Fish On

 

The sky was beginning to lighten as I got to the marina, in search of piscine adventure. "G'morning, gentlemen," and then we were motoring out into the lake as the sun began to rise.

Beautiful, and a moment of anticipation, would we catch any fish? It's not a given and there, right from the get go, lies a moral; just because you're on a boat doesn't mean you'll catch anything.

Belay that lure...

That in mind, we'd rigged up for topwater because intel said young, ferocious striper were blitzing surface shad. And sure enough, there against the bluffs was line of spray, a frenzy of fish exploding out of the water.

Young but Fierce

Power over and look at that water boil! But not for long, there's no time to waste. Line out, zig-zag retrieve then bam, down goes your lure and it's game on, a fighting striper on a light rod bent double. Big fun and fast action, which went on as we tracked the fish across the lake. I lost count.

What great fishing! OK, the stripers weren't fully grown, only around 16-18" but still,  full of aggression and predatory fury; they went back to fight again another day. It'll be a different story in the Spring when they've reached leviathan status.

Mission accomplished, we headed back to the marina, well satisfied with a morning out on the water. And here's the thing. Just because you're on a boat may not mean you'll catch any fish, but it can help. Thanks, J, for the trip.

Tight lines,

LSP

Rocky Paths

 

Same Old Rock

Some of you enjoy idyllic trout streams and rivers full of salmon or walleye, others again spend their time sea fishing off the coasts of fabled islands. Me? It's mostly all about Lake Whitney and, to be fair, the mighty Brazos, which is where I went this morning in a desperate bid to escape the crazy.

"Maybe getting out in the clean air of Texas will do you good," I thought grimly to myself as I loaded a couple of rods into the bed of the rig, "As opposed to staring in slack-jawed Francoist consternation at the end of the world."

Witch way mysticke sister?

And yes, it was good to get to the lake and cast off into the depths, and there were plenty of fish, no doubt about it, I could see them gliding by the bank and jumping with fierce predatory aggression. But did I catch any?

No. I did not. It was like our wars, Enemy 1, Home Team 0, but what am I saying. Every moment spent under the free sky of Texas is a moment worth living, a victory in itself. Just you try it and see. 

Ye Olde LSP

In the meanwhile, the Specialist called in and's settling down well into his his new unit, 57th ESB (expeditionary tactical signals). He has, predictably, asked to be sent to Central Asia, but fortunately that's off bounds for now. Not a good deployment, eh?

That aside, there is an equestrian club at Ft. Hood which practices boot-to-boot cav charges, swords out, run! I told him, "Well you can ride, so join in. Just don't fall off and skewer yourself with your wretched sabre." Always paternal, you see.

Your Best Pal,

LSP

Catch Of The Day

 

What is this iridescent little fish, some sort of tropical mini bass? Whatever, I caught three of them this morning and ferocious little beasts they were too. And now that memory serves, you can find them swimming along the urban creeks of Dallas. I say urban, they're patches of untamed brush and worth exploring, typically in East Dallas.

Mystery fish aside, the rest were Bluegill and full of light rod, drag out fun. Here's the thing, even a medium sized perch seems like Leviathan on a light rod, and all the more sport for it.

So yes, the bite was on for an hour or so around Noon, and big fun. Then the famous Texan wind picked up, clouds rolled in from the North and it began to rain. I stood there, resolute, against the gathering storm, catching fish. Next time I'll keep some back.

Off topic, but have you noticed our rulers backing away from PCR tests? You know, the same tests which told us we were all going to die and mysteriously didn't? The tests which changed an election and made how many billions for Pharma's bought and paid shills in Congress and beyond. The tests, let the reader understand, which established the pandemic in the first place.

They're unreliable, not to be trusted, the CDC itself says so. That in mind, take your vax, you serf, and count yourself lucky you're not in a SuperMax.

Fish On,

LSP

Fish On

 

There you are, sitting on the porch. It's hot, and you've prayed the morning Office, walked to the Pick 'n Steal, drunk that 20 ounce Yeti tumbler of coffee, checked the news and wondered if "hell in a handbasket" isn't too mild. So what to do? Go fishing, of course.

And that's what happened, put those CDC Stasi guidelines in your knapsack and head off to the water, to what used to be a Cretaceous sea. 20 minutes later, there I was, casting off from the prehistoric reef, sun beating down with ferocious intensity. Would the fish bite?

Sure enough they did, round about Midday. Pretty much every cast a fish, and all Perch/Bluegill, some of them large and full of fight. In fact, they were all full of fight and I lost count. Great result. Then, just as I was beginning to melt, a fierce, predatory tug. Drag out, rod double, what's this? A good sized Bass, in you come.

Walking back to the truck meant walking over countless fossils, the crystallized relics of our primeval past. There they were, frozen in stone, under the glare of a Texan sun. Imagine, if you can, a series of great reefs, breaking up a sea which stretched from the Gulf of Mexico to Austin and beyond. Or something like that.

Above it glided Pterosaurs and in the water, ferocious beasts. Perhaps today's fish are their descendants, they're certainly fierce enough. In other news, some pals are fishing in the sea, off some island. Blessed are ye poor.

Tight Lines,

LSP

Taking Care Of Business

 

A busy morning. Get up, feed the Blue, make hot tea, enjoy that tea on the back porch while scanning the news, say Morning Prayer, you might say "Mattins," walk to the Pick 'n Steal, observe a new iteration of the Meth Shack, get back to the Compound, answer emails and then... drive over to Tom's Tire to get your rig inspected.

You have to do it every year, the State demands it, and we must obey. But it's no big deal, just 7 bucks and an excuse to go to Montes for a delicious brisket burrito. Tasty and then some. Next stop? 

A dinosaur museum, conveniently next to the diner. It used to be a filling station and then something else, followed by something else, and something else again, amounting to yet another vacant, asset stripped country lot. But now it's a dinosaur museum. 

I ambled over, pleasantly aglow with brisket and homemade tortilla's, only to be ambushed by a fit young fella with a dinosaur T and a Ho Chi Minh, obviously a paleontologist. "What's up, man!" he asked. I looked him straight in his expensively rimless glasses and asked, right on the nail, "Is this museum open?" To be fair, it rarely is, and he said yes, step straight on in, which I did.

What a great little museum! Big fossils of the ferocious beasts that used to roam North Central Texas, and small fossils too, to say nothing of aboriginal artifacts. These, if you know where to look, which I mostly don't, can be found by the boxfull here in Hill and Bosque counties. How old are they? Good question.

Museum over, collect the rig, get it registered, go to the 1st Inconvenience Bank and then to the lake. I won't lie, it was quite chilly, only about 100*. Is it too hot to fish when your eyelids start dropping sweat on the inside of your cunningly polarized glasses? Hardly, all the more incentive to carry on regardless.

4 Blue Gill later it was time to head home, in yet another episode of being glad to be in Texas.

Your Old Pal,

LSP

In The Heat of The Day

 

What is it they say, only mad dogs, Englishmen, and members of tactical signals brigades go out in the noonday sun. Or something like that, and it's what we did, the mission being to catch some fish even if it was 100 degrees in the shade.

Sure enough they were on and before you could say Das Kapital, perch were snapping and tugging at the lines like the voracious predators they are. I pulled out a couple of fierce little beasts, looked over at the kid and boom, something slammed into his hook and it was rod double, drag out action. No fooling.

What was this monster, a cat, a bass, an enormous drum? No, it was a dinner plate sized blue gill, perhaps a Zeta Variant, and easily the best fish of the day. What a great result. Then, after another hour or so of catching we started to melt and headed for home, a good afternoon at the water well spent.

In other news, the Pope's attacking the Latin Mass. There are two classes of being which hate Latin, schoolboys and Satan.

Fish on,

LSP

Fish And Fossil

 

"Dad, can we go fishing?" I thought for a moment, for maybe a second, "Yes, we can." Some coffee, two bacon and egg sandwiches and a relined rod later we were on our way to the lake, Lake Whitney. And after a brief pit stop at a lakeside Pick 'n Steal for fried cherry pie and a fishing license for the kid, we were at Soldiers Bluff, casting off.

Would the fish be on? Sure enough they were, right from the get go, with voracious predator perch going at the worms we were throwing into the murky, minnowed water. Tug, snap, light rod down and boom, out comes a fish. The soldier caught first, nice, and I came in not far behind.

And so passed a pleasant hour or so in the Texan sun on the side of the lake, what a lot of fun, especially given a late bite in the last half hour; fish after fish till you started to lose count. Some of them were big too, but all Bluegill. Come on, Bass, get your act together.

As we clambered up the rocks to get to the rig and home, I reminded the world that this was once the bed of a primeval, Mesozoic sea and there were fossils to be found. Sure enough, there was a junior ammonite and some petrified shells, easy to dig out of the clayish strata.

Then, "Look at this!" Lo and behold, there was a section of fossilized shell, sticking out of the rock. Pretty cool, so we went back to the truck to get some tools to excavate it. 

Some well placed taps with the hammer end of an old axe on a sturdy screwdriver and there it was, freed from the rock. "What if there's more?" We tapped away, removing the stone which had once been mud, and there it was, the fossilized spiral of an ancient crustacean.

Great excitement, and the fossil's back at the Compound. The Bluegill, on the other hand, were put back to fight again another day, and maybe to keep. Tasty.

Fish On,

LSP.

Sic Transit Gloria Marinae

 

After a hearty late breakfast of Texas toast, eggs over easy, hash browns and sausage, it seemed right to scout out the waters of the Brazos and Lake Whitney. The water was up, no doubt about it, but no one was catching, so I drove over to Uncle Gus' Marina Abramovic.

Desolate

The marina went bankrupt last month, apparently no amount of spirit cooking could save it, so I was curious, what would I find and could you still fish there? 

No, you can't fish there because the docks and their cleaning station, a favorite place to fish, were closed off and the place stood desolate and abandoned. Who knows, perhaps it'll be turned into a migrant holding center or a lakeside reeducation camp for people insane enough to distrust our beloved rulers.

Shut Down

Then again, it might become a marina again, and a holiday spot for people fleeing the DFW metrosprawl in search of Striper and lakeish fun. Who knows, maybe one of our oligarch overlords will buy the COVID ravaged resort for pennies on the dollar and open it up.

Art Philosophy

Maybe so. In the meanwhile, I'm waiting for the water to settle, the climate to change and the fish to bite. 

Cheers,

LSP

Gone Fishing

 

A beautiful, balmy, spring day in Texas. So what to do? Go fishing, and that's exactly what happened. I drove off to Soldiers' Bluff on Lake Whitney and cast out into the depths. Would the piscine adversary bite?

Hard to tell, the climate's been strange lately, thanks to its Czar, Wooden Top, and this confuses the fish, so anything was possible. To be honest, I wasn't expecting much. But what am I saying? How much more do you want than an early afternoon under the free Texan sky?

As it was, I caught a drum and a couple of perch. Not bad, and all good action on a light rod. Then it was back to the Compound to recoup before jukebox action and tracking the Shiba on various charts. Stay tuned and regardless, a good day.

Fish on,

LSP

Systemic Rural Racism

 

One of the many problems country people face is racism, systemic racism, that ingrained, institutional, just the way things are racism which so afflicts entities of color in America's rural landscape. 

Parks, gardens, sky, fields, starlit night sky? All crushingly racist along with their iniquitous purveyors. That's the theory, and I drove out to Uncle Gus' Marina to test it out.

Sure enough, there was a banner of good ole Nazi "Uncle Gus" welcoming visitors and guests. And guess what? Uncle so-called "Gus" was white and holding a captive Bass of Color (BOC). Here, let's zoom in.

Unsurprised but still shocked, I drove carefully down to the apartheid marina and guiltily cast my line in the waters of the oppressed deep. No luck, anarcho-marxist cardres had trained these fish to avoid the hooks, lures and bait (worms) of their white colonialist oppressors.

Huh. I gave up the fight, vowing to return, "Watch out, you piscine Reds, I'll be back, with a vengeance," and headed over to the dam spillway.

Where it was raining, this being Biden's America, but undaunted, line out. No luck. Rinse, repeat at various angles. And then? That chomp, tug that every angler loves to feel. Pull up! Hookset! and there it is, a fish at the end of your line, diving, thrashing and doing its Bolshevikk best to escape, but it doesn't. 

You reel zhir in, get the photo op, and release the unrepentant Menshivik back into the depths. Well done, fish, you live again to fight another day. Then, because the climate changed owing to Texas not paying enough tax, it started to rain and I headed for home. And now? Curry, Thai Texan style.

OK, a good morning out in the good clean air of Texas, well done. But back to the point. Was the countryside's endemic racism made better or worse by this piscatorial endeavor?

As always, you be the judge,

LSP

FISH

 

Yes, the Rising Sun didn't look too bright but that's because it was rising over the waters of the lake as we went in search of Stripers.

Yes, a BOAT

Stripers are predatory, voracious beasts and they love live shad. And that's what we were armed with as we headed into the waters of the dammed Brazos, Lake Whitney.

Fish

OK, that's all very poetic in a very minor key kind of way, (really? Ed.) but how do you catch the fierce Stripers, what's the method? First off, have a Guide who knows what he's doing.

Looks boring, isn't

We chose Pat because he's good at every level. Friendly and helpful as opposed to sneering because you're not a Guide and, most importantly, gets you on the fish.

Good Guide

Which is what happened, we got on the fish and then some, limiting out in about 45 minutes. Big Striper action, rod goes double once, twice, hookset! Then reel that monster in. Big fun.

Look at that Leviathan on the left!

That done, we headed back to the ramp, mission accomplished. And now there's fish in the freezer for the next few weeks or so.  But seriously, if you want a good Striper Guide on Lake Whitney, go for Pat. He'll get you on the fish.

Fish on,

LSP

Fish? No. Boat? Yes

Thanks to some good friends I got on a boat today. It was awesome, we went out on the lake in search of fish, even though it was freezing.

Lures, slabs, spoons, you name it, all went in. No shortage of effort on our part. But were the fish biting? Good question.

No, they were not. Should've brought a box of worms. Still, big fun to zoom about on the lake which used to be the Brazos before it was dammed. And there's no harm whatsoever in getting outside instead of staring in weird consternation at the still unrolling coup attempt against our President.

So much for democratic process. But of course the Left has never been about this and it isn't now, they want power, total power by any means necessary. This, they think, will bring about a utopia in which the reign of The Man is at last brought to an end.

To be replaced by what, exactly? Images of Millionaire Socialist Nancy Pelosi (MSNP) getting a blow dry while ordering hair salons shut spring to mind. Hey, all pigs are created equal but some more Viking fridge equal than others.

Cheers,

LSP