Just Get Outside And Fish

 

Will last night's apocalyptic storm make the fish bite? Piscine science says wait a bit, it can take up to 72 hours for storm shocked fish to return from deeper waters and go full feeding frenzy. I chose to ignore the science and went fishing anyway.

Guess what, the science seemed to be lacking because there they were, Bass on their ambush ledge at the dam, just like they were before the storm. Huh, and lo and behold, up came a decent fish on the first cast. It got slower after that but sure enough, as per last week, a very decent Black Drum took the bait, fish on and up he came, plenty of fight to boot. Nice.

Everything else in the pool signified Gar action and I wasn't set up for that, so it was over to what used to be called "Uncle Gus' Marina," which used to offer great fishing off bank, cleaning station and pier. Then it didn't because it was bought out and shut for a refurb. 

It's open now and this was my first time back since new management. The pier and cleaning station had gone, sadly, please bring them back, and so had the old marina/boat slips, which are being replaced. Is this good or bad? Time will tell.

what a fight that was, big fish, light rod

In the meanwhile, I wasted no time casting off from the bank with topwater torpedoes because a few fish were jumping and a topwater catch is an awesome catch. But no luck, perhaps these perverse and annoying fish "followed the science" and were locked down in the depths, keeping an antisocial distance from enticing lures.

Regardless, their time will come and it was good to be back at the place again after an absence of a few years. Let's hope new management rebuilds the pier and cleaning station. I tell you, that gave superlative fishing, from perch to cats to bass and beyond, what a lot of fun.

Recce over, it was time to head back to the Compound under the big sky of Texas, a morning well spent.

Cheers,

LSP

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,

LSP

The Standing Wave

"Riverfront"

Dallas is a strange place. One minute you're there on the corner of Crack and Grand and the next you're at this "water feature" within sight of the glass cathedrals to Mammon that make up the city's skyline.

Downtown from the Trinity

What happened was that the City decided to create a white-water fun zone called the Standing Wave on the Trinity river and several million dollars later there's a series of quasi dams underneath and immediately downstream from the Santa Fe trestle and the modern DART light rail bridge. Its part of a larger plan to turn the Trinity into an enjoyable, attractive, accessible asset rather than a dumping ground for noxious chemicals, trash and body parts.

Standing Wave Santa Fe Trestle

The water boils and churns and is, apparently, far too dangerous for the kind of fun-for-all-the-family kayaking that the City Fathers envisaged. So perhaps the scheme needs honing, but whatever, it's a fish magnet.

Nice Natural landscaping, Dallas...

I like to go there after early Mass on Fridays and try my luck against the monster Gar, Channel Cats, and Buffalo fish that seem to love the Standing Wave. Mostly it's deserted and I have the place to myself, which is good. But sometimes I get company, like the Bow Fish Killer (BFK).

Churn

There I am, lost in the world of trying to get Buffalo fish to swallow the worm that hides the #8 hook, when all of a sudden I hear a hiss and turn around. There's a dude with a compound bow and dark Terminator shades looking at me and tweaking. Our conversation went something like this:

BFK: SSSS!! Twk, Twk!!

LSP: S'up?

BFK: Any Gar? Alligator Gar?!?

LSP: For sure...

BFK: There's Buffs (Buffalo fish) man.

LSP:  I know (I was trying to catch them).

And there is that Leviathan

Next thing I know, my new pal BFK is leaping downstream waving his bow and the next minute he's back carrying this huge "Buff" which he's shot through the gut. He throws it down to me as a ind of offering.

BFK: Here you go man, cut bait!!

LSP: Er, thanks. Right on!

Full of bloodlust, BFK runs off to get another Buff to hack up and use as Gar bait.

Little Fella

I'm no prude and have nothing against cut bait or bow fishing in the right circs but... things were getting weird, so I packed up, climbed in the truck and headed for home.

Fish on,

LSP