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,

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

Sorry Fish, You Lose This Round

Smarting from our signature defeat against the fish the other week on the dam spillway, the team decided to have another go. To catch the fish off-guard we went to a different location, Soldier's Bluff. 

There's been times when fishing the Bluff has been simply outstanding, fast action, good fish and pretty much a catch a cast and sometimes more. No kidding, when the Bass are blitzing it's topwater frenzy and devil take the hindmost.

With that in mind we cast off into the depths and at first things didn't look good. A boat kept roaring by, surfer in tow, churning the water, frightening the fish and blasting some kind of pop music. Perhaps it was rap/r 'n b hybrid, I don't know, I'm no expert but I do know this, it was annoying and we weren't catching.

At last, the boat sped off into the vastness of Lake Whitney and we were in with a chance, perhaps. After throwing worms and their plastic imitations into the usual spots and getting nothing, we headed towards the dam.

Still nothing and then, as the sun was going down, a fierce tug at the line. Yes, fish, you're on the radar. After that it was pretty much a Bluegill every five minutes or so and many more escapees, who were happy to run off with our enticing worms and "Crappie Bites."

Regardless, it was fish on and if we'd been in the way of keeping them, dinner on too. As it was, these fierce little predators went back in the water. They lived to fight again another day.

Victory assured, we headed back in the setting sun. Burgers were on the menu and the Cadet wasted no time in dialing up Highland Regiments, piping us into the Compound.

He's inspired by the A&M Corps and ROTC. Shoot in the X Ring, kid.

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

GWB headed over from Dallas for an evening of dove poppers, steak and a morning of fishing at Soldiers' Bluff. And I tell you this, it's a relief to be able to eat juicy steaks again; I cooked them on the grill, three minutes a side. They were right on.

Ocean Conservancy

Fortified by last night's ribeye, we drove out to the lake with high hopes of catching a cooler-full of Bluegill. Maybe GWB's cowboy hat would help, acting as a kind of country lure. But no, despite the promise of an early Striper the fishing was slow at best. 

Beer Battered Fish Snacks

Still, a few aquatic predators made it back to the compound, and  a right tasty snack they were too.

Fish on,

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

Tranquil

They say that at the Mass, or the Eucharist, please don't say "Yewkrist," time and eternity intersect as the sacrificial act of Calvary breaks through into the present moment, uniting us with the redemptive love of Christ. His Sacrifice becomes our sacrifice, however imperfectly, and finding atonement in Him we glimpse, fleetingly for sure, the peace which passes all understanding.

Just Some Goon With his Hand up a Puppet

Of course that doesn't happen at a Clown Mass, I thought to myself bitterly, casting off in search of Behemoth Bluegill. And there's a whole lot of something that passes all understandng when the liturgical dancers kick off, and some priestess goons around pretending to be something she doesn't even believe in anyway.

Nice Little Fryer!

Then the reverie was broken by a fish plowing into my hook and the fun was on. A nearby kid asked his dad why I was catching fish, "Well, he's got worms!" It's true, I did, and after reeling in Leviathan, I gave them a couple and a hook. "Thank you, sir, you're a gentleman and a scholar," said the Father; he was keen for his boy to get a fish, and so was I. He did, too, with a little patience.

You know, I think there's something pretty good about a Father and his son, or sons, out on the water fishing. 

As the sun set, I headed for the Compound, tranquil. And that was that.

LSP

Get Out And Fish

The international readership of this popular mind blog aren't slow when it comes to editorial advice. "Hey, LSP," they say, "Less God and more fishin'!" It's a very good thing, then, that I was able to swing by the lake today on the way back from visiting the sick.

I set up on the bank opposite my usual spot because I was looking for adventure and sure enough, there were plenty of fish cruising the submerged limestone bank. Hopes up, it was time to cast off with the tried and true weightless worm rig (WWR), but the fish were slow to bite, perhaps because it was pushing 100* in the shade. Still, a few took the bait and before long I'd tallied up a decent little catch of Bluegill.

But what I really wanted was a school of leaping, blitzing Bass to come into the shore, and the chance to get on them with topwater lures. Good action when you can get it and the backup rod was ready for just that, rigged for the surface with a Heddon Tiny Torpedo. True to form, the fish were jumping about 100 feet off the bank, would they get any closer?

Looking Over Yonder at the Usual Spot

The question was called by a couple of young Lakesters, "Y'all caught 'nyfish?" and I  told them I had. "You bet, Bluegill, but look at that, jumping Bass. Set up for topwater." Right at that moment the line bent low and something fierce took the worm and started to run, I love that feeling, fish on! And it was, another Bluegill, but a good one. I reeled him in. "Nice Perch," said my new fishing friend and walked down the bank with his pal to try their luck.

That didn't happen for them and before long they were doing backflips off the bluff and "singing" country rap. I scorn country rap and moved away in search of a better spot. A few casts later, something hit my worm like a miniature freight train, and lo and behold, out came a baby Bass. A ferocious little thing, and that's put me in mind to go after his larger cousins.

With apologies to the "Less God Brigade," I thank Him for the opportunity to get out to the glassy waters of the lake and the chance to fish under the big Texan sky. There's peace in that and excitement, too, when the fish are on.

Tight lines,

LSP

Threeper Bass Blitz

Don't get me wrong, Bluegill fishing is pretty fun, a lot of fun, even, and they're good for the fry up. But when you've caught a relaxing cooler full you start to wonder if there's more adventure to be had in Seaworld, well, Lakeworld. And there is, Bass Blitz!

There you are, reeling in the ferocious panfish from the limestone bank when off to your left, maybe 100 yards away, there's a sound like frying bacon. But it's not bacon, or the warming noise of a crackling fire, it's fish, leaping up out of the water in a blitzing feeding frenzy.

Look Out! Blitz Starting! Come on You Fish!

If only they were closer! you think as you hoist up another piranalike fighter and, just in case, you rig up a topwater lure on your backup rod. I chose a large Heddon Super Spook, why? Because I wanted the lure to be weighty enough for a long cast.

Ah Ha!

Sure enough, the Blitz came in, as the leaping Bass tore up the water within 30 or 40 yards. So I got on them with the Spook. Bang! and the lure went down. Big fun, I tell you. But here's the thing, the Spook was too big and I'd have caught more with a Tiny Torpedo, still, hindsight's 20/20.

See The Rain?

Then rain came in, the lake grew choppy and the Blitz subsided into the deep, leaving me with no option but to head to a desk, a computer and a printer. Please don't laugh, it's true.

Threeper

For some reason a Threeper Pie seems appropriate.

Blitz on!

LSP