Corpus Christi Storm

 

Thunder rumbled like a celestial artillery barrage as the heavens opened and rain lashed down with cascading fury. Seriously, climate change got real and I had to pull over to the side of the road on the way to Mass. Clearly Hill County had forgotten to pay its carbon tax.

But maybe Bosque had because it was clear skies and sunny southern weather once you got over the dam which blocks the mighty Brazos, creating Lake Whitney. A great place to fish, for sure, and a good place to celebrate the Mass to boot, not far from one of Belle Starr's hideouts.

A typical Texas Storm

I keep meaning to visit what's left of her small 100 acre ranch, which once played host to the James Gang and other bushwhackers turned outlaw. All in good time, but in the meanwhile it's Corpus Christi, so here's a prayer.

Deus, qui nobis sub Sacramento mirabili Passionis tuae memoriam reliquisti; tribue, quaesumus, ita nos Corporis et Sanguinis tui sacra mysteria venerari, ut redemptionis tuae fructum in nobis iugiter sentiamus: Qui vivis et regnas in saecula saeculorum. Amen.

 

And in English:

O God, who under a wonderful Sacrament hast left us a memorial of Thy Passion; grant us, we beseech Thee, so to venerate the sacred mysteries of Thy Body and Blood, that we may ever feel within ourselves the fruit of Thy Redemption: Thou who livest and reignest forever and ever. Amen.

 

Powerful prayers and do you think that a nation, people or persons who openly mock God will somehow escape the storm of his judgement?

O Salutaris,

LSP

Rivers of Texas

 

We had a ranch on the Red River, no more alas, but I get to fish the mighty Brazos and I love that.

All hail Texas,

LSP

Get Back On The Gar!

Gar are living fossils, members of the Lepisosteiformes family of fish, which can be traced back through the fossil record to the Late Jurassic. They're also massively under fished and big fun to catch.

That's because these large predators typically put up a tremendous fight, running, thrashing, leaping and diving with your bait. Exciting, but there's a catch.

The Last Run

You see, the problem with these overlooked and abundant fish is that they're hard to catch. Sure, they'll take your bait, run with it and in a fit of enthusiasm you set the hook. Snap! but no, no snap, the contemptuous Gar drops it all and swims nonchalantly away. 

That's because your hook can't find purchase in the bony, Jurassic beak of the Gar, which cunningly plays with what's on offer before attempting to swallow the shad, worm, liver, minnow or whatever you're throwing in. This all translates into the fish being able to drop your bait during its first run.

Let's Zoom In

So don't try for a quick hookset, let the prehistoric beast make its run, then let it stop, meditate, play with the bait and run again. Be sure to let the drag play out to least resistance, you don't want to spook the fish, she'll drop everything and swim off. But keep with her; after a few minutes she'll start to swallow the bait and make an effort to head downstream.

Observe the fish through the technological marvel of your polarized glasses. Is the bait at the back of the Gar's beak, is it heading away from you, have you felt it trying to gulp the bait down, yes? Time to tighten the drag and set the hook. BANG, the fight's on.

Smallest of Three

And I tell you, it's well worth the patient opening act. Imagine the armored ambush predator, and they can be large, leaping furiously clear of the water on its charge to escape your line. Great excitement.

I brought three of these creatures up to the pier today but only landed one, the others were too large and broke the line (#12 test on a light rod). At this point it obviously makes sense to invest in a more substantial rig.

There's doubtless a moral in all of this but I won't draw it. That's up to you.

Fish on,

LSP

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,

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 

Cast Away

Yesterday was blast, today was cast, and that's what the sporting life is all about, mixing it up, by land, sea and air. Well, lake, in this case.

After a slow start I drove out of the compound to catch fish with GWB. I wanted to show off the fun and success of the Weightless Worm Rig (WWR), so we headed to Lake Whitney by way of buying a couple of boxes of nightcrawlers. These were "imported from Canada," curiously, and I've been told that people in Alberta make a living from this.

Many Limits

Next stop, the lake itself and the limestone banks of Soldier's Bluff. At one point in time, soldiers must have looked down on the Brazos river from the rocky bluffs and before them, Indians. Not that long ago in the scheme of things, but today it was just the team, threading worms onto hooks and dropping the tasty morsels down into the depths.

Across the cove from us a solitary gentleman was sitting on a bucket with a line in the water. Was he a #BlackLivesMatter supporter? No, I doubt it, he was probably after catfish instead of a Soros grant. I watched a few rigs pull up behind him and out poured an army of young people, who clambered their way onto the opposing bluffs. They were going cliff jumping, big fun, but we were after fish, and they were biting.

Well, Well, Well

It started off in a competitive spirit, "Ha! Number 2, we're even," but that soon went by the by as fish after fish ran with the WWRs. I lost count, but GWB estimates a "good cooler full." We certainly caught that, though these Bluegills were put back to fight again another day. And not only Bluegill, I caught a decent little Crappie who was trying his luck in Sunfish territory.

Then the worms were gone and it was time to quit while the going was good. I'd say there's relaxing, innocent enjoyment in bank fishing, though it would've been nice to have some kind of boat to get out to where the Bass were were jumping, about 40 or 50 yards out.

Kindly Old LSP

Fishing wisdom: Go where the fish are and give them what they think they want; you'll catch an abundance. There's a moral in that somewhere, if you care to draw it.

Tight lines,

LSP

Fishing Frenzy

It was like fishing for Hillary Clinton's lies, just throw a lure in the water and pull one out. Seriously, there were times this afternoon when I couldn't cast fast enough.

Lake Whitney dam was releasing water into the Brazos and the fishing pier was unexpectedly deserted, so I set up right at the side of the dam in the face of the churning current. That alone was exciting, watching the elemental force of the water, and then there were the fish.

Bass after Bass struck and struck hard at a small silver spoon. They were chasing shad and I fished with the current, which took the spoon and the baitfish to where the predators were waiting in ambush. The idea being to get your lure to where the fish were feeding.

That was the theory and it worked, though to be honest it was hard to miss, fishing science regardless. Anyway, I stopped counting after some 20 Hybrids/Sand Bass were reeled in, which is a lot of fish for me. But that wasn't all.

Black Drum?

Somewhere in midstream I got a fierce bite, it felt like something more than the ubiquitous Hybrids and sure enough it was. After about 5 minutes of aggressive to and fro, don't lose that fish LSP!, up came a very respectable Striper. A big fish, and then, right at the point of taking a trophy picture, I dropped the ferocious creature and off it swam into the surging depths.

A couple of Black Drum(?) came in too. Large fish with plenty of go and neat to catch on a light rod. Perhaps I should have kept them to eat, but they lived to fight again another day. And that, readers, was that.

There She Lies

As I write this deep-thinking philisophical fishing post, the fish are still there, and so are Hillary's lies. Rest assured that the fight isn't over.

Tight lines,

LSP

The Mighty Brazos Crests at 54 Feet

The Brazos river crested today at a record breaking 54 feet, leaving homes in the Houston area flooded and whole neighborhoods surrounded by a swirling dystopia of snakes and suchlike waterborne trash. 

Typical Houston Street Scene

What caused this aquatic catastrophe? Failure to pay a carbon tax to our globalist elite overlords; refusal to ride the rainbow and turn the state's schools into a rainbow-riding, trans free for all? Or maybe divine displeasure at Houston's Pink Stasi Mayor?

A Proper Little Fighter

I drove to the Brazos to find out. It was in full flood and I cast off into the torrent via the rain. Three Hybrids and one small Widemouth later, I still wasn't any closer to winning the War on Weather but I was holding my own against the fish.

Shoot The Monkey

In related news, a monkey threatened to kill a child at a zoo and was shot. Some people are calling this "murder." Those people are clearly insane.

Your Friend,

LSP