Showing posts with label Black Drum. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Black Drum. Show all posts

Tuesday, August 25, 2020

Get To The Point

The point? The point of what, so-called "LSP"? The point of the marina where I like to fish, and it may seem counter-intuitive to go fishing in the heat of a noonday Texan sun in August because, wisdom says, the fish have got heat stroke and aren't biting. That's right, they're lying low in the depths like some vast silent majority. But not today.

I got to the water only to see my usual spot at the cleaning station taken by a guide cleaning striper, so I drove down to the point looking for piscine adventure. Would there be fish, against all the heated Augustan odds? 

There were. Within seconds of setting up you could hear the crackle of ferocious young bass blitzing on shad and minnows. Quick, rig up! Get on it fella, and I went topwater with an oversized something or other, thinking "big lure = big fish." 

Sound logic but the trebles were too large for the voracious sandies, who swarmed the lure, snapping, thrashing and carrying on like the fierce beasts they are. Still, I closed the deal on a few and what a lot of fun, first time I'd fished topwater in a while. Twitch the fakey, rattling, floating, silvery plastic fish and then boom! down it goes. Great result.

Topwater blitz over, it was time to go to the cleaning station for some shady fishing in the furnacelike heat of the day. Would there be action? There was.

Black drum and untold blue gill hit my worms like they were going out of style and I lost count. Good sized fish too, which put up a lot of fight. Perhaps I should've kept a few but, to be honest, I wasn't in the mood to eat them and didn't want the hassle of filleting. So these fellas lived again to fight another day. Well done, fish.

So there you have it. Point being, try not to sit staring at your computer screen in slack-jawed consternation as Marxist Gibbsmedat goons rampage, loot and burn; get outside instead, even if it is 100* in the shade.

Tight lines,


Monday, July 20, 2020

Decisions, Decisions

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,


Friday, June 19, 2020

Friday Fish

Sure, you can be a miserable Marxist Determinist, go right ahead and choose to leave your free-will behind. Or, on the other hand, you can make like a free agent and go fishing on the mighty Brazos. I chose that path.

It was a little slow at first, but that was alright. Patience, LSP, wait for the bite to switch on and enjoy the big birds casting fierce eyes for targets of opportunity. The one above swooped down on a perch I'd hooked, a first for me. Hey, my fish!

Then things started to roll and it was pretty much a fish with every cast, big Bluegill, decent Drum, and a scad of ferocious junior Striper. Back they went to fight again another day. Big fun, I tell you, and a welcome change from watching fauxtrage commies pull down statues.

I mean really, pulling down statues of Christopher Columbus, George Washington, Jefferson and General Lee is going to transform America into a genderless rainbow no-police utopia, and get Biden elected? Really? No, of course not, it's just a dropped-on-head-as-infant Marxist spasm.

Pseudo-Tet aside, I cut out while the catch was good and headed for home, the big Texan sky reflecting off the water of the river. And there it was, good action met tranquility.

Tight lines,


Friday, May 15, 2020

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,


Monday, December 9, 2019

Fish Till Your Arms Ache

Today was beautiful in this part of Texas, slightly misty but warm, like an autumnal Spring. Such is Fall in Hill County, season of mists and mellow respite from having to turn on the AC. Pleased by this happy turn in the War on Weather I drove to the dam in search of fish.

Idea being to replicate last week's success against the fluid adversary and get out in the clean air, rod in hand, which is exactly what happened. First cast, up came a baby bass, then perch, followed by baby striper, followed by decent sized drum, followed by young catfish.

OK, the fish weren't as big as the ones I would've caught with a boat, granted, but there were plenty of rod-benders, tug, pull, snap and here we go, battle on. What a lot of fun, to say nothing of the tranquility of the sound of the water coming gently off the dam in the rare moments of peace between strikes.

And on it went 'til I lost count and a fierce wind blew in from Waco, exciting the immature catfish but making it hard to cast. Throw out your line and watch it go horizontal in the gale, type of thing, so I packed up and headed for home.

On the way back over the bridge a vulture dive bombed the rig, like an avian Stuka or feathered Richtofen. No kidding, I thought the thing was going to hit the truck, first time that's ever happened.

In other news, you can read about the looming threat of war between Greece and Turkey here. And while you're at it, consider how good it would be to see Sultan Erdogan sink beneath the waves of the Med in Lepanto 2.0 and Hagia Sophia restored to its glory.

Fish till your arms ache,


Tuesday, January 1, 2019

New Years Eve Fish

Thanks to our old friend Climate Change, New Years Eve dawned pleasantly balmy and it seemed like a good idea to drive over to the dam and try our luck against the aquatic adversary. To be honest I wasn't expecting much, but nothing ventured, nothing gained. So off we went.

The pier was empty, the water murky and the mighty Brazos flowed east towards Waco. "Let's try the famous Texan worm rig, kid," I told junior LSP. And that's exactly what we did, casting off with small baitholders weighted with split shot.

Lo and behold, we were getting tugs on the line within minutes and before long up  came a Black Drum. Result. The young 'un took a little longer to get started  but soon he was on the drum like a yellow vest storming Bregancon. Well done!

Then the bite switched off as the Drum went downstream; similar, when you think about it, to the FISA drop. You could see the fish jumping just out of reach,  tantalizing as the prospect of Lyin' Comey & Co. in Gitmo.

Undaunted, resolute, we fished on and were rewarded by a couple of catfish. They were small but so what, a fish is a fish. Then it was time to head back to the  Compound. 

And I tell you, it was good to get out in the country air and even better to catch something when you weren't expecting to.

Let's hope this augurs well for MAGA 2019.

Tight lines,


Sunday, July 29, 2018

Fish in the Heat of the Day

Fishing at 2 pm at the end of July in Texas doesn't make a whole lot of sense. I admit it, the fish are pretty much stunned by the heat and not biting. But I was in it for the challenge.

Sure enough, it was pretty slow going. Still, after a few minutes there was a tug on the line and out came a medium Perch, too big to use as Striper bait but a catch nonetheless. After that?

Not much until a Black Drum decided to attack the line, a fierce little beast and followed up by another, larger cousin. 

Good action, all things considered, and then the water grew quiet in the heat haze, with the exception of  a mighty Perch which I used as bait for the ferocious Striper. 

They weren't having it, so I packed up and headed for home before the air caught fire, noting a curious message on the way.

Fish on,


Saturday, May 26, 2018

The Mighty Power Of Gar

It was a typical day in LSPland, searing heat, a couple of rods and a near empty pier below Lake Whitney dam; I like that, no pressure. And there were lots of fish, Black Drum, shoals of Carp, one or two Bass, the odd predatory Perch and squadrons of Gar.

Don't waste time, get down to business and cast off. That meant one rod rigged with Shad and a sinker, a catfish rig, with a view to getting at the large bottom feeders. Off it spun into the depths. Rod #2 was opportunistic, weighted with two split shots and baited with a worm, for casting.

#2 struck first. Tug, pull, strike. Up came a respectable Drum, full of fight, good result. Then things slowed down, with the occasional Drum and not much else.

I was on the point of calling it a day, 5 Drum and 2 Perch down, when rod #1 started to play out. A Gar was on, you could see it, with a silvery Shad stuck between its teeth. At this point you're tempted to pull up hard for quick hookset. Error. The Gar will drop your hook like a poster of Seth Rich at a DNC convention.

No, don't do that. Instead, let the Gar go with the bait, open your bale, lighten the drag, do not give the suspicious, wary Gar any reason to drop the bait and your hook; let him run. He'll do that and stop, let him run again and then, after about five minutes or so of letting the line and the fish out, tighten up and set the hook.

BOOM. The Gar will thrash, dive, run and leap, heading downstream like a furious torpedo. Play him out, you've got a fight on your hands, and bring him in.

That happened twice today and it made Bass fishing, which is awesome, seem tame. For sure, it demands patience, lots of it, but when you connect with these formidable fish it's a whole different ball game. Big fun, I tell you.

Some people eat Gar, I don't. My two leviathans went back to fight again another day.

Fish on,


Thursday, May 24, 2018

Fishing Isn't God But I Still Love It

"Man," reminds Archbishop Fulton Sheen, "is engaged in a threefold quest for life, truth and love." Would I find that after Evening Prayer, fishing? Only imperfectly. Fishing, you see, isn't God.

Still, I won't deny that the sport's up there, especially when the watery beasts are switched on, for real and love what you're throwing in the water, which is pretty much the way it was yesterday evening.

The pier was empty, no pressure, and the spillway pool beckoned with submarine life. You could see it gliding about the water in search of prey. Big Gar, Catfish, a few Bass and a lot of Drum, some large; time to cast off.

Out went line #1 into the middle of the pool and stayed there, a stationary rod, then out went line #2 for casting. And sure enough, the fish wern't only live but loving the bait, with both rods popping. And that meant a bit of running around. 

There you are, reeling in a fish when the other rod starts jumping, bends double and off you go. Quick, sort that fish out and get on the other rod!

Big fun, I tell you, and while it's not God it does  make for a better evening than staring in slack-jawed consternation at some computer screen.

So get out and fish. Shoot and ride too, but those would be different stories.

God bless,


Saturday, May 19, 2018

Behold The Great Leviathan

We went in search of Bass. Well not really, we went in search of any fish that'd get on the hook like a Trumptrain express on full loco or like anything at all, we're not fussy. And, to be sure, I wanted my kid to catch.

He did, pulling out Black Drum like a good 'un. We raced for a while, which was fun, but then lost count and finished, I think, pretty much even. I brought up the last fish, a mighty Leviathan Drum and I tell you, it put up a fight.

But here's a thought which makes me want to refigure the calculus. Another fisherman tipped up on the spillway pier and caught a good sized Catfish, a Gar and a decent Drum, all on a circle hook baited with live shad and weighted below the leader, a catfish rig. 

Now, we outfished him with barely weighted small hooks and worms but, and it's a big but, he caught fewer but larger fish, we just caught Drum. What does this mean?

Firstly, larger fish are going after live shad right now, so match the hatch. Secondly, larger fish will go after larger bait, it appeals to them. Translate all of the above into action and add a rod to the mix, baited for bigger fish, and cast off with the worm rigs for opportunistic fun.

That way you should catch more fish. A focused setup for the monsters and a catch-all for everything else.

Next stop? Go after Stripers, Drum are great but we need a change.

God bless you all,