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

Ye Gods, I've Caught The Carp!

Unlike Satan, I try to take a day off, on Mondays, and what better way to spend part of that than checking out a new place to fish. It's not hard, put some rods in the bed of the truck, buy some kolaches and strong covfeve and off you go.

I arrived at the top secret Texan objective around Noon, after an intensive bout of front office porch work with the flock all morning, and sized things up. It looked right, smelled right, sage and cedar, and felt right. But would it be right and produce a catch?

Sure enough it did. Right out of the gate fish were tugging and thumping against my complex, scientific lure, a worm on a #6 bait holder allied to a single split-shot weight. Nice and easy does it, and then pull, a fish was on the hook and up came the first of five catfish. Good result.

Remembering that movement is a sign of life, I changed position and gently twitched the almost free floating bait along the bottom, but not for long. Something like Jan Sobieski's Hussars plowed into the hook with the kinetic energy of an ironclad phalanx.

Was it a monster catfish, a Leviathan Bass or something else, perhaps a dolphin? Hard to tell, as the monster of the deep dived, pulled, thrashed and eventually came to the surface. A carp, a huge great carp. Back you go, my friend.

Another even fiercer carp blew up the line again, in just the same spot, and I reeled it in only lose the hook as I brought the beast to land. But so what, we'd battled and one came out the victor. Sorry, carp, you lose this round.

And that was that. Pretty much a fish with every cast and we didn't even have a boat.

Tight lines,

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

Fish 1 LSP 0

The air was clear, bright and for Texas at the end of August, pleasantly cool. So why not head over to the dam after visiting the sick and see if the fish were biting. Good plan, eh?

No, bad plan because of the War on Weather, which stopped the dam letting water out of Lake Whitney into the Brazos and further inundating an already flooded Houston.  That meant there weren't any fish in the channel apart from a few lazy Gar and lots of turtles.

So I didn't catch anything. Still, it was good to unwind for an hour or so overlooking the water and, to be honest, I was more in it for the country air and relaxation than anything else. Mind you, there's no escaping the fact that the fish won this round.

Good luck next time, fish. This isn't over.

Fish on,

LSP

Get On The Striper

I'll be honest, I've never been on a guided Striper expedition until today and I was wondering, at 0-Dark-Thirty, if it was worth the predawn call to rods. I needn't have worried.

I was immediately impressed by our guide, Pat, and his workmanlike boat, which had that air of I know what we're doing, you're going to catch fish, gentlemen, and sure enough we did.

After motoring out a short way into the gargantuan inland sea that is Lake Whitney, we anchored off an underwater point which showed an abundance of bait fish on the Hummingbird. Then he patiently explained the tactics. 

"Drop the line to the bottom and come up three cranks," he had the depth spot on, "Then put the rod in the holder and wait. When you get a hit, wait and wait again, patience, let that Striper take it down. Then he's yours, reel him in. Here, I'll bait your hook."

One live Shad three cranks up and I didn't have long to wait before the rod was bending double off the boat. Pick it up and wrestle with the mighty Striper, surging and fighting like the predator it is. But  14LB test and a sharp Kahle #3 proved too much for the Leviathan and up he came into the boat and a waiting cooler.

This went on, again and again, until we'd all limited out, after about an hour. Brisk action, I tell you, and it got to the point where Bass were hitting the bait on the way down, steam-training into the Shad with prehistoric aggression. 

It was like Jaws, especially when the monsters dived under the boat. Would it capsize and the hunters become the hunted? That didn't happen, fortunately, and all too soon it was time to head back to the marina where Pat cleaned the fish and I have to say, you couldn't wish for a better guide.

Needless to say, there's no shortage of fish in the fridge.

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

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

Sun Fishing on Bushcraft Wednesday

Right, I know, it's Bushcraft Wednesday when everyone's supposed to be out in the bush with rare Scandanavian knives, tinder boxes, buckskin clothing and an encyclopedic knowledge of how to live off the bush itself. 

A Typical Bushcraft Scene

All of that, as opposed to trudging about some supermarket in homage to your Overlords in the Nanny State.  Sure, I respect that, but I didn't get out in the bush today, I went to the water instead.

A Fish

Lake Whitney, in fact, where I thought I'd try my chances against the fish and the objective was simple; get enough for a decent meal. To reach that objective I tried the old weightless worm rig (WWR) method, which is just as complex as it sounds.

Kindly Old LSP (Get a Haircut)

Tie a hook on your line, thread a worm around the hook, a real worm, not a plastic one, and throw it in the water without a weight. Then watch the WWR sink into the depths; it will, albeit slowly. If you're fortunate, sunfish will start hitting the WWR on its way down. Be ready for that and set the hook! If they ignore the juicy worm, twitch it about a bit and experiment with different depths. Fishing wisdom.

Monster of the Deep

Well, the old WWR methold certainly worked this afternoon and I lost count of the fish reeled in. To be sure, lots were small and had to be put back, but others were a decent size and worth keeping. 

Mission Accomplished

I ended up with five, which is plenty for me, and would've had six, but he jumped off the hook, flopped into a crack in the limestone and was eaten by a snake. There's a moral in that, somewhere.

I'll fry those fish up tomorrow, beer batter style.

Tight lines,

LSP

Cast Into The Blitz!

Guderian

Fishing can be fun and sedate, it can also be fast and furious. It was furious this evening. There we were, standing on the shore of Lake Whitney as the fierce white light of the Texan sun was starting to set, casting out in hope of fish.

No joy. The fish were there, jumping, but about 100 yards away out of range. Would they come in to the shore? We bet the monkey on just that and switched out to topwater lures, all in the hope that what looked like a school of Sand Bass would close in. Sure enough, they did.

Bang! Before you could say Heinz Guderian, there they were, leaping, thrashing and blitzing through swarms of Shad. You know the wisdom, where leap the Shad, so bite the Bass, and that's the way it was. It sounded like fire crackling through dry tinder. 

We couldn't cast fast enough. "Cast to the blitz, lads!" and "Fish on!" echoed around the dam like Charles Martel's victorious war cry against the Moslem horde. Crazy, intense, topwater action, and all the better for the youngest member of the team getting his first fish of the year. Well done! More to follow.

A Fish

Then it was dark and time to head back to the Compound, adrenaline up and fishing tales abounding. Big, victorious excitement. 

And that's just the way it was.

Tight lines,

LSP

Texas Bass!

At an undisclosed location somewhere in Texas, there's a large pond. It's called "The Big Pond" and it has Bass in it, some of those Bass are large, really large, 8 lbs and up. The Team calls them Leviathan Bass because that's what they're like, monsters. I went after them this evening with Yum's famous Ribbontails, which promise: 

"The Ribbontail worm is your basic curlytail with a difference. The curl is longer than most, providing more swimming action in motion that other similar worms, and the solid body takes the abuse of multiple bass without tearing." 

So much for the marketing, did the Ribbontails walk the walk? They sure did, producing strike after strike. Widemouth Bass on The Big Pond love a dark Ribbontail and it was like storybook Bass fishing, with the ferocious predators surging, jumping and leaping out of the water at the end of the line, rod bent double. Big fun and big fish.

Did I land a Leviathan Bass? Not this time, but I'm not complaining.

Fish On,

LSP

The Awesome Power of Topwater Fishing

I know what you're thinking, all 5 of you that read this shallow excuse for a mind blog. You're thinking for someone who's always banging on about the awesomness of topwater lures, you sure don't seem to use them much. In fact, you spent the best part of Trinity Sunday afternoon fishing with a spoon, so-called LSP, if that's your real name, which we doubt.

OK, I stand rebuked, but it's a mark of character to be able to take constructive criticism and improve performance. And with that in mind, I set off for an evening of Tiny Torpedo topwater engagement with the aquatic opposition at Lake Whitney.

Lake Whitney at Dusk, Choppy

I won't bore you by saying how still, tranquil and glassy smooth the lake was, and I won't take up your time with the conversation I had with a fellow Angler, a youngish black fellow who proudly announced that he was "a Harris" and that he'd bought his rod at a pawnshop. I liked him; good for you, taking pride in the family name. Anyway, he left for Lake Aquilla and I got on with business.

In a short while Perch were swirling around the Torpedo. That got my hopes and adrenalin up, hey the Torpedo works. But no bites. Bass, on the other hand, were breaking the water off to my right towards the dam. Go where the fish are, says Fishing Wisdom, and that's what I did.

Catch That Bass! On a Torpedo

The Torpedo whipped those Bass into a frenzy and before long one was on the line, leaping and fighting. I brought him in, a decent fish, and for about 20 minutes it was fish on and big action. Exciting, one of the best things out there, as the ferocious predators explode around your lure.

Then it was dark and time to go, the awesomness of topwater fishing vindicated.

Fish On,

LSP