So you're standing on the rip-rap like a warrior on the edge of time, beholding the mighty Brazos as it flows beneath you to Houston and its enormous Dalek. You have a choice, stare in amazement at the fabled waterway and reflect on its storied history or get a rod from the truck and go after some action.
There's no "rule," either way is OK, but I chose the latter path and went to the pier armed with a light Shakespeare Ugly Stick and a couple of boxes of worms. I felt the fish would love these worms and they did, snapping, tugging and bumping with pretty much every cast.
All well and good, but I wasn't closing the deal. Fishing wizardry told me juvenile perch and bass were plundering the line and a smaller hook was in order. Such is piscine soothsaying, don't discount it.
Sure enough, before too long I was reeling in the young 'uns, and ferocious predators they were too, going at the juicy worms like Democrats boarding a Greyhound for Chicago. But you're saying, in that mocking tone of voice, "Aren't they a bit small?"
Not so fast, readers of this popular international mind blog, they may have been small but a fish is a fish and even a small fish is value on a light rod. So I left the dam pleased, mission accomplished.
And I tell you, it's good for the soul to get out in the clean air and big sky of an overcast Texan morning and fish, no matter what you catch.
Tight lines,
LSP
