Look, A Fish Is A Fish

 

You've visited the sick in Whitney, so what next? Visit the lake and try your luck against the piscine adversary in triple digit climate change. No joke, it's like an oven out there. Unsurprisingly, you're the only man standing on Soldiers' Bluff as you cast off into the depths.

And pull out a ferocious little Perch. Slim pickings after that, the fish were sensibly standing offshore, not unlike US manufacturing itself, and weren't interested in worms and the like, *the like including a shad lure which produced exactly nothing, despite schools of shad in the water. Huh.

Then all of a sudden, Bite! Hookset! And out comes a juvenile Bass. A fierce little beast who went back in to fight again another day. And that was that, eyelids sweating, shins sweating, everything sweating, it was time to head for home and the safe haven that is the Compound.

Your Old Pal,

LSP

Fish On - Or Not

 

Thanks to our ongoing War Against The Weather it was cool this morning, only in the low/mid 80s. So whaddya do? After a brisk morning constitutional and Morning Prayer, 1928 BCP thank you very much on the front porch, head off to the lake. And that's exactly what happened.

Were the fish biting? Yes, they were, but not in a good way. These were ferocious little bites from ferocious little fish. Still fun on a light rod but hard to close the deal, and you start to feel like you're feeding the fish as they snatch and tug worms off your line. Huh.

Mildly annoyed at being a kind of food pantry for our aquatic adversary, I persevered and caught the main perpetrator, a ferocious little perch, a bait fish really, and I cast the little beast back into the depths on the end of the line as just that, bait. Did it produce a result?

It can do, no kidding, I've caught good sized striper from that very point using the exact same method, but today? No. Nothing. Yes, there were plenty of junior perch darting about but no mighty bass to catch them or be caught. Maybe the bass were sleeping after gorging on all the baitfish, maybe they were taking a Biden style nap after the rigor of actually waking up for the day, maybe, like our Commander in Chief, they weren't there at all.

Sensing that, with the sun now high in the sky, I headed across the dam to see if the legendary Lake Whitney spillway would yield up the goods. Sure enough, there was a cowboy fishing off the pier. You could tell he was a cowboy because he wore a straw hat and his flatbed truck had ranch brand logos on it. There he was, a cowboy, fishing.

not today, buddy

"How's it going, man?" I offered by way of piscine greeting, "Whole lotta bait fish here, like wow," and there were, great schools of shad and minnows. But he hadn't caught anything apart from a baby cat, and I commiserated with the tale of my baby perch, and off we went to cast again. With no luck whatsoever.

Sure, there were lots of shad, some large(ish), mid-sized gar floating lazily about the pool like submarines, a few buffalo carp being equally lazy, and none of them hitting on anything we put into the water. My cowboy pal left and I fished on, enjoying the clean Texan air, the sight of the mighty Brazos, and the sheer pleasure of being outside in the country. 

Must do more of that, most especially when the bass catch up to their watery prey. Hopefully that'll be soon. More anon.

Cheers,

LSP

Gone Fishing

 

So, what'd you do today, so-called LSP, if that's your real name, which we doubt. Well, nothing complicated, a morning visit to the Pick 'n Steal and then off to the lake and its dam to try my luck against the piscine adversary. Would they bite?

No, they did not. Don't get me wrong, I tried, I really did, but the fish weren't having it. There they were, predatory gar lying in ambush downstream of the spillway pool, you could see them loud and clear through cleverly polarized glasses.

But no, they weren't having it, frozen shad didn't cut it today, so I tried my luck at Soldiers Bluff on the other side of the dam. There were fish there, yes, you could see them, but would they bite? No, they would not.

In fact, it was like fishing into a wind tunnel and who can blame the fish for keeping their heads down beneath the surging waves. So I packed up light Ugly Stick rods and headed for home, thankful for a morning under the big clear sky and clean air of Texas.

Don't worry, fish, your day will come. Draw the moral as you care to take it and that, dear readers, is the story of that.

Never Surrender,

LSP

Fish On

 

We have choices in life, contrary to Marxist determinism, and such is the beauty of free will. For example, you can sit staring at a screen in slack-jawed trad consternation or you can go fishing. I chose the latter option and pointed the rig at Lake Whitney.

This was once a reef in a vast inland sea

There it was, shining and hazy under a hot Texan sun, but would there be fish and would they bite? I cast off with worms to find out and... nothing, apart from a lazy little Gar who swooped down on my worm, held it in its beak, swam away at leisure for about 60 yards, ate half the worm and dropped the rest. He didn't even run, and who can blame him, it was hot.

Behold Leviathan and the mighty Brazos

Soldiers Bluff being a bust I headed across the dam to try my luck from the pier. Slow going at first but then I spotted them, two stationary Bass on a ledge next to the dam's wall. Off goes the worm, cast a little ahead of the fish, followed by a slow retrieve onto their position. Boom! Strike!

Nice little Drum

A couple of minutes of diving, thrashing, rod double action later up comes a very decent fish. Good fight and back you go, great result. So, send another worm into the depths, untargeted this time, a blind shot and another slow retrieve. And what's this, a tug, and another, hookset! It felt like a Black Drum and sure enough it was, not as cool as a Bass but still, plenty of piscine action.

That complete, it was time to head back to the Compound, mission accomplished. I file this exciting story under "Country Life in Texas."

Tight Lines,

LSP

Fishing & Antedeluvia

It was an overcast Spring morning in rural Texas and Soldiers Bluff looked beckoning, "Come on down and fish," it seemed to say. Which is what I did, but the fish weren't having any of it, they were lying low and didn't want the juicy, tempting, delicious worms I was throwing in. 

Still, there were a few fossils, rocky remains of ancient crustaceans embedded in the limestone and clay bluff above the lake. To be honest, there's fossils everywhere here, a tangled  mix of roots, branches, shells, and who knows what else, the set in stone remains of ancient cataclysm. I always hope I'll spot something useful, like a T Rex tooth, but not today, just a couple of shells.

Now, some who read this lighthearted mind blog believe fossils like these are at most 6000 years old. If that's the case, what about structures like Gobekli Tepe, which date back to at least 9000 BC? Remarkably ancient and advanced to boot, all at a time when humans were supposed to be grubbing about for nuts, berries and the occasional bit of unfortunate wildlife. 

Two things don't add up here. Firstly, the Word of God in Scripture isn't supposed to be read with a kind of boneheaded, blank-faced literalism. Read it for its truth, for sure, but know this involves poetry, symbol and metaphor as well as literal reckoning. Note, to think this doesn't make you a useless, pathetic, scornworthy, lib heretic. 

Secondly, mankind is very old, with Homo Sapiens appearing earlier and earlier in the fossil record as new discoveries are found. All this in our own century, to say nothing of ignored and anomalous finds in the last two hundred years or so, and the witness of ancient records.

It would be odd, don't you think, if people as intelligent as us remained at the hunter gather stage for several hundreds of thousands of years. Which is exactly what orthodox archeo-anthropology teaches; finds like Gobekli, water erosion on the Sphinx, and on, challenge the narrative. 

That in mind, I decided to challenge the piscine narrative of "no catching" by moving over to the other side of the dam. At first nothing, so I changed rigs in hope of having some sport with the Gar, who were gliding about the pool like deadly, prehistoric submarines.

Good call, LSP, but no Gar. Instead, a fierce  Crappie followed by a ferocious Bass, and a large Bluegill. Result. Then it began to rain and it was time to head for home, mission accomplished.

Fish on,

LSP

Fishing The Pandemic

So what's it like to fish in the scyfy dystopia that is our new normal? Good question, and rather than rely on some kind of "news" channel I went to the lake to find out for myself.

First up, Soldiers Bluff wasn't an option, "Park Closed," said the sign. Undaunted, I made my way to the other side of the dam. Another fail, you could get there but the pier was shut, blocked off by police tape. 

You Can't Fish Here. Thanks, China.

Thanks a lot, China, I was looking forward to fishing the pool, but no. I stared out at the mighty Brazos, streaming its way towards Waco, Houston and the sea under a big Texan sky. Would the ChiCom Plague, this Pandemic, defeat the expedition? 

Wytche Way?

No, it would not, so I drove to the marina, which wasn't blocked off by police tape and threatening signs. Boating's still allowed you see, at least here, and I set up on the pier and fished away. It was slow going and then, just as I was getting ready to pack it in for a bad game of soldiers something took the hook.

Get A Haircut Hippy. Oh, You Can't. Good Work, China

Bam! Rod double, line out action as a monster, maybe a shark, took the bait and ran with it, and run it did, right around the cleaning station. Diving, pulling, thrashing action and I was hoping for a big cat but up came a Leviathan Carp Buffalo. 

China Eats Carp  Buffalo. I Don't. Back You Go

A passing fish head helped me pull the beast out. "Well lookit that," exclaimed my gap-toothed new pal as we looked in wonder at the Carp Buffalo, "They'd be all over that in Russia. On a light little rod too. I reckon I'll just fish this here pier for a few minutes."

The Compound

The prehistorically scaled Carp Buffalo went back to fight again another day and I went back to the Compound in the sun, mission accomplished. So what's it like to fish the Pandemic? Not bad at all.

Tight Lines,

LSP

Grilling & Fishing

Mothers Day was all about church, grilling, and mothers. Well done, women, without you we wouldn't be here. Speaking of women, Alyssa Milano's gone on a sex-strike because Georgia doesn't want mothers to kill their babies if they have a heartbeat.

Devil Witch

The cute teen witch, celebrity millionaire socialist isn't going to have any more children, apparently, if she's not allowed to kill them in the Peach State. Strange, satanic, and demented? Yes, but nonetheless true.

Soldiers Bluff

Hollywood logic aside, today dawned bright and clear and seemed right to go fishing, which is what we did. Soldiers Bluff was pretty much flooded thanks to climate change, and hungry fish were cruising through the shallows foraging for food. 

Big excitement as a catfish struck and tore off with the hook; rod double, bring that fish in! But no, line and hook somehow separated. Perhaps the cat was a magician or I need to tie better knots or both, who knows. 

Flooded Thanks To Climate Change

Still, good action and the Cadet had a similar experience with a Leviathan Carp. Enormous great beast, leaping and thrashing on the end of the line only to escape.

Beat The Drum

We closed out on the other side of the dam, where water from lake Whitney was roaring into the Brazos and ultimately to Houston. I caught a drum and then it was time to head for home, all well with the world. Unless you're in Houston, which is flooded.

Tight lines,

LSP

Gone Fishing

"I know," I thought cleverly to myself, "I'll go fishing." And that was the plan for Monday morning, but it nearly got derailed because of a church PO Box and taking care of business.

Load up your rig with beer and tacos and head for glory.

Still, got to the lake and cast off with worms and a couple of lures, but the fishing was slow. Sure, a couple of bites here and there but nothing much. I blame that on the malfeasant, demonic static unleashed by Fienstein and her cohort of satanists on the world. It confuses the fish.

Look what the FBI caught!

The hideous Golem representative from California and her puppet aside, I managed to catch a decent Bluegill and had a couple of strikes with topwater. Some kind of Rapala lure, I think.

Then it was time to head home, happily tired out by clambering around the rocks of Soldier's Bluff in search of fish. Next step?

Blue SCOTUS

GUNS, and horses. This is important.

Your Pal,

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

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

Fish On

Life at the Compound isn't just about riding and shooting, it's also about fishing and with that in mind we headed out to Lake Whitney with rods and a cooler, in search of aquatic sport. Come on, team, let's catch some fish, was my war cry, but would we?  

I wasn't sure and that was unsettling because it was important for Harrison, who had traveled all the way from the UK for a God, guns and country life in Texas experience, to catch his first fish. JS, who's a well known art philosopher,was content to watch. Exactly, watch, watch us catching fish. So the heat, as it were, was on. But I needn't have worried.

Within a few minutes of casting off, Harrison was getting bites and triumphantly reeled in his first Bluegill. Good work! That was followed up by some six more of the same, a decent Crappie and a baby Bass or two. In the meanwhile, I'd managed to catch a small if aggressive junior Bass. Slow going, LSP.

Then things took off a bit and I brought in a Bass and a Bluegill that were worth keeping. They went into the cooler and we headed back to base for a quick lesson in filleting. And I tell you this, the fish tasted better for being caught and cleaned yourself. Lake to table and thank you very much.

Excellent result, and well done H on your first fish. Mission accomplished.

Tight lines,

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