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,

LSP

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,

LSP

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,

LSP

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,

LSP 

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,

LSP

Get On The Fish

Rather than reflect on the Church of England's devolution into mawkish irrelevancy masquerading as radical counterculturalism, I went fishing. 

It seemed better to get by the water after Mass and tangle with the ancient adversary than contemplate the Mullallyfication of the CofE.

Once again, the adventure started off with an empty pier, no pressure, and out went the lines with their tried and true #6 baitholder hooks and juicy worms, barely weighted with a split shot sinker resting around 12" from the hook.

Now, experts say the bigger the hook, the bigger the fish and I'm sure that's true but small hooks are notoriously capable of catching large fish as well as their smaller allies. You see, the smaller fish can't fit an enormous great hook in their mouth; they attempt it, greedily, then drop it in frustrated contempt.

Regardless, this hook logic works well if you're fishing indiscriminately from the bank and your emphasis is on catching fish, any fish. If you're singularly after trophy Bass or the awesome Striper or whatever, you tailor your rig to meet the need.

In my case, it's mostly just about catching fish and the above method worked well this evening, with no end of good sized Black Drum and a couple of fat Bluegills coming up for good measure. Pretty much every cast a fish, great result.

Fish on,

LSP

Still Beating The Drum

After a morning visiting the sick, I stopped off at Lake Whitney dam to test the waters. These were clear(ish), and apparently devoid of any fish. 

The occasional Water Moccasin slithered across the still surface of the pool, ignored by floating turtles, and that was that, no evidence of fish at all.

Still, I had the pier to myself, no pressure, and that's no small thing. There it was, the great edifice of the dam and the Brazos, winding its way through Texas to Waco and beyond under a big sky. A tranquil scene, and I cast off more for the contemplative reflection of it all than anything else.

Say your prayers, consider the upcoming Feast of Pentecost and the nature of the Holy Spirit, who we're told is the personification of the love between the Father and the Son. Take a break from the turgid skulduggery of the world and unwind overlooking the river.

Good call, right? No, it wasn't to be. The pool looked empty, like the pews of the venerable if shrinking Church of England, but it wasn't, it was full of voracious Black Drum. No kidding. I'd no sooner cast off with a famously scientific split shot, #6 worm rig than Drum were plowing into the line. 

Up came one, up came another, and another, and on we went for an hour or so. Good action and good sized fish. Finally the worm battalion were down to their last two conscripts, which I threaded onto a sharp, #6 baitholder.

The Tebbit

Within seconds something big was on the line. A Gar? A Striper? A Dolphin? Lord Tebbit himself, protesting against the rainbow riding iniquity of Bury St. Edmonds' Deanery?

No, just a monster Black Drum. He thrashed, flailed, dived and pulled but nothing worked, the fish was on and up it came. 

And that, international readership of this popular mind blog, is just the way it was.

MAGA and Fish On,

LSP

Beat The Drum

What kind of countryman are you, so-called LSP? All you do is post creepy photos of Barbie dolls dressed up like wimmyn priests.

Hey, I get your dissatisfaction. So to put things straight I put a couple of rods in the pickup and headed for water. Intuition and experience said try the other side of the dam, and that's exactly what happened. 

It was deserted and the river flowed clear. So clear, in fact, that you could see that there weren't any fish apart from a small posse of Carp, guarding the spillway entrance to the once mighty Brazos. Therein lies another tale, but undaunted I set up on the empty grid of the pier and cast off with worms and carp bait.

Within seconds something was tugging at the juicy worm/strawberry dough bait combo. Nice, then out pulled the line  with that steady, mindless-hunger, piscine determination and I snapped the rod up to set the hook. Action! 

Only to pull the hook up through empty water. What was this, a fish without parts that didn't occupy space? No, just a Gar who sensibly dropped the enticing strawberry chummed worm.

Knowing that persistence in the face of adversity is key, I cast off again, expecting nothing but hoping for everything. And there it was, a tug, a dive and fish on in the form of a voracious little Black Drum. I hauled him in.

Next, a decent sized Bluegill; up you come, predator, and back you go to fight again another day. And this little menace was followed by another Drum. Then something big hit the line. 

BOOM. One minute you're waiting there on the pier, looking out over Texas and the fabled Brazos, and the next? Something's charged into the hook like a Trump Train on full loco. Rod double, drag out, fast and furious action. Then up came the fish.

It was a big 'un too, no foolin', and a larger  adversary hit the line at the end of the expedition. Big action from a big fish, which annoyingly snapped the 12Ib test as I brought it up, defeated. 

Then it was time to head back to the Compound, under the light of a shining moon.

Fish on,

LSP

Go On, Beat The Drum

I know, I know, there's not been many sporting posts on the this fascinating mind blog lately and that's because I've been babysitting. So here's a fishing infovideo to set the record straight.

When my son, the Cadet (potential) saw it,  he said, "You look younger, Guv'nor." Such, readers, is the magic of fishing.

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

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