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

Fish After Mass

One of the many benefits of LSPland is that you can go fishing after Mass, which is what we did, right there on Lake Whitney as the sun was beginning to sink in the large Texan sky.

It was a tranquil scene, no doubt about it, but excitement was in the air as first one then several ferocious Bass surged up out of the water to prey on insects and small, unwary birds. Time to get on the fish, gentlemen.

I tried a variety of lures, a mid size shad, some kind of minnow thing and several topwater torpedoes, to say nothing of worms real and plastic along with delicious strawberry fish treats. But the fish were having none of it.

We weren't catching anything, the anglers to the left and right weren't catching anything and neither was man across the way. And that's just the way it was.

No fish on, we fell back to the Compound for a tasty meal of fried chicken and a celebratory glass of the right stuff in honor of Melania's birthday. 

It's Not Over, Fish. Not by a Long Shot

Would fried fish have been better? Sure, but that's for another day, when the fish are biting.

Your Old Friend,

LSP

Fish, You Fool, And The Ghosts Of The Brazos

The sun was shining, the air was crisp and it seemed right to go fishing; Genius Patrol weren't invited, their job was to stay behind and guard the Compound.

A short drive later I was at Soldier's Bluff or Sosebee's Bluff, named after George Sosebee who left Georgia in the 1870s to escape the "odious" Reconstruction Government after the Civil War.

Reconstruction reached its most odious stages in the mid '70's and George Sosebee determined that he could stand no more of it. On the raw frontier, he reasoned, there must exist a place where no Reconstruction Official or carpetbagger would venture.

By 1875 Sosebee had found his frontier, where the Big Rocky Creek tumbled through a limestone precipice overlooking the Brazos river in Bosque County. 

Carpet Baggers

Today, Sosebee's Brazos is gone, inundated by the Corps of Engineers' dam which was built in the 1950s. Still, the tops of his limestone bluffs remain and you can fish from them, sometimes with spectacular results.

With that in mind, the lake was choppy and surging, thanks to a fierce North East wind, and I wondered if the expedition'd be a bust. "How's the action, kids?" I asked a professional crew of youngsters who'd set up on the shore with an impressive array of surf casting rods. They said it wasn't bad, holding up a very respectable Largemouth.

Inspired by success, I cast off with a plastic minnow allied to an earthworm and sure enough started getting bumps and tugs; fish were out there, no doubt about it. But could I close the deal?

It took a while but then, BOOM, a fish was on, pulling out the drag and glinting silver in the topwater. At first I thought it was a Drum but no, it was a decent young Bass around 12". I put him back and reflected on the towns flooded by the dam, including Towash, across the way from the bluffs. In case you wondered, Towash wasn't Cheltenham:

On January 5, 1870, Hardin was playing cards with Benjamin Bradley in Towash, Hill County, Texas. Hardin was winning almost every hand, which angered Bradley, who then threatened to "cut out his liver" if he won again. Bradley drew a knife and a six-shooter. Hardin claimed he was unarmed and excused himself, but claims that later that night, Bradley came looking for him. Bradley allegedly fired a shot at Hardin, which missed. Hardin drew both his pistols and returned fire, one shot striking Bradley's head and the other his chest. Dozens of people saw this fight, and from them there is a good record of how Hardin had used his guns. His holsters were sewn into his vest, so that the butts of his pistols pointed inward across his chest. He crossed his arms to draw. Hardin claimed this was the fastest way to draw, and he practiced every day. A man called "Judge Moore", who held Hardin's stakes of money and a pistol, but refused to give them up without Bradley's consent, "vanished. Later Hardin admitted killing two men in Hill County Texas - Donald Long.

Here's another account, fictional but I'd say on the money.

...in 1865 Towash made a big sign... Texas-style. It boasted the Boles racetrack, which attracted the sports and gamblers from as far away as Hot Springs, Arkansas. There was a hand ferry across the Brazos and close by a grist mill powered by a huge water wheel. Dryer & Jenkins was the trading store. There was a barbershop that did very little business and six saloons that did a lot, dispensing red-eye... raw. Typical of many towns in the Texas of 1867, there was no law except that made by each man with his own ‘craw sand.’ Occasionally the Regulators of Austin rode in... always in large groups... more for protection than law enforcement. 

I reeled in the Bass and cast off for more, while the ghosts of the Brazos lay heavy on the lake.

Tight lines,

LSP

Reconnaissance

On Wednesday there's Stations of the Cross followed by a class on the Apostles' Creed. On Thursday there's Stations of the Cross at a different church, followed by soup and salad and fellowship. That's Lent for you but here's the thing, the second church is close to a lake.

So, after a tasty if frugal meal of soup I drove down to the lake for a recce to see what the fish were up to. 

These New Rods Need To Be Broken In

It felt good to clamber down the limestone bluff as the sun was setting and you could smell Texas; cedar and sage blown in on clean, clear air. It smells like freedom and a land that's barely been settled but did it augur fish?

No, not this time. I didn't see anything break the water, despite the golden hour time of day. They were probably sleeping, like Western Civilization itself before the onslaught of fanatical Jihad. Fish are like that, they lie suspended and unthinking in the chill water of the lake, waiting for warmer weather to stir them on.

Where's The Fish?

Still, even though the fish were asleep at the wheel, the heavens weren't and it was good to see the sun set over the lake.

We'll be back and back in force; there's outrageously good fishing to be had in just this spot. I know this from experience.

Texas

Wait 'til the Bass are blitzing.

Your Old Mate,

LSP

Go Fishing

"Time to go fishing," said a noted member of the mining community, who may or may not be raising a pack of white wolves somewhere in Arizona. So I took that advice and paid a visit to the lake after visiting the sick.

It was good to get out and try my luck against the watery opposition and perhaps you know the feeling, that sense of quiet excitement, maybe this time you'll catch the best fish ever. Or not.

This time fell into the "not" category, though I tried my best with the kind of juicy worms that fish are known to love. But they weren't having it, if they were even there at all. 

Still, getting out by the waters of the vast inland sea that is Lake Whitney made a welcome change and no one else was catching anything either, by way of consolation. 

We were in it for the Texan air, with its hint of sage, cedar and mesquite, taking a needed break from Chelsea Handler and all the other NWO stooges gloating over Alabama.

Don't worry, fish. There will be a rematch, you may be sure of that.

Fish on,

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

Sorry Fish, You Lose This Round

Smarting from our signature defeat against the fish the other week on the dam spillway, the team decided to have another go. To catch the fish off-guard we went to a different location, Soldier's Bluff. 

There's been times when fishing the Bluff has been simply outstanding, fast action, good fish and pretty much a catch a cast and sometimes more. No kidding, when the Bass are blitzing it's topwater frenzy and devil take the hindmost.

With that in mind we cast off into the depths and at first things didn't look good. A boat kept roaring by, surfer in tow, churning the water, frightening the fish and blasting some kind of pop music. Perhaps it was rap/r 'n b hybrid, I don't know, I'm no expert but I do know this, it was annoying and we weren't catching.

At last, the boat sped off into the vastness of Lake Whitney and we were in with a chance, perhaps. After throwing worms and their plastic imitations into the usual spots and getting nothing, we headed towards the dam.

Still nothing and then, as the sun was going down, a fierce tug at the line. Yes, fish, you're on the radar. After that it was pretty much a Bluegill every five minutes or so and many more escapees, who were happy to run off with our enticing worms and "Crappie Bites."

Regardless, it was fish on and if we'd been in the way of keeping them, dinner on too. As it was, these fierce little predators went back in the water. They lived to fight again another day.

Victory assured, we headed back in the setting sun. Burgers were on the menu and the Cadet wasted no time in dialing up Highland Regiments, piping us into the Compound.

He's inspired by the A&M Corps and ROTC. Shoot in the X Ring, kid.

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

Breakfast And Fish

One of the things I like to do is go to the local Cowboy Church's men's breakfast. They're good guys who aren't afraid of their faith and I always leave uplifted in spirit. Speaking of which, one of the cowboys had lifted up his Jeep, it's called Bad Santa.

After a frugal meal of scrambled eggs, biscuits and gravy, I went fishing with a couple of the breakfasteers on Lake Whitney, on a boat. It was neat to scud over the choppy water at speed, with the spray and the wind whipping past. Similar, in a way, to an all out run on a horse; a whole lot of speed. I like that.

We cast about in coves, inlets and along sand bars and banks but the going was slow. Then Seagulls appeared, feasting on baitfish and sure enough, a school of Sand Bass wasn't far behind. There they were, churning up the water in a ferocious feeding frenzy.

Brisk action and it was catch as fast you could cast and then the Sandies were gone, surging after their prey. We got on them, along with a few Stripers, two more times before they disappeared into the depths. Big fun.

Then it was time to head back to the Compound, mission accomplished.

Thanks, JH and SO. Great result.

Fish on,

LSP

Fish On, Hillary For Jail

Rather than talk about the urgent necessity of appointing a Special Counsel to bring Hillary to justice, I'll just post about fishing. That's one of the many benefits of LSPland, you can visit the flock and fish, all at the same time.

There were all kinds of panfish in the water at my friend's slip and for a while it was pretty much a fish with every cast. Some ferocious Bluegill fighters, too, and a couple of Bass for good measure. Huge fun and I should've brought a cooler.

I left as the sun was setting over the lake and the air smelled like Texas, sage, mesquite, cedar and cooling limestone. I love that.

Hillary For Jail,

LSP

Don't be a Determinist Goon, Fish

Life, unless you're some kind of rubbish determinist, involves a series of free-will choices. For example, you can choose to attack the Islamist savages, ISIS. Or you can attack the regime that's fighting them by throwing missiles at their airfields. Your choice.

Likewise, you can sit staring at a computer in slack-jawed rightist consternation as our country slides closer and closer to war, or you can go fishing. I chose the latter option and loaded a couple of rods in the rig and headed to Soldier's Bluff.

The Texan wildflowers were out and I wondered if that was a good omen; Bluebonnets in flower, fish bite with power, sort of thing. But no, they didn't. The bites were sluggish and slurpy and I lost a lot of worms without closing the deal.

For the first time in months, no catch, and that was everyone else's experience there on the bluffs. Still, it was good to get out in the clean air by the lake, it always is. There's peace in it and, if the fish are behaving, excitement too.

Your Old Pal

There was another kind of excitement driving through a storm to Dallas later in the day. Lightning seared the horizon, like Tesla attempting to harness Satan, as rain crashed down onto I35. God's judgement on the metrosprawl.

Fish on,

LSP