Showing posts with label Bluegill. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bluegill. Show all posts

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,


Thursday, May 21, 2020

Fishing Ascension

It's important to have a plan, and this one was elegant in its simplicity. It went like this, drive to the marina, catch small fish and then use those very same fish to catch large fish. Compelling, eh?

And it worked well, initially. Cast into the depths with a small hook, a chunk of worm and pull out a little perch. Circle hook the perch under its dorsal and cast it out into the wider deep, and while you wait for a monster strike have fun catching more perch as you look at all the boats you don't own.

So far, so good. But the monster never struck, except once, when the light rod bucked and jumped as some ferocious predator snatched at the hapless baitfish. Big excitement, drop your amusement rod and head over to the real deal, which I did, and foolishly in the heat of the moment tried to reel in too aggressively. The big fish sensibly dropped the little fish.

Still, I lost count of the bluegill and kept a few to use as bait. If they'd been a little bigger I'd have kept a few for dinner too; so tasty, fresh bluegill out of Lake Whitney. I like them beer battered and served with fries, but pan fried's good too. Delicious.

Well, that'll come in a week or two. In the meanwhile, every blessing for the Feast of the Ascension and remember, plans are all very well but as with the apprehension of truth itself, rise and fall to the extent they're in harmony with that which is. The equation of mind to thing, say the philosophers. In this case, Leviathan Bass, maybe stripers, striking small perch at the marina, or not.

Fish on,


Tuesday, May 12, 2020

Fishing & Antedeluvia

It was an overcast Spring morning in rural Texas and Soldiers Bluff looked beckoning, "Come on down and fish," it seemed to say. Which is what I did, but the fish weren't having any of it, they were lying low and didn't want the juicy, tempting, delicious worms I was throwing in. 

Still, there were a few fossils, rocky remains of ancient crustaceans embedded in the limestone and clay bluff above the lake. To be honest, there's fossils everywhere here, a tangled  mix of roots, branches, shells, and who knows what else, the set in stone remains of ancient cataclysm. I always hope I'll spot something useful, like a T Rex tooth, but not today, just a couple of shells.

Now, some who read this lighthearted mind blog believe fossils like these are at most 6000 years old. If that's the case, what about structures like Gobekli Tepe, which date back to at least 9000 BC? Remarkably ancient and advanced to boot, all at a time when humans were supposed to be grubbing about for nuts, berries and the occasional bit of unfortunate wildlife. 

Two things don't add up here. Firstly, the Word of God in Scripture isn't supposed to be read with a kind of boneheaded, blank-faced literalism. Read it for its truth, for sure, but know this involves poetry, symbol and metaphor as well as literal reckoning. Note, to think this doesn't make you a useless, pathetic, scornworthy, lib heretic. 

Secondly, mankind is very old, with Homo Sapiens appearing earlier and earlier in the fossil record as new discoveries are found. All this in our own century, to say nothing of ignored and anomalous finds in the last two hundred years or so, and the witness of ancient records.

It would be odd, don't you think, if people as intelligent as us remained at the hunter gather stage for several hundreds of thousands of years. Which is exactly what orthodox archeo-anthropology teaches; finds like Gobekli, water erosion on the Sphinx, and on, challenge the narrative. 

That in mind, I decided to challenge the piscine narrative of "no catching" by moving over to the other side of the dam. At first nothing, so I changed rigs in hope of having some sport with the Gar, who were gliding about the pool like deadly, prehistoric submarines.

Good call, LSP, but no Gar. Instead, a fierce  Crappie followed by a ferocious Bass, and a large Bluegill. Result. Then it began to rain and it was time to head for home, mission accomplished.

Fish on,


Wednesday, June 27, 2018

Burn Ban Fishing

There's a burn ban in effect because even a spark, just one tiny spark might well be sufficient to set the air itself ablaze. No foolin', it's hot, like an oven.

With that in mind, it made sense to head off to the water where it's marginally cooler. And who knows, maybe even catch some fish if they weren't suffering from heatstroke.

Simon Weisenthal

I cast off into the furnace expecting nothing. Perhaps it's a character flaw; worst case the scenario and be happily surprised as opposed to hideously let down. Whatever, the line was out and there I was, waiting for fish.

"Nothin's biting, man," said the resident gap-toothed fish head, and he'd know. All he does, every day, is fish, right from the spot I was on. I looked him straight in eyes of his neon orange sunglasses and grinned. Out whirred the line.


Tug, thump, hookset! Out came a small fighting perch. Hey, nothing shabby when you're expecting exactly nothing. Then out came another and another; I started a game, how many Bluegill can you catch with the smallest fraction of worm. Lots, as it turned out.

Then, halfway through this childish exercise, KABOOM, something hit the hook like Simon Weisenthal on the trail of Mengele. Rod double, drag out, I thought I'd caught a cat. But no, after a few minutes of fight I saw a carp, a massive, monster, outrageous carp.

Ye Gods

We fought for ages, huge great fish on a light bass setup and make no mistake, the Leviathan Carp pulled every trick in the book. But, like Strozk's lies, it didn't work, the carp came in and was brought to account.

So what's the verdict? A heckuvva fish to catch, fight and land, no doubt about it, but bass offer more ferocity and so do gar. Carp don't leap, thrash and run with the same hectic frenzy; still, they fight like a force of nature, which in a sense they are.

Gar! Note Line...

Whatever the case, they all went back to fight again another day.

Fish on,


Tuesday, June 5, 2018

It's An Oven, Get On The Fish

It was a typically chilly Texan 104* and I looked at Blue Climate Change panting in his fur coat, "Perhaps it's time to go fishing, Gar like the heat." 

The dog said nothing, he regards my Gar obsession as foolish. All he's after is a better argument for Sola Scriptura (sorry, dog, fail) and against what he calls "the Abomination of Desolation!" 

Inner Light

No, I tell him. Having a statue of the Blessed Ever Virgin Mary in your church is not a sin against the Holy Spirit or any other kind of idolatry. He refuses to listen and wanders off in search of fried pies.

So much for the dog. I went in search of space and found Gar, lots of them, but only closed the deal on two, along with one miscreant Black Drum and a couple of opportunistic Bluegill. 

Beat The Drum

The Gar, furiously, bit through the line as they were being hauled up to the pier for a photo op. 

Maybe a steel leader is in order.

Beat the Jihad and Build the Wall,


Thursday, May 17, 2018

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,


Sunday, May 13, 2018

Happy Mother's Day!

Happy Mother's Day; I hope you've all had a fantastic time with family, friends and hopefully, your Mothers. Here at the Missions we celebrated in good form, with feasting after the Masses and a lot of fun it was too. Well done, team.

Then it was back to the Compound to regroup, get collected and look to the next evolution, which weirdly enough turned out to be fishing.


Things were a bit crowded at the top secret Texan location today, on account of all the Mother's Day fishing expeditions and perhaps the pier pressure scared the fish off. 

At any event, the going was slow for the first hour or so but I didn't care, it was good to see families having fun at the water.


Picture the scene, Grandfather and Grandson, Father and Mother, all fishing away with Grandma sensibly sitting in the shade but smiling on.  

Heartwarming and I especially liked the Grandfather, who went by "Pappy." He came from a more civilized time and fished away with lures and jigs while I cast away with savage worms.

A Mother's Day Catfish

At one point the old gentleman pulled up a fishing rod, a fairly new one, too. I congratulated him on the catch and we laughed; a good moment. 

Fierce Little Predator

Then thump, tug, the fish switched on at last and with it a brisk hour or so of reeling in mostly small Bluegill. Hey, a fish is a fish and on a light rod these perch put up a fun fight. 

Country Life in Texas

I left as my new friends went after Bass with topwater lures and the sun was setting over the still, glassy waters of the lake.

What a good day.

God bless you, Mothers,


Friday, May 11, 2018

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,


Tuesday, May 1, 2018

May Day!

Well, well, it's May Day, yet again. The Puritans frowned on May Day, go figure, thinking the festivity a a blasphemous, pagan excuse for wanton immorality. And, like red moleskin trousers or the Church of England, it wasn't in the Bible. So they stamped it out along with Christmas and Easter, killjoys.

A Hippy

Still, in fairness to the Puritan sensibility, May Day was doubtless full of unreconstructed, late medieval bawdiness and it never made it back onto the calendar of popular feasts after the overthrow of the wicked regicides. That is until now.

Cheap Red Wine

Hippies have taken over May Day, along with their revolutionary geeknerd cousins, the Communists, and typically don't miss an opportunity to make a nuisance of themselves in otherwise peaceful civic centers. 

A Couple of Commies

The May Day commies throw dialectical materialist duodecimal dice for their NWO rulers and the hippies get loaded on cheap red wine and thieve, it's what they do.

A Typical Bluegill

Here at the Compound things were different. I drove to Clifton to administer Last Rites and followed that up by catching a catfish and a bluegill. 

Aggressive Little Monster

The cat fought hard and at first I thought I'd caught a snag, but no, it was a fierce, aggressive fish. He lived to fight again another day.

Never trust a hippy,


Sunday, April 29, 2018

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,