Yet More Crazy Fishing And A Hogg

You don't know what the water has in store, maybe something, maybe nothing but today it was all frenzied action and pretty much every cast a fish. 

Fish after fish hit my complex, scientific setup; split shot, worm on a #2 baitholder, and 12 Lb test on a cheap Shakespeare Lite-Pro Ugly Stick. And here's the thing.

A light setup's practical because it's sensitive, it's also fun because even a small fish feels like a decent fight and the fight's half the deal. There you are, like Ahab, reeling in the mighty, ahem, Perch. No kidding, on a light rod even a small sunfish feels important.

But today's fish weren't that small. A Gar rose from the depths, snatched the bait and leaped into the air in thrashing, predatorial fury. Time and again, Catfish pounded into the hook, diving deep and strong, rod bent double, drag playing out and fight-on.

That played out for an hour or so before quieting down and an alt-redneck pal came by. "I hear you been tearin' it up!" I replied that I had and promptly caught a Perch and a small Catfish, quod erat, sort of thing.

In other exciting news, the young 'un shot a pig. GOOD WORK, kid. 

Tight Lines,

LSP

Outrageous Fishing

Unless you're a sad Marxist determinist or some kind of insane philosopher, you'll agree that we have free will, we can make choices. Some good, some bad, some tending towards freedom and others towards that other place which ends in iron tyranny.

No, Wymmin Can't Be Priests

With this in mind, we had a choice today at the Compound. Go fishing or sit in slack-jawed amazement at the wreckage of what used to be Western culture. The team took the better path, we went fishing.

Say No To Spirit Cooking

And BANG, pretty much out of the gate we were catching. Bluegill, Catfish and Bass; mostly Bluegill and a couple of keepers too, but they all went back. Some of you might want to know the detail. Here it is.

Defeat Globalist Elites

#1 Eagle Claw Bait holder hook, cheap as you like and then some. 1 medium split shot weight, placed appx 12" from the hook, 12' test (you never know). Bait, 1 half live worm threaded onto the hook with a chunk of Walmart shrimp (Cats seem to like the combo) and another half worm threaded below the shrimp chunk.

Smash The NWO

Presentation? Chuck it in! Well, test the water and see what works. I found that casting diagonally to a cross current tended to get good bites and... sometimes not at all.

Hey, a fish is a fish

Moral of the story? Get out and fish, and know the water. If you do, you'll be able to get on the fish with what they want and start catching. Which is the optimum result, but word to the wise, a few recce patrols don't hurt.

But of course you know all this. As it is, we lost count today. Result.

Gun rights,

LSP

Fish After Mass

One of the many benefits of LSPland is that you can go fishing after Mass, which is what we did, right there on Lake Whitney as the sun was beginning to sink in the large Texan sky.

It was a tranquil scene, no doubt about it, but excitement was in the air as first one then several ferocious Bass surged up out of the water to prey on insects and small, unwary birds. Time to get on the fish, gentlemen.

I tried a variety of lures, a mid size shad, some kind of minnow thing and several topwater torpedoes, to say nothing of worms real and plastic along with delicious strawberry fish treats. But the fish were having none of it.

We weren't catching anything, the anglers to the left and right weren't catching anything and neither was man across the way. And that's just the way it was.

No fish on, we fell back to the Compound for a tasty meal of fried chicken and a celebratory glass of the right stuff in honor of Melania's birthday. 

It's Not Over, Fish. Not by a Long Shot

Would fried fish have been better? Sure, but that's for another day, when the fish are biting.

Your Old Friend,

LSP

Fish, You Fool, And The Ghosts Of The Brazos

The sun was shining, the air was crisp and it seemed right to go fishing; Genius Patrol weren't invited, their job was to stay behind and guard the Compound.

A short drive later I was at Soldier's Bluff or Sosebee's Bluff, named after George Sosebee who left Georgia in the 1870s to escape the "odious" Reconstruction Government after the Civil War.

Reconstruction reached its most odious stages in the mid '70's and George Sosebee determined that he could stand no more of it. On the raw frontier, he reasoned, there must exist a place where no Reconstruction Official or carpetbagger would venture.

By 1875 Sosebee had found his frontier, where the Big Rocky Creek tumbled through a limestone precipice overlooking the Brazos river in Bosque County. 

Carpet Baggers

Today, Sosebee's Brazos is gone, inundated by the Corps of Engineers' dam which was built in the 1950s. Still, the tops of his limestone bluffs remain and you can fish from them, sometimes with spectacular results.

With that in mind, the lake was choppy and surging, thanks to a fierce North East wind, and I wondered if the expedition'd be a bust. "How's the action, kids?" I asked a professional crew of youngsters who'd set up on the shore with an impressive array of surf casting rods. They said it wasn't bad, holding up a very respectable Largemouth.

Inspired by success, I cast off with a plastic minnow allied to an earthworm and sure enough started getting bumps and tugs; fish were out there, no doubt about it. But could I close the deal?

It took a while but then, BOOM, a fish was on, pulling out the drag and glinting silver in the topwater. At first I thought it was a Drum but no, it was a decent young Bass around 12". I put him back and reflected on the towns flooded by the dam, including Towash, across the way from the bluffs. In case you wondered, Towash wasn't Cheltenham:

On January 5, 1870, Hardin was playing cards with Benjamin Bradley in Towash, Hill County, Texas. Hardin was winning almost every hand, which angered Bradley, who then threatened to "cut out his liver" if he won again. Bradley drew a knife and a six-shooter. Hardin claimed he was unarmed and excused himself, but claims that later that night, Bradley came looking for him. Bradley allegedly fired a shot at Hardin, which missed. Hardin drew both his pistols and returned fire, one shot striking Bradley's head and the other his chest. Dozens of people saw this fight, and from them there is a good record of how Hardin had used his guns. His holsters were sewn into his vest, so that the butts of his pistols pointed inward across his chest. He crossed his arms to draw. Hardin claimed this was the fastest way to draw, and he practiced every day. A man called "Judge Moore", who held Hardin's stakes of money and a pistol, but refused to give them up without Bradley's consent, "vanished. Later Hardin admitted killing two men in Hill County Texas - Donald Long.

Here's another account, fictional but I'd say on the money.

...in 1865 Towash made a big sign... Texas-style. It boasted the Boles racetrack, which attracted the sports and gamblers from as far away as Hot Springs, Arkansas. There was a hand ferry across the Brazos and close by a grist mill powered by a huge water wheel. Dryer & Jenkins was the trading store. There was a barbershop that did very little business and six saloons that did a lot, dispensing red-eye... raw. Typical of many towns in the Texas of 1867, there was no law except that made by each man with his own ‘craw sand.’ Occasionally the Regulators of Austin rode in... always in large groups... more for protection than law enforcement. 

I reeled in the Bass and cast off for more, while the ghosts of the Brazos lay heavy on the lake.

Tight lines,

LSP

Don't Be A Pathetic Lib, Fish

Now that the risible "Russians hacked the election" narrative is dying the death of a thousand failing PR spins, the team decided to go fishing. We'd tried Soldiers Bluff the day before and the young 'un did well with a good sized Hybrid but I struck out. Today would be different, I promised, at the dam spillway.

Sure enough it was. The water churned and foamed and we cast off with circle hooks and worms. A few minutes in and Boom! out came a decent Black Drum and we could see the Gar schooling off the current. Big excitement as the prehistoric looking river monsters circled and prowled like submarines in search of prey.

After a few false starts, as the fickle Gar took the bait, ran with it and then let go, I felt an encouraging tug on the line. That firmed up, the rod bent double and the fight was on; I thought I'd caught a Catfish but no, a big Bass broke the surface and tried to run downstream. Sorry fish, you're coming in and up came a decent sized Leviathan. Great result.

Then the Cadet started catching, Black Drum, and that's the main thing. You want kids to experience the action so that they get into the sport. Otherwise they'll be tempted to write it all off as a boring game of waiting for endlessly non-appearing evidence and give up. Or worse yet, be forced to retract the story altogether as a phony piece of CNN-style agitprop.

That wasn't the case today; it was fish on and thank you mighty Brazos for the opportunity.

Tight lines,

LSP

Fish On, Hillary For Jail

Rather than talk about the urgent necessity of appointing a Special Counsel to bring Hillary to justice, I'll just post about fishing. That's one of the many benefits of LSPland, you can visit the flock and fish, all at the same time.

There were all kinds of panfish in the water at my friend's slip and for a while it was pretty much a fish with every cast. Some ferocious Bluegill fighters, too, and a couple of Bass for good measure. Huge fun and I should've brought a cooler.

I left as the sun was setting over the lake and the air smelled like Texas, sage, mesquite, cedar and cooling limestone. I love that.

Hillary For Jail,

LSP

More Fishing

Yesterday's fishing was slow. Like the corrupt, lying, elite, venal, condescending, pugnacious mainstream media attempting to find proof of Trump acting as a Russian spy, not a lot was happening. A lot of trying, a lot of fishing, but no catching to speak of. 

Similar, come to think of it, to the infamous Kremlins hacking our election. No end of frenzied searching, no end likewise of not finding the elusive beasts. But that was yesterday, today was different.

Today the fish were biting like a Trump Train on full power. Boom. First off, a Megabass hit my worm  in the pool of Lake Whitney dam spillway, then took off ferociously upstream. No use, fish, you're coming in, if only to live to fight again another day.

No sooner was the gigantosaurian Bass back in the water than a Striper came in, and on and on it went. In the end my arms grew tired from reeling in the monsters, Black Drum, Stripers, Catfish, Bass and a lone Bluegill.

It made for some some brisk and satisfying action and then it was over, fish back in the Brazos and me in a truck heading back to the compound, time well spent.

Tight lines,

LSP

Fish On

Life at the Compound isn't just about riding and shooting, it's also about fishing and with that in mind we headed out to Lake Whitney with rods and a cooler, in search of aquatic sport. Come on, team, let's catch some fish, was my war cry, but would we?  

I wasn't sure and that was unsettling because it was important for Harrison, who had traveled all the way from the UK for a God, guns and country life in Texas experience, to catch his first fish. JS, who's a well known art philosopher,was content to watch. Exactly, watch, watch us catching fish. So the heat, as it were, was on. But I needn't have worried.

Within a few minutes of casting off, Harrison was getting bites and triumphantly reeled in his first Bluegill. Good work! That was followed up by some six more of the same, a decent Crappie and a baby Bass or two. In the meanwhile, I'd managed to catch a small if aggressive junior Bass. Slow going, LSP.

Then things took off a bit and I brought in a Bass and a Bluegill that were worth keeping. They went into the cooler and we headed back to base for a quick lesson in filleting. And I tell you this, the fish tasted better for being caught and cleaned yourself. Lake to table and thank you very much.

Excellent result, and well done H on your first fish. Mission accomplished.

Tight lines,

LSP

Republican Healthcare Shambles, Go Fishing

Well done, Republicans. One of the reasons people voted you into power was to repeal Obamacare and you've failed to do that. How many other election promises will you break? Some, all, most? Who knows, and rather than reflect on this unsettling question I went fishing.

It was tranquil as the sun set behind the limestone bluffs overlooking Lake Whitney and I cast off from the solitude of the bank, enjoying the peaceful sound of the line as it played out across the sun-reflecting water.  Very peaceful, unless you're a fierce voracious fish.

Within minutes, an underwater predator plowed into my worm, diving and pulling against the line, a Drum. Next up, a decent little Bass took the bait, thrashing and leaping, big fun. But imagine what those fish would be like if they were large; deadly.

Then the action slowed down, with more fish sneakily eating the bait off the hook than striking. Still, I reeled in a couple of Bluegill and so what if they're small, they put up a fight. And that was that, an uplifting couple of hours in the clean lakeside air of an early Texan spring evening.

What a good result unlike, say, the useless, dismal, failing performance of the Republican Party, who can't live up to one of their most basic election promises. Our corrupt, lying, hypocritical, elitist, smug, mendacious and venal mainstream media will doubtless run and run with this story. But hey, maybe it's all part of the art of the deal.

Fish on,

LSP

Fish Soldier's Bluff

Well. I didn't follow my own advice and watch Leprechaun, awesome though it is, and I didn't drink any Guinness, annoyingly. But I did go to Soldier's Bluff after Evening Prayer in search of fish.

It was a bust at first and I thought it'd stay that way. Then, as the bright sun started to go down, the fish started nibbling and then biting. Out came 5 Blue Gill and one small Bass in short order. Good result.

Apart from the excitement of catching the small but feisty fish, it was simply good to get out in the open air and enjoy the view of the lake from the bank. 

I gave my left over worms to some kids, I hope they caught something, and you can view excerpts from the adventure at, ahem, Incredible Video!

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

Spillway Action

I had two objectives, apart from seeing Hillary behind bars, the first being to show my Wittgensteinian pal, GWB, the sheer value and power of the weightless worm rig (WWR). The second, obviously, was to make up for Sunday's washout and catch a lot of fish.

Things got off to a slow start. AT&T came over and gave the Compound a new internet called "Uverse." The tech who installed the Internet was alright, friendly, competent, and good with dogs. I was taken aback by all these things. Well done, AT&T guy. Then we noticed that GWB's rig had a flat tire, as flat as Hillary's bogus "woman who cares for the people" act. So that had to be fixed.

In the end, a couple of hours late and in the heat of the day, we got to the dam. Sure enough, there were lots of fish, especially great hunter-killer packs of Gar, suspended in search of prey. And plenty of other fish too, just like in Seaworld. So we cast off with the worms and I have to say the action was sluggish. 

I hauled in a Black Drum and a couple of Hybrids but that was it, GWB wasn't getting anything either. "The fish hate your useless worm rig, so-called LSP," he chided, and swapped out to lures and plastics. I liked that, work out what artificials the fish like and report back. Then things changed.

Ho, Ho! A Bass. Boom.

Casting downstream off the end of the pier, I noticed a lot of Bass in the water, flashing in their quest to get upstream, into the pool and into the jaws of the waiting Gar. Twitch, tap, Boom. A Bass was on and fighting ferociously, and in he came. Good work, WWR. I alerted GWB to the spot and before long he was reeling in a Bass with every cast, all on a Texas rigged green ribbontail. Nice action.

Oh, Well Done, LSP, You Caught a Fish

I joined in with live worms and got the same result, big fun, then moved off in search of Catfish. And they were biting; I reeled in a decent sized fighter and a couple of juniors, then returned to the Bass. They were still on; then, just as though a switch had been flicked, the feeding frenzy was over. Time to go.

And that, readers, was that. I find great satisfaction in fishing, in case you wondered. Anticipation and the excitement of the strike, the fight itself, and just being outside in the country. To say nothing of reeling in the fierce predators. 

Next stop? Get back on the horse and shoot some guns.

Your Friend,

LSP