Get To The Point

The point? The point of what, so-called "LSP"? The point of the marina where I like to fish, and it may seem counter-intuitive to go fishing in the heat of a noonday Texan sun in August because, wisdom says, the fish have got heat stroke and aren't biting. That's right, they're lying low in the depths like some vast silent majority. But not today.

I got to the water only to see my usual spot at the cleaning station taken by a guide cleaning striper, so I drove down to the point looking for piscine adventure. Would there be fish, against all the heated Augustan odds? 

There were. Within seconds of setting up you could hear the crackle of ferocious young bass blitzing on shad and minnows. Quick, rig up! Get on it fella, and I went topwater with an oversized something or other, thinking "big lure = big fish." 

Sound logic but the trebles were too large for the voracious sandies, who swarmed the lure, snapping, thrashing and carrying on like the fierce beasts they are. Still, I closed the deal on a few and what a lot of fun, first time I'd fished topwater in a while. Twitch the fakey, rattling, floating, silvery plastic fish and then boom! down it goes. Great result.

Topwater blitz over, it was time to go to the cleaning station for some shady fishing in the furnacelike heat of the day. Would there be action? There was.

Black drum and untold blue gill hit my worms like they were going out of style and I lost count. Good sized fish too, which put up a lot of fight. Perhaps I should've kept a few but, to be honest, I wasn't in the mood to eat them and didn't want the hassle of filleting. So these fellas lived again to fight another day. Well done, fish.

So there you have it. Point being, try not to sit staring at your computer screen in slack-jawed consternation as Marxist Gibbsmedat goons rampage, loot and burn; get outside instead, even if it is 100* in the shade.

Tight lines,

LSP

Go To The Lake

It seemed right to go fishing today so I drove to the lake, which is high because of torrential rain. First stop, the dam spillway and there was the mighty Brazos, in full flood.

A couple of guys were trying their luck but not catching anything and I took in the sight for a reflective moment or two before heading to the other side of the dam.

It was deserted and no wonder, there was hardly any accessible shoreline to cast off from but I clambered down the rip rap and sent a torpedo out onto the glassy water. Fish were jumping, mostly just out of range and all made sure to avoid enticing topwater lures.

Still, it was good to get out in the open Texan air and watch the tranquil water of the lake, to say nothing of the tantalizing excitement of topwater fishing. 

Would the monster Bass you knew were lurking in the murky depths explode on the lure with piscine fury? You know they're there and you know they'll go for that lure like a Trump Train on full steam, you've seen it before. It could happen at any moment.

But it didn't, so I headed back to the Compound where I discovered CPL's got himself into a nasty little pit of $4.5 million, and all the rest. Don't say MillSoc hubris.

Did you watch Trump in Houston? It was huge. Unprecedented?

MAGA,

LSP