited a parishioner with a stocked stock tank. The plan was simple, catch fish, LSP!

Spinner

With this objective front and center of the mental HUD I drove across the fields to the tank, parked up under the shade of a tree and gazed at the water. There were fish there, I knew that. Blue Gill, Catfish, Bass. How to get them?

Chatterjig

I decided on a twofold approach. Drop some bait for the cats under a slip bobber towards the center of the tank and cast with smallish lures with rod #2 while waiting for the cats to bite. The casting part of the plan worked pretty well, with 6 Bass striking the lures. 

Das Boot

Their favorite, interestingly, was a small white chatterbait with a silver grub, and without the skirt, turning it into a kind of jig. A "chatterjig" I suppose; whatever, the Bass loved it and I lost track and time of the bobber, which drifted gently to the shore without catching much except an early catfish.

How did you get here?

Now, the odd thing about this episode is that the tank is obviously rich in Bass but it was never stocked with them. A miracle, obviously. 

how very gay

In other news, old Etonian oil executive, Archbishop of Canterbury Justin Welby, has gone gay(er). You can read about it in the Telegraph. Welby, you'll note, has fish on his miter; he wasn't at the tank this afternoon.

Cheers,

LSP

The Standing Wave

"Riverfront"

Dallas is a strange place. One minute you're there on the corner of Crack and Grand and the next you're at this "water feature" within sight of the glass cathedrals to Mammon that make up the city's skyline.

Downtown from the Trinity

What happened was that the City decided to create a white-water fun zone called the Standing Wave on the Trinity river and several million dollars later there's a series of quasi dams underneath and immediately downstream from the Santa Fe trestle and the modern DART light rail bridge. Its part of a larger plan to turn the Trinity into an enjoyable, attractive, accessible asset rather than a dumping ground for noxious chemicals, trash and body parts.

Standing Wave Santa Fe Trestle

The water boils and churns and is, apparently, far too dangerous for the kind of fun-for-all-the-family kayaking that the City Fathers envisaged. So perhaps the scheme needs honing, but whatever, it's a fish magnet.

Nice Natural landscaping, Dallas...

I like to go there after early Mass on Fridays and try my luck against the monster Gar, Channel Cats, and Buffalo fish that seem to love the Standing Wave. Mostly it's deserted and I have the place to myself, which is good. But sometimes I get company, like the Bow Fish Killer (BFK).

Churn

There I am, lost in the world of trying to get Buffalo fish to swallow the worm that hides the #8 hook, when all of a sudden I hear a hiss and turn around. There's a dude with a compound bow and dark Terminator shades looking at me and tweaking. Our conversation went something like this:

BFK: SSSS!! Twk, Twk!!

LSP: S'up?

BFK: Any Gar? Alligator Gar?!?

LSP: For sure...

BFK: There's Buffs (Buffalo fish) man.

LSP:  I know (I was trying to catch them).

And there is that Leviathan

Next thing I know, my new pal BFK is leaping downstream waving his bow and the next minute he's back carrying this huge "Buff" which he's shot through the gut. He throws it down to me as a ind of offering.

BFK: Here you go man, cut bait!!

LSP: Er, thanks. Right on!

Full of bloodlust, BFK runs off to get another Buff to hack up and use as Gar bait.

Little Fella

I'm no prude and have nothing against cut bait or bow fishing in the right circs but... things were getting weird, so I packed up, climbed in the truck and headed for home.

Fish on,

LSP